‘In height, skin color, voice and through your eyes’ wordless longings, you have given the greatest performance to the unspoken and lofty yearnings of everyday people.’
Dear Ate Guy,
In the last few days, I have read and found comfort in many tributes to you. Those of us still grieving only have to scroll Facebook. Instagram is also flooded with rare photos and reels of you. And once again, many scholars and critics are stepping forward, asserting your artistic legacy.
With you, excellence was always the goal, whether in music, film, television or theater. There isn’t enough time or space to talk about your bestselling recordings (some 50 music albums and 260 singles) and blockbuster and acclaimed films (more than 175 movies in the span of more than 45 years).
In your journey as an accomplished actress, five National Artists for Film, who went ahead of you, would take the time to hone you. Which Filipino actor could boast of working with and earning the nod of Gerardo de Leon, Lamberto Avellana, Lino Brocka, Ishmael Bernal and Fernando Poe, Jr.? With “Ang Makulay na Daigdig ni Nora” and the long- running “Superstar,” you defined television’s riveting genres. And when theater issued the challenge, you stepped forward quietly, to star in principled plays like “Minsa’y Isang Gamu-Gamo,” “DH” and “Trojan Women.” How many actors have mustered all three platforms with equal radiance?
Yet when we lost you, everyone who had a story to tell opted to remember something else about you. Si Nora, ‘yung Superstar bilang simpleng tao. All of them had chosen to dwell on your kindness, generosity, humility and compassion.
Quite often, it is painless for people who make a lot to share their blessings with others. When you were up there, you awed everyone by choosing to give away your talent fee to overworked production staff and crew members. What is hard to fathom is how at your lowest, you would not hold back from lifting up the same needy ones, even if it meant advancing your own talent fee.
Beyond money, you won me over with your love and concern. It began with you finding out that I had the same December 11 birthday as your son, Kristoffer Ian de Leon. And then, you had those awe-prodding gifts of time and acts of service, through our occasional catch-up dinners with Tita Boy Palma and Albert Sunga and off-camera visits to Tatay Bien Lumbera and dear Ricky Lee, our moral compasses and wisdom providers on many national issues.
In my own work as a talent manager, you did big-hearted collabs with my artists, even making video greets for friends and a longtime crush. You didn’t think twice about endorsing one of my talents or lending outright support for a young ward who ended up being tossed in a reality talent competition. You gave us your shining, undeserved presence in our own bid to shine.
For the curious public, your life had all the ingredients of a good film. It had the romantic thrills of “Lollipops and Roses at Burong Talangka,” the action of “Super Gee,” the epic feel of “Bilangin ang Bituin sa Langit,” the tragedy of “The Flor Contemplacion Story,” that sense of unmooring in “‘Merika,” the folk religiosity of “Tatlong Taong Walang Diyos,” the irony of “Condemned,” the tangled attractions of “Tinik sa Dibdib,” the wordless speeches of “Ikaw Ay Akin,” the music in “I Can’t Stop Loving You,” the locked-world grit of “Bulaklak sa City Jail,” the mad retribution of “Bakit May Kahapon Pa” and the mystery and salvation extended by “Himala.”
But the life you lived offered more, Ate Guy.
From the private life which only your most beloved witnessed, you met fate head on, having only faith and courage. Bravely, you weathered many hardships. And bold, courageous decisions accompanied not only the seasons of your singing and acting but also the loves you yearned for and your life’s harsh turning points.
Diagnosed with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), you gathered your children, asking me to accompany you, determined to prepare them for your eventual health battle. Du’n na ako kinabahan. You could have gotten stuck on the potential burdens or the many losses of such a fight. But, instead, you were set on living passionately, savoring what is left of time. I suspect that, by then, you had come to understand that the well-lived life was all that you could hope to boast of, not the wealth, trophies and denied affections that are selfishly of this world.
More than the courage, you had the faith, Ate Guy. Your 71 years were not short on trials. Despite all these — the heartbreak coming from family, love, career, finances, health and more — you were the first to believe that you would simply get through, propped by faith alone.
With endless tributes choking up social media after the country lost you, I could not help but ask: would this virtual outpouring of grief be matched by real people showing up at your wake? After all, social media has a strange habit; its most vocal advocates are not always keen to showing up when it matters.
“Sinira nila ang boses ko, para bang sinadya,” you said once, lamenting the loss of that golden voice that changed your life. But when your fans showed up at Heritage Memorial Park, they gave it back to you, bestowing you the highest tribute — honor and love, both, that can only come from the simple heart.
“Ikaw ang Superstar, ang star ng buhay ko,” they sang, choking back a grief both deep and eloquent. “Mahirap ma-in love sa ‘sang katulad mo,” they sang some more, acknowledging a legend’s enigmatic life which they both knew and didn’t.
Maraming salamat, Ate Guy. In height, skin color, voice and through your eyes’ wordless longings, you have given the greatest performance to the unspoken and lofty yearnings of everyday people. Ikaw ang Superstar, ang bituin ng payak naming mga paghahangad, ang aming Pambansang Alagad ng Sining.
Nagmamahal,
Noel
