We Don’t Have to Wait for Death to Start Living

Contemplating life at Mariepskop peak in the Drakensberg Mountains in South Africa

Nothing changes your perspective about life quite as much as the death of someone you know. 

A friend of mine passed away just 10 days before Christmas. His name was Paolo, and he was a high school classmate. He’s not the first from my batch to have died—from time to time, I get random updates about other classmates from those I still keep in touch with—but Paolo’s passing has had a profound impact on me that I did not expect. 

It’s a bit strange because he and I weren’t close. I mean, maybe not in our adult years, but I’d like to think that we were, back in high school, if not socially, at least, physically; my surname followed his alphabetically, and so we always sat next to each other in class or stood beside each other during roll call. We were also sort-of neighbors as we lived in the same small district in the same city, and so I’ve been to his place a couple of times. 

My high school batchmate Weng delivered a eulogy at Paolo's wake

Paolo was a bit of a jokester and was very open and gregarious; he was friends with everybody and was looked at as a leader. He was artistic and liked to draw stuff, but he was also extremely literate and smart, which aren’t things you can readily associate with very many rowdy teenage boys in a Catholic high school. I have this vivid memory of one word play exercise the class had one morning in junior year: the teacher asked what synonym of the word “nourished” could you get if you took out some letters from the same word. Paolo blurted out, almost instantly, “nursed.” I looked at him in awe. I never forgot that. 

In sophomore year I started calling myself Jed, after a character from a book I read about a trio of siblings who solved mysteries. The character’s actual name was John, but he elected to call himself Jed. He was the eldest of the siblings and the smartest. Since I, too, had a John in my name, I figured I’d call myself Jed. I asked everybody in my class to call me that, but none of them ever did. Except Paolo. I don’t know why he humored me and indulged my nonsense, but he did, and for the rest of the time we’ve known each other, all the way to adulthood, I was Jed. 

We lost touch after high school, save for a sporadic meetups and messages, including a memorable one concerning a piece I wrote online about a company he used to work with. For the most part, though, we never got to reconnect. The last time I saw him was a couple of months ago, when I ran into him inside a shopping mall. We exchanged the usual niceties and offered up vague plans about making time to see each other for real, as casual acquaintances with tenuous connections (which we were at that point) often do. But, as expected, it never happened. 

Senior year class photo. Paolo is in the second row from the top, fifth guy from the left. I'll let you figure out where I am

And now it never will. When I saw a common friend and classmate post about Paolo’s passing on social media, I was stunned and stared at the screen longer than I should have. He was around my age (although in truth I’m a couple of years younger than everyone else in my batch) and weren’t we too young to die? I knew from Paolo’s own social media posts that he had a wife and young son, and isn’t that just tragic, to be blessed with a family for the briefest of moments and then leave them so suddenly? We were supposed to catch up and I genuinely thought we had plenty of time to do just that, but now we’re never going to get that chance, and isn’t that just unfair? 

These things always happen—it takes something as unfortunate and serious as somebody dying to yank us out of the little bubble of comfort and contentment we’ve created for ourselves about our little lives. Without actual tragedy to jolt us out of our stupor, we’d constantly operate under the delusion that tomorrow’s going to be exactly the same as today—that we’ll wake up, get our morning coffee, go to work, hand in that report, get yelled at by the boss, eat our lunch, gossip with our co-workers, buy that shirt online, see our boyfriend/girlfriend/friend/imaginary significant other, watch an episode of that new Netflix show, brush our teeth, sleep, and then do it all over again the next day. But when we hear of the death of somebody close to us, we instantly realize how it can seem arrogant and even pointless to make plans for next year, next month, even next week.

The first and only time I was able to make it to a Christmas get-together with my high school batchmates. Paolo's the guy in white wearing glasses in the back, first from the left

Paolo’s death broke me out of that fantasy. Not that I believed that I’d live forever and that I can do whatever I want for the foreseeable future, but I’ve been so caught up with life’s extraneous details that I’ve forgotten the sobering reality that the future is never guaranteed. Annie may have sung about the sun coming out tomorrow, but what do you expect from a wide-eyed, 11-year-old girl? For a man now in his mid-40s, I, too, can still be idealistic and appreciate the fact that, yes, the sun will rise and set, but I’ve also hardened enough to realize that that’s not going to happen for everyone. For some of us, life, quite literally, will suddenly stop. And that’ll be it. 

