For over a decade, I took a month off from my FT job and wrote in the Caribbean. In my 20s, I was trying to independently study the colonization and mental conditioning of the Philippines, without having to return to Asia. I would find answers in countries with parallel history. Before the Caribbean, I traveled quite a bit looking for a writing "colony," not the package artists applied to, but one I created on my own. I went to Mexico a few times, as the Philippines was managed through Nueva Espan~a/Modern Mexico. But I would the find inspiration not in Acapulco or Mexico D.F., but in Puerto Rico, another island conjoined with the Philippines in 1898.
I always used to say, I grew up on an island but I never saw the sea. As an adult, I cherished the communion with the ocean. In fact, after my father passed in 2003, I moved to Puerto Rico. But my romance wouldn't last very long after that. I noticed the climate changing. It had become more fanatical that every Friday, there was a cultish procession on the streets of San Juan. When my family came to bring me back, I never went back to Puerto Rico again. Most of my works after my first two books were written there.
Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic became my next sojourn. I made an annual pilgrimage to La Zona Colonial, so excited to find myself in the seat of Hispaniola. But even that would end, as if these island obsession was to turn a leaf. Indeed, my voyage to the Caribben would come to a halt, but not without a gift in 2011, for my birthday. A dog named Poker, named after Lady Gaga's famous song at that time. A friend gave him to me so I would have a companion in Manhattan. I traveled with months old Poker on the plane (he was in a dog carry-on under the front seat) to Miami and eventually to New York.
I never had a pet. My family was dog averse. We had seen enough dog-butchering in Manila to understand the peril of having a dog in our lives. Poker would change that. At first, he lived with me on the Upper East Side, so fearful, he had to sleep between my thighs every night. When I left for work, he would go hysterical. And I would come back to a puppy spinning around in endless anxiety and chaos. But such was my life, and there was no choice but to leave him alone if I had to keep him.
I would bring him to our house in Jersey City. My mother and my brother would fall in love with the tiny Poker. When I asked they if they wanted him to stay, they said, Yes. Our house was a palace for tiny Poker. There were three floors, a stairs where he could run up and down, and a backyard, an open air to play in. More than that, no one would leave him alone at home. He always had company. That's where he would end up for the rest of his life. And that's also how he became my mother's best friend. Our dog-averse family would turn around on pet-hood, thanks to Poker's character, a loving, caring, and lovable sunlight of a dog. Soon, he was a Realuyo. For fourteen years, he kept my mother company. I wouldn't text my mother without mentioning Poker. We panicked when he got sick. We worried. We celebrated his milestones. We calmed him whenever he trembled in the animal hospital waiting room. I never really understood until then why dogs were called "a man's best friend." My mother texted me his picture every single day for the past 14 years. I would always text back: "Goodnight/morning, Mommy and Poker. Love you." Poker kept her company all these years. Whatever makes my mother happy makes all of us happy. That was always Poker and his uncanny ability to center Grace.
Poker had been very weak for the past few weeks. We knew he had aged. 14 human years was simply a very long time for him. Even if we knew somehow that he might leave us soon, we would still be unprepared for his passing. But he saved my mother from the trauma of witnessing his death. My mother went downstairs to prepare his puree of food, and when she returned to her bedroom, Poker was gone. I was about to get on the train when my mother called. I knew he had passed. My mother didn't know that I had answered her call and I could hear her wailing from where I stood on the train station. A paralyzing moment to hear my mother's pain. She had lost her dearest baby, as she would refer to Poker.
But we are grateful to Poker. He had changed our lives. Gave us balance. Showed us love in his most special way. He came as an Angel and left as Sunlight. Thank you, Poker. We will miss you and we love you.
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