I’ll pretend you never heard of September 1, 2009. I’ll pretend this is the first time I am writing this. It might help me tonight, so stay with me a minute more.
I had a good friend named Alexis Tioseco and he was murdered on a Tuesday night. His girlfriend Nika, too. It was his birthday last Friday – he was supposed to turn 30. I tried to let the day slip by me. I didn’t want to do anything momentous. I’m not sure why. Maybe I thought if I didn’t rake through the day, I wouldn’t feel the missing.
I was there. A bit after. And everything was fast and slow that night – as it still is in my mind right now. I’m not sure why I wanted to write about this tonight. I’m not sure about many things, as a matter of fact. But since this is such a public space – it is, after all, not ‘on paper under my bed’ – I guess I won’t dwell too much on the inner rip I still feel.
Since that time, the only lead we have is the missing helper. The missing helper who has an arrest warrant from Pasay, 1998. Her name’s Criselda Dayag. And what I’d give! No progress on the case. None. There’s a group in the NBI who’s assigned to the case of Alexis and Nika. I know they try but perhaps the muscle mass for solving cold cases is not there. I wish I can bullshit you into thinking that this piece is about a quest for justice or something as noble, looming, and lofty as that, but it really is just about a friend missing a friend. What a void he left behind. I am not okay yet.