The First Time
Monday, October 17, 2011 @ 2:49 PM | 2 comment(s)


19 years old. 10 years in the business. 6 years with the Samsters. 4 albums released. 240,000 Twitter followers and counting. Innumerable number of films, shows, theater projects, awards, nominations, endorsements and advocacies. Numbers that merely depict what this man had already accomplished. Numbers that, when put all together, would only run short on the countless reasons why we, the ever-supporting and unfalteringly loyal Samsters, love this man: this man who shows us to reach for our passion and to take risks. This man who drinks too much coffee and hits that dougie whenever and wherever he desires. This man who wants to be a blessing to others. This man who believes in fairies and flies because of happy thoughts. This man who serves God through what he can do and does everything for His glory. This man who grew up from a skinny, overexcited tween to a charming young man before our very eyes. This man who doesn’t let bad air infiltrate his head and who still has his feet planted deep on the ground. This man who remains humble, faithful and God-oriented and doesn’t take anything for granted. And to this only man, I dedicate this really, really, really sincere appreciation post.


I first saw Sam Concepcion in a talent search cum reality show when he was twelve. Maybe you can say that there was this “Oh my God, I’m going to marry him someday” drama that had happened on that day, or maybe you can just simply say that I was instantly smitten by this little, skinny guy with a fedora who can sing and dance. And since then, I’ve always shrieked with delight every time I see him performing. I even cried (because of sadness) when he didn’t win in his first week because I thought that he wouldn’t come back anymore, and cried (because of happiness) when he won the title in the end. He was the first artist that I had a super, deep, real crush on. He was the first artist whom I had Googled and stalked online. I was a twelve-year-old fan of this little, skinny, twelve-year-old guy. For sure.


I first met him in an event where I went just because he would perform there when he was fifteen. My feet nervous, my knees shaking, my hands sweating buckets, my anticipation unimaginable, and my heart beating frantically. I almost cried in front of him when he said “thank you” and smiled at me. Imagine that – it was just a thank you and I almost bawled my eyes out! Now I can’t believe how I survived without humiliating myself before his eyes when he said that I looked familiar and when he put his right hand on my shoulder. Or kissed the computer screen when he tweeted me back for the first time. Or ran around the neighborhood screaming “Destiny! Freakin’ destiny!” when I learned that he would be portraying in a musical the lead role in Peter Pan – the book that I apparently gave him for his 18th birthday.


Of course, out of all the encounters that I have with him, the first time is always the most awkward and has the what-the-hell-just-happened-scene. And of course, the first time is also the most memorable. Hands down. And since then, I’ve always tried my best to go to his mall shows or whatever to meet him again. It’s either I get to be near him or watch from afar; either I get to have a photo with him or not; either I get to talk to him without choking my words out or stutter all throughout the small talk and mortify myself in the process – at least I was there; at least I know in my heart that I have seen him in person again. And every time it happens, it always feels like the first time.

The undeniable euphoria before, during and after the encounter, the peculiar super power to remember every little detail that I instantaneously have, the agitated nights, the inerasable smile on my face, the aching desire to tell it to everyone, the giddy and soaring feeling in between. And the utmost yearning to experience it again and again and again.


He will always be that guy. He will always be my ultimate knight in shining Supras and a hot plaid button-down. He will always be my dream duet partner (my singing ability sucks – so it’s just an impossible fantasy). He will always be that one person whose tweets I will check every time. He will always be that guy whom his jokes I would laugh to even if they’re actually such failures and still think they’re epic in the end. He will always be the one performer whom I will be thrilled to meet again and again – and constantly feel the same way. And it will always be very awkward and memorable. Just like when he was fifteen. Just like that moment. Just like before. Just like the first time.




Photos © x | x

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