WHEN I was a young, greenhorn feature writer and had mustered the courage to approach Letty Jimenez-Magsanoc, then editor of the Sunday Inquirer Magazine, to ask if I could contribute articles, she welcomed me. Her occasional intuition for throwing the right people together was spot on this time, as she instructed me to team up with a photographer named Mandy Navasero, a tomboyish, flamboyant woman with an unexpectedly high-pitched voice.
The author and her mom, photographed by Mandy
I didn’t realize until later that the voice could cackle, cajole, order, persuade, and tease her subjects until she captured at least a smile, and sometimes full-blown laughter. Long before digital photography became the norm and you could actually make your subject look happier artificially, Mandy was cracking them up.
I actually met Mandy previously at several events, like cocktails, openings, and particularly at lunchtime kapihan forums hosted by women in media like Jullie Yap-Daza and Letty. She called many of these women her friends, and was a fixture at such gatherings. Our first collaboration happened without us ever meeting professionally at first, though; she had already photographed Pilita Corrales for the Sunday Inquirer Magazine, while I set my own separate interview, which lasted about three hours, because Letty wanted me to get the Queen of Song to open up about her colorful love life!
It was a beautiful cover, with Pilita sitting in a chair, lit from behind, and her shapely right leg extended straight up into the air like a showgirl. It was a milestone for me, my very first published cover story for a national newspaper. Letty loved our work.
Mandy’s early attempt at an underwater photo of the author
After that, Mandy pulled me along on fun trips. Together with our friend, the late hairdresser and makeup artist Nick Diaz, we went with some Bb. Pilipinas candidates to Lucban, Quezon to cover the Pahiyas Festival, jumping into tricycles and riding rafts at nearby rivers. Some months later, it was singer and actor Raymond Lauchengco, whom Mandy got to jump fully-clothed into the water in Los Baños. Because she was also a certified diver, like I was, and had learned under the late great underwater videographer Carina Escudero, Mandy managed to arrange dive trips for us, as she attempted to include underwater photography in her repertoire, although she didn’t get enough of a chance to do it; her early pictures of me were bad, frankly, but she still proudly enlarged a picture of me she took at Cathedral, a dive site in Anilao.
There was the time we dove in the Dakak Park and Beach Resort in Dapitan, along with another late friend, bubbly socialite and philanthropist Jojo Zabarte. In fact, for one of our many projects together, when she had a dive shop as a client, she paid for my copywriting services with a skin wetsuit, which I wore until it had holes.
One trip to Anilao was particularly memorable, because for some reason, a tiny jellyfish managed to bite the inside of her lip as her mouth was wrapped around her regulator mouthpiece. Mandy was infuriated that I was laughing at her, because her upper lip was swelling in no time, and she had to dunk her whole mouth into a shallow bowl of vinegar—it didn’t help much, and she still went home looking like a fish.
Good thing she opted to go to the Makati Medical Center the next day, because the bite turned out to be toxic, though not fatal. Another time, we also brought along Melanie Marquez, an old friend of Mandy’s, whom Mandy photographed for a summer cover for the Sunday Inquirer. I’ll never forget how Melanie regaled us with tales of her modeling days, including standing up to designer Gianfranco Ferre, profanity and all!
Mandy and I found common ground in our being only girls in families full of boys; her Kuya Hector and my Kuya Don were even together in some civic organizations. She was born Luz Amandolina Navasero in Los Baños, Laguna—I teased her endlessly about that name, and thought it was somehow appropriate for her Valentine’s Day birthday. Mandy worked as a Philippine Airlines (PAL) flight attendant—easy to believe, as her striking mestiza features were evident even as she aged—and joked about how she had to make sure the lines at the back of her patterned stockings were straight. Oh, the woman was vain; years later, I remember asking why she was wearing dark glasses indoors, and it turns out she just had her eye bags removed.