Here's the thing: the sudden death of a friend may have shaken me to my core, but even if that hadn’t happened, I’ve started to seriously confront my own mortality this year, perhaps for the first time ever. 

Jonas and I enjoying Paolo and Rely's duet 

I’ve been having this recurring medical issue in recent months. I’ve had it checked and the doctor says it’s nothing to be concerned about. I don’t even feel it’s there on most days, but when it reappears it can hurt like a motherfucker.  Couple that with chronic hyperacidity and occasional headaches and I’m often grappling with panic and paranoia. As Vicky Miner put it, sometimes I feel like I’m two sneezes away from the hospice. Of course, the fact that I’m also suffering from creaky limbs and joints, get fatigued at the slightest physical exertions, and tend to forget the names of people I meet two seconds after saying hello makes me think about the obvious—that I’m aging, and rapidly.  

Then I hear about the people who really did kick the bucket way sooner than they should have and I’m overcome with a flood of emotions. I’m confused and angry that their lives had been cut so short; grief-stricken, of course, about the loved ones they leave behind and their dreams left unfulfilled; and maybe a little bit panicked and, yes, scared, that maybe my own number is coming up. 

When artist and illustrator Robert Alejandro died in early November, I went back and watched the interview he did for us three years ago, soon after his cancer diagnosis. “I don't want to waste any more time not loving myself,” he said. “I'm going to love myself. I'm going to love everything about me. I don't care what other people say.” 

That stuck with me because, when I take a step back and examine the life I’ve been given, I realize that so much of it is wasted on things that don’t even matter in the grand scheme of things. Yes, we need to attend to matters related to our profession and interact with people we barely know in order to sustain our needs, but beyond that, it’s shocking how much time and energy we spend on the truly superficial and inconsequential: holding a grudge or picking fights against people whose actions and opinions don’t really matter; spending a lifetime doing things or surrounded by people who cause us discontent and harm; basically sacrificing our physical, mental, and emotional well-being in order to impress, appease, or earn the approval of others we deem unworthy to begin with. 

It can’t be helped, of course; the realities of life often allow or even require us to immerse ourselves in the petty and shallow. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned this year, it’s that an awareness of situations that require significant attention on my part helps to channel those efforts only to the deserving and meaningful. That includes focusing my energies on things like: 

- Building closer relationships with the people that have become part of the main cast in my life. That means spending more time with them, making an effort to be present when they need me, and understanding that trusting them and becoming vulnerable with them is the only way to cultivate a more meaningful relationship with them. 

- Expanding my knowledge of the world around me. I’m trying to read more books (I think I only read five this year) and watch more educational content on YouTube and social media, on topics that fascinate me like history, geography, literature, and the arts. Admittedly, I’m already quite hooked on social media (something I definitely need to work on), but I want to feel like I’m feeding my mind with worthwhile content on the moments I’m not mindlessly scrolling through my Facebook or Instagram feed.

- And doing more things that ultimately leave me with feelings of satisfaction and joy. Stuff like going on long drives to the beach, listening to more music, checking out a new restaurant or bar, seeing more of the world by traveling, taking my dog out on walks, writing more. I’d like to get back to doing more volunteer work, like I did a few years ago, because that always feels good.

If my time comes to an abrupt end, I hope I'd be able to say that I lived life as best as I could—deliberately, passionately, and without regrets. At this point in my life, there really isn’t any time to waste. To me, that is the definition of living, and perhaps my way of honoring Paolo, and the memory of all the other people I know who have passed. 

