If These Words Could Reach You

Coincidences have a strange way of landing right in front of us. Of all the nights that I decided to watch the movie The Fault in Our Stars, which centers on people coping with their cancer-stricken lives, it was also the night that I learned that my previous mentor, Ms. Gaye Cenabre, just passed away due to the same condition.

I haven't been this much affected by the loss of one person. And Ms. Gaye is not even a relative so that should tell you how much I treasure her as a person. I haven't written about any person before and I would gladly make her my first.

This article is about regret. Being a person who is into reading inspirational books, I have known about adages such as "Spend more time with the people who matter because you might never have another opportunity to do so." Yet it turns out that I failed to heed the wisdom of this quote. Since the start of this year, it has always been in my mind to visit Ms. Gaye. But this never happened. Busyness had always been my excuse. An excuse I totally regret. And I hate myself for not being able to see her before she passed away. And I think that is largely the reason why I cried on the night people informed me of her demise. If these words could reach you, Ms. Gaye, I'm sorry for not having seen you.

To our Queen Serenity, our HR Queen, you will be missed.

But more than regret -- much more than that -- this article is about gratitude. Since I entered into the corporate world 13 years ago, I am very thankful that every time I change company or shift careers, there has always been a mentor who guided me in my path. Ms. Gaye has been that mentor to me in my eight years of stay in Waterfront. As few of my colleagues know, it was challenging at first because we had different working styles but we both grew professionally because of that. A large part of my career is indebted to her. Ms. Gaye was keen on rewarding my hard work with opportunities for promotion. And I believe a lot of Waterfront peers reading this have been recipients of these same opportunities. A lot of us owe her for our rise up the corporate ladder. Somehow, I find solace that even though I was unable to visit her, I was able to express this gratitude to her last January through a beautiful exchange of emails and texts. If these words could reach you, Ms. Gaye, thank you from all of us whose career you've helped build. 

This article is about celebration. A celebration of her contributions to the companies she has worked with. A celebration of the lives that have been touched by her. A celebration of the friendship that we all had with Ms. Gaye. A celebration of how strong she was during the challenging times in her health. A celebration of her being a mother, wife, sister, daughter, relative, and friend. A celebration of her wonderful years with us. A celebration of her life. If these words could reach you, Ms. Gaye, here is a toast for the legacy you have left. Cheers!

I'd like to remember you this way, Ms. Gaye. Full of joy
and vibrance in the face of challenges that came your way.

In our exchange of personal emails this year, Ms. Gaye, you said that you will miss me and that even if some good things never last, you will always be happy for me, for what I am now, and for what I will be in the future. You will also be missed. But you are wrong on one account, Ms. Gaye. Good things do last. Your legacy will last and your memories will stay with us. To say it in the words of the culture you have built in Waterfront, "It has been our pleasure knowing you and working with you."

The Writer, Unfolding

Untimely is an understatement. No one ever tells you when it will happen. Discovering that one has a penchant for words and the obsession with tugging soul strings was a slow and unromantic process for me. 

It started out simply as writing my daily journals when I was still a kid. The pages were filled with endless narrations of what I did and how the day went. There was the occasional bragging of my academic accomplishments (the nerd!), a couple of crushes mentioned, and the childish complaints of a young one who thought that the world was against him. The last one, no doubt, a product of watching too much soap operas. 

And then there were the yearly essays in school where the teacher required us to write on formal theme notebooks. At the start of every school year, my eyes would roll as the English teacher announced that the topic for the first formal theme entry was "What I Did In Summer." I might as well save myself the trouble and copy my essay from last year, I thought to myself. But being the diligent student that I was, I complied. Looking back, it is only now that I appreciate the repetitive process of writing about the same topic. I guess there are times that it's only in hindsight that we appreciate our teachers. Writing about the same topic allowed me to build on my previous work, the errors, the flaws in construction, the chaos in the order of thoughts, and the lackluster ideas. Allow me to pay my dues here to all my English and Reading teachers --- THANK YOU from the nooks and crannies of my brain's speech centers all the way to the worn out, dilapidated, and de-threaded leaves of my formal writing notebooks.

You might think that after all these visits to the different stops in my memory lane we have arrived at a point when I considered myself a wordsmith. No, it would take far more years.

I was under a self-induced illusion that I was a 'writer' when I was in high school. I passed an article to the school paper and it was published. But I think it got printed because I knew the editor. I remember what it was about and I cringe in embarrassment. In hindsight, again, I think that was the reason why I was assigned the copyreader position and not an actual writing post. The task of dotting the i and crossing the t was given to me. The caret and the pilcrow were my friends. I admired the real writers in school. They were really good. When I read their pieces, I understood why I was better off with the copyreader's proofing pen. 

College was all about poetry. I wrote poems but never really read that much verse. Writing was more of a release for the frustrations and sadness in life then. 

Life after college was different. Work drowned my words. It was all about figures, plans, and targets. Of course, I used words at work. But not words. The kind that soothed, or enraged, or induced a laughing fit. 

Blogging introduced me to these words. It was kind of untimely because I was busy with work and I was in the middle of changing careers. and I never would have thought it would be at that point. It's been four years since that lovely introduction. I admit that I haven't been really faithful and committed. I can just count with my fingers the number of articles I wrote since then. But that's the good thing about writing. It is patient, never demanding. It waits for you when you are ready. 

So, am I ready? The truth is I don't know. I have started this affair with words four years ago. But I don't think I have progressed much. Heck, sometimes I embarrass myself with some pieces I wrote a few years back! And I have a feeling that when I read this piece in two years, I might scratch my head asking myself what I was thinking. For now, I actually don't care. I am just unfolding. 

P.S. No carets and pilcrows were harmed while writing this article. In fact, none were used because copyreading wasn't done. ;O)