He was loud. Boy, was he loud. You could hear him from every corner of the theater. He was different. Quite possibly the most unique person I have ever met. He was about 6'6", glasses, piercings, scar art, tattoos - some good, some...choice, dreadlocks, Texan. Rocked the argyle and the bandana. He always had a bandana. And the wife beater, because the heaters in this place are always on. He's the only person I have ever known to successfully wear a sweater vest without looking like a major tool. He always said hello, even when it was obvious his day was going a lot worse than your's. Always.
He loved Macau. And when I say he loved Macau, I mean he loved us. He knew what the rest of us can be so quick to forget: these people get in your blood and stay there. He got into a spot of trouble here and had to leave us before he was ready; he knew he had messed up and he took the consequences like a man. But he was always around. Crazy suspension photos on Facebook, a like for your status or photo, a snarky comment. I thought he was invincible. He wasn't in Macau as long as some, but he left us with more memories and funny stories than most.
And now he won't be around anymore.
Heart of gold, I swear.
The only Derek story I want to share is this: back in my first winter in Macau, we were leaving work as a group. I was wearing my pompom hat, braids, mittens with flaps on them, and my bright pink parka with my backpack. I'm sure I looked 12. We went tripping merrily through the casino on our way to the bar and the security guard stopped us. Derek was the only one who understood what this man was asking and said, "It's Ok. She's 18. She's with us." I could not have been more different than the rest of the group, and Derek made me feel right there that I was a part of something here in Macau.
Derek's love for Macau (re: us) was the subject of great debate Monday night after we learned of his passing and we finally realized, some of us, how lucky we are. I wish I could live in a bubble with some of the people I have met here for the rest of my life. I can't. Macau itself prevents that. But these people are my family. We live together, eat together, play together, and now we grieve together. Two years of my life with these people. In the trenches. Derek only had one year with us and he never forgot us. I hope I can do the same.
And if for some reason I go young, I want there to be no doubt: lift a corona for me at the pub (or a soda water with real lime - none of that lime cordial crap). Play Journey's Greatest Hits Live and as many 80s songs as you can think of. The good ones - hair bands, Queen, Springsteen, Whitney, etc,. I wish people would tell funny stories about me, laugh for me, cry for me - but not too many tears, because I would want to bring people together. Those of us left in Macau who knew Derek got together at the pub Monday night and lifted one up for him, told his stories, remembered the old days of Macau. It was nice, we don't really do that: just get the old crew together. That's the nature of our business: it's a revolving door for technicians. We like the new people, but sometimes you need someone who understands. We're never alone in this world. Not as long as there are people like Derek in it.
Godspeed Derek Hall Burford. You were a true original and your light in this world will be sorely missed.
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