Meet Miss Mega. Ma'am Mega. Mega Star Sharon Cuneta. • Hallmark Woman Achiever Awardee • 2001 Ulirang Ina Awardee • 2002 City of Manila Awardee It was the big launch of Century Tuna's new ad with the Mega-Endorser. A TV news crew was doing a one-on-one with Miss Mega. Promising that that would be her last question, a neophyte TV reporter, slightly starstruck by the legendariness of the woman in front of her, began her query thus : "Ma'am...." Ma'am was, well, genuinely caught off guard. "Naku call me Shawie na lang." Thus, the ice was broken and the giddy TV news reporter got on tape - her precious sound bites for tomorrow night's news. In a season of centennial and calamities, Filipinos - young and old - turn to their heroes for solace and comfort. There's Mari Mar, the Mexican import and soap-opera heroine who turned the phrase "hope and glory" to "hype and gaudy". There's Olympic silver-medalist boxer Mansueto Velasco who, according to his compatriots, is an underdog, robbed of his moment of glory in Atlanta. There's Sarah Balabagan, the resilient symbol of hope and heroism for Flipino OCW's everywhere. They were the heroes in the headlines, in that incredibly hectic month before Miss Mega's Music Museum Concerts. Circa 1988. Almost a decade ago, Istudyante - the first national newspaper for students - declared the following as "Idols of our Time:" Hardcourt legend Robert Jaworski, slain student activist Lean Alejandro and showbiz megastar Sharon Cuneta. Politically they may be worlds apart, but these '80's heroes and heroine share one thing in common. They represented an entire generation's dreams and disappointments, tears and triumphs. They were the heroes we - including the star-struck, awe-struck TV reporter - grew up with. Significantly, the editors of Istudyante admired Sharon the only woman in the trio, for what conservative Pinoys would consider unpopular virtues: her independence, her decisiveness. She chose to lead the uncertain life of a newly separated woman rather than to be trapped in an unhappy marriage - a national soap-opera that could've rivalled the vertiginous plot twists of Mari Mar. Sharon - an incipient feminist heroine - choose to live life on her own, relying on her strength and uncommon grace as a woman, as a friend, as a daughter, as a mother. It's way past two in the early morning and the Megastar, sweating buckets after a costume fitting in a badly ventilated room, decides to spend the remaining hours before her "two-days-of-silence-before-the-concert" making chismis with co-workers. Miss Mega, however, doesn't just tell a story. She acts out the entire scene - and plays all the characters in her story, whether they be her best friend Anna playing hide-and-seek in a Tokyo train or her pet Sushi showing off her litter of pups. She's unstoppable - like the Energizer rabbit after a recharge. And to think that she was feeling a bit under the weather earlier that afternoon, not to mention exhausted, because she had just wrapped up a rigorous band rehearsal. But Sharon is on a roll. Giggling and kicking her legs up in the air, she imitates her seven (count 'em seven) dogs in Dasma : (1) D-Boy, the father and the Golden King of the herd; (2) Sushi, the mother of (3) Simba and (4) Coco; (5) Skip, Coco's pup; (6) Ichi-ban, KC's pet; and (7) Mr. Q. the guard dog. (All are titled Pomeranian Dwarves, except for Ichi-Ban, a Japanese Spitz, and Mr. Q. who's of indeterminate breed.) "As puppies, they look like Ewoks in Star Wars. And they're very smart. Each dog has his or her own unique personality," Sharon gushes. "Sushi is very mahinhin. Simba, the only one who's light-gray is very regal. Coco is very selosa. With wide-eyed wonder, she talks about her pets as if they were her babies. Could that be the secret of Sharon's charisma? The ability to hold on to the "child within" in a world that has grown increasingly cynical? Still Miss Mega's mass appeal remains a mystery. Could it because she is remarkably gifted, as Direk Rowell would surmise? Or that she is incredibly simple and ordinary, as Direk Maning would theorize? (Why? It was even reported that MNLF leader Nur Misuari is a fan of Sharon's. Just goes to show how far-reaching her influence is. Could the Megastar be the secret to peace in Mindanao? Abangan.) Whatever. What is important is that Sharon unselfishly shares her gifts and has endeavored to be a positive influence on the lives of countless fans, as KAPP President Edu would point out. An entire generation of Sharonians were able to endure the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune (and life in Mega-Manila) with a little help from Miss Mega, inspiration and guiding light. Fast forward. Dressing room, ten minutes before showtime. Two days after her vow of silence, Sharon leads the cast and crew in prayer, a scene that would be repeated for three or more Fridays of August. Amen. What makes Sharon seem so extraordinary is precisely the same trait that makes her ordinary and endearingly human. In an abnormal world like Philippine showbiz she strives (nay, struggles) to remain normal by hanging on to a simple philosophy: simplicity in a complex world; complexity in a not so-complicated way. Despite fame and fortune, she insists her fondest wish is to shop in Divisoria and Megamall. That her biggest ambition is to be "a successful nanay, housewife and businesswoman." In that order. You can call her Ma'm Mega, Miss Sharon, Mrs. Sharon C.P., Modern Movie Queen, Mega-Concert Artist, Mega-Product Endorser, CEO and Founder of Sharon Inc. But Mega, up close, is simply Shawie.