My Tukayo (Namesake), My Friend

DR. EUSTAQUIO ‘BOY’ ABAY

Unlike me, his name — JOSE MARIA ‘BOY’ LOCSIN MONTELIBANO — smelled of roses and spoke of nobility.

(As for me, I had fistfights almost weekly in grade school — all because of my name: Eustaquio. It quickly degenerated into “Tikyo!” — and thus, knuckles!)

His parents carefully chose Jose Maria.
He studied at La Salle Bacolod for both his grade school and high school education. I went to La Consolacion College in Bacolod.

We were both born and raised in Bacolod, but we didn’t meet until Ateneo de Manila. Even then, we never shared a classroom — I was in Pre-Med, and he pursued a different course.

Our only encounter during college was during the intramural basketball finals. He played a key role in his team’s championship win against ours — the Phi-Meds, which mainly consisted of seminarians and, well, us pre-med bench warmers.

After the game, during the traditional handshake lineup, I remember thinking:  “You roughed up our seminarians pretty badly.”  

That was it. Just a moment. Years later.

A Second Beginning

In 2007, during the UST Medical Alumni Association of America Convention at the Marriott in New York City, I heard Dylan Wilk speak. A wealthy Briton who gave up his affluence to serve the Filipino poor, he left England, sold his business, and came to the Philippines to build homes for the marginalized. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room.

Here was a foreigner who was, in spirit, more Filipino than any of us.
I was hooked. Gawad Kalinga (GK) had captured me.

In 2009, during a visit to our Ateneo batch’s GK Village in Bagong Silang, Caloocan, I shook hands with Boy M. That was the real beginning of our friendship.

Boy M., his wife, Maria, my wife, Emy, and I — we shared the same heart for the poor. That bond deepened as we attended GK Summits across the U.S.

Whenever I could, I joined him in fundraising — city to city, coast to coast. And beyond — to the Philippines, Indonesia, Thailand — building homes, building communities, building the nation.

Always at the center: the poor.

He spearheaded annual GK builds, feeding programs, and disaster relief missions (including those for Yolanda), and was instrumental in developing the GK Enchanted Farm. And in nearly all of these, he made sure my family and I were there.

Twice, even my entire family — including my three grandchildren — joined the GK Build. The first was in Kabug, Negros Occidental, to help build our family village.

It was Oneness of Heart.

A Man for Others

True to Ateneo’s spirit of “men for others,” Boy M. formed deep personal connections everywhere he went. He inspired others into lives of service and handled challenges, especially those affecting the poor, with calm, decisive compassion. This wasn’t just about houses. It was nation-building.

He brought people together — and kept them together.

Our Ateneo 616569 group met weekly.  Boy M’s La Salle Pioneer Class and the People of Mega (his GK group) stayed tightly connected, fueled by his energy.

It was Oneness of Love.

He was a generous father to Joey, Jasmin, and Jaja, nurturing them with values, wisdom, and boundless love.

To Marga, Vito, and Santi, he was Papa Boy — the perfect blend of spoiling and discipline. Each child, in some way, carried a piece of him.

His love for his siblings was just as genuine and evident in every moment they shared, right up to the very end.

His friendships were never self-serving. They were built on truth and giving.

A Patriot in Action

His love for country ran deeper than the flag-waving kind. He lived it.

Once, he and I drove from San Diego to Boston, visiting Filipino communities all along the way, forging ties for GK. We took turns driving, arguing, laughing, and respecting each other deeply.

We arrived in Boston exhausted, only to find my daughter and her husband weren’t there. I called her:  “Pop, our flight is tomorrow!”

Boy M. just looked at me, shook his head, and smiled.

In Pain and Hope

When my brother, Felix Jr., was murdered while protecting his son from a drug syndicate in 2012, Boy M. helped me secure a meeting with the PNP Chief. Moreover, he helped us channel our pain into something meaningful. Hopeburst — a name he coined — was born.

When he had a stroke in Bangkok, I flew to meet him with his family. Miraculously, his doctor was a former colleague of mine from Wichita, Kansas. He recovered. We brought him home.

The Final Blow

In February 2025, he texted me the result of a chest X-ray — a 2.5-inch apical mass. Stage 4 squamous cell lung cancer. It had already spread.

When jaundice and pneumonia set in, I flew back to Manila. He had lost more than 20 pounds. His eyes were yellowed. He was mostly asleep.

“Look who’s here,” Maria said gently.  He opened his eyes and gave me a wry smile.

“I brought lechon (roast pig)!” I joked. He grinned widely, then drifted back to sleep.

Two days later, his kidneys failed.

The hardest thing as a doctor… is knowing when to let go.

I gathered the family and told them what we all feared. We had done everything. We had prayed. Now, Boy M. was in God’s hands.

That night, surrounded by Maria and his three children, he opened his eyes, puckered his lips to kiss Maria, and as the family prayed to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph for a peaceful death…

…he took his last breath.  It was 10:43 PM, April 30.

My birthday.  His way, perhaps, of ensuring I’d never forget him.

Epilogue

Friends told me, “What you did — flying from America — was admirable.”

Maria and the children said, “We couldn’t have made it through without you.”

All I could say was: “We do what we do… out of love…”

❤️  My Tukayo, My Friend, is gone.