More than two decades since tragedy shadowed a quiet island in Palawan, actor Dominic Ochoa still moves through life with the hush of that fateful Holy Week lingering within him, remembering not only the sudden, irreparable loss of his closest friend, but also the long, restless echo of questions and whispers he has had to carry ever since.

In an emotional sit-down on “Kay Susan Tayo! Vlogs,” Dominic revisited March 29, 2002, the day he discovered his friend, matinee idol Rico Yan, dead at 27 while vacationing at Dos Palmas Resort.

For Dominic, the memory remains painfully vivid, frozen in fragments of what was supposed to be a brief escape.

“We had a few drinks. He drank, definitely. He was depressed,” he recalled, revisiting the final hours he shared with Rico, who at the time was reeling from his breakup with actress Claudine Barretto.

The trip itself had been Rico’s idea, a gesture born out of a desire to be surrounded by friends during a difficult time. He even took it upon himself to arrange everything.

For Dominic, agreeing to come along was about being there for a friend in pain. What he did not expect was that it would be the last time.

“I remember going home, going back to the villa. Sinabi niya na, ‘This is the best day of my life. Puwede na ‘kong mamatay…’” Dominic shared, words that, in hindsight, would haunt him. “We didn’t take it seriously.”

The following morning, what began as an ordinary wake-up call turned into a moment that would forever change him.

“When I tried waking him up, wala na.”

Rico had passed hours earlier. Medical findings later pointed to acute hemorrhagic pancreatitis, a sudden and severe inflammation of the pancreas. But for Dominic, the real ordeal did not end there.

In the years that followed, grief became entangled with speculation.

“I’d like to take this opportunity… they’ll speculate that we took something. We never take anything, especially si Rico,” he said firmly, addressing long-standing rumors that linked the actor’s death to alleged drug use.

The accusations cut deep not just because they were false, but because they ultimately reshaped public memory of someone he knew intimately.

“Even before it happened… hindi pa uso ang fake news, may fake news na,” Dominic lamented.

Also among more painful claims were those that painted Rico as abusive toward Claudine, something Dominic strongly refutes to this day.

“He’s not the type. I’m not the type too… never manakit ng babae,” he stressed, his voice carrying both conviction and lingering hurt.

The burden was twofold for Dominic: mourning a best friend while defending his name against what he believes are deeply unfair narratives.

It took him three years to begin moving forward from the loss.

Yet healing, for him, has never meant forgetting.

“When I feel that I need to talk to someone, I go to Manila Memorial… I just go pray. I just go talk to him. It’s an intimate relationship with a best friend.”

Today, Dominic speaks not only to remember Rico, but to remind others of the power and danger of words.

“The main purpose (of this) … is to remind people to be careful with what you say or post because it can be deadly.”