David: A tribute

I never met David Sicam. But how I wish I had.

I had seen his name on Facebook and learned that he was a nephew by marriage. But I didn’t know anything else about him. And I haven’t been around family enough.

Last weekend, David’s name was all over the media. He was one of 14 young people who perished when the bus they were riding to Bontoc plunged 120 meters into a ravine. David, his wife Abby, and two young sons, Agung and Amian, were going to Bontoc to celebrate the birthday of Amian, who turned four on February 6.

But as the details of the crash emerged, it became clear that not all of the victims were random tourists who happened to be in the same bus. At least half of the passengers were friends – a band of passionate adventurers who climbed mountains and explored the seas together. They were cause-oriented, alternative artists, musicians, photographers and film makers who went to distant places bringing art and music to the people, learning from the culture of the natives, and making documentaries on the environment.

David, a visual artist and musician, was part of the group. A true alternative artist, his idea of celebrating his son’s birthday was not a treat at Jollibee, but a shared adventure in the mountains imbibing nature and the art and wisdom of the indigenous people. On this trip, the family intended to visit the traditional tattoo artist, Apo Fang-od.

At the wake, David’s friends in music, Chikoy and Monette Pura, told me that David was such a family man, he brought his older son, seven-year-old Agung, everywhere he went, even to Chikoy’s gigs. David trekked and climbed every mountain he encountered, aiming to have climbed 40 peaks by the time he reached 40. He had also been to the best dive sites in out-of-the way places in the country. David’s cousin Wesley Caballa said that in the pipeline was a diving trip to the Babuyan Islands that David had invited him to. 

And everywhere David went, he brought art and music to the children.

Much has been written about how he helped the project “Kalsrum ng Pag-asa” by building schoolrooms and bringing art education and art supplies he solicited from friends to off-the-beaten-track places like Kalinga, Mt. Pulag in the Cordillera and Patikul in Sulu. 

At the wake, I approached a group of Marines from Patikul led by Col. Nestor Narag of the 11^th Marine Battalion, who joined the mourners, sitting silent and respectful on monobloc chairs. Col. Narag smiled at the memory of David who, he said, journeyed with friends to Patikul at least four times. David helped decorate the walls of the school buildings with murals depicting the environment. He also brought art materials and taught the children how to draw and paint. And, Col. Narag recalled, David, the guitarist, was also a minstrel who regaled the community with songs he composed. 

David was a happy person who brought much joy to everyone, the Colonel told me. “This helped the image of the Marines because it looked like we brought him and his friends there.” David had promised them an evening of music in Malate when they came to Manila, something the men were looking forward to.

The military has another reason to be grateful to David who was one of the artists who initiated the painting by over a thousand artists, soldiers and volunteers, of the four-kilometer peace mural on the wall that surrounds Camp Aguinaldo. For his service as an “instrument of peace,” the Civil Relations Service of the AFP opened its multi-purpose hall in Camp Aguinaldo for his wake.

His friends and relatives say that David died protecting his children from harm. Survivors of the crash told them that he and Abby were holding on to the boys when the bus began to malfunction. When the bus stopped tumbling, David was dead, Amian, who was seated on David’s lap, was unscathed, while Agung was thrown out of his parents’ embrace and suffered lacerations on his head, bruises and a broken arm. Abby has had to undergo multiple surgeries, and remains in intensive care.

What I have learned this past week is that there is an intimate community of passionate young men and women artists and environmentalists who go to far-off places in search of adventure and serve the communities they visit.  Among them was a man called David Sicam, an ardent father, art educator, music composer and inveterate traveller, who, at age 35, had reached so many hearts and minds that his death left such a great void.

In a Facebook post, David’s aunt, Agnes Caballa, expressed amazement at the many people who were drawn to him, “from barangay tanods to artists, and community workers from various parts of our country. So many of them came to meet his body…How they loved him.”

I have read a lot about David this past week, watched videos on YouTube of his alternative band Kinaiya, where he played guitar, and listened to stories about his generous and heroic heart.  And I still can’t get enough of him.

I never met David Sicam. How I wish I had.

Goodbye, young man. May your tribe increase.