Remembering Gani

It came as a shock when I learned from the papers on Monday this week that our highly esteemed publisher, Gani Yambot, had passed away a few days earlier. So much have been written and said about him. Even in his death, the many life lessons he had imparted on those who had the privilege to have known him still continue to touch the lives of these people and many more who had heard of Gani’s goodness and valor to stand for what he believed in.

About two months ago, Cesar Mangawang, our section editor, texted me one evening that Gani needed some health advice. I rang him up but he was probably still busy at the office putting the day’s issue to bed, so he wasn’t able to take the call. He called me up later and his voice carried the usual vibrant tone I had always associated with him. “Hi doc, Yambot here,” he greeted.

For a minute or so, we exchanged friendly banter of what both of us were occupied with and the advocacies we were “passionate about.” “’Yan ang nagpapadaloy ng dugo sa sirkulasyon natin (That’s what keeps our blood circulating),” I remember telling him. And ever witty and sharp as he was in quickly making a smooth transition in any conversation, he answered, “Speaking of circulation, I want to consult you about my heart condition.”

Dilemma

He conveyed to me his dilemma about undergoing the recommended surgery for his heart. We set to see each other the following week after he had gathered all his laboratory results. But we never got to see each other anymore. I thought he was so busy, as he always was, that was why he never got to call again. I knew he had a highly competent team of heart specialists attending to him, and I felt assured that he was in good hands.

As I told his brother Efren at the wake this week, I feel bad not having reminded Gani about the meeting we agreed to the week after we talked on the phone. It would probably not have made a difference if I saw him before he agreed to his surgery. I would probably have given him the same advice. But it just makes me feel bad that I didn’t exert an extra effort to make sure that I got to give him even just a tiny bit of additional advice, not necessarily from a medical professional’s point of view, but from a personal acquaintance.

It was probably nine years ago when I last saw Gani. The few times that I visited the Inquirer office, I would occasionally bump into him in the hallway, and despite his busy schedule, he would invite me to his office and exchange some pleasantries. He was so approachable, so humble, good-humored and very energetic. He didn’t look his age, too. I remember one time we guessed about each other’s age. He was only two years off when he guessed mine but I was 10 years off when I guessed his. I thought he was 10 years younger.

Fickleness of life

Gani’s death somehow reminds us of the fickleness of life. No one can really tell when one’s end will come. One may be so strong one day and a momentary fault in the heartbeat can make the heart stop suddenly. And so does one’s life, too.

Each day has to be lived to the fullest, and Gani showed everyone how excellently this could be done. While many his age would rather bask in the sunset and laze around after sunrise, he preferred to pursue his passion for writing, editing and publishing. He was a perfect model of how to age gracefully and continue the meaningful life one has chosen to live.

I may not have had the privilege to interact closely and frequently with Mr. Yambot, but he had inspired me and still continues to do so to continually strive to be a better writer and editor.

Maraming salamat, Gani. Fare thee well as you rest your pen and go to a place where you won’t need any pen anymore. No more printing machines. No more publishing gadgets and electronic gizmos. Just a pureness of heart and spirit which you have always had even while still here.