This was written six months ago. I couldn't share it because just reading it would make me weep.
Regrets do
not matter….
A couple of weeks ago, a classmate passed. Siya si Pilar. Pilar was my classmate since fifth grade until fourth year high school. For those seven years, I do not remember ever
having a conversation or any interaction with Pilar. There were about a hundred fifty girls in our
batch. That’s three sections. There were other classmates whom I never had a
chance to speak with. I don’t even remember how they look like even if I stare at their photos. I’m sure some of them don’t remember me
too.
Pilar was one of the quiet girls in class, not
popular. In fact, the girls I used to know would often laugh at her or make fun of her. I am guilty of this meanness too. She had a strange way of looking at people. I only realized that she had some
sort of eye problem, Banlag or
Squint-eyed, when she assisted me at the DFA two years ago.
Pilar helped me and my son renew
our passports. It took us the whole
morning. During that time, Pilar talked about her job at the Malacanang, her
meager minimum waged salary, her ailing mom, her struggle as a single parent, and her daily
commute riding a bus which took her two to three hours going to work in the
morning and another three or more hours at night to get home. Pilar even showed me her pay envelope. After she narrated her miserable life, she
dozed off while we were sitting and waiting for our names to be called. She
must have been quite exhausted.
It was almost noon and I wanted to bring Pilar to
a nice restaurant or maybe eat at a buffet, but she only wanted to eat at KFC.
She asked for a two-piece regular chicken, a cup of rice and two
sidings, coleslaw and mashed potato. After our quick lunch, my driver brought
her back to Malacanang because she needed to be back at the office while my son
and I were dropped off at MOA. I wanted to spend the afternoon with her and chat some more.
Now, Pilar is dead.
Some classmates sponsored a mass and
vigil. The girls even had the event
catered. I couldn’t go to her wake. It was my 55th birthday then and
the centennial celebration of my alma mater. Instead, I requested a friend to
hand over my abuloy to Pilar’s son.
What
was the catered gathering for? It was our classmates’ way of showing Pilar’s
son their kindness, generosity and thoughtfulness. I wonder why they never did
that when she was alive. I ask why she was never honored with a surprise
birthday party by her so-called friends from high school.
I
regret not treating her to a buffet lunch that day.
Regrets … a feeling of sadness, repentance, or
disappointment over something that has happened or been done; remorse; guilt;
ruefulness or mournful; causing, feeling or expressing sorrow.
“Regrets
do not matter once people are dead.” Quoted from an interview done by Rappler
with an MILF rebel’s account on how a SAF lone survivor killed unarmed
‘civilians’ the day after the Mamasapano Maguindanao Massacre.
