Thank you for the stories
The late Bayani San Diego Jr.
There were no in-between states with Bayani “Tonton” San Diego Jr. You were in total agreement or not. He was hilarious or maddening. He was outrageously loud or chillingly quiet.
I knew him for over 20 years, most of that time as a coworker, and a good part as a friend. He applied himself to every task he agreed to (only because he found it worth his while). He was a good soldier, although I felt that teamwork was just a line he toed to keep the peace. That’s because he always set the bar high, too high, both for himself and for the people around him. He worked best at his own pace, which was rapid. Give him a deadline and he would deliver against all odds.
Within that space of relative freedom, he became one of the movers of the Philippine Daily Inquirer’s efforts at championing local independent movies—a brainchild of the Entertainment team. He reveled in his role as conduit between the paper and the industry, almost single-handedly sustaining the section’s “Indie, Bravo!” news-flash box.
He was very protective of his network of contacts that helped make coverage of the fledgling film sector yet another Inquirer home turf. Needless to say, he made a lot of new friends but, expectedly, also a few detractors. If he minded this latter group at all, I could never tell; news they made also got reported.
Bayani would never break personal confidences and was fiercely loyal to people and causes that he famously cared about. For instance, the day before he died, he was gathering views from the most quotable sources he could find about the latest brush-off against Nora Aunor for the National Artist award.
Stars, filmmakers and other celebrities that he fought for at one time or another, for any reason at all, should be heard from in another story. This is my personal newsbreak.
Bayani died in his sleep on Wednesday morning—between midnight, when his last Facebook post was made, and 4 a.m., when his sister Sonia knocked on his door. They were headed to the airport in a half hour. He was flying to Japan to cover the Tokyo International Film Festival.
Determined cause of death was “cardio-pulmonary arrest.” His heart could never cope with his pace and passions.
We had drifted apart in the last three years, owing to disagreements (professional and personal—it’s been difficult to draw the line) that we didn’t have time to sort out. But upon hearing the news of his passing, only a handful of good times came rushing back to memory.
One, the night Mang Dolphy died. Stuck in traffic driving home, Bayani and I committed one or two (maybe four) traffic violations to find a spot where we wrote the story together, trying not to melt down.
Two, walking in “supertyphoon” weather at 7 p.m. after the cabbie, citing traffic jams and reported floods, refused to get any closer to the Cultural Center of the Philippines, where we were to watch the gala screening of “Marikina” in the Cinemalaya festival.
Three, at the workplace, Bayani bursting into song without provocation, disrupting… everything.
Four, arriving at a party that Brillante Mendoza had thrown in his home. Bayani ran to the buffet table and rushed back with a small tray of tibok-tibok because it was all I could eat, being a vegetarian.
Five, waiting at the nearest Mini Stop for our drive to work. He would invariably be rushing, flushed, huffing, because he had walked 30 minutes from his house, and complaining, “It’s the only exercise I ever get.”
Six, Bayani turning up at the hospital when I refused to wait any longer for my ride home after a three-day confinement. In 10 minutes we were out of there and boarding a tricycle.
Tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, may come more reminiscences, both happy and the opposite of happy. I’m glad to be writing this now. Goodbye, Tonton, and rest in peace. I mean that. Thank you for all the stories, both the ones composed at work to share with the world, and those that will remain between us.
(Editor’s note: Emmie is a former Entertainment editor of the Philippine Daily Inquirer.)
