| Photo via Facebook
(Editor’s note: Maria Montelbano, wife of Inquirer.net and the Philippine Daily Mirror columnist, Jose Ma. “Boy” Montelibano wrote a fitting tribute about his life, his writings on social issues, and his hope for a better future for Filipinos. Boy passed away on April 30, 2025. He was introduced to us by one of his closest friends, the late Billy Esposo, a former Philippine Star columnist who suggested Boy’s column, Viewpoint.
His latest column, Last Chance for the Winning Path, Boy wrote, “I am not more concerned about my lifetime. It is the foundation of hope that I can contribute to before I go. In the end, I hope to share simple and maybe profound ideas. That is the least I can do.” His quiet introspection said it all: “If no one will remember us, what did we live for beyond the ambitions of our lifetime? What substance are we leaving behind for the generations that will follow us?”)
My husband entitled his column “Glimpses,” a weekly habit he pursued with remarkable consistency for 24 years, an act of quiet discipline that few ever saw, yet one that yielded a steady stream of reflection, insight, and conviction for Filipinos seeking clarity in turbulent times.
To his closest family and friends—especially to me—it never felt like “glimpses” when he used us as his sounding board. It always started with a show-stopping question—and just as you began to answer, you’d realize it was only the opening act to a full-blown monologue he had already written in his head.
But I had taken a vow to love him in sickness and in health (pity his friends who didn’t), so listening came with the territory. Yet despite the ambush lectures, what made us listen—or at least try—was a quiet agreement with what he so passionately believed in. Looking back, I would distill his body of work into three enduring themes—each one a compass point that guided not just his writing, but his entire life.
“True hope, however, arises solely in the depths of hopelessness. He refused to succumb to despair. By continuing to write and serve through GK and his many other nation-building advocacies, he embodied hope by choosing to act again and again, even when the times gave every reason not to.”
Our decades-long journey with Gawad Kalinga (GK) imbued in him a steadfast belief in the dignity of the poor and the responsibility of the privileged. He wrote that the poor are not the problem, but rather how little we believe in them. And to the privileged, he had one consistent message: comfort is not a reward, it is a responsibility. This was not a sermon from an ivory tower. He himself came from a privileged class and lived a privileged life—but in the poor, he received a wake-up call from God: no one is to be a master over another, but only brother and sister to all.
Our active living out of civic duties—battling corrupt governance and defending honest ones—was another compass point in his life. It was not always dark; we had seasons of momentum, moments when it felt like real change was at hand. But we also lived through the historic backslides that followed: the fickleness of public sentiment, the moral regression of society, and heartbreaking apathy.
Still, despite the ache of old age, despite the weight of watching cycles repeat, and even despite the illness that struck him early this year, he continued to write about hope—not as a feeling, but as a duty. For him, hope was not naïve optimism. After all, he wrote also about losing hope and about the bitterness of having been granted a long life yet not seeing the harvest of one’s labor. True hope, however, arises solely in the depths of hopelessness. He refused to succumb to despair. By continuing to write and serve through GK and his many other nation-building advocacies, he embodied hope by choosing to act again and again, even when the times gave every reason not to.
Yet, he could only hang on to hope because of his faith. Intelligence and wisdom are distinguished by humility—the recognition that no matter how much knowledge one gathers, the grand horizon is never ours to possess because we are always limited by our narrow perspective. To this, he surrendered to God. “Time is not mine and I must let it go. My life and actions, though, are mine and I will pursue what I believe in.” Because he believed in something greater than himself, he could persevere in his mission, despite not seeing its completion. What must be done should be done not because success is guaranteed, but because it is the right thing to do. Even when despair loomed, he wrote. Even when circumstances darkened, he acted. His faith enlightened him that our life’s mission is not to see the outcome, but to trust the One who does.
He was not quite the man his readers imagined. The public got the polished version—the wisdom, the fire, the steady voice in the storm. They were lucky. But we were luckier. What others did not see, and what only we had the grace (and sometimes the patience) to live through, were his quiet acts of love. For someone raised with everything done for him, he found his own way to express affection—in fatherly devotion that came, yes, with a sigh, sometimes with a scolding, but always with follow-through. He helped me with chores. He never forgot to personally buy pasalubong for the kids and grandchildren. He remembered and celebrated every birthday and anniversary. And through every season—of ease or illness, joy or heartbreak—he never left my side.
On behalf of Boy and my family, I would like to personally thank all of you who followed my husband’s column. Know that he deeply appreciated those who wrote back, those who left a comment on Facebook, and those who found inspiration in his act of labor.
Throughout his life, Boy only saw glimpses of faith, hope, and love. He learned to accept that it was more than enough. But now, he finally sees fully and is in the presence of the One who gave those glimpses their glorious meaning.
1 comment
my deepest sympathies on the passing of Boy. Glad to have met him and listened to him. May he rest in eternal sunshine.