For Roxanne

You told me about half of your life in one jeepney ride. We sat in the jeep’s estribo and as always, with your gummy smile you told me of the most childish things one would hear from a 20 year old med student. God grants your wishes you said. And you were so ecstatic you haven’t lost your childhood powers. I just smiled but thought it was ridiculous. I would have raised a discussion on how God is not a genie in bottle, and being treated to see Sorcerer’s Apprentice would not convince anyone of God’s existence. But you held to your truths like a pot of gold really existed at the end of the rainbow. Anything I said wouldn’t have made a difference.


I found you a weird med student from the get go. You were too childish, speaking in a sing-songy baby voice I would sarcastically imitate in my head. You didn’t have that characteristic ‘med student’ aura, and honestly, I thought you were just a crazy child trying to see what med school was like. The first time we saw each other in class, you were prancing about, greeting me with your toothy smile and asking about my previous writing job. You said you would have wanted to work in a publication. I just smiled. Later I realized you wrote terrifically well. I wish I said something. I really thought you would make a great writer.

Every day you babbled about your life, your dad, how you couldn’t study at home, your love life, your friends, mentioning names as if we’ve known them all along. It was like listening to a child telling her playmates of unicorns being wounded and fairies having their wings plucked. Almost everybody in class knew of your life story, and probably half of us thought you were too honest for your own good. You knew but just kept on sharing anyway. You told sad stories with pacifying laughter and funny stories with even more giddiness. While many of us scrambled to memorize and perfect exams, you talked about your online games and enjoying life.

Last night, you told me about how you were so intent on doing better in our classes. You even taught me of a mnemonic you made for memorizing the citric acid cycle. I honestly thought it was clever. For the first time, I realized you weren’t just playing around. You apologized for being so madaldal. Yes you were madaldal, but I found your thoughts genuine and unjaded.

How things could turn from a good night to the news of your death the next morning I could not understand. Maybe it was in the tapa last night that made you think you could take on a man with a knife. For the short time I knew you, I never thought you would make me cry like I have not cried in years. I wish we told you instead to text us when you get home. I wish all of this is just a bad dream. I wish I’m just being delusional.

I knew you prayed to God to take all your pain away like a magical panacea. I know you are in a place right now where God is clutching you so deeply in his heart. Thank you for making me realize there is more to life and being a doctor than good grades or striving to be efficient. Thank you for touching my life and teaching me about it.

You laughed as I told you were very sunshiney. Thank you Roxanne for shining brightly on us all. You will be sorely missed.