In Memory of Brod Bello

1968-2026

A few weeks ago, I found out from a friend of a friend that one of my close friends from college died unexpectedly. I have not spoken to him since the picture below, which was circa 1992 at the University of Virginia, but the news hurt as badly as it would have if I had talked to him the day before. Sort of like that friend who you haven’t talked to in over a decade but you pick up where you left off, as though no time has passed. Except in this case, I haven’t communicated with him in 24 years, but I feel like a part of me died with him.

Although my memories of UVA are all fond now, in part because we have a tendency to remember things more positively as time goes by, I actually spent 3 out of my 4 years depressed while I was in college. And if it weren’t for Brod, I would have had far fewer positive memories to recall.

I had intentionally chosen a place that could not have been more opposite from the rural, coal mining hometown where everyone knew my family. I didn’t want every mistake I made and every accomplishment I earned to be attributed to my parents. I was tired of feeling different and not fitting in. I longed to be in a place where I could be invisible.

But, like the creepy classic warning says, be careful what you wish for.

The population of the University of Virginia by itself was probably 3-4 times larger than the population of the city I grew up in. We practically lived on the opposite end of the state from where the majority of the other kids came from. I grew up in Southwest Virginia (SWVA), and most of the school came from Northern Virginia (NOVA). Except we didn’t use the acronym with pride like it was the name of an actual city. It took me weeks after orientation to realize that NOVA was not a city, but rather a collection of affluent cities near D.C. in which students had access to academic resources like SAT prep courses and AP classes, in addition to fashion resources like The Limited and Express–two stores I had never even heard of. 

My saving grace at UVA was largely due to Brod. He and some other Filipino students formed the charter chapter of the Organization of Young Filipino Americans, or OYFA. (Now we call ourselves OOFA–the Organization of Old Filipino Americans.) And thank goodness they did form it. Because otherwise, outside of my family and friends that I already knew before arriving at UVA, the vast majority of my social circle came from OYFA. They gave me a place to belong and things to do other than go to Rugby Road, have beer spilled on me, and dance to music I couldn’t stand. Instead, we did things like watch Beauty and the Beast in the theater and gossip about our friends. Or meet up at the Bello’s apartment and eat Filipino food. Or go to our very own Asian semi-formal.

Brod was so smart that, while I stayed a year after graduation to work in day care wiping toddlers’ butts for a living before grad school, he was attending UVA med school.So when OYFA had social events after I graduated but still lived in C’ville, I still had someone I could take as my partner. I had someone who I could exchange mix tapes with. Except his were way more creatively presented than mine were. Mine didn’t even have the names of the songs and artists on it. Surprise!

And when my heart was broken by my ex, he dropped everything he was doing and came over to my apartment and comforted me. He assured me he knew how foolish I felt, having fallen for someone who didn’t treat him well, either. Which was hard to believe, but at least he made me feel a little less foolish. He introduced me to George Winston’s Winter album that day. I always listen to it at Christmas to this day, and it always reminds me of him.

He was one of the first people who would make fun of me because of random things like the candy I liked, but in a way that made me feel cherished rather than ashamed. Like, that’s so Christy! Very few people can tease me in a way that makes me feel loved, but he did.

I lost touch with him because I didn’t believe I was important enough to him to reach out and stay in touch. I kept in close contact with his younger brother Brad, and we have attended many bowl games and other events, even though I wasn’t nearly as close to Brad as I was to Brod. But I guess deep down I didn’t think I deserved to be Brod’s friend because I thought he was too good for me. And I am so sad that I didn’t know then what I know now.

And that is, it’s worth it to reach out and risk someone possibly rejecting you if it means there’s a possibility that they can add joy to your life.

Just before starting this post, I looked him up to see what more I could find out about his passing. It turns out he was working at a practice in Nashville, which is only 3 hours from me. I couldn’t believe it. I could have been visiting him all this time. That was the most heartbreaking news of all.

I know that you are in heaven, Brod, because I saw how your colleagues and your patients talked about you on the Internet. And I remember how good of a friend you were to me. So please accept my apology for not taking the risk of reaching out to you. It’s not because I didn’t think of you. I thought about you all the time. I just didn’t think I deserved to be your friend. Please forgive me and know how much I care about you.

And to those of you who have someone with whom you’ve lost touch and think it’s a lost cause to reach out, please know that it’s not too late. That even if it doesn’t turn out the way you hope it will, stepping out of your comfort zone and taking the risk is always worth it. Don’t make the same mistake that I made.

I miss you, Brod. I always will.