The day I died... and lived

“I believe that if you aspire to be fully engaged in your life journey, you cannot ignore its fundamentals — your own mortality. So thinking, writing, discussing, painting, singing about death is not just fine, but necessary. Your views, judgments, fears, beliefs and not-beliefs about death — whether expressed in open, to yourself in the shower or hidden in the dark corners of your unconsciousness — shape the way you participate in life. However awkward or scary it might seem, I say bring them out to the open and set judgements aside.”

— Lyuve, 2012

On the last day of August, I died.

My soul flew from the St. Paul Center for Renewal in Alfonso, Cavite. I glided, I was overjoyed at how I was able to see things in a different perspective. I marveled at the colorful lights of vehicles along Camp Aguinaldo Highway. I grinned at the sight of happy couples walking in sidewalks. And kids blissfully jumping up and down, up and down.

I saw Taal Volcano and how it glows at night. I have always wished I could go there, up close. I hovered above the lake that surrounds it. I saw the stars through their reflection in the water.

I passed by Enchanted Kingdom. How I miss those times when I would spend my day there with friends! I could never forget the thrill that overcame me, the excitement brought about by bright and lively colors, the delight in seeing happy people.

I went on, along SLEx, and saw the familiar sight I would always see whenever I went to Manila. I rose above the highway, gazing at the buildings around me. Then, I was in Pedro Gil.

I saw Robinsons Ermita differently now. It does not bare the shape of a snake, after all! I took awe in its architecture. I longed to see nighttime in this area, in a high angle, overlooking the heart of Manila... and I did.

I went to SPU Manila, my home for almost four years now. There was no need for me to enter through the gates, for I flew, and above I saw the crowd enjoying Dyip ni Juan 2. It was heartfelt, knowing that I organized the activity to its littlest details. Then, they started packing up. For some reason, the show ended. And the energized crowd walked toward the Chapel of the Crucified Christ. Incidentally, they all wore black. Surprisingly, from a joyous group of people, they began to grieve.

I went inside, following the crowd, it was a funeral. It was my funeral. At the front row, I saw my mother, inconsolable. She must have went home for this day. Beside her sat my father, trying to be strong for his wife. There was Maricel, too, crying in silence. And my niece Apro, held by Ate Ciela, who cried like never before, chanting “Tita Cheyee!”

The Bordz were there. They cried; they were tapping one another’s shoulders. I knew we would never leave one another.

Behind the Bordz were the MC peeps, the friends I have been with throughout my college life, my classmates, the family I made through our retreat. They were sobbing; they were mourning.

I saw my professors, too. And some maintenance personnel whom I have met in one way or another. They were sad. And I knew why.

Manong Manny and his family were present. He grieved as much as my father did.

The Mass started; it was officiated by Fr. Resti, Fr. Mike, and Fr. Sotto (whom I have known during high school). Patrick, Armand, and Jeth, withholding their tears, assisted the presiders.

On behalf of the family, my father went and shared a message. I saw him smirk; it was meaningful. He told everyone how proud he had always been of me. I never knew this; never have I felt it either. And somehow, I resented him for it.

I tried consoling everyone. They could not feel me, and they could not hear my woes. I was desperate; I wanted them to know that I was just there... that I was not dead.

And then I was in a land of green grass. I felt them lowering me to the ground. The roses they threw one by one, I felt them. And they started covering up the hole. I knew it ends there. I will never see them. I can never comfort them. It was getting darker and darker; nothing was left of me.

Then a flash of light glimmered. I followed it, onward I went, toward the heavens. The gate was wide; the place floated above the clouds. I went inside; the gatekeeper welcomed me with warmth. A woman had been waiting for me. I run to her, crying about my loss of life. But I did not feel the sadness. I was crying, but in my tears were comfort.

I turned around, and with arms open wide, Jesus anticipated for my coming. I hugged him, tightly. He said he was happy to see Him, and I knew I was, too. But I was not ready to leave my place on earth, I told him. I cried almost endlessly.

He knew me well. In fact, He knows me better than I know myself. He touched me, and held my face so I could see Him. “I am giving you a second life.”

All the sadness and desperation left of me vanished. I was more than eager to be where my loved ones are.

“Pwede third life pa?” I asked Him jokingly.

He kissed me on the forehead lovingly. I saw how it pained Him to let me go. He just winked and whispered, “We’ll see.”

I rushed home, and I knew they all were waiting for me. •