It took me a lot of effort to move my body, turning it while I was still lying down, just to get a hold on that phone which has been ringing with that silly ringtone. Apparently, I slept in the other side of the bed this time, which happens occasionally now, especially when I get restless.

I rolled my eyes when I found out who the caller was. Apparently it was my sister, probably going to ask for another item that I’ll buy for her when I go back home. As much as I was in the mood for a phone conversation, in the end, I still answered it. That silly ringtone needed to be stopped somehow.

When my sister asked me “Why are you not home yet?” I answered “Why should I?” It made me question for a second. As far as what I knew, there was no special occasion that I was needed to go home. And then, she raised another question…

“Don’t you know?” she asked.

I had goosebumps when I heard those words, and it’s not the good kind. I knew right there that something disheartening happened at home.

“Of course I know!” I lied.

I had always been good at lying, and when I do, I would always have the most selfish reasons why. And this time, I lied to save my face, because I hated being the one who would know the last, being the clueless one. I didn’t like to be labeled as the boy who didn’t see what was on the other side of the mountain, even if I really didn’t see what was on the other side I could still pretend I saw it. Or maybe, whatever that supposedly thing I didn’t know; maybe I simply didn’t want to hear any detail of it.

The call ended, and I spent the day like the conversation was nothing. Two days after, I received a text message from Mama. The message went this way

‘The funeral is this Sunday, please go home my son.’

So it really was about death. Funny thing though, the first thing that came to my mind was if do I have enough white or black clothes? Was it inhuman if I say that I didn’t feel any remorse or sadness when I heard about the shocking but no shocking news? At that moment, it seemed like all remnants of emotions were stripped out of me.

Blank. Empty. Nothingness.

Doing the very logical thing to do, I replied another text message informing mama that I’ll be home in days.

I was dazed for a minute or two. And there is something I realized – I still didn’t know who would be going to be buried this weekend. Whose wake would I attend? And truthfully, I preferred it that way. I did not want to put a name. I did not want to pinpoint a person I knew. And I didn’t want to know who.

I did forget about ‘it’ eventually. Later that night, I spent time with my college peers doing the usual stuffs that uni people do. I even went to attend an evening mass that day; but I did not pray for that soul who died, whoever he or she was – because I forgot about it remember.

My life went back to normal the following days. Yes, I did totally forgot about that phone call, or that certain text message.

The thought of who died haunted me back when Friday came. In fact, it was the thing that had been occupying my mind before I closed my eyes. It was a mystery I didn’t want to know. Yet, the day had come for me to leave the city and go back home.

I chose to ride a public transportation instead of driving since it was more economical, and it was not like I’ll be staying at home for long. I still have classes to attend the very next Monday. I went to the terminal, and paid for my bus tickets. And even at that time, I still refused to get inside the big and long vehicle. But I did, eventually.

When I opened my eyes and looked at the window, I saw another scenery of fields and mountains, the same picture I saw before I closed them. Well, it was not exactly the same fields and mountains per say, and that what made me feel more nervous. A six-hour bus trip was really exhausting. I never really liked bus rides on the first place. The smell of the vehicle air conditioner made me dizzy that I felt nauseas. Sitting still for six hours wasn’t my thing either, I prefer laying down in bed. But for some reason, I was actually wishing with all my heart for this trip to be longer, to the extent of not really wanting this to end.

This was the first time I was going home because someone died. And let me tell you, it was not the nicest feeling in the world.

Tell me, who would like to head home to a lifeless body and mourning kin? Home should welcome you with warm smiles, yelp of joyful surprises, random children rushing in their loudest shrieks asking for goodies, a prepared feast by Mama, usually a pork cuisine that could just add more inches to my waist – which let me add I did not ask for, but I’ll still eat it anyway. But this time, I was not expecting any of it. I have no idea what to expect at home but at the same time I do.

But I had to go home. I knew I had to.

So when I saw our house from afar, I felt like not continuing in my walk. I still wanted to believe that mama had texted me was a lie. No one died. My heartbeat was becoming faster the closer I get to our gate. I was nervous. I was not excited. And I was scared.

And a last, I was home.

I still got a random child’s shriek, I still got a yelp, and Mama did prepare a pork cuisine – but the shriek was not as loud as it was, the yelp was far from joyful, and that certain pork cuisine was tasteless, literally and figuratively. And to answer my question, no one died in our family. But someone did, someone living next to us.

I never liked funerals. In fact I despised it. I never liked the smell of funeral flowers or the tacky sign posted at a door. I didn’t like seeing random people saying their random words of condolence. I didn’t even like what coffin looked like. But above all, I never like the idea of dying, of losing a life. Sometimes I asked myself why are we still brought to this world; if we are going to die anyway.

Well that’s simply just the way it was. God truly was playful.

Sitting lazily from a near distance, I stared at the white coffin wondering if ‘HE’ really was there sleeping.

This young man no older than twenty died. And I still refused to believe.

He was a family friend. Papa and Mama treated him and his brother as their own sons, and I knew his parents also had the same liking to me and my sister.

