Shock and disbelief washed over me when I learned of the death of Sir Edfer (Eduardo Fernandez) last Saturday, Oct. 10. I was attending the fourth Zoom class of our 11-week Ethics and Responsible AI Fellowship program, listening to a discussion on reporting on artificial intelligence, governance, policy, and accountability.
But while my mind tried to keep up with the lesson, my heart was somewhere else, wandering through memories of a man who helped shape my life and career.
My thoughts went back to the first time I met him as a journalism professor at Ateneo de Davao University and to our last Messenger exchange.
It was 1997 when Sir Edfer brought me to the office of Sir Tony Ajero, fondly known as AMA, then the editor-in-chief and publisher of SunStar Davao. With his usual flair, Sir Edfer proudly introduced me as his brilliant journalism student with great potential to become a journalist.
I stood beside him, embarrassed as he went on praising me. It felt like a sales pitch, and I was the product he was selling.
Looking back, I can smile at that memory. At the time, I hardly knew what to say.
I later learned that Sir Tony had also known my father, who had died three years earlier, just as Sir Edfer had. That connection reassured me.
Within a week of that introduction, I was reporting for duty as a cub reporter at SunStar Davao. Twenty-nine years later, by the grace of God, I am still here, now serving as an editor.
That journey began with a professor who saw potential in me and helped me take my first step into journalism.
Over the years, Sir Edfer and I crossed paths at news coverage and media events. We reconnected more closely when Sir William “Butch” Ramirez returned as chairman of the Philippine Sports Commission (PSC).
We often saw each other at the agency’s programs in Mindanao, particularly the revival of the Mindanao Children’s Games under its sports-for-peace initiatives. We also joined PSC sports journalism seminars as resource speakers, sharing our knowledge with aspiring sportswriters across the region and in other parts of the country.
Sports gave us plenty to talk about. Sir Edfer was also a founding member of the Davao Sportswriters Association.
But our conversations went beyond sports and journalism.
He would ask how my mother was doing or how my siblings were. After Mama died in August 2024, he checked on me whenever we met at an event, wanting to know how I was coping.
We talked about life, our children, and Ma’am Ana, his wife, whom I miss, too. Sir Edfer loved talking about his children, and the pride in his voice was unmistakable.
Even amid busy schedules and deadlines, he made time for the personal things. He remembered the people who mattered to you and made you feel that your life beyond work mattered, too.
Sir Edfer was generous with his praise. Whenever he liked something I wrote or heard about a career milestone, he made sure I knew he was happy for me. Friends and colleagues would sometimes tell me how he had bragged about me when I was not around.
Imagine that — my former professor, still proudly talking about his student decades later. He celebrated my achievements as if they were his own. In many ways, he was like a doting father to me.
For days, I held back my tears, perhaps because the news had not fully sunk in. Then the memories came, and I could no longer hold them back.
We last saw each other at the inaugural Archbishop Thibault Media Awards in May 2025 at Ateneo de Davao University, where we first met. After I received two awards, we huddled together, and he beamed as he held my trophies.
I was grateful to have him there to celebrate that moment. I thanked him for believing in me when I was his student and for continuing to root for me through the years.
I wish I had known just how precious that moment would become.
In March this year, while I was in Da Nang, Vietnam, on an all-expenses-paid trip for winners of the 18th Bright Leaf Agriculture Journalism Awards, Sir Edfer sent me a message.
“Nindot ang Da Nang?” he asked.
“Super, sir,” I replied.
He was asking if Da Nang was beautiful, and my answer was simple: It was.
He told me he was saving up because he also wanted to visit Hanoi and Sapa. We exchanged a few messages, and that was it.
I never imagined it would be our last conversation.
I had no idea he was seriously ill until I came across the news in one of our media group chats. I was shocked. I had not known his illness was that serious.
Now, that brief exchange about travel has taken on a meaning neither of us could have anticipated. It was an ordinary conversation, the kind we could have had any day, until it became our last.
The media industry has lost a veteran journalist, mentor, and colleague. For me, the loss is deeply personal. I have lost another father figure — after Daddy Ram (Maxey) and Sir Tony. And now, Sir Edfer.
I wish we could have one more conversation about sports, family, or the places we still hoped to see. I wish I could thank him again, perhaps while he held my trophies at the Archbishop Thibault Media Awards, with that familiar, proud smile on his face.
We also shared the same birthday, July 17, a small but special connection that will make the date even more meaningful to me now.
Sir Edfer believed in me when I was just starting. He helped me take my first step into journalism and remained one of my proudest supporters for 29 years. He celebrated my achievements, checked on my family, and made me feel that I always had someone in my corner.
I wish I could tell him how much that meant to me. I wish he were still here to see how far that young cub reporter has come.
Since I can no longer tell him in person, I will honor him the best way I know how: by continuing to write and encouraging young journalists to believe in their potential, just as he believed in mine.
Sir Edfer, thank you for helping me find my place in journalism and for being a second father to me along the way. You opened a door for me in 1997, but your kindness and faith in me reached far beyond that first opportunity.
Rest well, Sir Edfer. I will carry forward what you taught me, and I will always be grateful that you were part of my story.