i woke up this morning to lovely weeping. what’s wrong? i asked. kobe died, she said. kobe who? i asked. i racked my brain for all the cats, dogs, rabbits, and babies who my friends may have named after the basketball legend. growing up in california, it’s not so uncommon, to name what you love “kobe.” the syllables slide off the tongue like a finger roll. the name is held close like a charm for a patron saint of victory. kobe is a word so ubiquitous that when it is evoked, it could refer to a plethora of other things in the universe before even landing within the arena of sports. which is why it wasn’t until lovely responded, kobe. like, as in kobe, that i began to feel my heart sink.
for the past couple of hours i’ve scrolled feeds on my phone in a quiet daze, as has become my ritual for mourning our icons. i can’t front like i’ve been avid enough a fan to have watched many of his games with intent, don a jersey or pair of his sneakers, or be keen on what he’d been up to since his retirement. when i read testimonials from his true fans, i’m washed over by various waves of fomo for cultural moments that i simply let pass by – including my unfortunate lack of judgement that led me to spend most of the early 00’s rooting for the sacramento kings just because they were in proximity to uc davis, or my post-college years in oakland which i spent being salty about how terrible the warriors were while the lakers kicked ass down south.
but this is why this moment hurts so much – kobe being alive and out there in the world and doing well for himself was a subtle signal that elements of my adolescence could still be in tact without my meticulous maintenance. i didn’t have to keep up with his stats, or the records he broke, or details about his personal life to be a fan of the concept of kobe, and not have anyone question it. in a time when things have just seemed to be spiraling out there in the world, kobe offered a sense of security, a defense.
here in manila, i’ve been researching the manifestations of american culture on filipino life. when people ask me what i mean by that and i don’t want to immediately say “MILITARY AND COLONIZATION!” i instead crack a smile and say, well for starters, there’s all the kobe jerseys. i’m only half joking. upon my first visit here in 2013, there were so many people rocking purple and gold number 24’s i could’ve thought i’d never left the west coast. whether here, or elsewhere in the world, or even throughout my years living in the east coast, just the mention of being from california could at any point inspire someone’s eyes to light up. like kobe!
this week, lovely and i head out of manila and finally become californians again after almost a decade. it’ll be my first time living in los angeles, and i can’t help but feel like LA life will be less complete without a kobe around. it’s an incredibly selfish thought, while his day ones mourn along with a city that has cherished him for two decades, and even more so the unfathomable loss to a family who he and his daughter will not be returning too, and the families of the others who perished in the crash. in these moments, i’m tempted to ask, who am i to feel anything at all? but whenever a legend dies, i’m reminded that what makes them legendary is the shared sense of pride and loss that we all get to feel. it’s a collective experience that we are all entitled to, each in our own distinct way.