Dear Cha,
You made me proud as your Ninong all the more after I saw you at the David Foster and Friends (DFF) concert Tuesday night. How mature your voice is now. I must say that, indeed, you’re every inch an international star.
Thank you for the backstage pass your mother Raquel gave me. In the middle of the concert, I had a field day roaming around the backstage of Smart-Araneta Coliseum. I went inside your dressing room to say hi but you weren’t there when I entered. But just the same, I stayed in your room even for a while. I sat on a comfy sofa and for a minute remembered how it was before for you when you were not yet “discovered” and “loved” by the world.
I must say your dressing room in Araneta that night was big. I thought it was bigger than the first apartment where you stayed in Gulod. Well, you and I will agree that your dressing room in Araneta was so much bigger than the toilet of a network where you used to change clothes when you had TV guestings. I remember you peeping in the solo dressing rooms of established stars, hoping that you would have your own one day, with your name plastered on the door. God is good He heard your pleas. As I always tell you, good things happen to good people. I hope you remain your good, humble self all the time. I hold no reservation that, despite your fame and yes, fortune that is still achievable.
Thank you for the two tickets that Tita Grace Mendoza (your manager) sent to the house. Tita Christine (Dayrit) and I had a glorious view of the concert. Our vantage point was reminiscent of the night when you came to the house to entertain us with more than 30 songs.
At the DFF in Manila, we enjoyed the comedic repartees of David and the voices of Russel Watson, Ashanti, Philip Bailey and Michael Bolton. Pero syempre, Tita Christine and I were eagerly waiting for you. When the lights on stage were dimmed for a while, we knew it was your turn to sing. We were hoping David would give you the same superlatives when he introduced you the way he did for the others. Instead, when the houselights were turned on, you were there already on center stage. It was when David said nothing at all for your introduction that he said it all no need to introduce you because you are already a household name, you are already a star.
You had not yet opened your mouth to sing but the Big Dome was already ripped off with the thunderous applause of the crowd. And I must say, I give it to your loyal and loving fans the “Chasters” for giving you the loudest ovation. The Chasters went loco, too, when you acknowledged them after your very heartfelt rendition of Power of Love.
I heard you sing that song in your apartment in Gulod in 2003 or 2004. We were in the terrace of your rented house. Your mother was unrelenting because she always asked you to repeat the song from the top every time you missed a high note or when you are not breathing properly as you sang. When I thought it was already a good rendition, your mother your mentor and critic was always ready to give her constructive comments. So, the whole day, you were singing Power of Love. And there, at that moment, I discovered all the more your “power” and more so the “love” for you of your mother.
I miss laughing with you. I miss your genuine barok side, which you showed when you asked David at the concert if you could speak in your native tongue. “Dumudugo na ang ilong ko sa kaka-Ingles,” you said. As you talked to your enamored audience, I was transported back to the time when you and Raquel told me about your experience in May 2008, the day Oprah stopped the plane that would take you back home in Gulod.
“Pempengco? Pempengco?” you remembered how four buffed and burly Chicago police uttered your last name as they went up the aisle of the plane. You were still in Chicago after your second guesting on Oprah. You were supposed to fly to LA to catch your flight back to Manila. The plane was about to taxi when the cops entered the plane. You and your mom were seated in the middle.
“Cha, mga police. Hinahanap tayo,” your mom told you, nervous, frantic. You, too, were nervous and frantic.
“Mommy, sabi ko naman sa iyo huwag mong iuwi yung mga sabon at shampoo ng Omni Hotel. Baka gawa non makulong pa tayo dito,” you told your mom, innocently thinking that it was the reason why the police were after you.
“Cha, sabi naman ng Tito William mo, bayad na yung mga sabon at shampoo. Pwede nang iuwi yon.”
“Mommy ayan na ang mga pulis. Tapos na ang career ko. Mommy i-surrender mo na ang shampoo ng hotel.”
Both you and your mom were very nervous that when the police approached you, you just stood up and went with them to deplane. You said they were explaining something but nothing registered in your minds because you were both overruled by nervousness.
The police escorted you up to the exit gate of the airport. You even joked that a punerarya was picking you up. Excuse me, it was a stretch limousine lang naman. And your destination: the home cum office of Oprah Winfrey in Chicago.
Your mom said Oprah realized that after your guesting in her show, you were going back home “empty handed.” Oprah believed so much in your talent to this day she remains your mentor, too that she was ready to “work things out for you.”
That day, she scheduled a meeting with some people who would help you build your international career. She asked her assistant to book you again in, well, Omni Hotel. She kind of intimated to you that you needed to change clothes. So Oprah gave you and your mom extra money to buy clothes. Then you realized, both you and Raquel had extra clean shirts in your hand carry. So, you told your mom, “Mommy, yung perang binigay ni Oprah, wag na nating i-pang-shopping. Ipambayad na lamang natin ng kuryente at renta sa apartment yan.”
The rest is history. I stopped my wacky reminiscing when you sang Stand Up for Love and Un-break My Heart in Araneta. Now that you’re 18, you can sing those songs with so much passion and emotion. Come home after your DFF in Jakarta and I will prove to you that I can sing those songs, too, albeit in the WOW Videoke in your house. Or better yet, let me show you my own version of Louder, a cut from your second album titled Infinity.
When I caught you at the side of the stage, you were preparing for your next number a duet with Michael Bolton. You were surprised to see me. Like little kids, we were jumping up and down as we were huddled in a tight embrace. You talked to me in English and I jokingly admonished you to talk to me in Tagalog. (By the way, your English now is very good. A lot better than when you asked me to teach you English before. Haha.) You were thankful that I came that night. I admit, that second DFF in Manila was your first concert that I saw.
I left the backstage when you started to sing The Prayer with Michael Bolton. I sat beside your mom and together we watched you sing and soar. Your mom was teary eyed. She remains your beacon of hope, your will to survive, your lighthouse when your sailing is threatened by long, dark nights. In your mother’s eyes, you remain her “Minggay.” You should have seen how tears welled up in her eyes filled with love for the daughter who, together with your brother Carl, means the world to her.
Take care of yourself wherever you go when you do your own, ehem, world tour soon. You’ve really gone a long way from the days when we would ride pedicabs around the village. Gone, too, were the days when, after your school, you would sell isaw in front of Gulod Elementary School just so you would have allowance the following day. I hope to one day see your school, the Southern New Hampshire University in Boston, where you are pursuing a degree in Communication Arts as an online scholar student.
I am confident you will keep that humility in your heart. The more you keep your feet on the ground, the more you will be blessed. I will repeat, good things happen to good people.
More beautiful things await you, Cha. God bless you.
Love,
Ninong Bum
(For your new beginnings, please e-mail me at bumbaki@yahoo.com. You may also follow me on Twitter @bum_tenorio. Have a blessed Sunday!)