Jay Bautista, friend and confidante
Barry, Jay, Reggie, Benjo, Alcuin.
Jay suffered a bad death.
The last time I saw him breathing, he had two dark-colored tubes in his mouth.
The first dangled from the left corner like a wilted cigar. The second was placed in between his lips, held together by strips of translucent adhesive tape. It had an opening through which a nurse administered drugs and liquids — hopefully, the happy kind to avoid travel sickness on his next journey.
But there were far more important things that begged for my limited attention that late rainy Sunday night when I visited the intensive care unit where he was confined.
At that time, Jay was already practically gone. His shoulders rose and fell to the beat of a breathing apparatus that kept him alive.
In less than a minute after I entered the ICU and saw how he was, I broke down and wept — twice.
Some people deserve to die this way — and I can think of several whose suffering might provide me some enjoyment, including this prick who owes me money — but Jay wasn't one of them.
However, such is life — it is not fair. (Which might partially explain why I am still alive. Having said that, I don't know about you.)
This was taken at Quezon Hall, shortly after Barry was sworn in as editor in chief of the Philippine Collegian in 1995. All of this was Jay’s idea — I think — and we played along. Jay is the guy with the bucket of ice on the right. An altered image of this picture was later used for the Philippine Comedian, a spoof issue (as far as I can remember).
Jay Bautista is one of the few who knows me better than most people.
As of this writing, there are only six of them around — two journalists (one of whom is currently bedridden); a community organizer, a lawyer, a visual artist, and an ex that I loved profoundly. (It is, I guess, a testament to my honesty and trustworthiness that that the ex and I still share certain things that is under my name. But I flatter myself.)
Jay knows my birthday (an open secret among close friends) and never failed to send me a greeting every year which I — not a big birthday fan — grudgingly accepted.
During the first year of the pandemic, I learned that Jay had gone through a serious operation — one that would later require him to undergo dialysis treatments throughout the rest of his life.
On one of these first few treatments — done in a facility close to where I live — he called me up and said that he wanted to pay me a visit.
I told him that the apartment was dirty and unkempt and this was what he told me:
The timing of his planned visit was off. Remember, this was year 2021.
First, COVID-19 was still infecting and killing people in droves.
Second, people were still disallowed and discouraged from moving about to curb infection transmission.
Third, Jay was a dialysis newbie and may have impaired ability in taking care of himself after treatment. He may also develop complications immediately, on top of the fact that he himself could contract COVID-19.
Fourth, and least important of all, was the condition of the apartment that he was planning to go to and the general mood of the resident who wasn't open to sudden, unscheduled appointments (unless the visitors were shapely and curvy feminists in various states of undress. Take note: I will not be offended if you take me seriously.)
In any case, he insisted and I gave in. I had lunch delivered in the apartment. We both had wine and beer in measured amounts but the conversation was overflowing.
During that first visit, I asked Jay directly: "Malapit ka na ba?" (Are you going to go anytime soon?)
"Hindi pa (Not yet)," he replied, without conviction. At that time, I think he knew that his time was running out and that his visit was his way of bidding a long, if extended goodbye.
Jay, Jing Gaddi, and me hanging out in a Maginhawa Street apartment which I would attempt to move into but would later fail, owing to the inability of certain people to express their thoughts well. Unfortunately, these people are still — haha — alive.
Jay's first visit resulted in another.
Later on, since I wanted to go out and I wanted him to enjoy the experience of dining out as well, I decided on an occasional arrangement that we both planned beforehand. I would pick him up after dialysis and would treat him to a late lunch or an early supper involving — of course — beer and wine, which are allegedly disallowed for patients undergoing dialysis treatments.
To ensure that he got home safely, I used my own Grab account to book a ride to far-away Las Piñas.
But now, he's gone. Jay is no longer with us. He has left us so quickly.
I'm glad that I was able to hang out with him, one on one, face to face, COVID-19 or no.
Mor(t)al lesson: It's not too late to buy your friend a drink. You might need it more than s(he) does.
It's not the drink itself that sustains us but the warm exchange of banter and anecdote, the understated gestures of friendship and camaraderie that is facilitated by cold, fermented beverages shared and enjoyed between friends.
Thank you very much, Jay Giovanni Bautista for your friendship. I'll see you, sooner or later. And when that time comes, you will buy me that drink.
