In death, as she was in her lifetime, Nora Aunor proved to be larger than, well, life itself.

Following her untimely passing on April 16, 2025 due to complications brought about by acute respiratory illness, social media was inundated with tributes, remembrances, heartfelt salutes to the legendary actress alternately known as the Philippines’ one and only Superstar and National Artist for Film and Broadcast Arts. Many, if not all of them, paid homage to Nora Cabaltera Villamayor, 71, 35 days short of 72, not only as a great actor, possibly, the finest the country has ever produced, but more so, in recognition of her sterling qualities as a human being. Many of Nora’s co-workers throughout her six-decade long career in film, TV, music and theater paid tribute to her kindness and humility.

I, too, have my own story to tell. A day after my birthday in June last year, I received a call from Nora.

In a very humble tone, she asked what I was doing that day. Although I had booked myself to a couple of events, I told her I wasn’t doing much.

She asked me if I could please proceed to Mario’s restaurant in Quezon City for lunch. Now, it isn’t every day when someone with superstar stature gives me a call, asking me out to lunch same day.

I dropped everything and went to Mario’s, one of her favorite restaurants. Dressed simply in casuals, she was already seated in a corner table when I got there. She rose from her seat to give me a hug.

I asked her why she had called for me. She merely smiled. What she said overwhelmed me.

“Birthday treat ko po sa inyo,” she said. I was taken by surprise. Although we had been in quite friendly terms all these many years, I wasn’t aware that she knew of my birth anniversary in the first place.

As we broke bread, we talked of this and that, her plan to do more films of substance. At one point, she inquired about the status of entertainment reporters and how they were coping under difficult financial times post-Covid.

She asked me if I could help her launch a foundation that would provide financial assistance to economically challenged media people. She said she didn’t know how to get the whole thing started, but she was willing to shell out a substantial amount to serve as seed money.

At the back of my mind, thoughts kept rushing. Here is this little woman, looking frail at 4-feet-11, said to be wrestling with her own health and financial troubles, thinking of helping members of the press who she believes need it more. I was reminded of stories of her generosity to co-workers, especially lowly crew members, every time she finished a film. On the last shooting day, as legend goes, Nora would give cash gifts to her co-workers, including supporting actors, drawn from her own salary.

Nora gave till it hurt, unmindful of her own personal consequences. Some people thought it was a stupid thing to do, especially for someone who’s no longer in the best of financial health, yet for Nora, “It was just money.”  

Lunch over, Nora took me aside and handed me a white envelope. She whispered, “Konting alaala ko po sa pagmamahal nyo sa akin mula noon hanggang ngayon.” She also handed out a second envelope intended for Isabella, my firstborn who’s her godchild.

That lunchtime in June 2024 was to be my last encounter, up close and personal with Nora. After that, we would keep in touch through text messages that she would write in sparkling Filipino. Other times, she would send out letters in her own cursive handwriting, such beautiful works of art in themselves.

While still on the subject of giving, when Nora got wind in 2021 that I had written a movie book, she reached out to me from out of the blue. She offered to support my humble undertaking by placing an order.

I was ecstatic that the country’s longest reigning superstar had expressed interest in my book. All I could think of were the countless copies of her singles and albums that I had purchased in Raon, Quiapo back in the early 1970s.

The songs in those vinyl records---Darling, Mama, The Music Played, I Believe, The Song of My Life, Yesterday When I Was Young, It’s Time to Say Goodbye---kept me inspired in my growing up years in search of self and career. They were gentle reminders that like the singer with the golden voice from a far-out provincial village like mine, we, too could make it somewhere, somehow. Nora’s smooth, crystal-clear voice assured us that, gave us comfort, gifted us with joy.

I wondered. Was Nora now paying me back for those singles and albums that I purchased with hard-earned collegiate allowance sent in by my parents from our side of the boondocks in Batangas? Or was she reimbursing me the tons of money I paid to watch her movies, from D’ Musical Teenage Idols in 1969 to Mananambal in 2025?

I was even more floored when I found out how much she had overpaid for her order, all of 300 books!    

Nora is gone now. She may have died poor but she has left a wealth of memories that banked heavily on kindness, generosity and humility. The huge, timeless impact she has dented on Filipino culture and society brings home a point often glossed over: That in the end, people will honor you not for all the money you have amassed in your lifetime, but for the intangible gift of kindness with which they will remember you by.