KING

In less than two hours FPJ's remains will be taken out of Sto. Domingo Church, and the march of millions to North Cemetery will begin. I ache to be there, in that church, with the rest of my campaign colleagues. I'm home because silly me, I wasn't wearing sneakers when i went out earlier, and I certainly cannot go there in stilettos, so I had to go home. And now it's too late to go out, all the roads congested with people waiting for tomorrow to begin.

It hurts to not be there, that I have to be honest about. FPJ is not just a movie actor. Not to me, not anymore. He's not just one of those famous people whose funeral I watch because it's something everyone talks about the next day. I haven't even watched any of his movies, never cared to.

This is personal.

People often ask me if I voted for FPJ in the last elections. And even if they don't, I know they are dying to ask. Even my close friends find it incredulous that I campaigned for the man, much less put him in my precious ballot.

Well I did. I voted for him. Actually, I did more than that.

I loved FPJ. I still do.

Not the weird, infatuated, romantic love. Of course not, hello. It is one of deepest respect--perhaps even reverence, admiration and affection. We cared for him, took care of him, followed him, guided him. We loved him. And he loved us back, more love than we thought would be possible between a boss and his staff, between people who had never even met until the first official day of the campaign (and that was already more than two months after the actual work had begun. I was already going into his head way before i actually saw his face).

It's one thing to look at FPJ, to see him on tv, to hear stories about him. But it's another to actually be with him, work with him, talk to him, and fight his fight.

I almost didn't want to do it. When I first learned who we were campaigning for, I wanted to resign from my job. I got home and wailed to my mom about the future of the country and how I didn't want to be a part of it. It was easy to scoff at him, knowing him only as an actor and Erap's friend (oh dear God not one of Erap's friends).

But then something told me to wait, and to give this person a chance.

I have no regrets. True, it was difficult at first. We were treading in unknown waters. No one knew what kind of man FPJ was (in the headquarters we called him RAP--Ronald Allan Poe--or Principal or, jokingly, Bitoy). I went to meetings half-amused, half-bewildered. I had to give credit to Sir Vince, who convinced us that everything was going to be okay.

Sir Vince was right. What I got from those months with FPJ, no one can ever take away from me. The frustrations, the pains, the hope and, most of all, the faith. The knowledge, in our heart of hearts, that we were fighting the good fight. It was the worst and the best of times, truly.

Through it all one man shone through. RAP was a simple man, a quiet man with essential values that fueled us all. Never had we encountered a man who was so compassionate and yet so firm about what he believed in. He knew right from wrong, and chose what was right--over and over and over again. Even when seasoned politicians said he was committing political suicide, even when he was being ridiculed and discriminated against, he stood by what he believed in, and preserved the person that he was and the cause that he was fighting for. He served as a beacon to all of us, giving strength to the weak and shaming the mighty.

RAP was an honorable man, a respectable man that I am privileged to have known. It's sad that very few people had the chance to get to know him. I only got a glimpse; how lucky his family and close friends must be. Trite as it may be, we are better people for having met him.

Even now, I don't think many people would understand why I voted for him, or why I fought vigorously for him. I don't expect them to. They used to ask, anong gagawin niya pag presidente na siya? May magagawa ba siya? That question never scared me. I answered with this: Merong magagawa, dahil nandun ako. Nandun kami. We will be there, and we will all help. The collective future begins with individual responsibility. Accountability. Pananagutan. As RAP used to say, with one finger pointed up, "pananagutan sa taas, and pananagutan sa inyo."

Simple. Honest. Genuine. And now gone.

I remember, during sorties, we used to stand up on the flatbed of the media truck directly in front of RAP's van. Amid the unending sea of people we danced to the jingles that played during the motorcade, trying to keep the energy up because we knew we all needed it. Once in a while we would glance behind us, and we could see that RAP was smiling, pointing to us, evidently amused by our antics. It was good to see that unguarded smile, knowing how tired he was from standing and shaking people's hands all day long (which left scars on his arms because people were literally clawing at each other--and at him--in the fight to get near). I wish I could do that little dance now and see RAP smile again.

He will be missed.