DECODED, FINALLY

I treated my family to Da Vinci Code last weekend. Yes, suckers we all are.

It was...okay. Just okay. I wasn't enthralled or shocked. In fact, I was rather underwhelmed (that girl in 10 Things: You can be overwhelmed, you can be underwhelmed, but can you just be...whelmed?).

Too much drama and kindergarten explaining, and too little thrill. I'm not saying this because I've read the book; I've read all Harry Potter books as well, and much as Harry is corny kidstuff, the book-to-film attempt of that one fared so much better than Ron Howard's limp endeavor, all things considered.

Sure, there was an extraordinary breadth of information to cram into two hours, but with faster and better storytelling they could've pulled it off. LOTR did. I mean, the Dan Brown's book reads like a script by itself, how could you go wrong? But they did. Watching the movie, you feel as if you're sitting at the edge of your seat - not with excitement but with impatience. Half the time, you are gripped by an intense desire to shout, "go, move the story along will ya?!" The other half is spent comparing the book to the movie. Not a good sign.

I dunno. Maybe it's just me. Hey, it wasn't that bad. You have to give them props for being brave enough to come out with a film version. I just wasn't as impressed as I thought I would be. Like one critic said, it lacked the riddle-solving, analytical approach that the book had. It fails to draw the viewer in to the chase. And that's where the excitement is, really. I would want to feel involved, not like an outsider watching several people run around like mad. Plus, the ending sucked for me. It was fine until the camera zoomed and went undergound to show Mary Magdalene's sarcophagus. I mean, hello. Can you spell overkill? A gazillion people have read the book, and even if they haven't, it wouldn't take a rocket scientist or even a college student to figure out what was inside the frickin *******. If the makers of the film had told the story properly (read: effectively) from the beginning, Langdon's kneeling down at the spot and the riddle being said in the background should have been more than enough to explain the significance of that scene. Duh. So much for mystery.

And that Bishop Aringarosa was such a distraction. I couldn't get Octo Octavian out of my mind. I kept waiting for tentacles to jump out his back and whack the other priests. No traces of them, however. Too bad. That would have been exciting.

We got a call from Iloilo this morning. My tito, papa's youngest brother, is dead. I don't know the details, but mama said he fell down the stairs as he was getting coffee. It was most probably a stroke.

I'm not very close to my dad's relatives, but there's something about this kind death that pulls you down. It shocks you. How could that happen? My tito was very strong, very alive. He had a loud voice and a confident gait. He was always nice to us. His daughters are adorable. For him to be snatched away so suddenly...it was just one morning. Like any other. My little cousins were probably still asleep. There's a level of disbelief that can't be diminished.

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I want my death to be a slow one. Not to add agony or drama or whatever, but just so my loved ones and I know. I hate not knowing. I hate bad surprises. It's like coming home to a house in complete disarray. All you can do is look. You can't even utter the question "why?" It just is, and you know can't do anything about it. That's what keeps you dumbfounded.

I hate for my death to be like a thief. I want to be able to say I love you to all the people I love. I want my family to know that no matter how grumpy I can get, I would still do anything for them. I want my friends to know that I appreciate them. I want my baby to know I will love him forever.

If I could tell everyone I know to take care, every single day, I would. I don't know if that would help, though. No one in this earth is big enough to question the motive of death, if there is one. Sure, science can always explain the causes. No one disputes that. But there is still a void that needs to be filled by something less mundane. If you believe in something greater than yourself, if you believe in the universe, you know there's a reason, and you understand that you are not in the position to doubt it.

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Time and again, death teaches us what we've known all along but too often forget: that life is precious, life is a tiny wonder. It insists on being lived to the fullest, and we would do well to grant its request. Life is a whisper of something magical inside us, yet beyond us.

I think we're ready to go when we've "sucked the marrow of life," gone as far as we possibly can to reach an understanding of it, seen the magic and shared it as much as we can. Until then, we walk on.