Francisco

His name is Francisco and these things he shared with me.

His rule had been KISS: “Keep it simple, stupid.” He tackled things as straight as the flight from Manila to Bicol. If you beat around the bush with him, he’d wrinkle his forehead in mock disbelief and you’d end up looking for more words than what was required. He had devised ways and means to get to the final point fast, like when he scratched his patients’ skins with his thumbnail to find out if they bathed that day. So with him, I learned to keep things short and sweet. And I’m sure he’d freak out now if he sees how I’ve elaborated on his life’s tenet.

He’s a jack-of-all trades, but most of time he had been physician. But Kiko, as friends would affectionately call him, can also sing one heck of a tune—his rendition of Mrs. Brown has always been one of my favorites. He also played the piano (not sure how he learned because he never owned one) and played the guitar really, really well. With him, I learned to make sure that I keep in tune. However, he seemed to know I am mostly off-key so he’d cringe when I sang but I’d sing anyway. Now, there are moments when I wish I can sing and he could play his guitar, perhaps Gold Dust would be a good song we can do together. Yes, that would be nice.

He loved his coffee sweet—with sweetness that can last you several lifetimes. He referred to it as his poison, so he’d tell me, “D, not too much poison, please…” which really means, “That’s three and a half tablespoons.” For a man who didn’t smile a lot, he compensated with his taste for awfully sweet coffee, which he took mug after mug after mug. The need for a great sugar rush might be what I’ve inherently acquired from him.

He tinkered with doodads that ran on batteries and soldered thingamajigs composed of found items underneath his mess of a desk. If I had ever stumbled while he sent me to find a widget in this area he called his workplace, I think it would be weeks before somebody could locate me. And he had the tendency to keep to himself more often than was necessary. I understand, of course. Being left alone at my drawing table with my papers and pencils and paints is just pure joy although I end up cleaning up before I even end. Neat-o, but sometimes unproductive. Perhaps I should take from him and mess things up some more and tidy up less.

He loved the constellations and he’s taught me well. Most summer nights, as soon as darkness fell, we’d sit around our teeny tiny veranda and locate the Orion. That constellation has always been my favorite because of him. Now, apart from being able to tell where the Big and Small Dippers are, I’ve developed a soft spot for stargazing and it will be an eternal source of peace, wonderment, relaxation.

His name is Francisco and these are some of my sweeter memories of him. Sadly, my dear papa—Kiko—left this world a decade ago and life without him is a never-ending need to ask: Would he have given me a layman’s lowdown on my health? Would he talk my son Li to creating things that drone, buzz and whine? What if he was with my daughter Tabs, would he sing her to sleep while they gazed at the stars?

I cannot help but wonder about things that I will never ever know but can only be certain I will never forget what I shared with him.

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Pictured: Kiki with his guitar