Farewell, Tony.

“He’s right there. Go talk to him.”

Melanie noticed that Anthony Bourdain, “bad boy” chef-turned-TV personality, was sitting at the bar at Incanto, having a drink. I swallowed my food and took a big swig from my wine glass, steeling myself to go up to him – to say what? I stood up, ready to get my fangirl on.

My knees buckled. I sat back down, nailed to my chair, frozen in fear. I couldn’t do it.

I found myself in a familiar, albeit more successful, situation years before: I met Tony once before in Santa Cruz at a book signing for his book “No Reservations: Around the World on an Empty Stomach.” When it was my turn, I thanked him and told him how much I admired his work – that his approach to his food and travel show was so respectful of the host culture, unlike the gawky spectacle of other shows of that ilk. And then I told him that he needed to go to the Philippines and do an episode there.

“Where should I go?” he asked.

“Pampanga. That’s where my dad’s from, and they’re known for being really good cooks in that region.”

“Done.”

Shortly thereafter, the Philippines “No Reservations” episode aired. I like to think – and this is a constant joke I make with my friends – that I had something to do with that and that my name got left off the end credits due to some clerical error. But, knowing how video production work goes, the show was probably already filmed by the time we met. A girl could dream.

I’ve been a fan of Bourdain and his work from his early days on the Travel Channel and his novel, “Kitchen Confidential.” (In the spirit of being a true fan, I dived into his mystery novels, not enjoying them as much, alas.) And throughout the years I’ve seen him evolve from a traveling gourmand with searing wit and I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude to a more worldly, mature, astute and compassionate observer of the world.

In 2013, he joined CNN. My boy *made* it. He was running in the big leagues now. My boy from the culinary underbelly was now front and center on one of the premier mainstream media outlets in the world, and I couldn’t have felt prouder. With the force of CNN behind him, over time his shows transcended from the prurient “watch me eat this cow anus” of his early days to bringing us along as he developed a richer, more informed, textural and complex understanding of the places and the people he visited. And, most importantly, he showed us how each and every one of us all over the globe have more in common than we think we do. The food, while still a presence, took a back seat to a visual feast of imagery and deft and thoughtful storytelling.

I’ve often gauged the greatness of each of his episodes if, after watching, I felt the immediate need to visit the country or city profiled (I’m looking at you, Senegal, Vietnam, Iran, Hong Kong). But it’s when he revisited the Philippines in the Season 7 premiere where my love for him entered into a new realm. In his storytelling of the overseas Filipino workers (OFWs), he bore witness to a force that many Filipinos have lived with for decades, but – because we don’t talk about our problems in public – never really saw the light of day. Talk to any Filipino and they’ll tell you about their parent, their child, their aunt, their uncle, their cousin, their brother or their sister working overseas to make a living. Imagine the pain, the heartbreak, the void that comes from being separated from your family, from your friends, from your community, all in the name of a last-ditch effort to provide for your family when your prospects at home look bleak or nonexistent. Imagine how many families are torn apart by this.

Once scene in particular punched me in the gut: Tony’s sitting at the dinner table with Aling Aurora, an OFW who had recently returned back to the Philippines for good. She reads aloud a letter from a now-grown child she took care of during her many decades in the States; the letter is a glowing and heartfelt thank you to the woman who practically raised him. The camera cuts to a shot of other people sitting at the table; Aling Aurora’s own biological children. Everyone’s crying (including me at this point). I realized: Are they crying because they’re touched by all the good things this American had to say about their mom? Or are they mourning the decades spent without their mother, now having to sit through an emotional recounting of how this American kid got the privilege of being raised by her?

Suddenly, I’m a crumpled pile of clothing and tears on my couch, ugly crying.

It’s a painful scene to watch. But it was just so … real. He nailed it. This is what I’m talking about when I say that the evolution of Bourdain’s point of view has broadened. It’s easy to get carried away by the first-class flights to exotic destinations, getting led around a foreign land by a local fixer who takes you around to the coolest sights, the best restaurants/food stalls/taco trucks/hole-in-the-wall joints that the guidebooks don’t tell you about. It’s another thing to really step outside of yourself to look around at the world around you, try to make sense of it, highlight and speak up when you see disparities and injustices in all of its forms. And to do it in a way that isn’t dogmatic, that isn’t in-your-face, but in a way that excites you, thrills you, and makes you think. Like, really think.

The day before he died, I finally had some quiet time to sit down and watch the Hong Kong episode of “Parts Unknown.” In recent press he’s described the episode as a cinematic dream come true for him, and I believe it. It was magical. Of course, Christopher Doyle’s cinematography had a lot to do with the visual impact, but it was the subject matter that Tony uncovered – the vanishing Hong Kong and the trepidation the people of Hong Kong feel around mainland China’s continuing hold on them – that punched me in the gut and had me screaming “Yassss, Tony. Speak on it.”

In that episode, Christopher Doyle describes his work thusly:

“The only function of what we do, of art or of anything, is to give voice to the unspoken. To give it a form it’s never been perceived in before. We can’t change the evolution of history, or of gentrification; you can’t stop that. But at least you can say, ‘look what you’re losing.’ That’s all. All we can do is give image to an idea.”

The last few years have been, to put things mildly, very challenging. I don't think I have to explain why. I’ve found that to cope, I turn more heavily to all things creative, either creating myself or consuming the art of others. Things that give me delight help steer me away from going to a very dark place. I’m devastated that Tony is gone; but what I mourn for the most is the loss of yet another creative voice in this world. The world will be that much tougher to move through without him.

Maybe he wanted to get out while the getting was good. Maybe his demons got the best of him. Maybe he felt that he had no more mountains to conquer. All I know for sure is that he left an indelible mark on my consciousness and on my soul. And for that, I am changed forever.

Thank you, Tony, for opening my eyes to the beauty of the world around us, and for finding the common thread that unites us. I’ll miss you terribly.