PERSONIFIED HOPE.

Way back in grade school, I believe Trisha and I are friends. So to add, our mothers are friends too. We became classmates in first grade. She is sandwiched between Carmina Fernando and Aprille Maleficio in our class picture; I am located in her northeast. But it doesn't really matter how often we were housed in a classroom together.

I remember our phone call conversations. I remember how we talked about our moms. I remember how the news came to me that she was diagnosed with cancer.

Days have passed by without her treading the corridors, sitting in a wooden armchair, sheltered in the cradle of St. Paul School of Sta. Maria. I don't think I have noticed at all. On the other hand, she must be thinking of herself treading the corridors, sitting in a wooden chair, sheltered in the cradle of St. Paul School of Sta. Maria-- she must be thinking of it everytime.

I can clearly recall how she surfaced in the limelight during our Graduation day. She walked, reached for the directress' hand, received her diploma, stood still and took a bow like any other student of the Centennial Batch. She was given a well-deserved round of applause. It lasted for seconds but that touchstone encompassed a lifetime.

After that occasion, I hardly heard anything about her.

Sundays. I remember seeing her family and her after masses. She flashes a weak smile everytime our eyes meet. Paradoxically, her strength never fails to radiate everytime.

Seeing her small frame, you can feel how much she has gone through and sympathize. Moreover, you admire her and get inspired.

I did not have a hint that she came back to school this year. I was not surprised to see her last June afterall. I was happy to see her. Working behind the red curtains during the Acquaintance-Disco, I felt the same happiness when I saw her in line with the transferees and freshmen. She wore an elegant gown I see in fairytales. I felt maternal love on the spot. I remembered how I loathed the Acquaintance Party I am supposed to enjoy and here she is enjoying, as how it should be, what I missed. That was the last time I saw her. They said she attended the JS Prom. That was the last time I was supposed to see her.

Someone's death reminds me of mortality. It never fails to remind me how short life is, how hopeful life is. It never fails to remind me how may days I've sulked, how many weeks I've taken for granted, how many months I've squandered and how many years I've wasted.

Throughout her battle, Trisha was a personified hope to those who have heard of her story.

I am never knowledgeable how much you have been through or how much your family has been through, but I am omnisciently claiming that I know you have indeed fulfilled your purpose. You deserve to breathe sans the worldliness in His loving arms.