I went to the wake of a GMA 7 reporter, who died over the weekend in a freaky vehicular accident. Dan Campilan was 25 when he joined his Creator.
I met Dan through another reporter friend, Mark Salazar. I really had no chance to develop strong ties with Dan, much less work with him except for a couple of times when he obliged to cover a Gawad Kalinga event and an anti-cha-cha concert. Other than that, I see him mostly in primetime news.
The last time I had a chat with him was in GMA 7. Mark and Dan were there to listen as I let out the stress of a long day. Actually, It was more like a nicotine marathon session with Mark and Dan. Just the same, it was very relieving.
Then, a text message from Pia broke the news on a weekend which I thought could be a total humdrum. “FYI, GMA 7 reporter Dan Campilan died in a vehicular accident this morning…” Her message goes. I was stunned.
At first, I could not believe that Dan perished just that morning. I logged on and did some online searching for that particular news that I wish could be a hoax. And there it was – a dreadful story that would break any mother’s heart.
Suddenly, I thought about my life. Like Dan, I have so many things I want to do, things I want to have, people I want to meet. His death, in a way, knocked some sense into my numbing soul. I thought of the people that I may have offended or loved ones that I may have not seen or spend time with.“My time could be running out,” I told myself.
In his wake at Nacional Memorial, I still feel so bothered. Thoughts were swirling and whirling on my head (Yes, like that circle in a spiral). Despite the iconoclast geek that I am, I cannot help but feel disturbed and restless. Suddenly, I thought of the people that I am missing and the things that I wanted to do (but failing to do for one reason or another). I tried to divert my attention by looking at the Mass card that I was holding. “I am now free…,” a line in the card read. And I just have to agree. Death, sometimes is a liberating thing – total freedom from this crazy world.
Then a cold breeze started to engulf me. Sadness, he whispered, is his name. After spending a few minutes with some friends and puffing more nicotine into my veins and exchanging glances here and there, we decided to head home and call it a night. But images of deaths and love affair, of friendship and betrayal, of corporate competition, the concrete jungle drama, frustrations and ambitions, of songs and poems – all these were squeezed into my head as I made my way home.
Then, I asked myself: “How much time do I have to live the kind of life I want?” and “Where do I start rectifying the mistakes I did and continue to live with?” and “What will I eat for dinner?”
“U-turn po tayo?” asked the cab driver. And I am back to my reality. I have seen death so many times – But Dan’s is one of those with strong impact on me. It was 48 minutes past the hour of nine. Maybe it is not too late to try to get that time of my life.
Rest in peace, Dan Campilan!
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Sey Mou