Never say goodbye

(Mama, Papa and my siblings strolling at the Roxas Blvd. breakwater, I think. That's me in the stroller. It's just me, Mama and Big Sister now.)

I CANNOT imagine how it is to lose a spouse. I have never been married. Although there have been a few terrible moments of grief over the ending of a relationship with a lover, I doubt if it can compare to losing someone with whom you’ve spent a whole lifetime together.

When my mother lost my father four years ago, we never really knew how much in deep pain she really was. We never actually talked about it. We just assumed that she was coping well. Mama just has this ability to bounce back from every seemingly debilitating experience that she has undergone, whether it is losing a parent, a child, or her husband. Just a few weeks after she lost Papa, she was cleaning out his closet and separating his things from those that could still be used and those that would be donated.

Of course, there were tell-tale signs that she was hurting, especially in those few months after Papa left us. I would see pieces of Kleenex crumpled beside her pillow. And she really can no longer sleep without any light on, although she says it’s because of her poor eyesight.

Mama and Papa had been together for over 50 years. From the happiest moments and through the most trying of times in their marriage, they still managed to stick together. I suppose that was what their generation had been accustomed to. No one just throws in the towel and decides to walk away from a marriage despite the complications of one’s family life. But looking back, I know they were really meant for each other—Papa was the calm and cool water to Mama’s raging fire.

Now, we bring Papa’s photo just about everywhere we go. We talk to him, or make sumbong—aloud—like he was just around. Mama has kept a few of his shirts and many of his photos from their years with each other. By her bedside is one of Papa when he was still young and handsome, wearing his graduation toga, with his dedication: “To Telé darling, I will always love you forever.” It is a promise that I suppose keeps Mama going on, even when Papa is no longer with us. In death there is no farewell, just a momentary parting of ways. ’Til we all meet again.

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IN this space, I would like to share this beautiful eulogy by University of the Philippines Prof. Roland Simbulan, which he read aloud before the internment of his wife-journalist Chit Estella’s ashes on the 40th day after her death at the San Agustin Church in Intramuros on June 21. Thank you to Ellen Tordesillas of VERA Files for allowing me to share this moving piece.

Living and Loving Chit Estella*
21 June 2011
By Roland Simbulan

YOU were snatched from us “as swift as the wind” as you were on your way to meet your high-school batchmates that fateful evening of May 13, 2011. Your life and character, as eulogized by so many, personified you as “gentle as a forest, fierce as fire, firm as a mountain,” to borrow from Sun Tzu. Just the other day, I read a note from one of your journalism students who thanked you “for teaching us how to dream.” Another wrote, “You are not only our professor and adviser, but a mother to the youth who helped us strive for goals that could not be bought.” To me, you are all these, but more.

How excited you were as we read your horoscope for Leo the morning of that fateful day. It said, “Today, you are going to experience something that is not only evolutionary, but something that is very revolutionary. It will be a life-changing event.” Notwithstanding that it was Friday the 13th, I remember your eyes sparkle that morning as you remarked that, finally, this may be your lucky day for you are going to win your lotto ticket. And when I kissed you goodbye that morning to leave for a meeting, I was looking forward to be welcomed by your hug and kiss that evening, the way we usually do.

How can I not miss you when we have known each other for 34 years? Remember when we first met as undergrad students in the Philippine Collegian during martial law? And then became seatmates in the Modern Political Theory class of Dean Dodong Nemenzo? For me that was no coincidence; it was fate, as we have become inseparable since then. We have even lately been making travel plans for our coming 30th wedding anniversary this October, and I even recall you saying that we should be planning on what more socially meaningful things we can do together after our retirement.

How can I not miss a soul mate like you whose intellectual growth I have come to get used to growing up with, as my wife, my best friend, adviser, critic, fellow advocate in national and social advocacy (and), most of all, as my beloved? I will miss your reminders for me to give bigger tips to underpaid waiters or watch-your-car boys. There is so much good in you. Remember December 25, 1999, when we were jointly composing “21 Ways to Sustainable Living in the 21st Century” and you added an item on top of our list: “Always try to do a good deed for someone every day, especially those who can never pay you back.” And I remember your modesty when you embarrassingly laughed when I dedicated one of my books “To Chit, beloved inspiration.”

