Alecks, 1967-2009

Who in his right mind would agree to name his dogs Oingo and Boingo?

I roared in laughter, imagining you yelling out those two stupid names while scouring your little neighborhood in Tandang Sora when the two mutts exploited your open gate. You laughed when I told you how my imagined scene looked like.

You were needled by women all your life. And you probably were needled again by your wife and two daughters into giving those mutts those silly names.

And when we coerced you into writing about your life being the lone male at home and in the office, you hit back and wrote about "pushy females."

"When all seems too unbearable in the land of women, there are enduring standards for male behavior that men can always resort to: strength and silence. I, however, take more to the latter. Not because I am a stereotypical man of few words. It’s just that women find it annoying."

In the office, being the only constant male save for the part-time driver, you were often the center of jokes, thought not always helplessly.

Your deadpan humor and dry wit spiced our trainings and every day office life. I envied your ability to poke fun harmlessly at crummy people and the crummy things they do.

I often pushed you to meet deadlines.

Oh, those deadlines. Those many deadlines you never met.

"After the deadline, there's no more deadline," you once said. And I berated you for telling that to a young writer.

So I resorted to slapping post-its on your computer to remind you of your deadlines, which again, you never met.

You never forgave me for my crushes. And I never forgave you for yours.

"Crush mo iyon? Iyong negrong iyon?" you said, referring to a dark-skinned politician I had the hots for.

"Crush mo iyon? Iyong weird girl na iyon?" I said, referring to an actress you interviewed once, while you glowingly described how smart she was.

Sure, we had our fights. Some too petty to matter, some strongly clashing, like what we should put in the institutional blog.

For one, I thought pictures should be left alone to speak for themselves. You wanted an investigative angle to everything and wanted nothing light.

I teased you about your articles when they sounded so intellectual.

"It's so Fermat!" I complained, referring to an article you wrote about the mathematical theorem.

But there was always humor. Your brand of humor, kind and friendly and never offending.

I remember how you became tearful telling journalists we were training about how the piece on corruption in schools was worked on. "Books. When I was in school, each of us had one," you said, and you stopped, your eyes getting red.

In this country Alecks, the brand of journalism you've been a part of the past 16 years doesn't pay much. But you survived, you lived on the pay, you raised your family. Decently, without sacrificing your principles.

On that measly pay, you trained hundreds of young reporters, and many idolize you. Some even consider you their dad.

Siguro nga, sa langit lang. Sa langit na lang ang big payday.

At kung nasa paligid lang kita, as usual, bubuwisitin mo ako at sasabihan na tama na ang drama.

Hanggang dito na lang, Lecks. Kasi kung hahabaan ko pa, baka hindi maging kalmado ang piyesang ito. At iyon ang alam kong ayaw na ayaw mo.

I don't know what more to say. If I say more, I'd speak my mind and hurt those who hurt you.

Kasi nga, ayaw mo ng komprontasyon. At tuwing may aawayin ka, ako ang pinahaharap mo, di ba? Halos madurog nga ang puso mo tuwing may hindi tayo bibigyan ng certificate dahil hindi nila nakompleto ang sessions. Simpleng bagay, pero di mo kayang manakit.

Atty. Pen, as usual, had the wisest thing to say when I told him we lost you.

"Dapat i-celebrate ang buhay ni Alecks kasi marami siyang mabuting nagawa. Idol ko siya," he said.

Thanks Alecks. Two bottles for you.