I am here, alone in a chapel while they burn your body into nothingness. Your playlist fills the air, the crooning of Sinatra, the warbling of Johnny Mathis, and the occasional instrumental waging a wild crescendo, a proper sendoff to a man who loved his music.

I thought, after everything that had happened, that I would be ready for this moment, but I am not. I am undone. I am heartbroken, and every so often, I find myself drifting off to moments we shared together.

You used to drive me from Las Pinas to Katipunan, when EDSA wasn’t such a drag, in 30 minutes flat, just so I could get to my 730am class.

You used to nag me about how I could be better, about how I should strive to be the best, and I’d just smirk at you, which only made you angrier. Only years later did I realize the virtue of your peskiness.

You told me, when I started going to the barricades, that there are other ways to help my countrymen. I snarled at you then, only to find out later on that you were also right.

Many times, we had gnarled at each other, maybe even hated each other, but that’s how it is when two hardheaded persons love each other.

I would never forget the last time we shared some oysters. It was from you that I learned to appreciate this treat, and we found ourselves chowing down one after the other, guzzling beer in between. Mom could only wince in return, but I must tell you that I loved every slurpy minute of it.

I am here, alone in a chapel, staring at your bones, white as sheets, and it is unreal.

This is not you. This is not you because I know you are with me, you are with my sisters, you are with my mother, you are with my children. You are with us, and we will hold you in our hearts until inevitably, it is our time to go.

I love you, Dad.