Remembering Rey

It’s been 19 years now. Almost two decades since he dispatched himself, choosing the manner and the moment of his departure.

I would rather dwell on the fine things created by his hands. Certainty defined the body of his visual work. Black and white were the only colours in his spectrum. His sketches were clear-cut and straightforward. No room for ambiguity there.

His saxophone exuded music much louder than his voice, with an eloquence his tongue could never match. His tones filled up completely the entire lobby of AS. We all took heed and paused. We listened to the story of our lives narrated to us.

Yet, the same hands were prone to violence as well. I have witnessed the pointless battering of bodies amid savage war cries. I recall scarlet. Scarlet and flesh. Some things you would rather put out of your mind.

He might as well have been born in Sparta. Brought up in a household where discipline was paramount. The rules were simple. He was not to be trodden upon. He would never back down. During the early February mornings of 1986 at EDSA, when the crowds had not yet convened, his presence was reassuring. His resolve was steel, fortified by pride. Unwavering.

He was never afraid of anyone or anything. It was only he himself that he probably feared. And in the end, it could have been the reason for his fall. He was beaten. Or was it the other way around?

I miss him. Funny, he’s been gone far much longer than I’ve actually known him.

“When I meet you in the sun, I shall tell you much.”

(The image is a caricature he made of me during a rehearsal break of a production we staged in UP).