Remembering Trisha

In memoriam:
Patricia P. Borromeo (August 25, 1971 - January 08, 2003)

I first met Trisha around 1997. Rustan’s was launching my line Due by Rhett Eala at Rustan’s. I wanted to include Trisha and Mavis (Manotoc-Fuentebella) as my models because I wanted to use not just models, but you know, real people.

I thought Trisha was so pretty, so regal; she was one girl who looked better without makeup. She had this long neck, long arms, a tiny waist. I had memorized her body. I knew how to dress her, I knew how to hide her flaws.

After that show we started to bond. At that time she just wanted to have fun. She was single for the first time in a long time, and she found a person to have fun with, and that was me. We went out every night, going to Giraffe, having the time of our lives. As the days went by our group got bigger and bigger. We were a really fun bunch.

When people would ask me if she had a boyfriend I’d say that I was her boyfriend! We were usually the only single ones, as everyone else had a partner. There were a lot of guys calling her up, but Trisha was the pickiest person. After a couple years of being friends with her I just gave up on setting her up with guys. She had very high standards, the first one being he had to be taller than her! She wasn’t a serial dater or a swinger; she took her relationships seriously.

See, Trisha’s real dream was simply to get married and have kids of her own. I guess she wanted to find a man to settle down with. She wasn’t the type who’d have a boyfriend for the sake of having a boyfriend. Once, she told me: "Boyfriends are only temporary. Friends are forever."

She always valued her friends so much. They were like family. Friends were so important to her, and so when she went through her difficult periods it was her friends who gave her the kind of support she needed.

Trisha was a strong woman, very matapang. If she saw someone who upset her she’d go up to him on her and tell the person off. She wasn’t as fragile as you’d think. There would be those times when strangers would come up to her and ask her all these really, really rude, intrusive questions. I’d feel like slapping them, but she would just keep a straight face, and say, "Oh just ignore them, ignore them."

And if she was depressed she wouldn’t show it to me. If she was, she would only show a few select people. You know why? Because she knew I couldn’t handle it. Especially me, ’cause I’m the most iyakin person.

Trisha was very, very private. She kept a lot to herself. If you didn’t know her you’d think she was quiet, reserved. But with close friends she was always laughing, always making us laugh. That’s why we got along so well – we sort of had the same sense of humor.

One of my last great laughs with her was when she was undergoing remission, and we were walking around the mall. And then a woman came up to her and said, "So many people have been calling up your doctor Gary Lorenzo for treatment since you got well." Afterward, when the woman left she turned to me and said, "You think I can be an endorser for Gary Lorenzo, like Rosanna Roces is for Vicki Belo? You can just imagine the ad: Trisha Borromeo for Dr. Gary Lorenzo!" It was hilarious; so amazing that she could make light of something that was really serious.

The first time I found out she had cancer, I told myself that I had to be strong for Trisha, I wouldn’t cry. Whenever she’d go to have chemo all her friends would be there. I’d go there just to make patawa, and that was the role I chose to play.

The only time I really cried was when I asked her to do my Hyatt show in January last year. She was out of chemo already but she was still wearing a wig, and we were telling her, "Trisha take off the wig already. You shouldn’t wear it anymore. You’re over it."

She said, "I’ll do it, but please don’t tell anyone, don’t tell my mom, my friends."

So when she came out at the finale of the show, in her bridal dress, I just broke down. It was the first time we cried together, it was like a release. I was just so proud of her. It was so brave of her to do that, taking off the wig, showing everyone that she was well.

But the second time she was diagnosed with cancer I was devastated. I was like, I can’t imagine her going through that again. She has suffered enough already, why is it happening again?

Trisha didn’t want to go through chemotherapy another time. So she did her homework and opted for the natural treatment, homeopathy. She had always wanted to go the natural way, but she only did chemo the first time for her family.

The last text message I sent to her went: "Hi there. Just wanted to tell you that I think of you every day and pray for you... I love you ... Am so blessed to have you as a friend."

And one of the last things she said about me was: "Where’s Rhett? Tell him I want him to smile for me."

I felt that she was preparing all of us, a week before she died. We all thought she was going earlier, but when her sister Mitzi came home from Switzerland, Trisha stayed on for another week. That’s so like Trisha – always thinking of other people, always thinking of us.

She wanted to go already. She wanted to be with her dad. She was daddy’s girl. Her dad died of cancer, too, and she took care of him. Whenever she spoke about her dad she’d have a big smile on her face.

Trisha was always very spiritual. She had a big heart. Very forgiving. The Trisha I met and the Trisha that left us was always the same girl. She was at peace with everyone before she died. When she died she was ready. She died the way she wanted to die, on her own terms.

In the end, she would have loved to be remembered for just two things: as a preschool teacher and as a great friend. All of those other things the public knew her for – socialite, model, Richard Gomez’s ex-girlfriend – don’t matter.

She had such great charisma with children. She would just sit there, and kids would just gravitate towards her without her doing anything, and the next minute she’s there reading a book to them. She really loved kids. Though it was all she really wanted, she never had her own children. But I suppose those students were her children, and they will always remember her. Everybody remembers their kindergarten teacher, right?

So I don’t feel that her life is over; she’s in a better place now. If there’s anything to be learned from this, it’s that when Trisha died, she died with dignity. And when she lived, she lived with dignity.

No one can replace Trisha, there will never be another Trisha. But she lives on, among us, her big group of friends. She’ll be watching over me, I know it.

That’s why if I were to write an epitaph for her it would be this: "She was our angel. She is my angel." – As told to Paula C. Nocon