Jay E. Tria

The unread eulogy, because I was a sissy that way. I know she would have wanted me to speak at her funeral, but I know she will also understand why I was not able to do it. And that she also knew that I prefer to do it this way. Cos I am her favorite introvert like that.

October 25, 2011, Wednesday. Written for Maj Guanzon, with excerpts from my letter to her that I gave to her parents.

Dear Maj,

For the past few days, the highlight of my day has been going to your wake. Seeing your face, no matter how still and unmoving, talking to your mom and dad in brave efforts to comfort them, meeting your friends, and being around people who have known and loved you. That was my greatest comfort and my link to sanity. Now that too will end, because people are meant to move on, and because you also need to rest, both soul and physical body.

At your wake I had a clear understanding that there is still so much of you I do not know, excerpts of you that I have gathered from people who’ve known you for years, something I expected of course, since we’ve known each other not even a year. But in a way, I have not felt envy or regret, because you have shared with me a part of you that is uniquely ours, and that is something I will cherish. The only emotion in high relief now is a deep sadness that our friendship, and your life, had to have such an early end.

My only consolation is this: that one time you’ve told me, just recently, that you are happy now with how things are with your family, with work, with me and Rob and with your friends in school. I am taking it now as your sweet goodbye, when you said you were very happy things were going well for me, because I deserved it. That text had a hint of an end, and it felt a bit sad even then. Now I am taking it and sealing it inside my heart, with a piece of your beautiful soul, where I will keep them all for as long as I live, maybe even longer than that. I have told you and shown you how much I love you, in every little way I can, in words and in action, in the little gifts I got you to the little gestures and favors, even when unasked, that I have made. We got very close, very fast, and gone through more drama together than I have ever gone through with friends I have known longer. I guess God designed our friendship that way, fast-paced because we have a closer deadline.

In you I have found an intellectual superior, a generous sister, a protective friend, always proud and always encouraging, the only person to understand things about me that even I did not know. In you I have found real comfort and real friendship. No matter how awesome you are, genius and a protégé in your own right, you were humble and you treated me as an equal. I will always try to see the best in me that you always seem to see, because I owe you that among other things. I will try to live by your strict moral code, because you have been training me with it because I know you care, and because I make you worry. I will try to get through each day without your ‘good night/good morning hun’ texts to jolt me out of bed, without the rest of your texts and our exchanges that brighten my day in a way only you can, without the YM and FB chat/comment sessions that last until morning. I will live with this pain until it numbs a little and becomes bearable, because I do not want to use my time-tested effective technique of not thinking about the things that hurt me. Because if I do not think of you I might forget you, and that is the last thing in the world I will do. Until the last of my days I will think of you.

I love you in a way only you will understand. Pray for your family and your friends, for my mom too, if you may, from that beautiful place where you are, and give God a kiss in a cheek for welcoming you home. I miss you mare, my Batman, my hun.

October 26, 2011, Wednesday
Today we have a final mass for you at Ascension Columbary, our place of peace and solace for the past few days. We took pictures of our sleepless selves, because we knew you would want to capture even those moments. We threw white flowers over your coffin and sent white balloons to the heavens to welcome you there. The sun took to hiding and it was a clear afternoon, just the way you would have wanted it.
Today, we are all forced to move on. Until we meet again, hun.

With all our love, 
Anj, Mariel, Pao, Jill, Mayor. Flowers from myself, Stel and Chris

My friendship with Maj Guanzon started with a cancer diagnosis. I guess when two seemingly opposites meet, it requires a spark to weld a real bond. In our case, it was not so much a spark as it is clap thunder. I remember my first attempt to offer her a text of support, drawing strength from my own share of cancer stories, fearing she will reject it because she did not know me, because I did not have any right to tell her: ‘Don’t worry group mate from Quanti whom I had never spoken to before. It’s all going to be okay.’ Such lame and stereotypical words of comfort. But reject me, she did not, and I guess that is the starting point.

And so we battled through the tense days of her treatments and our toxic final paper, to the day of her graduation from hospital confinement, to the return of the workaholic. From April onwards I had a high definition view of her passion and her kindness, her uprightness and loyalty, her quirks and her stubbornness. We got very close, very fast, and I would often wonder and ask her if she’d grow tired of me soon. She’d say, ”Of course not, you are awesome!” I’d roll my eyes and say, “You are biased.”

Thinking back, was my unease then a premonition of this early end?

There is no point in answering that question now, same as there is no point in denying the truth that she is, in fact, now a WAS. And in my first step towards acceptance, I go back to that first attempt. So that when people ask me how I’m coping with Maj’s death—and I enjoin all of you who love her in this—we’ll say, “It’s all going to be ok,” because “Ok” is such a general term, and that will do for the present. Tomorrow, we’ll still love you very much Maj, but we will be a little bit better.

On this day I went to church and said your name, I had that Zagu crème brulee that you used to drink in high school, and I scrolled my calendar to the dates we’ve marked, my heart breaking because I was scheduled to crash your brother’s birthday on the 29^th then sleepover at your house like high school kids do. In between were the moments when  I go back to staring at a blank wall, because that is exactly how the world looks like to me now without you—a long stretch of empty static space.

You are vibrant and strong, intelligent and confident, and endlessly awesome. You had the gift of making people around you feel special, and to me, you are the most beautiful person in the world.

I am happy you are at peace with the Lord now, where you will no longer feel pain. But I will miss you every day, and I will not forget. I love you hun.