Her name is Carmen Moncada. And she is the single reason why I am a Nora Aunor fan. Carmen or Mameng is the kind of fan upon whom a movie star’s career is firmly anchored. She lives and breathes only for her idol.
Mameng is my yaya and I became a Nora Aunor fan the old-fashioned way: through osmosis.
One of my earliest childhood memories is spending hot afternoons lying on a heap of freshly-laundered clothes while listening to the Dambuhalang DJ Ike Lozada deliver Nora-related news through his radio program Balitang Artista. It would be followed by what seemed like hours of Nora Aunor songs. The only sound that punctuated the music from the transistor radio was the soft sssss-sssss of hot plancha over lavacara-dampened clothes as Mameng silently ironed. Like Mameng, I surrendered myself to the golden voice of Nora. I was four years old.
Because I spent most of my time with Mameng I became immersed in the vagaries of fandom. One of them is Fan’s Day. Being Waray, she pronounced it as pans-dee. Fan’s Day, I learned, is a sacred time when a fan communes with her idol. Never mind that “communing” only lasts half a second—and from two hundred feet away. I was not to throw a tantrum whenever she left for these pans-dees. Instead I must play quietly and not give my grandmother, Mama, any trouble. In the evening, she would regale my Mama and me with stories of Nora Aunor.
Like any fan, Mameng actively involved herself in everything Nora including her causes. I remember one in particular, Mamera Para Kay Nora, called on fans to donate mamera which would be used for charity. A “mamera” is a one-centavo coin, which apparently still had some value during the early ‘70s. I shared Mameng’s excitement as her plastic Cheez Curls jar slowly began to fill. I helped by collecting stray mamera from my Mama’s room.
Since I was too young to see her movies, I only saw her through Superstar. It was how I passed my Sunday evenings—watching Nora Aunor on our old Zenith tv with Mameng and Mama.
When I was seven I was taken to live with my mother and stepfather. Superstar or any local show was heavily discouraged in their house. But it was too late. I was a fan and like a peroxide blonde, my roots eventually showed.
As the eldest grandchild I invariably had to bathe a younger sister or cousin and whenever I did, some force always compelled me to sing “’Tiny Bubbles” while blowing soap bubbles in the air—reverting to a corny game Mameng and I shared so many bath times ago. I still play it today with my goddaughter Bea.
Recently I caught an old Nora Aunor film on cable. She played a maid (what else) who was in love with Tirso Cruz III’s señorito/matinee idol character. While doing laundry she suddenly launches into song and it was, of course, Tiny Bubbles. And yes, Nora blew soap bubbles while singing. It was an epiphany for me. I had a huge “Oh so that’s why…” thought bubble during the remainder of the movie. Mameng you are truly great.
The funny thing is, I never really went to the theaters to see her films. Most of them I just saw on TV. When I was old and had money enough to see them, it was already the Nora-Tirso Reunion period of her career which, honestly wasn’t such a great period anyway. But the ones I’ve seen blew me away. Put simply, Nora Aunor is the only local actress whose performances move me. So I don’t care what other people say about her substance abuse problem or her unprofessionalism or her sordid lovelife or even that she’s already laos—a has-been. Nora Aunor will always be a great actress and I will always be her fan.
But more than anything, Ate Guy will always be special to me because she represents everything good about my childhood: Mameng, my dear Mama and our house in Kamuning.
So here’s to the one and only Superstar! I love you Ate Guy!
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