I will miss having breakfast with you every morning and enjoying the aroma of our brewed coffee with freshly crushed beans that perfumed our morning air. I will miss having your favorite Razon’s halo-halo with you. I will miss our long walks together while discussing anything under the sun and under the moon: at the UP Diliman oval every Sunday, and what we both in jest call our “Kennedy walks” at the undisturbed beaches of Masinloc Bay in Zambales. I shall sorely miss your frequent and very sweet texting any time of the day even just to ask how I was or what I had for lunch. And I will really miss, after long hours of work, our occasional foot spas together to relax even as you endured my snoring.

(Simbulan and Estella on their wedding day. Photo from the Justice for Chit Estella-Simbulan Facebook page.)

I will miss the favorite dishes you liked to especially cook for me during weekends like my favorite pasta, chicken rosemarie, beef or lamb caldereta, and your vegetable salads with fruits and nuts. I will miss our dinners, coffee, lunches out just us together, or with long-time friends or relatives who happen to be visiting Manila.

I will miss giving you flowers even when it is not your birthday, or even when it is not Valentine’s Day. I will miss announcing on our white board in our Tandang Sora house that waking up every morning and every day with you is like heaven on earth. Yes, I will miss courting you everyday.

In my private moments of grief, I listen and reflect on the lyrics of your favorite Filipino singer Noel Cabangon, “Ang buhay nga naman hindi mo maintindihan, hindi mo alam ang hanganan...hindi ka malilimutan...ikaw ay pag-uusapan sa iyong paglisan.... O kay ganda ang mag-alay sa iyo.” And yes, I will be strong, keep healthy and will take good care of myself for you so that I can continue what we dreamt together for our nation and people. Thank you for sharing so much of you with me—the love, the laughter, the heartaches, even the disappointments.

It was just like the other day, you were with us so full of life and energy, then left us “swift and sure and sharp as grace,” as Katherine Mosby in the Book of Uncommon Prayers wrote. A friend whispered to me during the celebration of your life, “Hindi mawawala sa aming puso at isip ang mga kabutihan ni Chit sa kanyang mga kaibigan at ang dedikasyon niya para sa bayan [Chit’s kindness to friends and dedication to the people will remain in our hearts and minds].” Oh, how we all miss your smile, your voice, your very presence. Chit, you are alive in all of us whom you have touched with your example, your nerves of steel even under fire, and your acts of kindness.

But, I will see you in every courageous reporter or editor whose mission and zeal is to write and print the TRUTH, no matter what powerful forces are offended. I will see you in every student and journalist you have taught to be upright and honest, and who knows the meaning of what you call “the right thing to do,” Mahal, I will see you in others who will continue what you stand for. I will see you in every Filipino who fights for sovereignty, good government and the welfare of this country which you love and served so well. I know that they will fight harder to honor your memory.

Many say that even if your life was cut short by this tragedy, “you lived life to the fullest” with the power of your pen and the genuine respect that you have gained from your peers and students. As journalist, editor, teacher and friend, you touched so many lives, who showed and expressed their outpouring of love, gratefulness and respect for you and our family these past few days. Your life is emulated by so many who strive to live by your ideals and example.

I will see you—a beautiful human being whom I will always love, respect and adore—in every brave Filipino who, like your favorite Prometheus, takes fire and knowledge from the gods to share it with the common people so that the latter can be empowered. You live in the hearts of those you touched—the hoi polloi and oppressed especially.

Beloved, I will not really say goodbye.

*Vera Files trustee Lourdes Chit Estella-Simbulan died on May 13 and was cremated on May 17. We pray for the eternal repose of her soul, and for the family she has left behind. In her honor, the Simbulan family through Vera Files has launched the “Chit Estella Awards for Journalism” which intends to honor the best journalistic report and photo essay in print and online for the year, with the award to be handed out every August, Estella’s birth month. If you care about road safety, pls sign up at Justice for Chit Estella Simbulan on Facebook.

