Friday, October 24, 2008
"Daniel died man." I still remember those three words clearly when Darren called to tell me the news that Friday morning. I can't exactly recall what happened next, but I vaguely remember going on a barrage of insults. That's when I called his fiancee Lavina. So yeah, he really was dead, and here I was, crying my ass off in the middle of CityLink Mall.
It's been four weeks to the day. It feels like it's been a year. I still remember that weekend clearly; coincidentally enough, it was the F1 Night Race Weekend. You know, after being in the army, I never thought I'd experience a weekend as long as my field camp one, but this was on an entirely different level. None of my break-ups have come close to the excruciating sadness and pain I was overcome with. I never thought I'd stop crying either. And God, seeing the people he loved having to go through it... It's frustrating, you know? I'm supposed to be the best friend, and I can barely help myself here. There isn't exactly a manual to tell you what to say or how to react. Honestly, what do you do when your best friend dies?
I honestly don't know why I'm writing this. At first, I figured it'd be to pay some form of homage to him. But then, I think everything that needed to be said, has already been said. I'm under the impression that there'll be more though, which I'm sure time will be more than happy to reveal. Nah, I figure I'm writing this more for myself. Even then, I'm not sure why. Comes to a point where I find myself repeating the same things about Daniel and my feelings over and over again. You'd think talking about it helps, but I'm not sure. Some days I feel alright. On others, I look at old pictures of us and cry. And here and there, I feel guilty. That's unavoidable I guess, and I try not to, but there'll always be the hints of "Would've, Should've, Could've" that come creeping in. I hate it when that happens.
Surprisingly, I haven't broken down while intoxicated. Think the reason behind that is the wall I build in my head the moment I start drinking. I just hope no one has to be around if it should ever crumble.
I'm sure those of you (or the three of you who bother to read my blog) who didn't know him must be wondering how it happened, and more importantly, why. For the former; well, I'd rather not talk about it. And as for the latter? Everyone's still wondering as well. Me? I'm not too fussed about it. I have my own theories, and they're good enough for me for now. I'm more concerned about moving forward.
Heh, that'll be good though. I'd say I'm definitely making a vain attempt to. I still have his name and number in my phone. I can't bring myself to delete it; not yet. It hurts to look at it. A friend suggested I go to a place we hung out often on my own, and talk to Daniel. I think it's a great idea, but I'm scared. Not of ghosts or anything - perish the thought. It's more like, to do that, would be to finally accept that he's really gone, and I'm not ready to.
He got engaged in the earlier part of September. I was going to be his Best Man and MC. It seemed like life was coming together for all of us. Heh, I still remember the first time I met him. It was back in Secondary 3. Having studied overseas, I was always on the lookout for someone who had as well; I always enjoyed that sort of camaraderie. I noticed that he spoke English well, and asked where his accent was from. He then proceeded to pound my arm, saying, "Don't! Ever! Say! I! Have! An! Accent!", and walk off. Somewhere between shock and throbbing pain in my scrawny bicep, I whimpered. Thankfully, we were able converse proper in the days to come, and strangely enough, it was about shampoo, and the process of washing hair. Don't ask.
We lost contact after that, but I bumped into him again in 1998 at an event at the old National Library. He'd lost a lot of weight (mostly from converting to a vegetarian), and had grown out his hair. We just started talking (and talking), and the rest, as they say, is history.
What kills me is that he's not going to be there anymore. For my birthday. For Christmas. For New Year. For our traditional trip down to Time in a Bottle on Chinese New Year's Eve. I was fortunate enough to have celebrated his birthday with him though. And he was happy. So very happy. And there're pictures to prove it too.
I'm not sure why I'm writing this anymore, or where it's supposed to be going. I know that if I continue to, I'm going to lose it, and it might not be too appropriate, since I'm currently doing this at work. A friend told me an interesting story that was rather reassuring, especially if you know someone who's lost a loved one.
"Krishnamurti was a spiritual leader in India who died in 1986. He was once asked what the most appropriate thing was to say to a friend who was about to die. He answered, 'Tell your friend that in his death, a part of you dies and goes with him. Wherever he goes, you also go. He will not be alone.' So reassured that your best friend, in your prayers, is not alone."
And with that, I'll leave you guys with a message I left on Daniel's Facebook wall, and the song I chose for him.
14 years brudda, 14 years. Some of them were longer than the others, but we're still here. I've already said what I've needed to say to you in my prayers, and rest assured, there'll be more conversations to come. In the meantime, head on home D, and save me a beer for when I get there too. We'll have all the time in the world then.
