THE IRONY about eulogies, no matter how beautifully written, eloquently spoken or passionately delivered, is that they are already too late. Simply put, they are postcards sent to a void.
The past weeks have witnessed the passing of not just stars but constellations in Philippine show business – Gloria Romero, Pilita Corrales, and Nora Aunor. The names of these three icons do not just resonate in the pages of the country’s entertainment industry but are engraved in the memory of generations.
Romero was the epitome of grace, elegance, and quiet strength. Corrales, Asia’s Queen of Songs, sang the soul of a nation with every note. La Aunor, the Superstar, was the voice and face of the Filipino everywoman—her roles steeped in truth and grit. These three towering figures and true showbiz luminaries are not just part of history, they are history. They defined eras, broke barriers, shattered glass ceilings and brought joy, comfort, and reflection into our living rooms, cinemas, and radios for decades.
As expected, our social media feeds and news outlets overflowed with messages of gratitude and praise from their families, colleagues and legions of fans. Glowing remembrances and passionate declarations of gratitude were all beautiful, but also bittersweet.
I was watching a clip from the necrological services of Ate Guy when award-winning film, television and theatre actor-director Joel Lamangan, a self-confessed, true-blooded Noranian, started his eulogy by saying he actually did not like delivering one. His reason was plain and simple – the person meant to listen to his words can no longer hear them.
“Huwag mo nang hintayin ang bukas. Sabihin mo na ngayon.”
These are lines from the 2024 Filipino musical Mula sa Buwan, based on Edmond Rostand’s Cyrano de Bergerac and Soc Rodrigo’s Filipino translation. These are not just theatrical poetry but a call to action. The lines sting more sharply in the wake of a loss. Sometimes we find ourselves waiting until someone has passed before we articulate how deeply they had moved us, or impacted our lives.
The legacies of Tita Glo, Mamita, and Ate Guy remind us that greatness doesn’t have to be global to be meaningful. Sometimes, the person we need to celebrate isn’t on TV or the silver screen. It could be your parents who quietly sacrifice every waking hour. Your teacher, class adviser, coach or mentor who believed in you when no one else did. Your sibling or your best friend who listens without judgment. Your colleague who pushes you to overcome your limitations so you can attain your goals. Why wait for a birthday, an award, or a goodbye to affirm these people in your life?
Words of affirmation cost nothing but mean everything. A simple “Dakal a salamat,” “Maulaga ka kanaku,” “Dakal ku abalu at apulut keka karas keng biye,” “Miras ku keng masanting a kabilyan ayni pauli mu” or “Kaluguran da ka” can carry more weight than any grand gesture. We don’t need candlelit tributes to show people they matter. We just need presence, sincerity, and timing. And the right time is always now.
A gentle reminder: life is not a rehearsal. The people you admire, love, or look up to won’t always be around. Let them hear your gratitude while they can still receive it. Don’t let your eulogy be the first time someone “hears” how much they meant to you.
Celebrate your heroes—big or small—while they are still alive, while they can still blush, laugh, or cry at your words. Let them carry your praise with them, not into the grave, but into the joy of their final years.
Because by the time the flowers are laid, the lights dimmed, and the tributes poured, it is already too late. Say it—not someday, not next week, not at the next reunion—say it today.