(My column, Something Like Life, is published every Friday in the Life section of the BusinessMirror. This piece was originally published on June 24, 2011. Photo copyright owned by Stella Arnaldo.)

I talk to dead people

MY friend Reyna Emperatriz used to bewilder some of our pals. Whenever she would leave her condo unit, she would speak out and say, “Ser, alis muna ako ha.” Or when arriving home, she would go “Hello, Ser.” Even when we were out of town, she would say these greetings out loud upon entering or leaving her hotel room. (Click Something Like Life for the rest. Libingan ng mga Bayani photo from Makati City gov't web site.)

On grieving

I remember at my own father’s wake a couple of years ago, when someone very close to me saw Pop lying in his coffin. She suddenly freaked out and shrilly complained that his makeup was awful. She then proceeded to have his makeup redone by the mortician. I didn’t notice any difference in how he looked, though. Okay, you had to be there, but I thought that was so laughable it would’ve probably qualified as an episode on Six Feet Under. (Click Something Like Life for the rest.)

From someone who's not a Cory fan

Let me confess right now that I was not a fan of Tita Cory. I didn’t even join the People Power Revolution in 1986, out of respect to my father who was in government then. (I did sneak out the next day to Malacañang after the Marcoses had abandoned it.) Previous to that, I didn’t vote in the snap elections that had thrust whom everyone dubbed as “just a plain housewife” into the political limelight. (Click Something Like Life for the rest.)

Saying goodbye to Tita Cory

(The casket of Philippines' former President Corazon C. Aquino as it passes under the Buendia/South Superhighway flyover. Screen capture from Facebook/GMA TV News' livestreaming video.)

(Tita Cory's niche at the Manila Memorial Park. At this time, 4:06 pm, the funeral cortege is still making its way through Sucat.)


(My friend Edwin's video of Tita Cory's funeral procession as it passed by Bangkal, Makati.)

(The cortege at 6: 29 pm, along Sucat Rd. near the cemetery entrance. Broadcasters note that this was the "mainit na pagpugay ng mga tiga-Parañaque" to Tita Cory.)

(The crowd along Sucat Rd., Parañaque, 7:13 pm.)

(Kris and family at the Manila Memorial Park 8:08 pm)

(Kris blessing her Mom's remains w/ holy water. 8:15 pm.)

(Flag draped on Tita Cory's casket is prepared for folding.)

(Tita Cory's coffin is placed inside the niche beside her husband's, Sen. Ninoy Aquino. At this point, the people burst into applause with many in the crowd chanting "Cory! Cory! Cory!" What a great lady she was.)

Rest in peace Tita Cory. You have fought the good fight. It's now our turn.

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Special thanks and congratulations to GMA News TV for the live streaming of Tita Cory's funeral via Facebook. What a great public service esp. to all our kababayan abroad. Iba talaga ang Kapuso. Mabuhay kayo!

Michael Jackson, 50

LOS ANGELES — For his legions of fans, he was the Peter Pan of pop music: the little boy who refused to grow up. But on the verge of another attempted comeback, he is suddenly gone, this time for good.

Michael Jackson, whose quintessentially American tale of celebrity and excess took him from musical boy wonder to global pop superstar to sad figure haunted by lawsuits, papparazzi and failed plastic surgery, was pronounced dead on Thursday afternoon at U.C.L.A. Medical Center after arriving in a coma, a city official said. Mr. Jackson was 50, having spent nearly 40 of those years in the public eye he loved.

The singer was rushed to the hospital, a six-minute drive from the rented Bel-Air home in which he was living, shortly after noon by paramedics for the Los Angeles Fire Department. A hospital spokesman would not confirm reports of cardiac arrest. He was pronounced dead at 2:26 pm. (Click NYT for the rest.)



