Suicide of a celebrity always baffles me. From the outside, their lives seem golden and perfect. Why would they choose to end it? Why, Anthony Bourdain, why?
Since Bourdain was a fan of Philippine lechon and a champion of Filipino cuisine, I was a fan of him. Back in 2010, when I landed a photographic assignment to cover his book signing in San Francisco with my friend and writer Kaye Cloutman, I was ecstatic.
The event was a luncheon, with book signing. Anthony was going to speak and have a quick Q&A afterwards. Access to him was limited, certain VIPs got to do a meet and greet. But as the official photographer, I got my three minutes with him. He graciously signed my book, did a photo and I casually asked him…”How are you doing today?” To which he replied, “I’m super tired, had no sleep, been traveling non-stop and here I am. Thanks for asking.” He smiled back at me.
But minutes later, he got in front of the dining crowd. And whatever tiredness he had, it didn’t show. He was witty and sharp and handled all the questions with his signature style and ease. He was so darn likable, in that snarky New York way. My fangirl membership card was solid.
Sad. I’m just sad he’s gone. I mean, his life seemed perfect. Eating his way across the globe, and writing and hosting a TV show, admired and loved by many. And now missed, by many. He had the life I wanted. I’m so sorry to see him go.
