Born... only to be reborn...

“I was blessed with a birth and a death, and I guess I just want some say in between.” (Ani di Franco, songwriter)

I thought I already had a blog in blogger when it used to be blogspot. But since I've been inactive for more than a year ... or two?... I guess that blogspot blog spot is now dead and buried and I've been asked to resurrect myself by blogger... C'est le web.

15 Sept. 2007 / Saturday. This week is filled with news of death and dying.

Yesterday was my dad's birthday. Had he lived, he'd be 82 years old. We used to celebrate his birthday even after he had passed away, and it was never a happy occasion. That's putting it mildly. Usually, a quarrel or a tampuhan within the family would break out, even over the flimsiest reason. I was later told by a friend that it's bad luck to celebrate the birthday of a dead person. I don't know why and neither does she. All she knows is doing so "causes" tension and conflict among the family members. Whatever the reason, if there is any, my mother and I decided, from then on, no more celebrating Dad's birthday. Of course, that doesn't stop us from thinking of him still, wishing he were around, and praying for him.

My friend Loy's Papa died this morning, after being ill for so long. At first I thought, after she's been caring for him day after day after day, her Papa chooses to die just when she goes off on a trip to Europe with her husband for a badly needed break. I casually mentioned to a mutual friend: "i think her dad wanted loy to be away, since she is the closest to him, so he can go na..." Just then, I get another text message from Loy, who was preparing to leave Amsterdam to come home: "it's so like my dad to let me go travel and time his death so that i would be on the way home but spared the trauma of watching him die. still protecting his bunso to the end."

Soon after I received that message, I get a text from my younger brother. His old dog, Oreo (son of my Othello and Cio-cio San), also just died this morning. One of the sweetest dogs I've ever known and loved. We've forgotten his real age. Maybe 15 or 16? He had a lot of good years, had a happy life, fathered a litter with Schublig the love of his life, stayed tail-wagging upbeat despite going blind (a genetic flaw common among Cocker Spaniels). It saddens me but if that were my own dogs that died, I'd be devastated! Weeping and wailing and pouring ashes on my head devastated.

And soon after I received that message, I get a text from my friend Law. His grandmother (the psychic one) just died too. Being psychic, did she know when and how she was going to die. I wonder...

Ano ba yan??? One after the other! A saying goes "death comes in threes". I used to think it was an Asian superstition, but I learned later that it's a more universal belief than that. It's believed even in the West, especially among the Druids of Ireland. Why threes, I wonder? What's the special significance of three, numerologically speaking, I wonder? The Holy Trinity of Christianity. The triangle of divinity among the ancient Egyptians. Three on a match and all that. Must web that.

A week ago today, my brother's friend-since-high-school (and my former agency colleague) died. Buddy Nogoy. Heart attack at 55. His barkada all went to his wake. Funny - they've all been friends for decades, but they realized then that they never really knew Buddy that well. They found out wonderful things about him. Too bad it was too late to pat him on the back and tell him what a great guy he was. But I'm sure Buddy knows that's how they feel, somehow, somewhere.

Hay, death. I'm not scared of death. It's the dying part that kills me.