Michael Jackson Live in Manila, HIStory tour, 1996

Halloween musings

Something Like Life
BusinessMirror, Oct. 31, 2008

CALL me strange but, for some inexplicable reason, I’ve never been afraid of the dead. Even when I was a toddler, I was not one to scream when brought to wakes, nor did I shirk away from looking into open caskets where a dead lola or some other close relative would be lying within. “She’s in heaven,” my Mama or Pop would whisper in my ear, which to me meant our relative was probably playing tag with Papa Jesus up in the clouds, which sure looked like cotton candy from where I was standing then.

When we would go to the La Loma Catholic Cemetery usually during the evening of October 29 or 30, I would often skip along the narrow and dark paths going to the puntod of Mama’s dead relatives. (Pop’s dead were buried in his province.)

Fortunately, I never saw any dead people walking about, although they say that children are the most lapitin by still earth-bound spirits. I actually felt a sense of calm and wonderment while walking among those dirty white tombs. Despite being a rather mischievous child, I grew up respecting the dead. Then as I do now, I would excuse myself aloud if I needed to step on some tombs to get to our dead relatives, just so as not to offend the residents within. I sure didn’t want any hand reaching out from the grave to yank my feet. (Click here for the rest. Photo from BusinessMirror)

Grief management

(Luv my new rainboots!)

WHEN my eldest brother passed away three years ago, my Ate and I went on a buying spree of colored chinelas near the palengke in our Pop's province of Roxas City. "Grief management" is what my Ate and I dubbed it. Our Mom even went to Gaisano just to buy jeans and several shirts, just to also ease the pain of our family's loss.

When it was Pop's turn to meet his Maker last year, we all pigged out eating at the wake as friends just supplied us with the yummiest dishes. The best dish I still recall is what my Auntie Mila called American Lumpia, it was cheese, ham, veggies wrapped in an egg lumpia wrapper...yum! Of course, I also bought a few things after that, a new phone, new curtains for my home office, etc.

(Chaikofi at 3rd level, The Block, SM North)

Since my friend passed away last week, I've been on a non-stop buying/eating binge again...buti nalang it's sales season in all the malls so the splurging doesn't hurt as much. Bought new beige wedgies from CMG and really cool rain boots from the GAP (which I have been waiting for to go on sale since it opened in Manila), and eating like there was no tomorrow.

(This wasn't my order, but it looks yummy noh? Chunky Chicken at Chaikofi, The Block.)

Last Thursday, I even cooked Spaghetti Vongole after I found freshly-blanched clams at S&R. With a good chardonnay on hand, I cooked it and invited Francine over for dinner. Had some off that smoky-sweet roasted chicken from S&R as well to complement the pasta. There's nothing like eating and making chismis with a good friend to chase those blues away.

(This is my order...Crabstick Sandwich w/ Caesar Salad and Mint-flavored Iced Tea.)

Anyhoo, atill on my grief management, this afternoon I ate at one of the cafés at The Block at SM North. (Actually I had to go there because my eyeglasses broke apart last night and needed a replacement asap. Thanks to Executive Optical for a pleasant, hassle-free experience. They only charged me for the frame.)

Chaikofi I think is of Malaysian origin, and offers value-for-money lunch and merienda specialties. I'm always satisfied with my order and the overall service of the place. Except that today, they mixed up my order...I had ordered a crabstick sandwich and Caesar salad combo with iced tea. I got served the chunky chicken instead, which though a wrong order, looked yummy as well. They did change my order but minus 5 points na yan sa for customer service, hehe.

(Sebastian's at The Block...yes, civilization has now come to SM!)

Although there is a tendency to take liberties with the mayo, overall the sandwich was good and very filling. Aside from the crabstick, the sandwich had a slice of cheese, tomatoes, and lettuce. I could only finish half of the sandwich. The Caesar salad had bacon bits, parmesan cheese, aside from the lettuce and chicken chunks, and was coated with just enough of the right amount of dressing. Meaning, hindi ka bitin sa dressing so the salad was really malasa. Well, the iced tea was okay. It was supposed to be mint-flavored but I didn't taste the mint. All that for just P170. So it doesn't hurt your pocket at all to eat there. Pls. lang though, keep the in-house music toned down!

