this story originally appeared in the philippine daily inquirer on October 18, 2001.
You lied to me, Benj, and I’m finding it hard to forgive you.
In the short span of time that we became friends, we’ve always been honest with each other. Brutally candid, was how others described it. We quarreled, we fought and we argued all the time because we spoke precisely what we thought. Our four years of friendship haven’t been a bed of roses, but at least I could count on you for anything because I trusted you.
But now you have betrayed me. How could you have lied? How could you hurt me this way?
When I saw you off at the Naia last year, you said things were finally looking up for you. You promised to be back before the year was over so you could drag me to the “City That Never Sleeps.”
But you lied, Benj. You didn’t come back.
Two months ago you called to torment me. You said you chanced upon a sale at Macy’s, saw the bag I was willing to die for, and bought it for me at a ridiculously low price.
When I stopped hyperventilating, you broke my heart by telling me that I would have to wait for quite some time because shipping charges were pretty steep. No matter how hard I begged, you didn’t budge. No, you said, I had to wait for it. I called you names and you got so mad that you called me selfish. I vowed never to speak to you again. But we were back to being friends 48 hours later.
When you turned 29 last February, you promised to open a bottle of Dom Perignon when I turned 26. You said that would be your way of celebrating my so-called adulthood. You believed that I was still a brat at 25.
You also promised to sing “Happy Birthday” from the observation deck of the World Trade Center as you sipped the Dom Perignon. You foolishly, stupidly boasted that I would hear your caterwauling even if I was half a world away.
But guess what? You’ll break that promise again. There is no World Trade Center anymore from where you can shout your birthday greetings. You won’t need that Dom Perignon after all.
But you know what hurts most? You said you would wait for me, you would wait for the rest of us while we sorted out our lives and careers. You said you would pave the way for Scott, Lara, Jo and me so that we all could fulfill our one great dream of working in the United Nations.
We had great plans, remember? We would all live in the same house, share household responsibilities and look after each other. We would be each other’s family. You even volunteered to be our “kuya.”
So how could it all go wrong?
You were working as a legal assistant for a medium-sized law firm in Manhattan. What were you doing on the 102nd floor of the World Trade Center last Sept. 11? I understand you were doing research on bond trading. Knowing you like I do, you wanted first-hand experience when you did your research. Was it fate that made you choose Cantor-Fitzgerald as the firm to study? But why did you have to go that day?
I have so many questions to ask you, but you have been forever silenced.
How could you leave us just when we were just starting to spread our wings? How could you so suddenly be snatched away from our lives? How could you go like that?
We’re all still reeling from the enormity of the catastrophe, Benj. I am angry. How could you perish like that? You had your life ahead of you!
I know that someday I’ll be able to overcome this resentment. Nothing makes sense right now. I’m trying to understand everything but it’s all so confusing. All that’s clear is that you lied about a lot of things.
You won’t be dragging me to New York before the year is over. You won’t be bringing back that bag I swooned over. You won’t be yelling “Happy Birthday” at the top of the World Trade Center’s south tower. We won’t be sharing a house in New York. We won’t work alongside each other in the United Nations. Worst of all, you won’t be coming back. Ever.
I remember that you asked me last year if I had any regrets about not going to New York with you and Scott. I remember smiling and assuring you that although I was filled with envy, I had no regrets about not making that trip.
Looking back now, I realize I do have one regret. When I said goodbye to you last year, I should have hugged you tighter and much longer.
