Page 135 - A Life Well-Lived Is a Beautiful Memory

Always Us

Divina Blanco Nidhiprabha Newly married, Bangkok 1979

As I write this, in less than three months it will be a year since my husband, Bhanupong or
Bhanu, sailed to the stars. The pain has not dulled; instead, it has sharpened and deepened the
seemingly bottomless void where his presence once filled my life. Now, there is an empty chair
where he once sat sharing laughter and endless conversations with me. Where there was always

“us,” now there is only me and the painful echo of what once was.
4
“Grow old along with me; the best is yet to be, ” Bhanu often quoted these lines by Robert
Browning on my birthdays, wishing me many happy returns with him by my side. But while life
cut his journey short, it gifted me with memories warm as the morning sun, fresh as dewdrops,

and soft as a baby’s breath. But how does one begin to tell these memories of a man who gave
love, meaning, beauty, and happiness? Let’s rewind to the beginning.

Genesis

July 31, 1978, at the International Rice Research Institute (IRRI), nestled amidst emerald
green rice fields at the foot of the misty Mt. Makiling in the Philippines, I, a fresh-faced research
aide, found myself amidst scientists from around the world, all focused on the holy grail of
developing the best rice production technology to feed an ever-growing hungry world. In a room

meant for serious discussions, there stood a guy, impeccably dressed as if he were attending a
wedding. Little did he know that, in an hour, we would be knee-deep in muddy rice paddies. Most
of us wore sleeveless shirts, shorts, and flip-flops, but this guy seemed like a fish out of water,
dressed for a celebration.

After the orientation, he transformed from Mr. Fish-Out-of-Water into Mr. Unpronounceable
Name, at least for me. We exchanged only cursory greetings until, a couple of weeks later, he
strolled into my office. With a bright California orange in hand, he delivered a pick-up line that
left me blushing and my colleagues snickering. “Do you always turn red when a stranger talks

4 from Rabbi Ben Ezra, Robert Browning

Bhanupong Nidhiprabha 135