HE WAS my first barkada when I went back to Davao and enrolled in UM. I can’t even recall how that happened. He was just there, my barkada. I think it had something to do with Pinky, my good friend in UP who came home a year earlier and enrolled in UM. But I’m not sure and I don’t recall how we first met...

Later came his elder brother Arman. I was welcomed by their parents to their home, the mom Crystal even telling me I was the only girl she allowed to hang out for hours by herself in the cabana bedroom the two elder brothers in a brood of five shared in their Rolling Hills home.

Then Van left to work for GMA in Manila, leaving just Arman and I. Still, we quickly picked up where we left off when he returned to join his father in a USAid project. Those were the fun years. Being a journalist with flexi-time, he picked me as his travel companion for out of town trips in their metallic brown sedan simply because he knew I can spare the time.

He’d call me at home to tell me he’s coming by to pick me up. My role is to keep him awake while he drove. That meant keeping a steady stream of conversation, unwrapping a candy before handing this to him when he felt sleepy, or handing over water from an already opened bottle. In exchange, he fed me, lots of food. Yeah. I work for food. The land trips were an added perk.

The father Ven soon realized I’m a good listener and can keep up my end of the conversation, and snagged me for himself. I’m the welcome addition to the family.

The mother apparently liked it when I’m the barkada in tow by her sons or her husband. Again, I was fed and fed well with free drinks, too! Burp!

But Ven died, life went on, the mom died soon after, and we went our different ways. The friendship remained, except that, life happened.

Somehow, there was that thought that we can always pick up from where we left off... anytime.

Wrong. Because Van left unexpectedly, taking everyone, including his siblings by surprise. There is just emptiness, an incomprehensible void, and a desire to whack him on the nape for leaving without warning. But that’s him. Long ago, he’d just doze off mid-conversation after rounds of beer and I’d just wake him up when it’s time for him to drive me home. This time, he has gone on an eternal rest. There’s no more waking up to be done, just a whispered goodbye. It was a friendship unparalleled, Van. Till we meet again.

(Van is Vivencio A. Saludo Jr. of GMA-Davao who passed away just like that on December 9, 2019 at 55. He was just three months older than I).