Comedian Tuesday Vargas has offered a moving tribute to the man behind the punchlines — Gil Aducal Morales, better known to audiences as Ate Gay — after the beloved comic revealed he is battling stage 4 cancer. In a message that is part gratitude, part personal memory and part plea for hope, Vargas recalls how Ate Gay helped shape her early career and how his trademark laughter has always been a light for others, even when he himself was carrying a heavy burden.

“Many don’t know who Gil really is,” Vargas writes, reminding readers that behind the onstage persona — the well-timed impersonations, the signature cry of ‘maliiiii!’ and the flood of awards — is a long career and a generous spirit. She describes Ate Gay’s steady rise: nights spent performing, shows that took him around the world, and a quiet kindness that didn’t let success change the way he treated younger performers.

Vargas gets personal. She remembers being a green newcomer in the comedy bars, nervous and eager, and how Ate Gay would lift her up with simple, powerful encouragement: “You’re so good! You’re smart! You belong here.” Those words, she says, came from someone who never once made her feel small — even though he had every reason to rest on his laurels. Instead, Ate Gay extended a steady hand, helping her chase her own dreams.

When Ate Gay called her after his diagnosis, Vargas says the call was surreal: instead of the expected gloom, they shared a laugh. “That’s his trademark — to make others smile even when life is hard,” she writes. She admires how he processed pain with humor, and how, true to form, he still found a way to bring joy into a bleak moment.

Vargas’s message is equal parts fond memory and urgent hope. She pleads for a second medical opinion, for divine intervention, and for collective faith: “I will pray for you every day because we still need a star like you.” In a nod to Ate Gay’s catchphrase of turning the impossible into the comic, she imagines telling the doctors together: “MALIIIIIIII!” — a defiant, loving wish for good news.

She closes with a simple, raw line that says everything: “Ate Gay, hang on. I love you.” It’s a reminder that beyond celebrity and material success, what artists often leave behind are human connections — the mentorship, the late-night advice, the small acts of dignity that shape careers and lives.

Vargas’s tribute reframes this story: it is no longer only about illness. It is about community — the mentors who lift up the young, the colleagues who show up, and the fans who can offer prayers and respect. For now, the comedy stage may be quiet for Ate Gay; for his friends and admirers, the work is to hold space, to pray, and to hope for a miracle.