The Man Behind The Runaway Hero
"It's always important to keep people happy."
— Fr. Bernard O'Neil Martin
Today, I find myself struggling to write the words I never wanted to write.
For those who do not know him, let me introduce a man who was so dear to me: a second father figure, a mentor, a friend, and the man behind this blog, Fr. Bernard O'Neil Martin.
I first met Fr. Martin, or "Erps" as we fondly called him, on June 15, 2008. He was the chaplain of the University of the East. As a probinsyano, I remember feeling intimidated at the thought of meeting a foreign priest. Yet there was something about him, an aura of warmth and kindness, that drew people closer to him.
That encounter led me to become part of the UE Student Catholic Action–Christian Communities Program (SCA-CCP), an organization that would become my safe place throughout college. It was where I made some of my best memories, met lifelong friends, and learned lessons that helped shape the person I am today. And at the center of all those experiences was Erps.
Our relationship grew even deeper when I became his student assistant. At that point in my life, graduating from college seemed almost impossible. I had already stopped studying for a semester because my family could no longer afford the tuition.
Through the encouragement of my friend Ruth, who was Erps' morning-shift student assistant, I applied for a scholarship. I prepared all the necessary documents, and Erps personally went to the Human Resources Department to request that I be assigned as his student assistant.
Looking back, I can only describe him as God-sent.
Without him, my life would have been written very differently.
As I write this now, tears fill my eyes because I realize how much of who I am today is because of his presence in my life. Through him, I experienced God's love in a tangible way. He guided me not only through college but also toward a deeper understanding of my faith, my vocation, and Christ.
One of my fondest memories was attending the 6:00 AM Masses at UE, even when my classes didn't start until 8:00 AM. There was one time I played the guitar during Mass and was horribly out of tune. I was embarrassed and wanted to disappear. Instead of criticizing me, Erps simply smiled and said:
"You're not playing for them. You're singing for the Lord."
He had a way of comforting people without making them feel small. Through him, I learned that I didn't need to please everyone, that making mistakes was part of life, and that what mattered most was the sincerity of my intentions.
Erps also had a favorite reminder for me:
He encouraged me to stay connected to reality, to understand what was happening in the Philippines and around the world. He taught me not just to read the headlines, the sports section, or entertainment news, but to read the editorials and commentaries. Every day, he would look for the newspaper, and those articles often became the starting point of our conversations.
He could talk endlessly about history, geography, world events, and even local Philippine history. He encouraged us to read, read, and read some more. In fact, he built a small library that students could freely use because he genuinely believed that learning could transform lives.
Beyond his wisdom, what stood out most was his humanity.
I will always remember our grocery trips to Ever or Super 8. We'd buy the essentials and, of course, his tonic and gin, a classic Irishman. Yet what should have been a quick errand often became a much longer trip because Erps would stop to greet everyone along the way, especially guards and janitors.
He would always remind me:
"Don't forget to say hi to your friendly guards and janitors."
Before we knew it, ten minutes had passed exchanging greetings and smiles.
For Erps, every person mattered.
He believed it was important to make other people happy because every act of kindness made the world a little better. It is a lesson that has stayed with me and one I continue to live by today.
As a financially struggling student, I never had much. Yet Erps always found ways to take care of us. He would invite Ruth and me to lunch or dinner so we could save money.
I wasn't exactly gifted in the kitchen either.
I still laugh remembering the time I completely ruined a fish fillet I prepared for him. Instead of complaining, he quietly went to the kitchen and asked me to fry Spam for us, instead. That was Erps, never making people feel bad about their shortcomings.
His kindness extended far beyond us.
Whenever fruits from the offertory were given, he made sure they were shared with members of SCA-CCP and with the guards and janitors around campus.
"Give these directly to them," he would say.
He understood that sometimes the people who needed help the most were the ones least likely to receive it.
I witnessed the impact he had on countless lives. Students, faculty members, employees sought him out not only for advice but also for comfort and companionship.
Whenever the light in his office was on, I knew he was probably listening to someone's struggles, offering guidance, or simply being present.
That was why he was so loved.
Despite being his student assistant, I never truly felt like a working student. He always reminded me to prioritize my academics, complete my requirements, and focus on my studies.
Eventually, during my fifth year, I faced a difficult decision. I could either continue as his student assistant and delay my graduation or let go of the position and pay for the remaining semesters on my own, something I simply could not afford.
Without hesitation, Erps told me:
"I'll pay for your tuition. Just focus on finishing your studies."
Because of him, I finished my degree, passed the board exam, and eventually built a career.
Years later, I offered to repay him.
Instead, he told me to pay it forward.
That simple lesson became one of the guiding principles of my life.
What made Erps even more special was that our relationship with him did not end after graduation. For many years, a group of us alumni continued to stay connected through what we fondly called our "Thursdays with Erps." Every Thursday, we would visit him, share dinner together, and spend the evening exchanging stories about work, family, faith, and the many twists and turns of adult life. Some nights were filled with laughter, others with reflections and advice, but every gathering left us feeling lighter and grateful.
Erps had this habit of collecting graduation photos from SCA-CCP members. At the back of each photograph, he would ask us to write our names, degree programs, year of graduation, and a short message.
He wanted to remember us even if he's old.
And perhaps that is why it hurt so deeply when he was diagnosed with dementia in 2018 and had to return to Ireland for medical care
The joyful, energetic Erps we knew was slowly losing his memories.
I continued sending him messages through the years. The replies changed. I went from being "JKP," then "Pacho," and eventually just "Khervin."
Each change felt like a small heartbreak. I knew he was forgetting me. He never called me Khervin when he was still in the Philippines and that felt so much pain.
Yet I held on to a thought that comforted me:
What the mind forgets, the heart remembers.
I kept hoping that one day I would finally visit him in Ireland.
Unfortunately, that visit will now be to his grave.
On June 8, 2026, Erps left this world. He had suffered a stroke a few weeks earlier and never recovered.
I remember missing a call from Ate Pam. Later, she sent a text message that simply said:
I didn't want to call back.
Something inside me already knew.
And it was exactly the news I feared receiving.
I knew this day would eventually come. He was 95 years old and had lived a long, meaningful, and extraordinary life.
But no matter how much we prepare ourselves, we are never truly ready to lose someone we love.
For days, I was in denial. It took me nearly a week to write this because I couldn't find the words.
Reading the countless stories people shared about Erps on social media brought both comfort and pain. Comfort because I saw how many lives he touched. Pain because it reminded me that he was no longer here.
Yet perhaps that is the greatest measure of a life well lived.
Not the years. Not the achievements.
But the number of lives he had touched along the way.
Erps will always have a special place in mine.
I will never forget his kindness, his generosity, his wisdom, and the way he made people feel seen, valued, and loved.
He taught me that I am unique, special, and worthy of love.
He encouraged me to start this blog and even suggested its name: The Runaway Hero, inspired by a story about choosing to walk away from a fight and becoming the bigger person.
Every time I write here, a part of him lives on.
For believing in me when I couldn't believe in myself. For helping me finish school. For teaching me how to serve, how to learn, how to love, and how to pay kindness forward.
For helping shape the man I am today.
