Howie Severino pays tribute to colleague Cesar Apolinario

GMA-7 reporter Cesar Apolinario has drawn tributes from friends and colleagues since his passing last December 13. He was 46.

Funny, generous, thoughtful and an all-around good fellow were just some of the words his colleagues described him.

On the last night of his wake, GMA First Vice President for News Grace Dela Peña called him, "Ibang klase talaga."

RELATED: Jessica Soho, Mel Tiangco lead tributes on the last night of Cesar Apolinario's wake

For i-Witness host Howie Severino, Cesar was "the comet."

"I've seen people comment 'gone too soon' on social media posts about him. That's how comets are: a streaking flash of brilliance and then they're gone," Howie wrote.

In his captivating and beautiful eulogy, Howie recalled how he was both amused and impressed by the late reporter's "audacious ambition" to do documentaries and movies someday.

"I first heard the name nearly 20 years ago when I was temporarily living in California. A mutual friend told me a young reporter named Cesar Apolinario was sending word that he would do documentaries and movies some day and his work would be in film festivals. I was both amused and impressed by this rookie’s audacious ambition," he wrote.

But Howie never doubted Cesar's ambitions, saying the latter would eventually accomplish his goals, including becoming an "exuberant beat and crime reporter who had contacts everywhere."

And while Howie acknowledged that Cesar had immodest goals because "he was a natural-born striver," he said his colleague was not "braggart by any means."

"He just had immodest goals because he was a natural-born striver," Howie continued.

Howie shared fond memories of Cesar at GMA, whom he said was "everyone's friend."

"In the canteen, he could be a force of nature, moving from table to table and chatting up friends from different departments. His laughter was loud and infectious."

Howie also said he also saw a "deeply reflective side" of Cesar, citing his coverage of the drug war in the past years.

"[It] spooked him in some ways, I think, as I recall one canteen conversation when he told me of being bothered after witnessing obvious deceptions."

"Then there were the kilometric Viber chats where he would debate with others about our coverage. He sometimes worried that children might be affected by what they see on the news. Another time he argued that PWDs could be offended by a story we did," he added.

Howie said Cesar had a "heart for the underdog" because he was one himself.

"He was so earnest that fellow reporters loved teasing him, often in public on Facebook and sometimes bordering on painful that he would just laugh off."

The last time they saw each other, Cesar "called me closer to tell me in a low voice that he had cancer, but few knew about it." 

Howie recalled how Cesar told him that time how he missed working in the field, "where he was in his element interacting with all kinds of people."

And at the end of their conversation that day, Howie said they hugged, which he rarely does.

Cesar passed away after being diagnosed with lymphoma earlier this year, an illness which he chose to face privately.

He is survived by his wife Joy and their children Remus Cesar, Athena Joyce and Sophia Ysabelle.

Read Howie's beautiful tribute in full below:

The comet that was Cesar

I first heard the name nearly 20 years ago when I was temporarily living in California. A mutual friend told me a young reporter named Cesar Apolinario was sending word that he would do documentaries and movies some day and his work would be in film festivals. I was both amused and impressed by this rookie’s audacious ambition.

He would eventually accomplish those goals, including becoming an exuberant beat and crime reporter who had contacts everywhere.

He wasn’t a braggart by any means. He just had immodest goals because he was a natural-born striver. I can’t think of anyone else who alternated between news reporting and directing movies. He also co-hosted an engaging jologs educational show, IJuander, that was tailor-made for him and his female alter ego, Susan Enriquez.

Cesar was born without any privileges, became an OFW before he could finish college, then built a television career story by compelling story with grit and hard work.

But that’s not the main reason why many are mourning his death last week at age 46.

Simply put, he was everyone’s friend. At GMA, I would be standing in line at the ATM machine while watching Cesar work his way down the hallway from the newsroom talking to various passersby. In the canteen he could be a force of nature, moving from table to table and chatting up friends from different departments. His laughter was loud and infectious. After he passed away, even the clinic nurse shared on my IG post about him that she still hears him say “charot” in her head, recalling his jokes even as an ailing visitor to the clinic.

I also saw a deeply reflective side. Covering the drug war in the last few years spooked him in some ways, I think, as I recall one canteen conversation when he told me of being bothered after witnessing obvious deceptions.

Then there were the kilometric Viber chats where he would debate with others about our coverage. He sometimes worried that children might be affected by what they see on the news. Another time he argued that PWDs could be offended by a story we did.

He had a heart for the underdog, because he was one himself. He was so earnest that fellow reporters loved teasing him, often in public on Facebook and sometimes bordering on painful that he would just laugh off.

When the reporters had their Christmas party a couple of weeks ago, he was in his hospital bed following the party pictures and videos on Viber, joining in with his own playful commentary as if he wasn’t gravely ill. He shared a photo of himself smiling through an oxygen mask to help him breathe.

The last time I saw him a couple of months ago he was wearing gloves while sitting outside the lobby. I asked if he was sick. He called me closer to tell me in a low voice that he had cancer, but few knew about it. He was receiving treatment and could still work but was newsroom-bound. He told me he missed working in the field, where he was in his element interacting with all kinds of people.

I rarely hug fellow guys but I hugged him at the end of our conversation. I wanted to give him something at that moment but the only thing I had was a Cloud 9 peanut-butter chocolate bar that I had just bought for ten pesos at the 7-11 next door.

When I handed it to him, his face became a giant smile, as if I had just given him front-row tickets to a U2 concert. Then he blurted out, “I like that!”

I’ve seen many people comment “gone too soon” on social media posts about him. That’s how comets are: a streaking flash of brilliance and then they’re gone.

— Ma. Angelica Garcia/LA, GMA News