I JUST lost my oldest friend in the world… Boyet Sison. For most, he was a sports broadcaster and a disc jockey. Me? He was more than that.
As a kid, the first-ever place we lived was at the apartment complex Boyet’s family owned along Calbayog Street in Mandaluyong—just across Eric Reyes’s place. He was my first-ever kalaro and friend. When school was out, we played tex, trumpo and read comic books all day long. Oh…he was my tormentor and big brother, too. But I say the former affectionately.
When we moved homes I lost touch with him. My dad, who he called, “Tito Danny” or my mom, “Tita Neomi” he would see once in a while. Boyet would also go to my dad’s PARI office for music stuff (my dad was the president of the local music association for 27 years). And he would from time to time, talk to my siblings as well.
I got reacquainted with him many years later when I established myself as a journalist and he reintroduced himself to me.
When I remembered him, we had this huge bear hug. And since then, we always stayed in touch…and how.
Boyet and another good friend, Bill Velasco, would oft invite me to their Hardball show. Suki nga kung tawagin. I think I was on their show about 15 times! Maybe even more because I’ve lost count.
When Senator Freddie Webb wasn’t available for Fastbreak, which Boyet co-hosted on DZMM, I was the one to fill in. I even once held that chair for three weeks straight.
When he needed a story for his newsbreaks, he would call. When he needed the lowdown on some chismax, he would call. When he needed an opinion, he would call. When he needed a listening ear, he would call. And we’d talk. Talk the talk of friends. Unfiltered and honest. But that is us.
During this pandemic, Boyet joined my Batch #4 writing class along with actor Jamie Wilson, singer Medwin Marfil, foodmaker Sandee Masigan, indie film producer turned baker Mitch Moreno, and others in a star-studded class that was amazing in talent and brilliance. Bet you didn’t know that he wrote well…he sure did.
Then they all moved up to my Creative Writing class and eventually, the book writing class. Boyet was a part of it until he got called to do TV Patrol.
The one year he was in my class, we got closer. In those sessions (that numbered about 40 all in all), he shared his brilliance. In fact, he missed class only twice. And that says something about his dedication.
Outside class on zoom or on messenger, he bared his feelings about many things. On many nights, we—on zoom or sometimes face-to-face—along with Juno Oebanda, Jamie Wilson, Nicole Asensio and Sancho would talk about the pandemic, our national problems, movies, music, projects we wanted to do together, and stuff. And by God, those sessions were hilarious, insightful, and well, encouraging.
Ah…music. Something close to our collective hearts and souls. We made playlists for one another and were even working on a music project together.
Boyet was my cheerleader without fail. It was also because of him that many others who I now call friends enrolled in my writing class. He was like that with everything I did. “See,” he would oft say, “You found your place in the world and didn’t really need anyone’s help.”
Boyet was my oldest friend and without fail would tell everyone about that. And warts and all, I am proud of that.
Boyet was my kuya. The only one I acknowledged as such.
Just the other day, we spoke. What is this, I asked about his post.
“Brad, okay lang ako. Ikaw ang dapat mag-watch out for your health,” he said. “Prayers lang, brad. Okay na.”
Then I get a call.
How do you process this? His luck had turned. After battling a few months of depression, he was back on prime time television and boy did he deserve it. When he got the slot, he called, “Brad, I got it.” And I was ecstatic for him.
Now, just like that…he’s gone.
During one of our last writing classes together, he said he was looking for this old photo of me and him when we were kids. It was his birthday party at the garage of their old apartment complex.
Whatever photos we had of those days were lost when a fire hit my parents’ home in 2014. So it was up to Boyet to search for his copies.
Eventually I said, “It’s okay, Papa B, even if you don’t find it.”
“Why do you say that,” he replied.
“Because we still have our memories.”
He smiled and in his usual excited tone bellowed, “Yan ang sinasabi ko. Magaling ’yung balik.”
I may have our pictures from my guestings on Hardball and other talk shows with him as well as from parties and in class but he will always live on in my memory.
Thanks to my cheerleader, oldest friend, and kuya. It hurts like crazy to lose you. But I am strong because of you.
Rest in peace.
Your cheerleader as well, your oldest friend, and your younger brother—the one you never had.