THE VALUE OF NICKNAMES

By Philip M. Lustre Jr.

THOSE nicknames or pet names our parents, relatives and friends have given us define us in many ways.

Nicknames create our identity. They are part of our identity. With the crispy, little, fanciful nicknames, the world could be a little brighter and interesting for us. As toddlers or tots, we see the world winking at us, making it a little brighter - or even kinder.

As grownups or adults, we are best remembered by people by our nicknames and pet names. Nicknames help to establish communications and rapport in human relations. They are our tickets towards social acceptance.

My Lola Felisa gave me the nickname “Boy” in our household. Somehow, it stuck and everybody called me Boy. While growing up in the tough neighborhood of the Manila’s workingmen’s district of Tondo, my playmates also called me Boy, quite an endearing nickname by all means.

But more than a dozen kids were nicknamed Boy, as if it was the only nickname in the world. We resolved the issue by attaching an alias, usually a characteristic that made a person noticeable and unique. We called the guy who was physically big for his age as “Boy Laki,” while his opposite was “Boy Liit.”

A kid who was easily noticed for his fair complexion was named “Boy Puti,” but the guy who was dark was “Boy Negro,” which was not endearing for him. There were variations on the same theme; some guys were called “Boyet,” “Boyong,” and “Boylit.”

I never liked my nickname; it was flat and common. Hence, I did not like to be called Boy the rest of my life. I did not relish the idea to be called “Lolo Boy,” when I grew old, I told myself. The mismatch was obvious. Neither did I want to be called “Jun,” which was quite common too. But it wasn’t me who took the issue squarely.

My high school batchmates started calling me Philip. It was a refreshing nickname. During those days, it was fun to use the American version of our Spanish names. Was it a case of colonial mentality? No, it was our way of developing our identities, a curious phase of our adolescence.

My high batchmates adopted new nicknames too. Roseller becomes “Jimmy,” which he uses until now. The same is true with Misael, who becomes “Mannix” for whatever reason (or was it a TV character during our younger days?); Jesus is “Jew,” while those Eduardos and Edgardos are known as “Ed” the rest of their lives. Two batchmates were given unpalatable nicknames: Pactum and Vietcong. Please, don’t ask me why.

Two high school batchmates never had any nicknames: Elmer and Glenn. But Glenn has become a casualty when batchmates started to call him “Glenntot,” a distasteful takeoff from the late comedian Bentot's.

As I moved into adulthood, I encountered funny sounding, albeit strange and curious, nicknames. The office assistant of a friend is nicknamed “Killer,” although he is gentle as a cat. A friend introduced me to his friend, whom they called “Lagim,” a gentle man with impeccable ways. My mother’s friend was aptly nicknamed “Buntis” for her frequent pregnancies and childbirths.

When I started my career in political journalism even during the Marcos dictatorship, I came to realize that practically everybody sports a nickname. For those characters, who frequently run for public office, having a nickname is a must. This is for better recall among voters when elections come.

The conjugal dictatorship was known as Ferdie and Meldy show. The martial law chief hatchet man was Juan “Johnny” Ponce Enrile. Imelda Marcos younger brother was the late Benjamin “Cocoy’ Romualdez. The dictator’s elder brother Pacifico was nicknamed “Paquing, while younger sister Fortuna was “Baby.” His mother Josefa was “Dona Sefa.”

The 1986 “snap” presidential elections saw a battle of nicknames. Ferdie Marcos had Arturo “Turing” Tolentino as his running mate, while the political opposition was led by Corazon “Cory” Aquino and running mate Salvador “Doy” Laurel.

Incidentally, the late Cory Aquino was the widow of martyred Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino Jr. Among their kids are Benigno III, who is known as “Noynoy,” and Kristina Bernadette, who is Kris to her fans.

Several political figures prominently rose after the EDSA People Power Revolution. Cory Aquino’s defense secretary Fidel Ramos is “Eddie” until he was elected president in 1992. Ramon Mitra was Monching, Jovito Salonga was Jovy, while Neptali Gonzales was “Tali.” Joseph Estrada, who was “Erap” to fans, also emerged to become president in 1998.

At least three political figures did not sport nicknames: Cesar Virata, who was Marcos’s prime minister and finance secretary; Blas Ople and Joker Arroyo, who were former senators. Fidel Ramos’s wife and first lady was Amelita “Ming” Ramos, while Rosemarie Arenas is known as “Baby” in the upper social stratum.