Denden,

I've only a few gut-wrenching regrets in my life. You are the greatest of the growing few. You were always the first one to reach out to me. When you handed in your application for the police academy in the city, you asked me out for a drink before you headed back home. When you were about to start your police training, you messaged me saying you're about to head out. When you met a mutual friend during your training, you sent me a picture of the two of you with big grins on your faces. When I greeted you happy birthday, you said we'll see each other soon. I believed you. I was really looking forward to seeing how much you've grown in the past three years. I thought we had all the time in the world until we had none.

I couldn't beat myself enough to bring back the times when I could have said more than just hello. At most times, even less. I contented myself with seeing your smiling, proud pictures. I should have known a mere heart or like wouldn't cut it. I should have asked how you were doing, where you were and if you were having a hard time. You would have replied and assured me you were doing fine. I would give years of my life just to see you alive and hear you say Ate, okay lang ako.

You were generous with your time, generous with your affection. If you asked all those who love you for a year each from their life, we would have given it gladly and you would have live past a hundred. You were a better person than me. You had the courage to chase your dream and live it. I've always been proud of you for that. I was glad I was able to say that to you, at least.

Do not pity the dead, pity the living. Pitiful, that's what we are—everyone you've left behind. Our loss and grief paralyse us but the oblivious world keeps going.

It's unbearable to even start accepting you are gone. I never have bothered with the importance of semantics but we all clung to the slimmest of hope that you were still fighting, that they were wrong. We were giving ourselves the hope that there is still time, that there's still a second chance—to be a better friend or just to say goodbye.

I never knew how much you meant to me until I realised that I won't ever see you again, see your big smile, sit with you over coffee and hear your plans for the future. But what is my grief compared to those whom you shared the most with? I seem dramatic and superficial now. What right do I even have to write about you, to write to you? I'm even writing in English. You would have said i-Ilocanom lattan manang ta maawatak. What does my word matter now? I could have done and said all these when you were still here.

It is ironic how death inspires one to live fuller, how regret shows to us everything we've taken for granted. Why do the best people die first? The most beautiful flowers get picked first. You were a precious son, a precious friend. The world is a little less bright without you in it.

PAT Reden Rivera Afalla, 1994-2020