Tito Danilo Quotes in Patron Saints of Nothing
Tito Danilo continues. “And later, he started selling.”
“But why?” Grace asks, desperate.
“Shabu is a hunger suppressant. You see, it is cheaper than food, so many of the poor start for this reason, and then they become addicted. As for why he started selling? Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe to make money to keep feeding his addiction.”
I close my eyes, as if doing so will rewind the story erasing everything Tito Danilo has just told us. As if it will stop the warping truth. I can't reconcile this version of Jun with the one I had come to know to love, to admire.
In the car with Tito Danilo and Grace on the way back to Lolo and Lola's, I think about how there's a new grief in remembering Jun now, knowing what eventually happened, knowing that he was more than my idea of him in ways I do not like, knowing that there's probably so much more I'll never know.
I was determined to find the truth. And I did—at least a piece of it. But was it worth it? What do I even do now?
This didn't play out how I thought it would.
I expected the truth to illuminate, to resurrect.
Not to ruin.
“Jun died a tragic death before his time. But that does not extinguish the good that he did on this earth. It lives on in the lives that he touched, and like a single candle's flame, it can grow and make what is dark light.” He pauses to let that sink in. “I invite each of you now to light your own candle from his, signifying that his goodness, his love, has multiplied through the ways he touched each of us, will continue to multiply through those we will go on touch.”
Tito Danilo Quotes in Patron Saints of Nothing
Tito Danilo continues. “And later, he started selling.”
“But why?” Grace asks, desperate.
“Shabu is a hunger suppressant. You see, it is cheaper than food, so many of the poor start for this reason, and then they become addicted. As for why he started selling? Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe to make money to keep feeding his addiction.”
I close my eyes, as if doing so will rewind the story erasing everything Tito Danilo has just told us. As if it will stop the warping truth. I can't reconcile this version of Jun with the one I had come to know to love, to admire.
In the car with Tito Danilo and Grace on the way back to Lolo and Lola's, I think about how there's a new grief in remembering Jun now, knowing what eventually happened, knowing that he was more than my idea of him in ways I do not like, knowing that there's probably so much more I'll never know.
I was determined to find the truth. And I did—at least a piece of it. But was it worth it? What do I even do now?
This didn't play out how I thought it would.
I expected the truth to illuminate, to resurrect.
Not to ruin.
“Jun died a tragic death before his time. But that does not extinguish the good that he did on this earth. It lives on in the lives that he touched, and like a single candle's flame, it can grow and make what is dark light.” He pauses to let that sink in. “I invite each of you now to light your own candle from his, signifying that his goodness, his love, has multiplied through the ways he touched each of us, will continue to multiply through those we will go on touch.”
