he was a big influence in my life. a lot of people don't know him, but he's a celebrity in my world.
:: my first lessons in rhetoric, sarcasm, and stand-up comedy were all from him. i remember he used to light every party and family reunion with his wit and humor.
:: as a little kid with a father working in another country, i almost always go with him whenever he goes beer drinking with his friends. of course i wasn't drinking, just hanging out and inhaling second hand smoke from perpetually burning marlboro reds. it felt pretty cool back then. while most kids my age were busy playing their GI JOE action figures, i was out hanging with my homies.
:: he insisted that i dress as a kid from the '70s - striped psychedlic colored shirts, curdoroy pants, and chuck taylors. it was fashion rebellion for a child who pretty much grew during the '80s. i have learned to loathe acid washed jeans, wind breakers, and stupid jackets with "used" patches on them.
:: i learned the streets because of him.
:: i had a strong affinity with brands like levi's, dockers, converse (especially chucks), ray ban, asics, hush puppies, and lee because of him.
:: street food was his forte. chicharon bituka, kikiam, fishballs, one-day old chicks, isaw, atay, adidas, name it and he'll eat it, pretty much like what i do. he also has an uncanny talent for finding dingy and sleazy restaurants that serve the most affordable and tasty chinese budget meals.
:: i remember back in highschool, i was shooting some hoops at our front yard. he was watching me and was being an annoying critic. he said my form was off, my jumpshot was lousy, and pivot foot was never in place. he said, back in the day, he was a basketball varsity for his school. of course i knew he was lying. so i challenged him to a little one-on-one. he got the first possession, drove to the basket, faked going left, made a scrappy pivot to the right, elevated, and struggled to attempt a decent fade away jumper over my outstreched arms. i ended up blocking his shot while he landed hard on his butt. we were laughing non-stop. then it was my possession... no contest really... i just swished a long jumper... then we laughed some more. and the game ended 1-0. but truth be told, neither of us really knew how to play basketball.
:: i remember when i was about twelve, we went down to manila for vacation. when we got there, we immediately joined our respective barkadas. at about 4:00 am the following day, there was a knock at the door... he came home onboard a pushcart because he was too drunk to even know where he was. the story is now an urban legend in our neighborhood in makati.
:: i remember his story when he started working for insular life in makati. he said times were hard back then. he narrated how he always prepared his lunch every morning. his lunch was always tuyo, red eggs, tomatoes, and fried rice. he would put them in a plastic bag and double pack it with a brown paper bag. he would go to work everyday riding the bus, and buses back then were always jampacked. he'd stand on the aisle with one hand on a bar and one hand holding his lunch. one day, while on the bus, standing on the aisle half-asleep, the bus made a sudden stop to avoid an accident. he was jerked from where he was standing and lost hold of his lunch. well, his lunch had an accident. regaining his balance and footing, he saw the fried rice, tuyo, red eggs, and tomatoes rolling across the floor. he said he was so embarassed that he had to get off the bus and walk about a kilometer to his work.
:: i remember when i was ten, the house was left to just the two of us. he invited all of his friends over for a party. he was so drunk that night. before i went to bed, he called me into his room. i was trembling in fear when i saw him bring out his .38 revolver. he took it out of the holster, took out the bullets, and he let me hold it. that night i had a crash course on how to hold and fire a gun. he said that i should always be prepared fire a gun... to protect the family. he said that one day i'd have a family of my own, and that i should always be ready to protect them... to kill or even die for them. i took to heart his intoxicated words that night. but still, i don't like guns.
:: i remember he used to take me to this hill beside our house in baguio. we would go on top of the hill every afternoon for siesta. we'd lie down on the grass and stare at the blue sky and the clouds. amid the blooming gladiola flowers and cool breeze of the wind, he'd always remind me to just keep on dreaming. dream about anything, he said, it's free anyway. i was about four or five then. and i always remembered those words, and how his eyes would glow everytime he said that someday we'd be having a better life.
:: i remember three years ago.. it was december.. he was rushed to the hospital because one of his kidneys failed. while we were talking, he started to cry and said that he wanted to live longer, spend more time with his wife, and have a second chance at life. the family did every it could to save him. with the help of a twice-a-week dialysis treatment, he was blessed with three more years.
the last week of november 2004 was difficult for all of us. he refused, on his own will, to go have his usual dialysis treatments. he said he was already tired. he refused to even go to the hospital and opted to only take in painkillers.
i was in bohol that week, when i arrived, he immediately said he wanted to see me. it was too late... his body was already too frail and too weak to even talk. i sat on his side, but all he could offer were faint smiles and a nod here and there. we didn't talk, but somehow i understood what he was trying to say. through his eyes, he reminded me to always be happy... to always love and protect my family... and to always keep on dreaming, simply because it was free.
he spent his last days in his bed with his wife for eight years, tita annie, beside him. they were never blessed with a child... maybe that's why he was beaming with pride when my first child, justine, was born on the same date as his, july 30.
his last days were spent listening to nat king cole, frank sinatra and dean martin songs. though he was very weak, he had enough energy to raise his hands and do some finger-dancing with them. then he would look at his wife... staring at her eyes, throwing smiles at her ... like he was saying that everything's going to be alright... like he was saying that she was the only one he ever loved... like he was thanking her for everything... like he was saying he looked forward to the day they'd meet again.
on december 10, 2004... 6:05 pm... antonio alfredo madriaga dominguez, 49, made peace with himself, with everyone in his family, and his god.
i arrived home about 7:30pm... i was by his deathbed, staring at his cold body, as tita belen, tita annie and my mom was measuring him. i couldn't believe what was happening around me. everyone was crying. i didn't... well... not there. i went out his room and went inside the other room, it was dark, the light was shut, and there i let it all out... alone. i knew i shouldn't let them see me cry, not because i was ashamed by it, but because i know i have to be strong for them, especially for tita annie. i went out of the room and volunteered to go to the funeral. i was shaking as i picked out his coffin.
i lost an uncle... a father... a dear friend... and a hero. his body is lying cold now in his coffin... but i know his soul is free and happy. i know that from time to time he'd come visit me... and remind me... to just keep on dreaming.
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