Alex Kidd

Dearest D,

Today marks a forlorn event in my life. As I am typing this letter with puffy worn out eyes red with grief, I wish I were sending you good tidings. Sadly… not.

Nevertheless, I would like to start off with a fond memory I have. I remember back in Egypt I would play this game called Alex Kidd. It was on a console called Sega Master System. You played this 2D hero jumping from one ledge to another. Diving and swimming in inexplicable duration under water. Avoiding traps while fending off enemies with a simple punch or one that is so strong it creates a force of air. You collected bags of money, purchased power ups, and defeated bosses with a game of rock, paper, scissors.

I remember vividly one particular boss stage. There was this big guy with a horn, a mask, and this “J” initial on his uhm… dress?

It was this stage that prevented me from completing the whole game. I never got past it. Eventually, I gave up playing. I never knew then how the game ended or what would happen. Just like how I will never know now how our promised get-together will turn out with our real-life Alex.

You see, D? I kept playing the game more times than I can count. It made me feel alive and in control when playing this hero that could do these feats like jumping, diving, swimming, punching and jak-en-poy-ing his way through several challenging obstacles. In a way, he resembled our real Alex in life.

Nay Alvin was always on the go; jumping from one event and-or activity to another. Always positive, filled with energy and a can-do demeanor that treated obstacles like speed bumps. “They were meant to slow you down not stop—so just move over them,” I imagine him saying. Alongside our friends Venice and Atlas, I looked up to all three of them; with reverence and a hint of envy. To me, they were models of perseverance and true grit. Especially, Alex.

So as of 1:30 a.m. MNL, I guess like the game, Nay Alvin was confronted with the same stage boss I could not surpass. It has made me feel grief like I never thought I would yet I take comfort in the knowledge that he loved the gift I was planning to give him.

D, his candid and blunt words will always be the lessons I carry with me. I will miss him deeply.

His truly,

Toasted Buns


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