If Heaven Were a BPO Company...

13 years later, my ticket still hasn’t been resolved

Sometimes, I think of heaven as a BPO company… full of stressed saints and angels answering inquiries and angry complaints.

Some clients threaten them: “If you don’t make Gilas Pilipinas win today, I will not go to church this Sunday.”

Some bargain: “Please, just let me pass the UPCAT, and I will no longer smoke.”

Some never ring except once, and maybe they’re the priority clients, the ones who say: “Hello God, I don’t believe in you, but if you let my mother live, I will worship your name forever.”

When I think about this, I think maybe, just maybe, on June 15, 2013, the company was too busy to hear my pleas… my mother’s prayers, my father’s bargain, nor my sisters’ weeping.

Or maybe, since it was a Saturday, the agents were on their day off.

Or another maybe: their night shifts started at 9 P.M. My brother died three hours before they logged in.

Had I known that 13 years later, when I thought everything was already okay and everyone had moved on, I would suddenly realize I can barely remember his voice on a random Wednesday, I should’ve dialed more numbers.

Repeatedly and foolishly and more desperately.

Maybe a TL was working overtime, or an intern angel was trying to impress their seniors and stayed beyond their shift.

Anyone could’ve accidentally answered my call. My prayer for a miracle.

I wonder though— had my ticket been marked as resolved?

I hope and think not… but then again,

would the agents be mad at me for still holding on?

For… 13 years later, still opening the same ticket, calling and emailing the same agents, but using different words.

Thirteen years ago, I was asking God: Please let him live. Please, I will no longer do anything bad. Please God. Just this once, do a miracle and let my brother live.

Now, in the rare moments that I call the company, I send a revised inquiry.

God, is my brother alright up there? Is he causing trouble? Please be kind to him if yes.

Is he proud of what I’ve become?

Can he still read the rants I send to his Facebook account that no longer opens?

And please tell the agents I constantly upset that I apologize for my insufferable, foolish, obnoxious, never-ending ticket,,,

They can’t mark it as resolved because I constantly redial.

Like when I was tired of my first corporate job and didn’t know who to talk to.

Like when I got a tattoo of my favorite memory: me riding a motorcycle with him.

Like when I felt proud after finishing my first side quest. Like when I paid my first bill. Like when I had a girlfriend. Like when I was mad at the world. I was constantly reopening the ticket.

Are the angels confused by the loop of my inquiries? Are they confused as to what exactly was the request? Bring my brother back? Undo the accident? Another shot at June 2013 to rearrange the situation? Give my family another chance?

Even now, I am not sure what I would write in the complaint box. The truth is, thirteen years later, I no longer ask for miracles. Sometimes I ask for forgiveness. Sometimes I just do not know who else to talk to.

I have three sisters, and he’s the only one I shared a bedroom with. I want to tell him about the little silly things and the big moments.

And maybe, just maybe, the BPO company was open on June 15, 2013.

Maybe the agents were there, listening. Maybe the big boss just had a different answer.

Maybe it was indeed for the better. Maybe it was really the end.

I have made peace with that.

I just have one request for the company…

Healing does not necessarily mean forgetting. So let me keep this memory. Let me write essays that immortalize his life.

Let me have a tattoo to remind me that I never drove a motorcycle again after the accident—and that the only memory I have of driving one is with him, as always, at my back.

I am no longer negotiating, bargaining, or foolishly asking for a miracle. It’s safe to say I am healed enough to remember his life without crying.

But I would really hate for this ticket to close. Even if I can’t hear anything from the other side of the line, I would still love to rant, tell him stories, remember his face, and remember his voice. I just don’t want him to be forgotten.

So if anyone’s still working the night shift up there, sorry for the inconvenience, but please keep the ticket open.