I was not gonna lie, he certainly wasn’t my most favorite person in the world. For me, he was just there that I could care less of his existence. I was never that excited of seeing him, most especially now that he was lying in that white coffin with no trace of warmth or breathe. I didn’t really hate him, but I didn’t particularly like him that much either. But I was pretty sure that he liked me a lot though. Hey! That wasn’t a lie.

So till his final goodbye, I still refused to see him.

I tried to collect every single memory I had with him. Most of them had something to do with teasing and errands, then teasing, then errands again...

He was quite an obedient boy let me tell you. Well, there really was nothing he could do. I was by nature was rude, spoilt, dominant, and demanding; and he on the other hand was kind, naïve, foolish, and stupid, not to mention I was the taller and bigger one between us.

I remember one time when Mama ordered me to buy some spices because we ran out of it, and because I was such a lazy fellow I didn’t want to get out of the house. Luckily though, he was there watching cartoons with my sister. I used to wonder why was he still fond of cartoons. Cartoons were only for children. But then again, he was like a child that never grew up – physically and mentally.

And simply because I was wise, I (ordered) requested him to do the errand for me. Of course he did the errand, he always did. I also added that he would also buy cola, chips, and candies. He would go to the store anyway, why not make the most of the trip. He just took the money and complied returning afterwards with the items smiling cheerfully as he handled it to me with the change. I just took it in his hands without muttering a ‘thank you’ nor smiling back. I thought, he was going to have his share with these foods anyway, that’s more than enough for thank you… That did not only happen once.

I remember his fancy stories and dreams about the sea. I sometimes talked to him about those things that he wanted to become. And all those times, all I did was give him small bits of joyful mockery. I think in my mind that he was pathetic, thinking he could be anything he wanted to be. He’s way too ambitious. But at the same, I think maybe I kind of admired him on how can he think of those big things in his life. How hopeful he was that he could do the impossible… But right now, he will never have a chance to try.

And then I remember his loud hyena laughs and his not so perfect set of teeth. And I do remember how much he loved strawberry shortcake. And I remember how he often ate meals with us getting as many as food as he could. Yes, he ate a lot. Mama and Papa would always find delight in his appetite despite his small body frame. I on the other hand wondered what was he doing here eating our food. Don’t they have food in their home? Yes, I was a selfish brat.

He was mostly my companion in my way to school. Every morning, I had to go to his house and wait for him because he usually finished preparing later than I was. Such a tardy young lad. It had become some sort of a habit mandated by our parents since we were little. Our mothers used to walk us together when we were still in pre-school, and I guess it was set to be like that until we were in high school. And it’s not like I was really complaining, going to their house was like having a second round of breakfast. And to answer my question, they did have food in their house.

He apparently was also not the smartest person in the world. I could tell as much, he was my classmate remember? Since pre-school? He was not that good in anything besides English and Gym class. He was very bad at math let me tell you and he in history big time. But the thing with him was, he seemed to be enjoying school. Never did I once heard him complained how hard a subject was, but never did I once saw him put an effort to study hard either.

We would always tell him “study hard, think about your future.” Because you know, he was ‘the dreamer’. But none of us really tried to help him with his school work. Never did I want to tutor him in any subject, it’s too bothersome, and he never asked anyway. Of course, the lecturing about how much he was neglecting his academics continued. But he would just smile after being told. He wasn’t really the type that listened.

He had his own will. And now I think, he might have done the right decision. Because if he listened, he might had not enjoyed his short life as much as he did.

He was this little boy who failed to grow up. And even adolescence did not faze his innocence, naughtiness, and childishness. He would always talk about stuffs like aliens, sea creatures and angels. I would mutter comments on how nonsense those things are. In most cases he will just whine back and say more nonsense which by the way I was forced to hear although I didn’t want to. But I noticed, his eyes were always full of life when he talked about his dreams. It was very stupid, but somehow very lightening as well.

It came across my mind that his soul may had unconsciously known of his short life – that’s why he ended up doing the most bizarre things in life, going on with his own flow. You know, just to live his life without regrets just before its sudden end.

Such a shame, for I’m not gonna lie and say that I really anticipated how he’ll be like when he turned 20, 21, 34, 42, 49, 57… I even theorized that when he reached adulthood, he’ll still act like a child just like what was explained by a random psychological disorder which I longed forgotten what it’s called. But so it seems, my little social specimen has vanished. I could no longer test that theory.

I tried to remember when was the very last time I saw him? But I couldn’t. Maybe because they had been drown by other memories; or I did not thought of it as something of importance. Maybe because it was something I thought that was of ordinary, a regular occurrence – something that will just happen again; unfortunately though, that was not the case. I remember though that I saw him in my room the last time I went home, watching maybe one of those afternoon dramas that he was very fond of. Or was it the last time before the last? No, it was the very last, two days before Christmas, last Christmas that he was with us.

He was a little startled when he first saw me entered. No one knew that I was going home that day. I intended to surprise everyone, but I was the one who was surprised seeing him sitting in the floor in front of the television in my room. I could tell that he was quite tense of my presence, maybe shy in his part of spotting him in my room. It was when I asked him why he was sitting on the floor when he could lay on the bed as he watched that his face brightened. In an instant, he immediately stood and jumped to my bed laying his stomach. I did not know why I said it, but at that time I did not bother at all if he’s in my room or lying in my bed.

