Thursday, December 28, 2006

Tito Henry

I went to Ateneo to give the Christmas cards for the Accountancy office, which was my family throughout my entire college days. The guards on both gates refused to receive it because they fear it might be lost considering that offices won't open until Jan. 3. Great, the cards not only greet belated Christmas bnut New Year as well.

The next cluster of cards I gave to the maid of the Mrs. Gauce's, a family friend of ours and president of the high school I went to. One of her son-in-laws was my sponsor in college, Tito Henry Lopez, who was the father of one of my classmates in high school. I dunno if until now Topher still doesn't know. Her sisters though, knew and even went with the rest of the family during my graduation dinner which Tito Henry treated. And believe it or not, I met him after four years during my graduation. He remained anonymous, helping me get through college by sending allowances and subsidies for tuition excesses. I sat in awe during that dinner and I can't even speak well. Perhaps, I was just overwhelmed. We talked some more. That was one and a half year ago I last saw him. I let him know what's happening with my life through Tita Marjo, her sister in law, who I ocassionally get to talk with during the few times I went to school.

If there's one person I am totally grateful of, it would be him. I would definitely call him tomorrow, and would surely want to meet him.

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Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Renton, Trainspotting