By Joan Lopez Flores

Yesterday morning, I was walking along Emerald Avenue on my way home from work. I decided to drop by Starbucks–I thought that was the best way I could be sentimental about my late dad who had died a week before.

In recent months, my dad developed pastries for the company (as well as for its most obvious competitor Figaro, and Red Ribbon, Dunkin Donuts, Mister Donut, and many others), and so I decided to buy myself a treat he himself made and pretend that, hey, Dad baked this for me! Yay! He didn’t really just leave without baking something for me . . . Right?!

The Starbucks people who had come to the wake told me how dedicated he was to work, and how pleased they were with him. They said one of dad’s recent creations, Bacon Twist, became a bestseller after only weeks of release. His latest work, Fudgy Brownie, which they said was a promising hit, too, had just been approved by their executives the week of his death. How sad they were that such a genius and a sweetheart left them just like that!

As I bit into the Bacon Twist wrapped in brown paper I bought and held so lovingly in my hands and continued to walk along Emerald, tears welled up in my eyes. I cried unashamedly upon the first bite–I couldn’t bear to take a second one–and with every step. I felt an aching in my chest as I willfully tried to stop as I neared Megamall, where I would soon after buy a gift for my husband Raffy for our first wedding anniversary.

Talk about overwhelming. Talk about life having a “funny way of sneaking up on you when everything’s OK then everything blows up in your face,” as Alanis said. Talk about longing. Talk about freaky holidays I thought was just pop movie bullshit.

Dad, your passing away has broken us into a hundred pieces like no bulldozer can . . . and has put us back together, too, in love, unexpectedly. As I’ve always kidded you before, madaya ka. Boo. Umalis ka nang di man lang nag-ba-bye. And you’re only 49! And now we’re left with your pile of baking stuff, led by your industrial oven in grimy green, and all other unsorted documents, land title matters, and quite a long list of complicated issues, for good.

I know I’ll get by, somehow, especially as I’m the one expected by everybody to pick up where you left off, being ate to JP and Jet and being surrogate mother to my own sick-in-the head Mama (hahaha, sorry, Ma). So, what the heck. Ikaw na at si God ang bahala sa ‘kin. Please?

We spent Christmas and New Year’s without you, Dad. Sayang di ka nakatikim ng hipon, bumili ako, isang kilo. Tapos nag-turbo kami ng ham, bigay ni Tito Gerry kasi alam niya wala kaming pera dito. We’re grieving down here, but happy for you too as you’re in a better place now. Kahit na madaya ka. We love you! I don’t think we said that enough. I love you, dad.

Photo: “Waiting for You” by Jeridaking
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Joan is a poet, musician, graphic artist, and aspiring filmmaker. As a college sophomore, she directed the short film Respite, which won third place in the Gawad CCP para sa Alternatibong Pelikula at Bidyo in 2004.

Her short film Sibuyas and documentary Asyenda were finalists at the 2005 Catholic Mass Media Awards. She wrote and composed all the songs in the comedy-musical Saan Nagtatago si Happiness?