Tuesday, March 23, 2004
He had looked fine before the match, and we had met up to go to the competition venue together. He came down to my neighborhood for lunch, a rarity because we live so far away from each other. We talked alot of crap like usual, on our way to the venue, reached there and barely played five minutes. He collapsed. I could still see him gasping for air. He was making strange sounds. His face was turning black. He could not be resuscitated. Then he died on me. My good friend. Why do you have to die on me? I do not want to be the one who had to call your mom. I do not want to be the one who sent out those text messages and emails regarding your wake and funeral details. I rather not be offering you a joss stick in prayer. Because you were still so alive just moments before. Words can barely describe my grief. I can only keep on crying.
