As is Filipino custom, it is almost a disservice to call Jo my cousin. With a unique position in the family, I am an eldest
cousin, so I am called 'kuya', or, 'big brother' by any cousin younger than me. Jo was one of the first to call me this. So, my heart and experience call her 'little sister', and so she is.
The first time I knew about her was when her parents visited in the quiet of the night, before Christmas, 1979. Auntie was bursting at the seams, Jo still in the womb. Auntie and Uncle stood in the doorway of our very small apartment on Knott Ave. I was a wee one and excited to have a baby on the way...but, alas, Jo wouldn't come until the next month, back home in the 'Isles'.
An extended stay came in the summer of 1987 (if recollection serves), where my sister(s) Loni and Jo were formally terrorized by a young teenager in the form of me. Looking back and looking to what Jo came to be, is such a crystallizing truth: talent, poetry and song came to her at such a young age. Where everyone that knows her now would easily realize that Jo was born singing. She entertained the family for hours with a strong, clear voice...it raised and echoed along the backyard and into the alleyways of Catherine Drive...meeting the applause of the family that sat grinning from ear to ear. The air that summer was warm and heady, hardly any clouds in the light yellow sky. Jo loved wearing simple, colorful one piece dresses even back then. (Her hair was always long, an insistence by her mother at first, grew into a habit.)
While in the (US) Army, assigned to a remote site in Germany, I scraped money together to visit the British families in the Fall of 1991. Jo was as entertaining as ever, bubbly to have family visit her for once. As we drove from Heathrow and passed through various tunnels on the way to East Ham (E6), Jo would spout, "You are now entering the time tunnel." I never asked her to stop, it was too precious, especially in that 'accent'. The holidays were around the corner, so the massive meal my Aunts and Uncles put together was full of spiced meats, literally hanging precariously off the table. I had never seen so much food in my life. Jo was there, bouncing off the walls singing and dancing. "Yes," I can say to anyone if they ask, "Jo was always singing and dancing." I have no memories of her doing otherwise. Even on phone calls with my Aunt, you could hear Jo inexhaustibly singing her heart out.
When my mom married my step father, Jo came out again, this was summer of 1997 (again, hoping I have these dates correct, or my mother will pinch). Jo was definitely a young woman and the exuberance of youth settled into a more realistic and somber Jo. However, she was writing gobs of poetry and filling up notebooks. Not a night went by during that visit that she would go through her poems and share sketches from her notebooks. They were raw, and honest, and real. I respected her as an adult at that moment. As much as I may write, there is a veneer to it all, as is my voice, where Jo was fearless in honesty.
We would keep in touch of course. She would send me snippets of poems. Phone calls (before social media). I wrote a few forgettable things back, as I was still finding my own voice. We would challenge each other to do more. She had her dreams and I encouraged them to the hilt. We would talk constantly, probably over the last decade, on her coming out to LA and making a go. BUT, Jo kept finding breadcrumbs to continue going down the path of her dreams. Jo, as hard as it was for her, would also strike unwavering down that path. Even with the allure of family and of California, which she could have easily pivoted here, she stuck to it. My respect was always the same, and, hopefully, more importantly, I would let her know.
The family, beyond me, would constantly ask that she come out. We offered to pay - free everything. Philippines or California. But, Jo as adamant as ever, would find a new opportunity, or the glimpse of an opportunity, and play it. No one begrudged her for it. We knew that her dream was strong.
With my sister's wedding, Jo came out again, now only a few years ago, 2012. The wedding plans took much of the time, but we got to talk, she got to meet my boys and my wife. We had a tremendous time with the wedding and the parties. It was a quick glimpse if we could simply have her stay. Of course we pitched it again. Of course, she stuck to the path.
Back in March, Jo sent along a video with her crew, as a birthday wish to my grandmother in the Philippines. We were all in the Islands for my Apu's party. Jo was (joyfully) tethered to a show - so we were ecstatic and understanding. We loved her and happy for what was happening in her career.
Then, a few weeks ago, while I was in NY on business, we Messenger'd each other about the elections. It was about 2:30a NYC time. We had a good conversation, which ended, as they normally did, with me asking for her to come out, on my dime. She refused again, of course, because, she had big things happening. And she did. She made it. She made it a few different ways, not just one. She was made to do it, there's no doubt from me. I saw it over the last thirty years, first hand.
I had just gotten back from the trip when I got the phone call.
Of course I miss her. Dearly. I miss her voice and her openness. I miss her poetry. I am not surprised by the outpouring that came out of the tragedy. I struggled with what happened. I have been in a daze for weeks and cannot still reconcile it with all that should be right in this world. I can only come to grips that she was loved. Boy, was she adored. And she should be.
She went out on top. She was over the moon with everything. Jo had achieved a lifetime of ambition.
The family rallied around Auntie and Uncle. Jo was taking care of as best as a person could ever want. The outpouring of love and thoughts show that the world can be a good place. A place where little girls with big dreams can sing, dance and act their hearts out on a stage with a payment of applause, smiles, tears and laughter.
She is interred close to the Yabut home and to my grandfather and my dad. This is good. Deep within the bosom of the Philippines is a heart that will hold her close. As we do, there will be weekly visits. This equates to constant prayers, an outpouring of what is best in all of us.
Little sister Jo I love you. I can still hear you singing.
~~~
https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2016/nov/18/joanna-reyes-dies-hit-by-car-shoreditch
http://www.standard.co.uk/news/london/singer-joanna-reyes-hit-by-range-rover-on-traffic-island-and-killed-after-leaving-show-rehearsal-a3399331.html
http://www.standard.co.uk/news/london/parents-of-singer-killed-in-range-rover-crash-on-traffic-island-the-pain-inside-is-unbelievable-a3400346.html
http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/actress-destined-west-end-fame-9286543
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