Savoring the victory / Conquering the pain.

This is the real story. They were laughing in the tricycle with a lady and two girls (6 passengers) because of Omi's jokes when a motorbike with a drunken driver speedily encroached unto their right of way in front of them. The bike swerved to avoid a head on collision but hit the side where Omi was seated. The tricyle whirled around as the drunken driver flew into the air without a helmet, but landed uninjured. Omi's head slumped forward into the chest of Adolfo. His face would have been crashed if Adolfo wasnt there. He must have had a concussion because there was a darkened spot on his right head and nape. Omi said "my leg" and they noticed a big cut on the back of his leg and blood oozed like a faucet. They made a tourniquet to stop the blood but a metal cut through a major artery and the tightness of the knot did not press into the vein that was in the middle of his big leg. Omi was conscious and was not in pain (maybe numbed by shock or by the loss of blood) and he was asking to secure his Cartier watch, ring and bag. He was told that they were in their keeping. He was brought to a clinic that had no equipment. Adolfo, being a nurse, was the one who injected him with IV and instructed the staff how to press the wound to stop the blood while he rushed out to get medicines. Omi opened his eyes to ask "where are my friends". When they replied that "they are here", he closed his eyes and was gone.

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I was busy on the day of the death of Tito Omi, my godfather, one of my most favorite people on earth. I was busy (pre)celebrating the success of the exhibit I held with classmates to mark the nearing end of my stay in college (which, by the way, was named Unencumbered Words: A Multimedia Exhibit, after one of Mraz's songs). I was busy having fun that my mom decided not to tell me about the terrible news right away. When I told her I would come home late because I was out drinking with friends, her reply was vague: "I am happy that you are happy." I did not see that message as a clue that a loved one has passed on and was taken away from us so suddenly.

The next day, I awoke to two text messages sent by my mom to close family and friends that reported this heartbreaking loss. At first I did not understand..."What do you mean, last chance to see Tito Omi? Isn't he spending Christmas with us? Aren't we supposed to go to the beach in January? Why is he leaving for the US so soon?" When I got to the second message, I could not believe it. I ran downstairs, stared at my dad with wide eyes, and with a single nod from him, I knew...Tito Omi was gone. Dad held me as I sobbed on his shoulder.

The emotional floodgates have been pretty much open since then. Whenever I was left alone with my thoughts with no one to talk to, I would sob. Whenever I wasn't trying to crack jokes and make other people laugh, I would get sharp pains in my chest. Whenever anyone in the family said anything that remotely reminded me of Tito Omi—Christmas plans, funny experiences, his favorite expression, "I mean, you know!"—I would tear up again.

It's hard to celebrate success and it's painful to be faced by such a loss. He may have had all the fun experiences life has to offer him and some may say it was his time to go, but I still cannot fully accept this as truth. The world needs more people like Tito Omi—a person full of life and full of love. A person who knows what he wants and does everything to get them, no doubt, no fear, all positivity. A person who believes that there is always hope, no matter how depressing situations are (in fact, I don't think depression was ever in his vocabulary to begin with). A person so genuine and so generous. A person who perfectly and incandescently epitomizes what it means to suck the marrow out of life by living it extraordinarily.

It's hard to be glad it's over and it's painful to always be reminded that he is really gone. It's going to be a while before the crying stops, that I am sure of. But I won't be sad for long—I am happy that he has touched the lives of so many people. I am glad that his life is remembered fondly by everyone, even by those people who've only known him briefly.

I am grateful for you always, Ninong. Thank you for living your life the way you did, inspiring us to do the same. The world was your playground. Now, I am happy that heaven is, too.

"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal." I love you, Tito Omi. Goodbye. For now.

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Update: It's been five days since my exhibit ended. It's been four days since Tito Omi's death, and I have Jason Mraz to thank for keeping me sane through this emotional roller coaster ride that is ironically both one of the most fulfilling and the most heartbreaking ordeals of my 2009. Mraz's gospel reminds me to never worry, because even though the sun seems to be nowhere in sight, sooner or later it will come out again, even brighter than the last time we saw it. I have no worries anymore.

"Everything is fine. Not finAL." - Jason Mraz, October 2, 2008

Tito, this song is for you.