Posts tagged ‘death’

22 May 2014

Life’s a b*tch and then Juanderkid dies.

by misslampa
Amer, more popularly known as the blogger Juanderkid was all about finding and spreading light and love.

Amer, more popularly known as the blogger Juanderkid, was all about finding and giving light and love.


The week former Department of Interior and Local Government Sec. Jesse Robredo passed away, you wrote what remains to be my most favorite Amer Amor quote of all time:

What does [death] tell us about life? That it is indeed fleeting. That we should always be grateful. That a life well-lived and well-served will be remembered long after we’re gone. And that we should not delay love. We should not delay love.

You simultaneously touched on loving and living a full life and being grateful for everything – things we relentlessly talked about whenever and wherever we wanted to indulge our patriotic, hopeful, dream-big selves. It didn’t matter whether we were exploring the cobblestone streets of Intramuros together or simply exchanging messages on Facebook or WordPress at two in the morning; we’d find a way to feed off of each other’s positive energy, love of travel, and addiction to stunning sunsets.


We were supposed to have a repeat of this soon. I guess this means we're gonna get stood up.

We were supposed to have a repeat of this soon. I guess this means we’re going to get stood up.

But I don’t know how to proceed from here, now that it’s you who’s gone. I’m sorry, but right now, I couldn’t care less about all the prose and positivity in the world.

Alam mo, I just find myself really, really stumped.

I was so certain I’d see you again sometime this month or the next, you know. So much so that I had the gall to repeatedly say no whenever you asked for details when you found out I’ve fallen for this awesome guy while I was living overseas.

Anuba! ikuwento mo na kasi, Donna. May malalim kang pinaghuhugutan.

Saka na ‘pag nagkita na lang tayo, Amer. Wala namang masyadong ikukuwento. I think hinayaan ko siyang matapos bago pa man masimulan.

Kahit na. ‘Yan ang mga the best na love story.

And so to make you stop, I’d laugh and tell you I miss you and I love you and I’d tell you about it in time. It was the only time I remember saying no to you because for the most part, ours had been a giving relationship, of supporting each other’s dreams and simply letting the other be. Of not sweating the small stuff whenever meet-ups got cancelled or promises weren’t kept. Of poking fun at each other’s quirks and sharing our intense hatred for incorrectly used expressions and phrasal verbs. (I can still hear you ranting about why people keep using “touchdown” to announce their arrival in a city or town when they didn’t even take the plane to get there. Wala namang gulong ng eroplano na nag-touchdown, ano kaya ‘yon?)

I was looking forward to years and years of our crazy little talks and adventures, dude. :(

I was looking forward to years and years of crazy little talks and adventures with you. :(

I don’t even know why I said no and chose to delay love that one time, Amer. But if telling you all about it now could bring you back, I’d bore you with everything I can remember about that non-love story. I’d break our journalism code of ethics even and throw in some details that never happened if that would mean I’d get to hear you laugh and see your face light up again. Anything to undo the motorcycle accident that took you. Anything to keep me from having to grapple with the reality that you are gone too soon, and for good.

Because in all honesty, of all the plot twists that could ever happen in this life, this having to dream and do and explore and love without you from here on out was something I never saw coming.

Which is also why exactly a week after you’ve left, I’m still bereft of whatever life skill or mindset can get me through this grief. I’m just really, really sad that you had to go.

I still can’t bring myself to say goodbye, Amer. And I’m not sure how long it’d take until things start to make sense. But I’m hoping you’re happy and at peace wheresoever you are Juandering now. I imagine the sunsets we’re so crazy about look even more magnificent from where you’re now watching them.

Also, I bet there’s no one there to infuriate you anymore by using “touchdown” incorrectly. And because I love you, I’m going to try very, very hard to at least be happy about that.






In memory of Amer Amor aka Juanderkid (23 Oct 1982 – 15 May 2014)

I miss you, I love you, and I'll see you on the other side. <3

I miss you, I love you, and I’ll see you on the other side. (PS: I took some of your pictures for this post. I hope that’s okay.)

17 August 2009

Dear Mrs. Aquino

by misslampa

A country says goodbye to a much-loved former president.

Your family – and by this, I don’t mean just the Cojuangcos and the Aquinos – has begun to move on. The wind has started ripping and blowing away all those homemade streamers, those yellow ribbons which were lovingly put up for you from way back in July until two weeks ago. And although bouquet-bearing people still offer bright yellow flowers of all sorts outside of your home or by your grave everyday, normal life has resumed for the rest of the country,.

Which probably makes you happy, Mrs. Aquino, because I think you – in all your goodness – wouldn’t want this country to remain in mourning, albeit it was your passing which reunited us in the first place. After all, when you found out about Mr. Aquino‘s assassination, you chose to rise above yourself as you took on his cause and made sure that he didn’t die for naught.

But I hope you’d still let me think of you for a few moments each day, while I wait for sweet, sweet sleep. Fondly, I remember not the grandeur that was your life, but the values I hope to imbibe as I recall some snippets from it:

  • how you became the epitome of a woman in love when you chose to marry Mr. Aquino instead of pursuing law;
  • how you stood by your man despite and because of who he was and wanted to be and what he had chosen to do for this country;
  • how you were probably overwhelmed at the thought of raising your children when he couldn’t be with you but ever so bravely did just that anyway;
  • how you supported your children and grandchildren and made sure that they all knew the different ways in which they were loved;
  • how you took to painting to capture all the beauty and kindness you could see here on Earth;
  • how you chose to remain strong and giving in the face of a terrible illness;
  • and how you just allowed us to wholeheartedly love you – for that was all we can really do.

And I end up sleeping with a smile on my face and a wish in my heart, Mrs. Aquino: that the good Lord would give me the grace to live my private and lowly life as admirably as you had. When people think of me when I’m gone, it is my sincere prayer that they would remember me as one who simply lived and loved, and by doing so, inspired others to do likewise.
Donna Ü


The late Corazon Aquino was the first woman president of my home country, the Philippines.

Photo taken from