(And, in the interest of living life, here are some of my favorite photos from the past year):

Somewhere in the desert plains of Arizona, USA

Hanging out with Abby and some Beetles in Elyu

Sailing in Hong Kong harbor

Unexpectedly running into Jack Johnson was surreal

Grateful to former Esquire PH EIC Kristine Fonacier for spending one afternoon with me

Sailing Cebu Bay

Good to hang out with Lauv again

A quick stop for a photo at Akihabara in Tokyo

Lunch with my cousin Ate Imelda in Atami, Japan

Visiting an actual gold mine in Nueva Vizcaya was an interesting experience

Sampling Rome's (supposedly) best tiramisu

Will never get tired of Florence

Hanging out at the local epicerie in Lourmarin, France

A quick gelato in Palma de Mallorca, Spain

Just checking the progress of La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, Spain

Giraffe traffic jam in South Africa

Coffee in the South African bush

Hanging out with Tanya, Minay, and Gaby is always a treat

Rainy day in Rome

Posing in front of the Pope John Paul II statue near Rome's Termini station

It was good to meet the superstars of P-pop 

As was meeting the country's only two-time Olympic gold medalist

When you're the only three people who followed the costume requirement for a Halloween party

Team Oocha FTW

MAHB is always stressful but always worth it

I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have the PPF trips to look forward to

In front of the Alexander the Great monument in Skopje, North Macedonia

Afternoon in Kotor, Montenegro

Strolling through the cobblestoned streets of Dubrovnik, Croatia

Market day in Mostar, Bosnia & Herzegovina

New York Cafe in Budapest

Me and Abby

27 December 2024

Another One of Them Days

It’s a sobering thought, when you find yourself confused, helpless, and alone, and you realize there's no one you can turn to for help. Sure there are people you can call, and you might even reach out, but it’s the jarring awareness that there isn’t that one person who is top of mind for you to call when you’re down in the depths and struggling to make it out alive.

I’ve had these episodes before. It starts with a knot in the chest, like a vise slowly tightening, and I find myself fixed on a spot on the wall, forgetting everything else I was supposed to be doing. Then the dark thoughts invade my brain; I try my best to hold them off, but they come in waves, inundating my consciousness. And before I know it, the tears come, hot and fast, and the tightness in my chest becomes unbearable. Sometimes I feel like I’m levitating, and I’m looking down at myself, crying for no apparent reason, and I can’t help but add insult to injury—I tell myself, ‘What a wuss! What a pathetic loser who can’t keep it together, drenching your t-shirt with tears that don’t even mean anything.’ It’d be laughable if it wasn’t so tragic.

 

You’re looking for comfort; a moment’s relief from the debilitating pain inside that doesn’t even have a name.

 

That’s when you try to take control of the situation and realize that what you need is to share these feelings with someone, to direct these emotions outward and maybe find comfort in the words of a friend who will understand. I‘ve read enough about these things to know that it’s always better to let things out. I think that’s how I know that things aren’t terminal for me. Yet. There’s a tiny part of my brain that’s still trying to “handle things,” and the logical thing to do is to talk to someone about whatever it is you’re going through.

 

And that’s when it hits you. You make like the Ghostbusters and ask, ‘Who’re you gonna call?’ Yes, you do have friends, but you know they have problems of their own and you don’t want to be a burden. It’s embarrassing to bring this up to your close friends, especially since you can’t even articulate what’s happening even to yourself. You start going through your friends list and imagine the conversations you’ll have with each one. You know what they're going to say, so why bother?

 

You interrupt this little episode when you realize you have somewhere to be. You pull yourself together enough to get dressed, drive to your thing, plaster on a smile and go through the motions of behaving like a functioning human being, pretending like there’s nothing wrong. For a moment, you actually believe that you’re past the episode, and that you’re actually feeling a bit better. You finally made it through another one of these things.

 

But it’s not that simple. The chest pains start again while you’re driving back home, and a few tears escape no matter how much you try to dam your eyes. By the time you get home and plunk yourself down on the couch, you slide back into the darkness and you’re full-on bawling your eyes out again. The t-shirt you were wearing earlier hasn’t even dried and now it’s wet again.

