"This was his eulogy."
"This was his eulogy."
I usually am able to control emotions when I go to wakes. With Carlos, I lost it. There I was engulfed in grief in front of his urn and portraits when a giant of a man approached and gave me a most tender hug. It was Jamie Wilson. I have seen him at Carlos’ parties but we have never really exchanged words until this wake but I doubt if he actually knows me.
I am yielding my space to Jamie in celebration of Carlos P. Celdran. This was his eulogy (with minor edits) given on Oct. 17 during the inurnment of our dear friend.
“…Carlos is my bestest friend. In the whole world. He had many best friends, but he was mine. And I have had the honor and privilege and the pleasure of having known him for the better part of my life.
From the times when we were kids, when he used to scare me in the waiting area of his dad’s office…, telling me how big the needles of the injections were, and how painful the shots were going to be, all the way to our last conversation, when he was locked out of his apartment in Madrid and he was asking me to teach him, via Messenger, how to pick the lock so he could get inside.
But time is a funny thing to traverse, as those years in between were filled with many adventures; good times and bad times, filled with much laughter and some tears.
Carlos is many things to many people; he is an artist, an activist, a historian, a performer, a patron, a headache, a pain in the butt, a thorn on your side, a spirit animal, a madman, a clown, a prophet, a saint; a cool cousin, a funky Tito, a prodigal son, an annoying brother, an eccentric husband; a kind and generous and decent and vibrant and loving man. He was all that and more, but I am just so very lucky that I got to call him friend.
We used to cut class together, when we were in San Agustin, and we would go visit old churches, where he would talk to the guards and bantays for hours, gleaning information about these historical sites, while I stood by impatiently and slightly annoyed that we cut class to go to a church?! Who does that?! Well, he did. And little did we know that he was already on the path to creating his historical tours, and that his thirst for history and love for Manila was just beginning to take shape.
He turned me on to art and music, and it was the music I fell in love with. That sweet old rock and roll.
We used to sing with Cocojam in Fire And Rain and Mayric’s whenever we could; each time we’d get up on stage with them we’d sing our old standbys: He would sing his Hotel California, and I’d sing my Roadhouse Blues. I’m still singing that song with my band to this day.
A few years back we celebrated our friendship with a two-man cabaret act called Fringe With Benefits, which we billed as “an evening of Broadway songs held together by a tenuous plot.” That plot was our friendship, and we had a helluva time celebrating it.
Even more, years back, we did performance art under the group name Walang Pamagat, where a whole bunch of us explored our limits and our creativity doing poetry and music and dance…And we had no idea what we were doing, but it sure was fun. And now, as the years have caught up with us, I realize it was brave and bold and utterly insane. And at the center of it all, was Carlos. It was always Carlos.
From Dasma to Tali to Malate to Pasay to New York to Baguio to Intramuros to Sequia; from Island Spice to Walang Pamagat to Walk This Way to Livin’ La Vida Imelda to The Biennale, it was always Carlos.
And then eventually, we built our own lives; he went on his tours and I went into full time theater, but we would see each other late in the evenings until the wee hours of the morning, chatting up a storm as if no time had passed at all. We would spend weekends in Tali, epic nights on a banig in the garden, listening to Pink Floyd, looking up at the sky and rearranging the stars.
I’ve got so many stories to tell of our adventures and mostly misadventures, but there is a better time and place for them. Right now I’d just like to say that I am just so blessed to have been a part of his life, even in some small way.
Carlos is the bravest man I know. And his legacy will far outlast his mortal years.
And I am not talking about a legacy in terms of his cultural activism, or his political views, or his glamorous celebrity, or his contributions to historical conservation:
I am talking about his heart. That big, wonderful generous heart of his, that just would not stop giving.
I am taking about his courage, when even in the face of adversity he never once wavered.
I am talking about his kindness, even to those who fought and despised him.
Because that would be the true legacy of a man, when all else has been lost to the details of history. He is not defined by bunny ears, or a bowler hat, or by a sign he held up in protest, but by his character. And boy, was he a character.
It’s about how he lived his life, and how that has made me live my life, and how he has touched all our lives.
That is the memory we should cherish; that is the man I will always remember, and that is the man I still hope to be.
And now we have to move through a world without him, and it is getting harder to navigate through it with each passing day. But as I’ve said:
One foot in front of another,
One step at a time,
One tear or many; somehow we’re going to be fine.
One less light in the world, my dearest friend.
And you, you were mine.
The sun still rises and the sun still sets, the world keeps turning, and life will go on, but nothing will ever be the same without you, Carlos.
We are so proud of you.
We will sorely miss you.
And
We will always love you.
And now, since we all know how Carlos loved a good crowd, and since he has such a captive audience,
For a life well lived; for the best performance I have ever seen, and the most unexpected finale ever:
Let us all stand up and applaud our dear friend Carlos Celdran.”
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