My friend Pong passed away a year ago today. It was early Sunday morning when she left — Ascension Sunday, in fact. She had been fighting the big C for 10 months, she fought hard, she fought smart — and, might I say, with joy — despite knowing her chances were slim.
We’ve known each other since kindergarten. We were sort of frenemies growing up — although that’s not exactly right. We were friends who liked to compete with each other academically, who bitched at each other often, and fought for real rarely. We spent so much of our childhood and teen years together, I’m so sure I would have turned out a different person if I hadn’t known her.
We hung out a lot with our group of friends after she got diagnosed as she moved back to our hometown. We talked a lot, ate a lot, shopped a lot, saw too many movies, and watched too much TV, and generally had so much fun. When she got too weak to go out, we would still talk and eat and watch TV, and sometimes play dress up. Later on we would just talk and watch TV. She’s been gone a year and I still miss her, and will probably continue to do so. I hear her voice in my head sometimes. I send her Facebook messages sometimes.
Just want to share the eulogy I gave during her funeral mass.
Even when we were little, Pong was already bossy and mataray. Whether in the classroom or in the playground, the kids around her usually did her bidding. Even now that she’s no longer with us, she’s still bossy, and we’re still doing her bidding, happily, I might add.
I tried to figure out my very first memory of Pong, and it was of what I would call the patented piercing glare. That was in first grade. Once she learned the single eyebrow quirk, I think we were in high school then, she had some terrifying weaponry in her hands.
She had a larger-than-life personality which I think stemmed from her being exceptionally smart and sharp. She was outspoken and direct, and had little patience for fools. Sure, all that could be intimidating, but that was just part of her charm.
In the movie The Hunger Games, one of the characters verbalized his fears about going into the arena to fight for his survival. He said that he didn’t want to be turned into something he was not. “If I’m gonna die, I wanna still be me.”
Through Pong’s journey the past year, the words strong and brave applied to her, but not quite adequately. They’re not so interesting either. So I would much rather use sassy and ballsy, because she had always been those things, and continued to be so. Pong remained Pong, keeping the most important part of herself whole and unbroken. She was amazing.
She wasn’t one to cower in fear, ballsy and sassy Pong. She just kept on living, and milked every moment for all it was worth. She spent time with her family and her friends. She talked and listened, smiled and laughed. She shopped, dined out, drove around. She kept right on with her books, her movies, her Hollywood heartthrobs. Even when she was operating wayyy below her full capacity, she went all the way to Centrio to watch GI Joe, simply because the cinemas there were better. She forgave Channing Tatum his bad acting simply because he was hot.
The sweet, thoughtful, and generous Pong remained, the Pong who took pleasure in other people’s joy. She bought random gifts, bequeathed her favorite clothes to her friends. She continued to dole out fashion advice, and hairstyling and makeup demos. She prepared elegant meals for her family. When she couldn’t do it by herself and had to enlist some help, she gave very, very, specific instructions from the procurement of ingredients to the final plating.
She remained the Pong who was crazy about her family, who wanted to protect them from this pain. She often spoke of them whom she loved most, proudly, fondly. She told of how talented her Ate was, how impeccable her taste, and how steady and solid she was through everything. She spoke of how awed she was by her Kuya’s accomplishments, and how extemely impressed she was by how well he got her.
Ballsy and sassy Pong was, typically, startlingly direct and matter-of-fact, even about her mortality. She took it on as few people ever could. She said that she had no bucket list. She has experienced everything she’s ever wanted to experience. She remained the Pong who went after what she wanted and made things happen, as evidenced by the the way her funeral has been structured and executed.
We wouldn’t often associate humility with Pong. But she had incredible humility of spirit where it counted, as of a creature before the Creator. She knew that there was a wisdom and power beyond her own, which she did not rebel or rail against. She had said that she would be the last person in the world to ask, “why me?” Pong recognized and accepted her finiteness and obeyed. What is death but obedience? Challenge accepted. And with that obedience came unfathomable grace. It takes superhuman grace to accept one’s creatureliness.
Pong held on to herself. Until the end she was still our Pong. Pain didn’t break her. Disease did not defeat her.
Pong, I thought I had time. You never got to hear me say these words honoring you with your human ears. I hope you hear me now.
He's Up To Something 