Of departures and coming back

This is horrible. I have been away for so long in this piece of cyberspace where I used to populate with my words with gusto. Something must have happened to turn me into a passive blogger, or a blogger in absentia.

I guess, it was the holiday season that kept me away. Then came January, where I thought I could begin again, except that I had to pick up the pieces of my old tricks as I went back to full-time classroom teaching. It was almost like going back to biking--something that you know how to do, but could still feel some hesitation the first moment you stepped on the pedal and maintain your balance, familiar yet somewhat new. In my case, it was the enjoyment of a Sabbatical that provided the inertia that turned my pedagogical homecoming into something less enjoyable.

But I have to come back to this cyber-kingdom of mine, There are just too many things happening around me--politically, personally. The C5 controversy, my inability to choose a President, trouble with siblings--this is just a sample of the many things I want to write about again.

But all of these have to wait.

For now, I want to say good bye to someone.

Bobby Mendoza just died.

A fun-loving person with his own quirks, but a person I will miss. Many things could be said about him, but he was one of the very few cooperative faculty members in the College of Liberal Arts during my stint as Dean. Sure, we had our differences, particularly when he was one of those who protested my decision to replace the Chair of his Department at the time. But Bobby never had the malice. Bobby always was available not only to make you laugh, but to provide poignant pieces of advise, if not friendly reassuring talk. And he was one of those who I was able to coopt into allowing me the pleasure of dancing during the Green Idol performance of CLA, something which others simply did not give me.

But Bobby left, as he usually does, unnoticed, in contrast to how he announces his entrance into a place with his signature "Are you happy today?" spiel. Bobby has to die for me to have the courage to write again, if only to tell him that he will be sorely missed.

I guess, that is the whole point of it all. We have to treasure the moments of our returnings to familiar places, for this could also remind us of treasuring the moments when we remember those who would no longer return, except only in our memories.