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THE STOIC FACE

It was the smoke from the burning ashes which woke him up.

It was the smoke that he could not see anymore, runoffs from the glimmers of the ceiling’s Swarovski crystal chandelier he bought yesterday’s eventide. Now, he wears a million-dollar face and a collection of top-of-the-line Ferraris.

It’s hard to imagine that you can buy Dolce and Gabannas and Armanis for ten peso. Harder even to imagine that the once disheveled face of Vic Parente Abueva, the once-mendicant and cantered mestizo Vic Parente Abueva would now turn out to be the millionaire, the extolled, the looked upon, the trendsetter Victor Peter Abueva, VP for the periodicals.

It was the disinterested hang-over of a third-cousin which woke him up, followed by a resounding call for help, the mixture of chaos and mass hysteria, and a darkness beyond any eye could ever see. A darkness that blinded the grown men into crying. A darkness that died as people died. And in the end, the unconscious Vic Parente Abueva was saved out of the ruins of what was now the ashes of their neighborhood.

It was suppose to be happy morning, it was his son’s graduation from elementary – and at last, an Abueva would now step into high school. His wife was suppose to accompany him in the final ceremony, he would have cried tears of joy, he would have smiled, he would have rejoice. But what is to rejoice? Even his life is a memento of grief. Nothing is to be rejoiced but death, nothing but death to dissolute his tears.

He would have smiled that morning, but who could have smiled? The death toll reached 60, three Abuevas and the rest, their friends, their kumpares and kumares. He would have been lucky if he died, but there he was, intoxicating himself in another house, where he was rejoicing until the end of his sanity.

He would have smiled that morning. It was supposed to be a happy morning, he would have seen his son in the stage with a diploma. Now, his son is but cinders and ashes, he cannot even recognize his face, nor distinguish his wife from the same ashes. His wife would have been so proud, she would have cooked pansit for that God-given day. He would have tasted the best pansit he could ever taste. Jr, a three-years-old hyperactive toddler would have had eaten a plateful of it and cried when his stomach’s too full.

A great day indeed. It was also the day he won the lottery for 225 million peso, the biggest-single winning in the Philippine history. What a hell to win 225 million. What a hell to live a millionaire’s life over the cremated body of your sons and wife.

It was the smoke from the burning ashes which woke him up. The sweet-smelling smoke of incense as he woke up in the end of the Sunday’s mass. Finally, the mass is over, he can now make more money! Now, the millionaire is becoming more of a billionaire, in dollars. Mr., or more likely, His Excellency, as he would want to be formally addressed, Victor Peter Abeuva – the proprietor of estates stretching as far as Monte Carlo, Milan, Paris, Beverly Hills and none in the Philippines but a seaside resort – is now an unwanted competition to the Ayalas.

A great day indeed, for everyday is a great day to make money. Form His Excellency never had an idea that he has a talent for bending bank accounts until the day he struck gold. Now, the ashes had turned to gold. He never remarried, he considers it bad luck for business. But, now and then, he visits the Abueva mausoleum, now, a memorial of its own. The great Victor Peter Abueva, in misery, checks for the stock exchange index with his PDA holding a bouquet of tulips for the epitaph. Now, he waits until his cancer – which, not even the tabloids have knew- ends it all for him.

It was incense that’s burning once more. Now, in his deathbed, he realizes it all. And as he follows his family, the face who made billions became the face who cried it all. A face who never smiled, nor cried until now. In his regret, in his bereft, in his agony, in his silent cries, he woke up in another side of the world. Now, he can finally smile.

PARKER

“It is only when I bid good night that I realize how great the morning was for me.”