I promised myself I’d write about him. Words will be my way of remembering him. As I write this however, I know that I am doing this for myself, too. More for myself. I am seeking comfort through writing this blog.
Titing was my father’s third-degree cousin. He was just 48 years old when he was shot and killed on December 7, 2011. He left his wife, six children and seven granchildren.
I can’t remember a time in my thirty years when Titing wasn’t part of our immediate family. He might have been a distant uncle, but for my parents and we, their children, Titing was really part of our family.
I remember Titing telling me that he was 14 years old when he started living with my parents. My parents were operating a gas station then, and as such, he became a gasoline boy. When my parents ventured into the shipping business years later, he supervised the passengers and the cargo. People knew him as my father’s right-hand man, his sidekick.
He used to pick me up and my cousins after our class during our grade school days. Most of my classmates remember Titing vividly, because of his large built and his friendly ways. He could easily make new friends because of his carefree demeanor and silly jokes which, no matter how silly they could get, still managed to make most people laugh.
Even when I went to Manila for college and law school, Titing was a familiar face in our home every time I’d go home during school breaks. Titing was always THERE, ever-present in our lives.
When our shipping company closed shop, Titing had to take a variety of odd jobs. Sometimes, he would still drive our vehicles for us. Recently, we’ve had the opportunity to be with him often because he worked for the Mindanao Human Rights Action Center, where my husband used to work, and later on, for the office where I work, the Bureau on Cultural Heritage – ARMM.
I cannot imagine any other person whom my parents could trust more than Titing. I cannot imagine any other person who ever exhibited the same amount of love and loyalty to our family as Titing did.
The day before he was shot, he drove me to the airport, as I was about to take a flight to Manila that day. Before I went down, he told me to text him when I’m coming back, so that he can pick me up at the airport. If only I knew that that would be the last time I’d see him, I would have said goodbye properly, I would have thanked him from the bottom of my heart. I would have said sorry for all those times when I acted the spoiled brat with him.
But death is always unexpected, although inevitable. It hurts to lose a member of the family, but it hurts so much more when it is a violent death, as it is in this case. I fervently pray that whatever may have been the reasons for this murder, I hope they ended with Titing’s death. More violence will not cure violence. I hope and pray that Titing’s family will find peace.
I cannot write a longer blog about him, as it is still difficult for me. In shaa Allah, in time the pain in our hearts and the anger at the murderers will lessen. We will not forget Titing, though.
Thank you Titing, for the memories.
Wassalam.
