I had a friend, a real good one. One of a few whom I would often stop and think about. Now after twenty long years, we bumped into each other again — virtually. Thanks facebook. I was dying to exchange stories with him. Loads of stories. Unfortunately, one day and without a warning, the same facebook announced he was gone.
He was born and raised in Nabua. Swell place. About a hailing distance from where I’m sitting, here in Lake Bato. I was thinking about rejoining him in his old hometown. We could empty lots of bottles of beer under a mango tree. Could’ve been fun. I have always thought there will always be time for a get-together. I have always thought there’s always time for everything.
His son told me he kept referring to me as “the photographer.” Waw. His wife told me how saddened he was because the photographer failed to show up at their town fiesta in Rizal last February. But he was fully aware, the photographer — at the time — was piddling aimlessly here in Lake Bato.
Procrastination is such a time thief.