She was born Luz Amandolina Navasero in Los Baños, Laguna—I teased her endlessly about that name, and thought it was somehow appropriate for her Valentine’s Day birthday
After PAL, she went on to work in a bank, and it was proof of Hector’s love for his kid sister that he helped fund her studies (along with what Mandy made from the sale of her car) at the Brooks Institute of Photography in Santa Barbara, California (now closed), where she focused on advertising and illustration photography. I distinctly remember how my then 7-year-old nephew was thrilled to receive a talent fee when Mandy drafted him for a photo shoot of a family for an advertising brochure (I wrote the text).
After Brooks, Mandy relied on her network and friends to find work, whether in the corporate or government scene. Letty gave her a boost with assignments, and later, with a small column in the Philippine Daily Inquirer, StreetSmart. Mandy was a hard worker, though, and charged her PR clients reasonable fees for honest work, finding favor with newspaper editors through goodwill and small gifts—nothing like the big-budget wheeling and dealing that happens today. I know, because I banged out and edited a few press releases myself when I worked at the Inquirer, and her studio was just across the street. I heard many editors say that Mandy didn’t charge enough for her services. She was pretty old-fashioned, in fact, and it took years for her to use an ATM instead of a bank book, until she was convinced it was more efficient.
An older photo of Mandy with daughters Julia and Kate, and a very young Amanda in the foreground. Kert had not yet been adopted.
We did many more stories for Inquirer, but money was not always free-flowing for Mandy, who adopted four children: Julia, Kate, Amanda, and Kert, her unico hijo. When I asked her why she quickly welcomed these little ones into her life, all she told me was, she felt it was only natural and she had no other choice, and proceeded to change these children’s lives. There was a time she even sold meals in her studio, and many employees at Inquirer got used to seeing Kert delivering orders.
Still, Mandy soldiered on, although she found an excellent source of income when she began her Batanes Photo Safaris. It drew many photography enthusiasts who found a perfect opportunity to learn from a master, practice their skills in a place where you couldn’t take a bad picture, and have fun in the process. It would go strong until the pandemic, but never recovered after that, as Mandy herself was getting older.
I never got to join her Batanes safari, but years before, when I did go on a Batanes trip and wanted to learn how to shoot, in the days when you had to consider lighting and settings and aperture openings (which I never completely grasped), Mandy actually lent me a camera, for indefinite use. When I eventually returned it to her, I simply said, “That’s why I’m the writer and you’re the photographer.”
The author and her dog Banana, photographed by Mandy for a reading advocacy campaign
And because she was a photographer, and my friend, she took some pictures of me, including one with my late, much-missed dog Banana for a reading advocacy campaign. I also once asked her to take photographs of me and my late mother, because my siblings and I wanted a keepsake, taken while Mama was still strong. One still hangs in my house today. And yes, she met my mother several times before and after that, and Mandy always managed to coax the biggest smile from this shy woman.
During the pandemic, Mandy and I would communicate by text, when she was living in Batangas for a while with oldest child Julia, and later back in Manila with Kert, who dedicated himself completely to caring for his mom in her old age. Still, Mandy remained in character; during a trip to Taipei with Kert and daughter Amanda, Mandy tripped in the airport, fell, and hurt her shoulder, but insisted Kert take her picture while they carried her away on a stretcher!
It was my good friend and fellow writer Joy Rojas who told me the news about Mandy’s passing last June 1. Joy and I—Joy inherited some of Mandy’s copywriting work from me, after I had become busy and later left the Inquirer—visited her wake, where I was also reunited with her daughter Kate, who was our editorial assistant at Inquirer’s Lifestyle section for several years, before everything got messed up. At first, there were no tears for me, even as we reminisced on the years.
It was before I left, and I gazed upon Mandy before saying goodbye, that I remembered all the adventures, and how this kind, spunky woman had truly taken me under her wing when I first began writing. I couldn’t stop the tears then, because I realized how much a part of each other’s lives my friend and I had been.
Everything was easier and more fun with Mandy. Maybe that’s why it was hard to say goodbye.
