21 Days of Rain

I hesitated to write this. For a long time, I thought, if I wrote about someone, something painful would resurface.

But I had to do it. This is the only way to let everyone know how much Midori meant to me; and how much she really cared about everyone.

The first time I told the story of how I lost her was during my Critical Thinking class. I hoped by telling the story, my students would learn how to become involved and intent in speaking English—that by tuning in to each other’s idiosyncrasies, they would learn the magic of learning the language. They simply needed to understand, to listen, and to care about each other. It was an insensitive move, really because I wanted them to cry. I knew Midori’s story would pull hard at their heartstrings and would urge them to move beyond shyness. And they did-- they clung on to every word until the end of her story. This was, in my opinion, the true mark of a storyteller.

****

“I met Midori Abalos at a call center twelve years ago. Although I didn’t know what I got myself into, the position paid well. But like any other pencil pushing job, it too became tedious.

Midori provided relief when everything became monotonous and stressful because she kept everything relaxed, but she rebelled when she felt she needed to.

Sadly, I left the company before I really got to know her. She had her following back then; everyone loved her. She flourished when I left. She left her unassuming countryside attitude behind and lived among unique individuals with diverse personalities. She learned to assimilate and, people around her understood her quite well.

Midori exactly knew how to act in a certain way when she was with other people. She never hid anything from anyone because she was outspoken. She loved everyone. She cared. She listened.

She knew who and what I was. We both shared the same spirituality. We trod on the same spiritual plane. We knew things happened for a reason... like our friendship.

When I had already established myself as an educator, our paths crossed again. Midori sought my expertise in business planning.

During that time, Mids had become weary working full time for the company she worked at. She wanted to break free from contracts and agreements because she hated commitments.

So, we devised an ideal plan to work and enjoy it at the same time. Our endeavors would soon pay off. Midori secured funds to finance a business trip to Boracay Island. The trip allowed us to work on the island. Midori had a genuine fear of water, but she enjoyed being in Boracay. The first thing she did on the island was to conquer her fear by taking scuba diving classes. In other words, Midori took Carpe Diem to a whole new level!

She became obsessed with the sport. She perfected the skill. She aced the practical exam that came along with being certified as a scuba diver. She wanted the suit, the tan, and the redonkulously expensive dive watch. She also wanted me to come along and be her diving buddy.

I was apprehensive of course. I also had a genuine fear of water because I almost drowned when I was seven years old. Next, I was also reluctant to part with little money I had left in my savings during that time. But the thought of going into another world has always fascinated me, and adventure beckoned like a bell pealing in the belfry.

Midori knew I wanted to go scuba diving. So, she paid for my lessons.

Midori and I laid out the plans for our plan to rescue a dive shop from bankruptcy. That was the plan. We spent 3 days to prepare the business plan.

Coincidentally, I got certified as diver. I was happy and my fear of the deep blue dissipated. I could see Nemo and Dory.

On our first leisure dive, I ventured a few feet away from the boat. I was busy taking pictures. I had the time of my life—literally; and I found a deeper appreciation of a world, which I stayed away from for so many years.

As this happened, I had not realised I was breathing in so much air. But no sooner than I had realized this, I was running out of air.

I signaled to Midori I needed resurface; but, it was too late. By the time I reached the diving line, I was breathing in a lot of water—and fast!

On my way back to the line, I had lost control. I had no more air in my tank! Panic had set in before I could reach the surface. Behind me, the others rushed to see what was happening. Midori was a foot away. I grabbed her; but, she knew if she allowed me to pull on her, she herself would drown. She knew what to do; but, she herself became entangled in the diving line. Her primary tube had come loose. She stopped helping me. She had to get her line into her mouth. She had momentarily drifted away from me. She needed to calm down and not help me.

As I continued to feverishly grasp for air, Midori had started to float on her back. I did the same thing and told myself to stop panicking and to start floating on my back as well. That helped, but I was still taking in saltwater. I had to remove the gravity belt because I was being dragged down.

A few hours later, back in the hotel, Midori and I talked about what happened.No one is to blame, we agreed. We told ourselves it was a good thing it happened. Because if something like that would ever happen again, we would know what to exactly do.

We knew the incident brought us closer. We promised each other we would never go on other dives if we were not doing together. In other words, we became eternal dive buddies. Two people who originally feared water finally conquered the phobia with a promise to be together.

A day before we left the island, Midori and I concluded Boracay Island was saturated. The competition was tough. Many dive shops scramble to get one person to go on an expensive expedition underwater. Immense capital had to be raised to healthily compete with other dive shops. That was it, no more dive shop. Vacation was over.

The next day, we had to leave for Manila and looked for other islands, where putting up a resort would be more feasible.

Months passed before Mids told me she went to another island; but, this time, she'd have to go alone. It was a special mission the client asked Mids to go. Midori assured me, she'd send for me.

Many more months later, I had to get a job as a language specialist while I waited for her call. The school that hired me had just opened a branch in Baguio—the city where Mids was from. I thought I’d surprise her when I got there for the opening of the school.

I called her and told her I was going to see her. She hesitated to say yes because (according to) her grandmother didn’t like visitors so it would be a fool’s errand. I insisted but she said no, maybe next time.

I gave up after a few hours of convincing her. I gave up on the idea of being with my dive buddy in her hometown. I also almost gave up on our friendship. There was no point arguing because I had enough of her flakiness. This was not the first time. I was done. I will never talk to her again. Goodbye for good, Mids.

On May 22, 2011, I received a call from one of our friends, Jewel.

"Vic, we lost one of our own," Jewel said in a fearful tone.

Midori was never in Baguio when I called her. She was in Batangas diving with another. According to reports, a strong undercurrent swept Midori 30 meters away from the dive line. There was no experienced dive master who could have helped avert the accident when they set out to open waters on the afternoon of May 21st. Both she and her dive buddy drowned. Her body was found hours later. It took the search and rescue team to find the body of her dive buddy the next day.

I had forgotten how long I cussed and swore when the reality of her death finally hit me. Midori was dead. She was gone. She never truly conquered what she thought she had conquered. She lost.

Was it because she broke a promise to me? Were my words powerful enough to have sent Midori to a watery grave? If, indeed we both trodden on a similar spiritual plane, did my words bear an ethereal curse that finally ended our friendship?

I was numb for weeks. I cried every time I heard her laughter in my head. Her laughter bore a genuine passion for life because it was never fake. She laughed even if she was hurting inside.

She laughed even when her prospects for love became bleak. She was never rich, but she shared what less she had.

She relied on her friends' generosity, and she relied on my sensibility about relationships. I made sense to her and she made me not worry about what I don’t have.

I admired her unwavering faith in the Universe. She believed everything happened for a reason. Her last text message, which she sent a week before her last dive read:

"...everything will be fine, trust the universe is working in your favor."

I saw the message again a day after she died. But I purged all memories of her and I had to stop crying. Now, I have to be angry at her. It's easier that way."