Victor, 66
Victor played classical guitar, baked magic brownies using hash oil he himself processed, and prepared, cooked, and served good food to friends, all during a time when the country spiralled into pandemic disaster.
While his guitar practice was intermittent, his passion for music was solid and true. It prompted him to organize a recital for kids playing his favorite instrument — perhaps a tiny yet bright spot in a time when Covid-19 claimed the lives of hundred Filipinos everyday.
I arrived late to one such recital (I remember there were two) but was able to catch one of several children performing Leaving on a Jet Plane, of which the song's best rendition was once a topic of debate. (At that time, I preferred Frank Sinatra's.)
Later on, as the continuing lockdown forced us to tolerate our own company (we both lived several blocks away from one another), Victor baked brownies using hash oil he had processed from a supply of kush. Since it took time for the magic to happen, I mistakenly bit more than I could chew. To this day, it was the most potent brownie I had ever ingested. I became so high that I had a death scare and had to resort to my meditation practice to ease the anxiety. Yes: I meditated while high in the middle of a pandemic.
Not long after, as travel restrictions continued, he borrowed a considerable amount from me, guaranteeing a 20 percent return after a year. He also promised to beat profit targets of my other investments.
I was stupid enough to believe him because very few investment opportunities were available at that time.
Payback time came and went and he was only able to fork out less than a tenth of what he owned me. It hardly made a dent on the principal.
He later denied offering a guarantee — despite screenshots indicating otherwise — and our friendship deteriorated quickly after that. It wasn't just the money — which was considerable — it was the refusal to come clean and admit error. So convinced was he of his correctness that he later returned a book I had given him for his birthday, a move that certainly made the friendship to be over.
When he died of cancer a few days ago, Victor and I hadn't spoken to each other in at least three years.
People, I'm sure, will remember him as warm and generous. But he could also be severe and envious, leaving behind a string of broken, bitter friendships and a trail of unpaid debt.
Goodbye, Victor. I'll see you around soon enough. And when that time comes, I hope we both already have the good sense to forgive one another.