(Ice cream burgers...mmmm)

For dessert, I walked across from Chaikofi to tadaah! Sebastian's ice cream. Glorious creamy goodness talaga! I have been so in love with Sebastian's ice cream since it opened in Alabang. I'm not really an ice cream ghel, but when the ice cream is super delicious like this one, naku! I cannot help but eat it. I ordered the Chunky Mocha and Almond Fudge, hoy sugar-free yan! and it was really heavenly. Graveh the almond bits were really huge! And for P95 with a cone pa (w/c was not sugar-free I suppose so useless din to order the sugar-free ice cream pala, haha), it was divine.

It's been a long productive and "splurgious" week. But I'm happy na. Ay, hindi pa pala. Will still be getting my new Mac next week. Then I'll be happy. Have a great weekend, folks!

(Sugar-free Chunky Mocha and Almond Fudge...heavenly!)

A good man

I lost a friend today. It hurts because I didn't have enough guts to visit him when he was sick, and in the hospital. At the back of my mind, I was hopeful that he would still get well. And the last time I spoke with his wife, just last week, she said he was always thinking of food. I told her to tell him that he better get well and I will cook him sinigang, one of the dishes he wanted to eat.

I prayed and prayed that God would spare him again. I said his family still needed him, and I wanted to see him up and about, and fully recovered. But he passed away this morning, after putting up a brave fight with his illness. I know he wanted to stay because of his family and the many things he still could have done. I will always remember him as a sweet, caring person, with a joke or another amusing anecdote to make kwento about himself, his family, even our favorite president. His zest for life was just so infectious.

I never thought we would actually be good friends because he breathed a more rarified air than what I am used to. But just like that, he took me in like family (which is why I called him Dad sometimes). Pangs and I would usually join their family to watch a movie, get together for dinner, or go to their beach house and just spend a nice weekend lounging by the pool. I will always remember him with either a glass of red wine in hand, or smoking like a chimney, and by the time I would wake up, he would be done reading with the newspapers, then I would join him and his wife discussing the dastardly news of the day.

He had such a kind heart. I remember that when I had resigned from a job, and he heard another version of what happened from a cruel and corrupt lawyer I had a run in with, he and his best friend took me and Pangs out dinner. He was very concerned about what I would do next. While the night began on a somber note, by the end of it, we were all drinking, laughing and dancing. He didn't like the people around him to be sad, so he would always try to be upbeat.

At his wake, photos of him, his family, and friends were projected on the screen as we heard Mass in the chapel. It was riveting, all those photos. He was just smiling in all of them! It was a celebration of his life and how much he enjoyed it. I shall miss Iñaki, and am sad that he is now gone, but after seeing those photos of him, I'm so thankful that he became a part of my life. He was such a good man.

Ana, my prayers are with you and the whole family. Big hug.

Death and beyond

Something Like Life
BusinessMirror, Nov. 2, 2007



AS far back as I can remember, my life has been touched by death.

My first brush with it was when I was about six or seven years old, and one of my favorite grandaunts — a well-loved school teacher — passed away after an illness.

I don’t recall most of the details surrounding Lola Nena’s death, as I don’t remember anyone among my immediate family weeping nor visits to the funeral parlor for her wake. I figure I was probably shielded from much of the family’s grief because of my young age. It probably made no sense to me then, but all I remember was being told my Lola Nena was already in heaven.

As I grew older, Lola Nena was followed by her other siblings—Lola Lily, Lola Ching, Lola Cely, then, lastly, my mom’s mother, Lola Ding. In between them, there was Lolo Ñing, Lola Ding’s beloved. Lola Ding lived with us in our old bungalow in Sta. Mesa Heights and cooked all our meals. Lola Ding probably would’ve outlasted any of us if only she didn’t have that accident which put her right leg in traction.