As I changed my clothes, I lay beside him in the bed and watched television with him. I was not really into afternoon soaps but it was really rude just to change the channel, although it was my room and my television – maybe also because there’s really nothing else to do. Out of curiosity perhaps that I asked him several questions explaining to me what was happening on the show that we were watching. And eagerly answered all my questions and added up some more details, he was definitely watching that show regularly.

I let him borrow my clothes so he could sleepover. Which I thought was quite unnecessary. First of all, his house was just beside ours. He could just go there and get his clothes, or he could just sneak in their house later and sleep in his room instead. But I guess he was too lazy to go home, and I still wonder why was I not asking him to go and sleep in his own house. That was the first time he slept in my room and shared a bed, and that was also the last.

Watching television together, shooting balls after dinner, playing video games together, and sleeping in one bed. That must how it felt to have a brother, a younger brother. Although we were practically of the same age, he looked and acted like he was younger than me.

That for the last time I was with him, with his smile that was full of life, with his chest still rising up and down as he slept, with his warm body laying next to mine. I know that he was alive. He was breathing. And I felt it. I felt it. If only I could still feel it again.

It was Sunday morning when I woke up for the first time in days not later than ten. I had to, the funeral was at nine. I wore white that day, and so as everyone else. Yes, I do have enough white clothes.

I think I never despised the color white like it is today…That was a lie, I still adore white.

It was that day that I finally had the courage to see his body laid in that big white expensive-looking box. I did saw him there sleeping peacefully, and fought the urge of trying to wake him up, because he seems so happy in whatever he was dreaming.

The funeral mass was I must say was rather more chaotic than I could had expected. What can you ask for if you bring crazy little children with you? But in a sense, I think it was their mere purpose to be there and lighten up the mood. And so, what I am at least pleased about is that in between sobs and tears, there was laughter. Maybe he was pleased to, being the ever cheerful person he was. He would certainly take a party with joyful laughs than an array of tears.

I shed tears that day. It was the first time I cried since I arrived. Maybe because it finally sunk in to me that this truly was goodbye. Although I still refused to say that G or F word to him, but I knew, I have to.

One of my little cousin asked why was I crying. I just smiled. I couldn’t even give the boy a proper answer.

Anyone would say that one should be at least be happy if one died, that he was with God right now. In a way, it’s true. But what if we don’t want God to have him yet? I don’t want God to have him yet. It’s too early for him. Too early for us.

The trip to the cemetery was more chaotic. The sun was up, and it was burning that day. I was actually hoping for a gloomy day – for dramatic effect. Not to mention the supposedly sad background music also died just the moment we started the trip; so much for being melancholy. So yeah, we rather had laughs in our journey. Maybe again, it was his way to tell us that he did not want to see sad faces in our final goodbye.

And here we ware, we finally reached the cemetery. It’s still burning hot. Looks like I will not get my gloomy day anytime. And we did lay him in the pit. One by one we went closer to him; placing flowers of wish, hope, sorry’s, and goodbyes. Muttering little prayers; hoping the angels will lead him. But the truth was, I didn’t know how to feel.

This truly was an event in my life of its own. For I had learned and I had not.

I always say to myself, do what you can today, not to worry much about tomorrow. But now, I don’t know. And for that moment, I thought of other people in my life. His sudden death made me realize the harshness of the universal truth about life, that someday it would end, that everybody will be buried six feet under somewhere in tim, but you don’t know who or when.

And I though about my father, my mother, my sister, my cousins, my uncles, my aunties, my grandmother, my friends, my colleagues. I even think about that cat. And I asked myself, when will they die? It’s like a name game; guess who’s next? Na-ah, that certainly wasn’t a very nice thought to have. It’s like I’m anticipating for their deaths, not good.

He might be gone now. But he did live. We shared memories with him, that’s what matters right? Right?

Memories – how easy for people to create them; how easy for people to share it with other people; but what people don’t realize though, there would be a point when one will stop sharing memories to another, simply because they couldn’t. Unfortunately, the time when we would stop to create memories with him had came.

I heard one say that “memory is the most wonderful thing ever created. As long as you were remembered, you existed. And as long as you were loved, you were remembered.” Such kind words, to see a silver lining from a loss. But then again, it’s still a memory. It’s not there – just a mere illusion in our minds, intangible. But we can’t do anything. The thing is, we can’t be Kathy H spending days not looking forward but looking back. That’s not good for growth.

I think there was a clichéd lesson in this event. You probably heard it a million times in your lifetime already. But even how much it has been said; I realized, no one really learned from it. And I don’t think I have learned that lesson yet. And I’m pretty scared I may not. What I am going to say is…

Cherish it while it is still there. Because you’ll never know... You’ll never know…

And as for Donghae…

Author’s Note: Death is a very sensitive topic to me. Does it make sense if I say that writing this was hard yet easy at the same time?

To my dear reader, I may or may not know you personally, but I dare say, I do cherish your existence. I am hoping for the best things for you…