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Friday, December 17, 2010


With the acquittal of Hubert Webb, et al. by the Supreme Court all over the news media, I was reminded of this letter sent to me by my sister. 

(names of places and people have been omitted/changed to protect the privacy of those concerned) 

"April 9, 1994
Dearest Martin,

This would be my nth attempt to write you & tell you about what's been happening since time stood still between the two of us beginning January...

... A really strange thing happened to me in the past month. I was at a flower shop in the mall and a guy entered, bundles of roses under his arm, smiled at me and called out saying he was delivering roses. So the guy at the shop attended to him while I sized him up. Can't be a delivery boy. There was something about him that told me he was rich. Must have been the flowers all around me. And the scent of roses. I felt I was in an ad. So I asked him if he owned The Flower Shop and so our friendship began. We exchanged numbers and he introduced me to his sister who was managing their flower business. So we had a phone relationship going on. I started ordering my wedding requirements for roses from them. Every now and then invite them to church, Music Hall or Strumm's. Once, Marge, his sister asked me to call him. And when I asked why, she just said: "Basta. Just make kwento with him or something." After that I called him up but he was in a rush. And I never called again. About two weeks passed and I called to order roses. You know me, I don't read the papers, nor watch TV. Imagine my shock, Martin, when their maid told me that they couldn't deliver roses just yet because there was an "accident". She told me to read the papers that day. Louie, in a drugged state, had shot his mother dead. I cried myself that night, Mart, because I knew he needed a friend but I didn't push it. I didn't want him to think I was out to snare him. I visited their home the next day, met their father, who was still in the stage where the facts had not dawned on him. They're a very neat, old rich family. Looking good on the outside, crumbling inside. Louie is in Makati Med for psychiatric treatment. They're pleading insanity to spare him incarceration. For a few days after that, his face would flash in my mind, constantly. It's changed me in a way, Mart. From now on, I'm going to be a friend to people. I don't care how I may look to them -- people need people. I still keep in touch with Marge, order roses from her. I'm praying I be allowed to visit Louie soon.

April 28, 1994
I'm ending this letter now. I have been allowed to visit Louie -- I just need to schedule it. Been ultra busy lately, fixing up weddings. Hope you've gained back the pounds that I heard you so quickly lost. I'm praying that by some stroke of good fortune, I can come visit. (Or go visit). We miss you very much & we love you & we're longing for coffee talks with you!


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