October 21, 2017 is a turning of ‘Page’
because it marks on the calendar the passing-on of my dear friend, “Aqui”
Divino. To me, however, it was more a turning of “Chapter” in my own journey.
The friendship started some 33 years ago, when I was assigned to Botolan,
Zambales by my Makati-based consulting firm to undertake construction of the
3rd IBRD-funded Area Shop for the DPWH Bureau of Equipment, for which we did
the designs.
Aqui was employed at the DPWH
Bureau of Equipment (BOE), the end-user of this Php 12.6 Million foreign-funded,
government project. I stayed in the construction site for almost 2 years, until
its final stages, prior to turn-over. Since I was required to report to my
head-office only twice a month for conferences, I stayed and lived in my engineer’s-quarters
within the construction compound. This is basically where our special bond of friendship
started.
Aqui told me that his item at the
BOE was that of a mechanic. But I never saw him working at the motor pool, he
was more of a fixture at the office, an all-around guy doing stuff for the
chief-of-office, what was then called the Area Equipment Engineer. Because my
work entailed a lot of coordination with the eventual end-user, the BOE chief-of-office,
Engr. Millado, had unofficially assigned Aqui to me to do all such liaison
work.
On account of this arrangement,
Aqui stayed in my field office a lot. Two things caught my attention at that
time. First, he religiously went home at 5:00 PM, avoiding what was then prevalent
in government offices, drinking liquor after office hours. Secondly, he smoked
too much. As I was a bit of a health buff who did road runs at the break of
dawn, we would see each other the next day, as I passed their house, by the
roadside, just past the bridge that separates Iba, Zambales from Botolan.
Sometimes I would take coffee or a quick breakfast at his residence.
Aqui’s talent was more suited to
a politician’s Public Relations Officer. He was adept at seeing other people’s
needs and addressing them. He helped me cook my food, because I was the only
person left inside the construction site after work hours, aside from the
security guards at the guard house. He taught me how to buy blue marlin (yellow
fin or other some such fish, as I can remember) at a bargain. Or how to select
good-quality mangoes, for which Zambales is known for. Eventually, he assisted
me in hosting my visitors from Manila who came to conduct regular inspections.
Looking back, my friendship with
Aqui evolved from a much stronger but less evident foundation. I’d like to
think that we were both members of the same “Mutual Admiration Society”. This
of course is a mere product of my imagination. We laughed at the same jokes for
months on end. In these jokes, we were the white knights and the rest were the
villains. We sat innumerable minutes just telling our life stories. We did this
under old buildings which I soon ordered demolished to give way to massive
structures that replaced them. I would know that he had a great joke to crack
when he begins to successively tap his right closed palm on the table or on the
side of his pants, much like a soldier preparing to salute.
Aqui surprised me one weekend
when he came to my office because they normally had no work on Saturdays and
Sundays. He was more than lively in his invitation to go somewhere but would
not tell me exactly where. After hurriedly dressing up, we drove to this big ‘White
House’, and as soon as we entered, he introduced me to the master of the house.
It was Amor Delloso, the then mayor of Botolan, who in later years became the
governor of Zambales province. What I admired most about Aqui is that although he
never spoke ill of anybody, he was a master of heaping accolades and praises on
anyone: “This is my cousin, mayor Amor, a lawyer who got 98% in Criminal Law.” In
any case, this got us off to a lively discussion, and before we knew it, half a
day had breezed through. As far as I could imagine, there were now 3 members of
our “Mutual Admiration Society”.
When I stood up to go, the mayor
motioned Aqui to get a crisp white pad of stationary from his table. With deliberate
and exquisite strokes of his pen, the mayor had written on his letterhead that
he was giving me 500 square meters of a beach lot at Barangay Danacbunga. He
stood up and silently handed me the piece of paper, making this moment more
memorable by reaching out with his right hand to give me a firm handshake. Aqui
stood silently by my side, with a gaping mouth, I wouldn’t know now if it was
from wonder or awe. As he led me to the door, the mayor called me out: “Perry,
you should visit me more often.”
October 26, 1940 to October 21,
2017. That makes Aqui 5 days short of 77 years old. This is the first time I
became aware of his age. He had this boyish look and boyish smile that betrays
his real age. It’s been 33 years since I’ve left Botolan and today, October 26,
2017, I am returning to meet my friend one last time. It is dusk and I had come
from Manila, dropping by my farm in Nueva Ecija shortly, before proceeding to
his home in Botolan, where he lay in state.
Thirty-three years seem a heartbeat
when I consider that I met him only twice in that span of time. The first time was
in 2016, at their relative’s home in Project 4, Quezon City. His wife sought me
out in Facebook, with what I thought at that time was a silly question: “Do you
know Romy Divino?” To which I blurted out: “of course, Aqui, and I’ve been
looking for him all these years. During this first visit, he told me how he was
blessed with 3 daughters, now all professionals, with 2 of them working
abroad. Although some things remain unverbalized, I felt how proud he was of his kids. The second time we met was in 2017, in Medical City, Ortigas, where he was
making remarkable recovery from an uncommon cancer. In the hospital, I met 2 of
his 3 kids, both possessing of tough-as-nails attitude towards his disease.
It is now almost 7:00 PM and I am
in time for the vigil prayers. The prayer leader said something that to me made
sense: We translate one’s death not as “namatay” but “sumakabilang-buhay”, meaning
to transcend to another life, that which our religion promises to be an eternal
life with our Creator. This is probably why I constantly refer to friends who
die as having passed-on rather than having passed away.
As I touched his coffin glass, I
looked at his face and it was in a state of bliss. At that moment, I realized
that when friends go to their buddy’s wake, it is not as much to mourn as to
celebrate their friendship, one that has touched their lives, in a way that it
will never be the same again. It will surely feel empty at some point, but the
essence of real friendship is in that, having stood shoulder-to-shoulder, you made
each other proud.
Aqui, thank you for the privilege
of your friendship. I think I am a better person now because of our friendship.
I hope you are proud of me as I am so darnest proud of you.