 

This time, I’m grateful to a new friend I messaged to ask if we could meet. She had plans, and of course, I didn’t want to impose, but she suspected something was up and she called at just the right time. We have only known each other for a couple of years, which is far less than my other close friends, but I knew she was the right one to talk to because of her expertise in this area. She is not my therapist, but she knows and understands enough about these things that I felt comfortable opening up without fear of being ridiculed, shamed, or that I’m burdening her with unknowable drivel.

 

There are no easy answers, that much I also know, but opening up about the things eating me up inside was enough for now. I couldn’t hide the lump in my throat and the way my voice croaked trying to hold back the tears, but I also wasn’t actively trying to; it was a therapy session that allowed me to express myself without feeling guilty. It didn’t fully release me from the demons still swirling around in my head, but it was enough to afford me temporary relief and sanity.

 

 

 

Achieving 'Santosha' in an AirBnb in Madrid

Interviewing Liza Soberano in the streets of New York

The AirBnB I booked in Madrid was quite a ways off from the city center, but it was the only one I could find that had free parking. Thanks to the kind folks at Lexus, I had a car for the rest of my stay in Spain after the work part of my trip was done, but that meant I had to find a place that not only had all of the usual things (near restaurants and a supermarket, affordable, and highly rated), but that also had a place where I could keep the car safe. 

 

Inma’s place was just what I was looking for. The room was adjacent to the homeowner’s place, in a building that was along a tree-lined avenue. It was a studio room with a comfortable bed, a small dining set-up, a lounge chair, a fridge, and a regular toilet and bath. And, of course, parking right outside. It was just right for a solo traveler, and one who was visiting Madrid for the first time. 

My AirBnb in Madrid

With Inma, my AirBnb host in Madrid, right outside her apartment

From Inma’s place I was able to go on a drive to the ancient town of Segovia, about an hour away, and go back a couple of times to Madrid's heart to visit the Prado and the Reina Sofia Museums. Having a car definitely helped me save on transport costs, but it also caused me some minor anxieties. (Like, how do you even find parking in the city?)

 

In the evenings, though, I chose to stay in my little room, read a bit or watch a film or two on Netflix or Disney Plus. It would’ve been easy to go out and look for a party, maybe grab a few drinks with a bunch of strangers, but I realized that, without somebody goading me into getting dressed and pushing me out of the door, I just didn’t have the energy for a night out on the town. I just wanted a quiet night in and enjoy the convenience store dinner I got for myself while watching Scream VI or something. 

A trip to Marawi was a life-changing experience

With military escorts in Marawi

 

Moderating a panel at this year's BUILD Startup festival

I'm very proud to belong to this team

It was while I was in bed eating ice cream that the realization hit me: there I was halfway across the world, traveling by myself in a strange new place, comfortably watching a ridiculous slasher flick on a laptop with my tummy full and waiting for the sandman to summon me to dreamland. Except for a couple of minor things, everything in my life up to that point felt exactly “in place.” Like the choices I made along the way paid off and I caught myself in a moment where things were exactly where they should be. Now I understood what Michael Grates (Ben Stiller) was talking about with Lelaina Pierce (Winona Ryder) in Reality Bites, when they went on their first date and they were hanging out in the back of his BMW convertible listening to Frampton Comes Alive!

 

The thought scared me a little bit. I wasn’t used to that feeling, when nearly every aspect of my life was working out and I literally couldn’t think of anything else that would make things better. And of course, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something big and bad was waiting in the shadows, just waiting to announce itself and ruin everything.

Walking around Las Vegas

Running around Cartagena, Spain

Walking around some more in Mumbai, India

Living in a place like the Philippines, where complaining is almost like a national pastime, it’s difficult to truly feel contented—about your own situation, and the one people around you find themselves in. Sometimes the issue is legitimate, like you’re hungry and you don’t know where your next meal is coming from, or you’re exhausted from the commute to and from work you literally don’t have time for anything else but sleep and wake up to do it all over again the next day. Or you discover a lump in your chest or the back of your neck that seems just little bit bigger than it was the last time you felt it a week ago. 

 

Sometimes it’s a little less serious; a nagging feeling that something just isn’t right. Like when you leave the house and just know you forgot to turn off the light or the fan in your room. Or you suddenly remember an argument with a classmate or co-worker from years ago and you just thought of the perfect retort. Or you’re thinking about the report you need to work on or that meeting with your boss tomorrow.  

