“If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”
I didn’t know Max well. But I knew he was kind.
I met him a long time ago, the date of which escapes me. It was during the pre-Facebook/Instagram era. He offered to build me a website where I could post my thoughts. He saw potential in me. He told me I could build an audience and earn money.
And he did build one for me which I, shamelessly, through the years, forgot all about. It wasn’t because I didn’t believe in his vision. It was because I lacked the capacity to understand it. At that time, I didn’t even understand what a website was and how it functioned.
I didn’t know Max well. And yet, I was a recipient of his generosity.
When I finally got on social media, I began to get to know Max better through his posts. I found him to be an extremely generous person who was always offering to help people, especially journalists, get onboard the technology train.
Clearly a forward thinker, he was a master in marrying media with tech. He knew what was coming long before the rest of us (or was it just me?) could even muster the capacity to understand the present.
But beyond being tech-savvy and helpful, he seemed to be someone who truly cared about making a difference in the stories he told.
I didn’t know Max well. But I got the impression he was brave, intelligent and principled. But he was also funny. He serially posted tongue-in-cheek statements that might not have sat well with some people.
He was not the type to stay silent and sit on the sidelines. He was the type to go out on a limb to take a stand and a side. He was the type who was unafraid to offend individuals and institutions.
He was the kind of person who could lead a revolution. Because what do you call someone who boldly ushers in a new system, bravely calls out practices that should be changed and opens people’s eyes to what they don’t want to see?
I didn’t know Max well. But he came to my father’s wake last year. I wasn’t able to speak with him at length so, I messaged him afterwards to thank him for taking the time to visit. He messaged back, “Condolence, Mel. See you again in better times.”
These words came back to haunt me when I heard the news.
Initially, I thought he had said these words to me at the wake. He had not. He had messaged them to me. And when I reread Max’s message, it broke my heart to know that while I would be seeing him again, it would not be in better times.
I didn’t know Max well. But I know now that he was the person I thought he was.
I’ve read all the moving eulogies of all who knew him better than I did. Their collective grief over Max’s passing tells me that while Max could not have been without fault or failing, he was loved, valued and appreciated.
We are all dying, my niece tells me. And she is right.
From the day we are born, we live knowing we will one day, die. So, why choose to live, anyway? I think it is for the chance to make sense of the life given us, a chance to make meaning of our existence, a chance to leave a legacy that makes a difference.
We choose to live for the chance to live a life that matters.
“If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”
The whole forest heard it, Max.
You have left us with a legacy of kindness, generosity and strength of spirit. But you have also left us with a torch to carry to be truth tellers, to be intrepid chroniclers of time and history, to be disruptors and changemakers for good.
We are grief-stricken by your passing. But as you journey to the next life, know that we are immensely grateful to have met you at the crossing.
Godspeed, Max Limpag.