For SB - Happy birthday, sir

Written in March 2013, while preparing for the NSPC. Happy birthday, Sir! I'm forever your Republic staffer.
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I could only stare at the computer screen in shock. And when it passed, a black wave of panic and disbelief washed over me, until at last the tears streamed down and blurred the words on the screen.

I blinked my tears away, bit my lip, and continued scrolling, though each Facebook post I saw only intensified my misery. There are griefs that are eased by the sight of others likewise grieving for what you all lost, but this wasn't that kind of grief. "Rest in peace, Sir Bong", "You'll be missed"--all the different words and all those people--how could someone who had touched so many lives be taken away so suddenly?

He was the English teacher who became my class adviser in second year, the guy whom you'd never catch speaking Filipino. He looked like a foreigner even when he wasn't. He knew his students' stories: who's dating, who's crushing on whom, who's downplaying their potential. He came to class with knock-knock jokes and spelling words, asked us to write "My handsome English teacher will give us additional points" on our outputs. He listened to The Beatles, he was the kind of teacher you could sit with for hours, just talking.

I began to reminisce about him, hoping to stamp his influence permanently on my soul.

"I'm confident with my line-up," he'd said to me before the Regional Schools Press Conference. He said it so empathetically, I was touched. I thought, I'll be very much surprised if I met someone who believed in my ability more than he did.

Closing my eyes to that memory, I racked my brain for another. What I found was this scene of blazing light, too bright for me to make out faces in front of me. It was the awarding ceremony of the RSPC. I was standing with Sir Bong on the stage, waiting for the announcement of winners. I didn't even know where to turn my eyes, and kept shooting him with nervous glances. But Sir Bong just stood there smiling, like there was something he knew that I didn't.

Then it came. "Andrea Joyce Lucas, second place!"

My heart lurched in disbelieving joy, and all the words I wanted to say was lost to the excitement of the moment. Sir Bong remained composed, but his congratulatory smile said enough.

He was proud! I made him proud.

The realization brought me back to the surface, drowning as I was in chaotic feelings over his passing. I smiled a little through the tears. We shared but a brief time, but there was a lot, a whole world of things I learned from him. To just write and let loose. To embrace that streak of sentimentality. To believe in myself.

So I steeled my resolve and returned my attention to the computer screen. Whatever words I could muster at that moment may not prove enough, but I imagined him smiling at me for them nonetheless. He was always a believer.

And so I began typing my tribute, "Sir Bong Miguel..."