Meeting Chris Carabba was a big check mark in my career bucket list

Chatting with Bruno Major was also nice

It was my fourth time to watch Damien Rice perform live

 

It could be a million other things that’s causing you actual sleepless nights. But when things align, and you unexpectedly find yourself comfortable, satisfied, and at peace—with the people around you, the stuff you have, and yourself—it’s worth celebrating, or, at the very least, acknowledging, particularly for someone who’s lived most of his life perpetually encumbered by various forms of anxieties. 

 

My desire to immerse myself fully in this unfamiliar state led me to learn about the word santosha, which is the Sanskrit word for satisfaction or contentment. Essentially, santosha is “the observed ‘serenity,’ of being ‘totally satisfied, not desiring anything other than the fundamental.’” Other definitions of the word (according to Wikipedia) include: 

 

- the state of neither taking too much nor taking less than what one needs, one of contended optimism.

 

- the habit of being able to accept circumstances one finds self in, without being upset, of accepting oneself, and of equanimity with others who are balancing their own needs as they share what they have.

 

- in cases the environment is one where one is forced to listen to a painful speech or someone's anger, Santosha is the serenity of accepting it completely as an instructive and constructive message, understanding the other, then detaching oneself and patiently seeking reform and change in one's environment.

Hong Kong is always fun

I was happy to have made it to Austin for the first time

Iced coffee cheers to Tokyo's Shibuya crossing

This particular quote, from this yoga site, resonates with me: “Santosha or ‘contentment’ doesn’t mean idly sitting back and relinquishing the need to do anything. It simply means accepting and appreciating what we have and what we are already, and moving forwards from there.”

 

This year, I was reminded of the age-old lesson that what life reflects back to us is often heavily dependent on our own perspective and what we put out there ourselves. When we zero in on the problems and the things that go wrong and we allow ourselves to believe that we’re engulfed by nothing but crises and difficulties, that’s exactly the environment we find ourselves in. Conversely, focusing on the good things we have—family, friends, the basics of living a comfortable life, and a sense of purpose—we start realizing just how good we have it. Santosha.

Posing beside the Maserati GranTurismo at the Asia Pacific launch in Tokyo

I highly recommend going on a sunset cruise in San Francisco Bay

Touristy but also fun: a boat trip along the canals of Bruges, Belgium

 

Of course, I realize that, for the people living hand-to-mouth and those facing struggles too consequential for some of us to comprehend, it’s not as simple as shifting perspectives. Some realities are too great to brush aside or cover up with imagined advantages. But for the rest of us blessed with privilege, I say it’s good practice to actively remind ourselves of the things that make life the amazing, wonderful thing that it is, and to recognize and appreciate it whenever we get the chance. 

I don’t think it’s about sweeping things—inconveniences, unfortunate situations, unexpected disturbances—under the rug or the outright denial of the existence of these mishaps as much as it’s about accepting that these things happen and that it’s up to us how we respond to them. Ultimately, that will determine where we’re headed and whether we can achieve santosha, or catch ourselves in even the briefest moment of absolute contentment and joy.

 

Chatting with my friend Tanya

My PPFriends getting bored while waiting to board a flight

Here we are. not bored, finally enjoying a real, much-deserved vacation

Hanging out at Tanya's place is always fun

Just a quick hop and skip in the snow

As for me, that little moment I had in my AirBnB in Madrid didn’t last for very long. Almost immediately, my brain was overcome with things I had to think about, like work stuff that needed to get done, the long trip back home I had ahead of me (that included returning the car, getting to the airport in time, souvenir shopping), and the beginnings of a stomach acid attack. The pocket of santosha I had was gone, just like that. 

But I was okay with that. My thinking was: I'm grateful I had it, however brief it was. It was one of those don’t-be-sad-it’s-over-be-happy-it-happened moments. I look forward to the next time I experience an epiphany like that. And, at the very least, I thought to myself, I had something to write about in my end-of-year birthday essay.  

Just me and my girl Abby