Grieving the Loss of My Favorite Low Maintenance Friendship

Stef’s debut in October 2015. We often joke and laugh about that night.

Whenever I close my eyes and see you, I remember one particular night. It was Stef’s debut and really, nothing extraordinary happened. We took a whole bunch of shots, we danced goofily, we talked about the future. But it means a lot looking back, because we spent it together. Most of the bond we built these past five years was over the comforts of a Facebook chat box, but this was the first and only time I really got to spend time with you — hug you, lean my head on your shoulder, talk to you vulnerably face to face. It was the necessary affirmation I needed that we were truly friends who cared about each other.

Flaming Wings, just like high school, but this time with college us!

First nomiz at Tubby’s house when my friends and I were all prom date hunting LOL. Then this is us with our senior dates at junior prom. Haba ng hair noh?

Years later, today, I still somehow hold the peace that we did mean something to each other. Eventually, we ended up going to the same college, but were worlds apart in crowds. We never really had the luxury of quality time again (save for that one time you treated me for lunch in sophomore year; anyone who loved you knows you hardly let anyone pay). Regardless, you checked in constantly, whether it be to indulge me in ideological discourse, (even if we often disagreed and almost always resolved with “Nah, I don’t agree, but you’re my friend so I’ll respect that.”) or to make sure I was doing well and give me advice, or to just crack a random joke or give a random fun fact and remind me you were there.

It’s funny because it feels like our friendship kept evolving, no matter how low maintenance or distant. What it’d become over the recent years was different from what it was in high school, when you being a year ahead held so much more gravity. Back then, you always jested about you being older and how I needed to respect my elders. All jokes aside, you really were like a kuya who guided me through things I wouldn’t have been able to navigate on my own, like how to prompose, or write college essays, or solve physics problems. You’d often throw in your own life advice in there, reminding me to take bigger risks and put myself out there more. Because you always liked to give your friends weird nicknames, you’d even call me “apprentice”, while I called you “master”, because we both knew how you sowed so much wisdom into me. While our dynamic did change quite a bit when we got into college and you entered my batch as a transferee, I never doubted how I had you through and through.

:)

And you’ll always have me too, Nach. I hope in the past five years I was able to make you feel that, even if I failed to in your last days, ironically when it mattered most. As heartbroken and terribly sorry as I am, I cannot let my memory of you be of pain and hopelessness. Because I know that you’ve given me so much more to bring with me: encouragement, wisdom and love. It’s crazy to think that even though our friendship was undeniably lowkey, you never made me feel like I had to assert my place in your life. You showed me you cared for me in quiet ways I could understand. It’s even crazier to think that you died on my birthday. It hurts. So much. But somehow, I feel closer to you than ever. Now, I simply cannot celebrate my life without remembering yours, nor live it without acknowledging the dreams you didn’t get to.

Because all this time, you knew my dreams and supported me through them. When I told you I wanted to go to the US for college, you helped me through it too, sending me standardized test tips, earnestly proofreading my essays or just cheering me on, albeit in your usual deadpan, sarcastic way. When you’d joined the movement in college and further harnessed your calling, I often still consulted you with my dreams, somehow worried that your support had shifted with how adamant I was to leave. Sometimes, when I asked you if I was letting you down, you would politely decline to answer out of courtesy or fear of hurting my feelings. Other times, you’d remind me to pursue whatever dream it is I had, on the condition that I never forgot the nation that nurtured me — the very nation you fought for and would die for.

And now that you’re gone, Nach, I can promise you I will in fact never forget. I owe it to you to. Wherever I may be, whatever I may do, I’ll carry with me the fragments of zealous activism, heart for the oppressed and commitment to service you so graciously shared with me. And I will pick myself back up after mourning, and work with all the other lives you’ve touched to continue the fights you’ve fought. My dreams at large will now centrally include making you proud. Because as your apprentice, your little sister, your dear, I can confidently say how terribly proud I am of you.

You filled up the entire building last night, Nach. And I can speak for every single person there when I say you are so special. You are witty, creative, different, passionate, kind, honest. You are imperfect, but nonetheless still so special. Your heart is ginormous and our friendship is a testament to that. You spread yourself so thin as you championed your advocacies and led the student body, and yet you still made time to make sure I was doing okay. I’m in awe at how much love you had in you for you to do the same for hundreds of other people too. I have your parents to thank for raising you so well and for sharing you with us. My greatest prayer is that in this time of grief, they never question how they brought an incredible man to this world. And while there is no way I can make up for how gravely I’ve let you down in your last few days, I hope to gradually make amends, to you and all you’ve loved, by honoring your life with mine.

Only he would have a pizzaposal lol I swear. Your legacy talaga

I’m sorry, Nacho. I truly, truly am. So I’ll end on this resolve.

Five years of you will never be enough. But like I said, I will keep what I have of you wherever I go until I see you again.

While I could never love you like you loved the movement and your calling — because that love is unparalleled, I can say I love you more than you love Star Wars, or Fitzgerald’s writing style in Gatsby, or picking on me, or giving your friends weird nicknames, or labo usernames and catchphrases, or getting crazy haircuts. God I love you. And it’ll stay that way forever.

Rest in power, my favorite low maintenance friend.