Lola Ding was pretty much hale and hearty all the way into her 80s, but quickly deteriorated after that accident. Coming home from school one afternoon, my father matter-of-factly greeted me at the gate with the news that my Lola had already gone to meet her Maker, as if he had been expecting it. Lola had been sleeping most of the time since the accident, with all her meals brought to her. Then she didn’t wake up anymore. She left us exactly on February 11, the Feast Day of Our Lady of Lourdes, whom she was named after.

Later on, I would find among her personal effects love letters from Lolo Ñing during his travels abroad. The letters were so excruciatingly romantic and heartfelt that to this day, my eyes mist up just reading them. It warms my heart to know how much he loved my Lola, even though they could not always be together.

I suppose having been surrounded by family members coming and going out of my life has made me quite accepting of death. While I grieve like the rest of my family over each one who has left us for the Great Beyond, I’m not given so much to public displays of bereavement and loss. It’s not because I don’t feel sad, because I do. Maybe it’s because I get lost in the stories in my head, trying to remember the times I spent with the one who has departed. Whether good or bad memories, I’ve learned to treasure every moment spent with the ones who’ve passed on.

I find it comforting that during wakes, people tell stories about the dead. I usually only remember and tell the funny ones, maybe because I don’t like to see too many serious faces or people wailing in grief. When people die, the tears shed by the living are usually not for the dead, but for those they left behind. They weep because they feel sorry for themselves. It is over a sense of loss, over an uncertain future without those who’ve passed on.

Maybe that’s why I don’t really cry even if the ones who’ve gone on are close to me. I would like to think that they’re keeping the Lord company; in my pop’s case, I would like to think that he is probably drinking scotch with his two sons — my brothers — and his siblings who passed on before he did. I’m sure Saint Peter’s around as well to share a glass or two.

Speaking of amusing stories, I recall my brother Eugene — who was a real mean foodie — telling his officemates that he was tired of eating steaks. He wasn’t boasting. You see, when our Lola Ding passed on, my mom, the trophy wife, had no choice but take over the cooking chores. At that time my mom had yet to find her inner chef, so whenever she couldn’t think of what to feed us, she would panfry us some steaks in butter. (This is also the reason I generally don’t like eating steaks at restaurants.) Anyway, my brother’s friends thought him odd for saying that.

My favorite story of my other dead brother, Monching, was the time he complained, during a drunken stupor, that our father never brought him camping. It was during one of those stupid fights he had with my parents, but which we laugh over until now because we thought he had been watching way too much Brady Bunch!

With my pops, who just left us in May, there are a lot of stories to choose from. Not all of them are funny, as he was quite the serious guy, but they are endearing nevertheless. I recall him laughing over an episode of Spongebob Squarepants as we all sat glued to the TV set while vacationing in Subic. We, in turn, laughed at Pops for being able to relate to what we were watching, a kid’s show, considering his usual dour demeanor.

My pops also had this way of joking with my mother even though, as they grew older, they were constantly bickering. Out of nowhere he would just blurt out, “Love you, Mama!” This would always crack up my mom and make her respond, “Love you, Papa!” Of course, privately, it thrilled me whenever I would hear this exchange, but I would usually snicker and then shout, “Yaaak!”

I usually never dream about our dead family members but there was one night I dreamed about Pops. I don’t know what it was about and where we were but I remember getting angry at him for being at some place he wasn’t supposed to be. I told him to go back behind some wall or to one corner.

As I reflect on it now, I guess I was expressing my own vexation at him for leaving us unprepared for his passing. None of us had an inkling that he was going to die. While he led a sedentary life, he would still get in his car and drive it to buy his lotto ticket or get his cigarettes at the grocery. Yep, Pops smoked ’til the very end! And, no, he never won the lotto grand prize but, still, he kept on buying those tickets. Hope springs eternal. I miss my pops.

This All Souls’ Day, as we remember our dearly departed, I offer a silent prayer to all of them, that they may rest in eternal peace and continue to enjoy our Lord’s friendship and devotion. I also thank the Supreme Almighty for giving us the chance to be touched by their lives and experience His grace through their love.

(My column, Something Like Life, is published every Friday in the Life section of the BusinessMirror. Photo from Shakedownsports.com)