Our smiling baby

It was a moment of triumph and euphoria for Filipinos, and especially for several Bacoleños, like myself, who had the privilege of watching the fight, live, and right there in the Thomas and Mack Center in Las Vegas, Nevada. We had just witnessed the historic battle between two boxing champions of the world, one of them a Filipino, whose countrymen had sent into the ring with their hopes and prayers for his victory. And their prayers were answered, because Manny Pacquiao, the Philippine ring idol, dispatched of his foe, Erik Morales of Mexico, with a decisive knockout in the tenth round.

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With Manny and Norma Salazar, Gerry Gustilo, Leif Severino, Rene Mejica, Roberto "Nonoy" Cordova, Felicisimo "Boy" Reyes, Mayor Bing Leonardia, my sister-in-law, Nena, and cousin Going Villaueva, we proceeded to a restaurant at the plush Wynn Hotel to celebrate, still chattering about the feat of Pacquiao, whom we had come to consider a personal friend after the very hospitable reception and attention he had given our group.

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It was while waiting to be seated that I got the text message from my nephew Jude: Binky, his sister who was working at the Shangrila resort hotel in Oman, had been reported missing. After several frantic attempts to contact Bacolod, we got the terrible confirmation: the body of Binky, our beloved niece, youngest in her family, had been found, and identified, although no details were available yet. The news was worse than a knockout for us, and I'm afraid we - my brother, sister-in-law and I - really broke down after getting it.

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Afterwards, I could thank God for making the dreadful news get to us while we were surrounded by loving and devoted friends. But at that very moment, it was very difficult to accept that such a thing could happen to our baby, the beautiful, talented, loving and good-natured Binky, who was always nice and sweet to everyone. I remembered that, as a baby, we would wake her up when we came to visit, and she would smile and show those twinkling eyes as soon as she saw us. I remembered that I used to tell her nursemaid not to keep her covered in her crib to improve circulation, but the girl would say that she didn't want any flies or mosquitoes, or even dust, to touch "her" baby. And Binky seemed to evoke this protectiveness and affection from all who knew her. On Saturday, when we asked her roommate and co-worker at Shangri-La if Binky had any enemies there, the girl, whose identity we are protecting, replied emphatically: "Everybody loved her!"

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I remembered Binky, then almost five-feet-eight in height already and willowy as the proverbial reed, dancing with the group of world-renowned Lisa Macuja at a performance in Silay City, and pictures I took of her dancing. I recalled how hard she worked when she got a grant to study ballet with classes held at the Cultural Center of the Philippines. I remembered the teener I would visit or take to lunch or shopping whenever I was in Manila while she was studying at the De La Salle University. And how proud we all were when she graduated with distinction.

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When she completed her thesis for her degree in Computer Science at DLSU, Eli Tajanlangit accompanied her to Manila when she defended her paper at the oral examination. All of us at the DAILY STAR cheered when we heard that she passed the grueling "revalida" with flying colors. Eli later told us about how confidently she faced her examiners and argued to justify her presentation. She may have been the youngest of eight children, but she had guts, and was no patsy, our Binky.

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I also thought of the Binky I visited with my friends Ivy Visitacion and Grace Rosal at the Shangri-La in Mactan, Cebu a year or so ago. And how she insisted on treating us to lunch, and even bringing her manager along to meet us. And how she would offer to fax my columns to the STAR when I was in Cebu, where she stayed with her sister Dr. Christie L. Suarez, and drove herself to and from Nivel Hill in Lahog to Mactan everyday.

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When I arrived in Bacolod the other day, people congratulated me for the two reports on Pacquiao's win I had sent that very night. The teased me that I was getting to be a sportswriter already. How could I tell them that could only write those because, as in the theater, the show must also go on in journalism, but that those reports were handwritten on paper wet with tears?*

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