And I'll make sure I'll tell my kids one day about how their Uncle Daniel was such a dumb ass. And their father's best friend. I love you man.
It's been four weeks to the day. It feels like it's been a year. I still remember that weekend clearly; coincidentally enough, it was the F1 Night Race Weekend. You know, after being in the army, I never thought I'd experience a weekend as long as my field camp one, but this was on an entirely different level. None of my break-ups have come close to the excruciating sadness and pain I was overcome with. I never thought I'd stop crying either. And God, seeing the people he loved having to go through it... It's frustrating, you know? I'm supposed to be the best friend, and I can barely help myself here. There isn't exactly a manual to tell you what to say or how to react. Honestly, what do you do when your best friend dies?
I honestly don't know why I'm writing this. At first, I figured it'd be to pay some form of homage to him. But then, I think everything that needed to be said, has already been said. I'm under the impression that there'll be more though, which I'm sure time will be more than happy to reveal. Nah, I figure I'm writing this more for myself. Even then, I'm not sure why. Comes to a point where I find myself repeating the same things about Daniel and my feelings over and over again. You'd think talking about it helps, but I'm not sure. Some days I feel alright. On others, I look at old pictures of us and cry. And here and there, I feel guilty. That's unavoidable I guess, and I try not to, but there'll always be the hints of "Would've, Should've, Could've" that come creeping in. I hate it when that happens.
Surprisingly, I haven't broken down while intoxicated. Think the reason behind that is the wall I build in my head the moment I start drinking. I just hope no one has to be around if it should ever crumble.
I'm sure those of you (or the three of you who bother to read my blog) who didn't know him must be wondering how it happened, and more importantly, why. For the former; well, I'd rather not talk about it. And as for the latter? Everyone's still wondering as well. Me? I'm not too fussed about it. I have my own theories, and they're good enough for me for now. I'm more concerned about moving forward.
Heh, that'll be good though. I'd say I'm definitely making a vain attempt to. I still have his name and number in my phone. I can't bring myself to delete it; not yet. It hurts to look at it. A friend suggested I go to a place we hung out often on my own, and talk to Daniel. I think it's a great idea, but I'm scared. Not of ghosts or anything - perish the thought. It's more like, to do that, would be to finally accept that he's really gone, and I'm not ready to.
He got engaged in the earlier part of September. I was going to be his Best Man and MC. It seemed like life was coming together for all of us. Heh, I still remember the first time I met him. It was back in Secondary 3. Having studied overseas, I was always on the lookout for someone who had as well; I always enjoyed that sort of camaraderie. I noticed that he spoke English well, and asked where his accent was from. He then proceeded to pound my arm, saying, "Don't! Ever! Say! I! Have! An! Accent!", and walk off. Somewhere between shock and throbbing pain in my scrawny bicep, I whimpered. Thankfully, we were able converse proper in the days to come, and strangely enough, it was about shampoo, and the process of washing hair. Don't ask.
We lost contact after that, but I bumped into him again in 1998 at an event at the old National Library. He'd lost a lot of weight (mostly from converting to a vegetarian), and had grown out his hair. We just started talking (and talking), and the rest, as they say, is history.
What kills me is that he's not going to be there anymore. For my birthday. For Christmas. For New Year. For our traditional trip down to Time in a Bottle on Chinese New Year's Eve. I was fortunate enough to have celebrated his birthday with him though. And he was happy. So very happy. And there're pictures to prove it too.
I'm not sure why I'm writing this anymore, or where it's supposed to be going. I know that if I continue to, I'm going to lose it, and it might not be too appropriate, since I'm currently doing this at work. A friend told me an interesting story that was rather reassuring, especially if you know someone who's lost a loved one.
"Krishnamurti was a spiritual leader in India who died in 1986. He was once asked what the most appropriate thing was to say to a friend who was about to die. He answered, 'Tell your friend that in his death, a part of you dies and goes with him. Wherever he goes, you also go. He will not be alone.' So reassured that your best friend, in your prayers, is not alone."
And with that, I'll leave you guys with a message I left on Daniel's Facebook wall, and the song I chose for him.
14 years brudda, 14 years. Some of them were longer than the others, but we're still here. I've already said what I've needed to say to you in my prayers, and rest assured, there'll be more conversations to come. In the meantime, head on home D, and save me a beer for when I get there too. We'll have all the time in the world then.
And I'll make sure I'll tell my kids one day about how their Uncle Daniel was such a dumb ass. And their father's best friend. I love you man.
