My friend Joel

"Never make Marcel feel that I come before him," my best friend in the whole wide world Joel Tantoco once said to me. I was telling him how my fiancée often had to take a back seat when it came to my boys Joel and Chut. Of course I love Marcel differently, but the love I felt for my friend Joel was tremendous. Joel was always privy to that, and in his true fashion he knew that for me to be happy I had to listen to his random nugget of wisdom. He was supposed to be the man of honor at my wedding.

I can often be accused of being self-centered but oddly enough I was like Joel’s genie. No matter how much he pissed me off or how much we fought, he seemed to know how to knead my Achilles heel to submission. There was nothing in this world I would not do for him. Seriously. And him likewise. I remember meeting him when he squeezed my (gross) leather pants in a club and asked if it was real and that he wanted one. I was so self-conscious, wearing such an audacious and frankly regrettable outfit, but he made me feel comfortable. In a "fashion don’t" situation, an unbreakable alliance was forged.

One time I fought with Marcel and I called Joel to come over. He read me an article on Helmut Newton in the new issue of Vogue while stroking my hair and waiting for me to calm down. I did. He had a board meeting but decided my Delilah was more of a pressing matter. He ran to his meeting but not before buying me a cheeseburger from McDo. No one understood me like he did (cheeseburgers = delilah antidote, in his case fries, always did it for us) and I don’t think many knew him as well (once a street kid was begging and he literally took off his shirt inside the car and gave it because he did not have change or food to give – no kidding). We bonded over food and clothes. Both of which he loved but was never attached to. I don’t want to talk about the private details, not because of anything but we always felt the heavy stuff was boring. "It’s all about atis-tude," he would oddly say, referring to the seeded fruit. Although in so many ways it required poignant footnotes whenever we spoke of inane things. He’s gone now. And I was supposed to write this story on his poetic life, but in the end it just wasn’t us. He wasn’t a visually tragic parable made by Innaritu, or as succinctly morose as Poe.

Actually it just wasn’t him. He spoke five languages, Arabic included, but the language he spoke most fluently was that of the double entendre of green jokes. I never laughed harder than I did with him, and even thinking of him now makes me smile despite my gums decaying in saline tears.

I once had a boyfriend whose clothes I hated. To save the relationship, Joel bought bags full of clothes from Rustan’s and chose outfits that he knew would pass the "cat club" test. I stayed with the boy for two years. Only Joel knew that retail therapy would save that relationship. When we broke up Joel slept over in my house for days. We wore matching pajamas and when my dad, despite himself, asked if we were together, all Joel could reply was "Gross." Joel was my only slumber party partner throughout the years, despite being the most sought-after bachelor in the country. Ironically he left this world alone and silently, almost like he didn’t want to bother anyone.

The fashionable ex-beau may have come and gone. Joel and I, however, just grew up together even more. You see, we used to call him Dicky Greenleaf of Talented Mr. Ripley fame. Marge (Gwyneth Paltrow) explained: "When Dicky gives attention to you, it’s like the whole world shines on you." That was the effect of Joel. Everyone wanted to be with him. He was enigmatic, charismatic and eccentric enough to keep things interesting. I’ve seen him through all the great loves of his life. Each with an operatic passion, each seemed impossible for one lifetime. But that was him, his heart was too big for this world. It was inspiring, but it also led many to be protective of him.

I called him "kuku" a lot. It’s short for kuya. I have a brother but in so many ways Joel was my capsule family. Father, brother and even baby all in one. He taught me so many things about loving people.

Once, after doing a simple favor for him, Joel told me, "I always never know what to say, that’s why I have a problem with thank yous; it never seems enough, that’s why." He was never used to generosity; he was always on the giving end. Receiving was always a problem. He always put people’s needs, whether they were close to him or not, before his. I always thought it was odd, but now I realize it was the cynic in me. He always said he was an old soul. But I truly believe he was a soul like no other.

I learned unconditional love from him. The love he gave to us, his friends, in a way made us better people. The Joel effect, as we would call it. We spent our last weekend in Boracay. Just us and our best friends. Earlier, it was the two of us for the most part – we were secretly listening to Paris Hilton’s strangely compelling CD. We danced in front of Jony’s in Boracay and in the middle of our afternoon party with iced tea and burritos he simply said, "Don’t tell anyone we like this, OK?" OK. So with Paris Hilton he reserved some conditional love accordingly. For everyone else, he loved them. It was almost like he was allergic to hate. In so many ways, in Joel’s loving presence, a lot of us cretins felt like lesser people.

I’m too numb to say more, I just lost him a few hours ago. In a way it feels like the whole world lost him as well. He actually came up with the column title "From Coffee to Cocktails" along with my friend Miguel.

I don’t know how to continue this without him. When he died, every bit of laughter and bitchy joke died in me too. I lost my grandfather 14 years ago. I kinda knew. Joel’s sudden departure left us all without our metaphorical knickers. Everyone he met he touched in some unimaginable and inspired way. He could have met so many other people. He believed in new lives or reincarnation, and he often said he would come back as a puppy. As odd as it sounded, it made sense. He always greeted people with an imaginary wagging tail. Despite everything he had, he always felt indebted with every new friendship he received.

I was leaving Boracay when he was in the throes of a bad tummy ache, one that would lead to complications later on and lead to his loss. He told me, "Nini (his nickname for me), I know what success is; it’s not money nor prestige, but having enough fingers to count who your real friends are. Fight fight, Nini, okay?" He was the orig fight boy. The man who in the last decade taught me that Narciso Rodriguez is king and that one must have a daily massage in order to lead a happy life, the man I left just before the end of this year to leave for the US, has become the simplest man I have ever known. And by simple, I mean happy. Joel has taught me, and many of those he touched, that life is all about giving and never receiving. As he said, "Thank you never seems enough."

My life was never the same after I met him. And now that he’s gone it never will be. But as he also would say, "It’s all about atis-tude."

With his loss, everything else seems small. He always had a knack for perspective. That he wasn’t being funny about.

Joel, I love you. See you as a puppy next time, my love. I’ll bring fries.