Democracy is not doing well for us. It is leading us into oblivion, into chaos and, sad to say, into sheer lawlessness. Democracy is so sweet in the ears that we become deaf to its deafening thuds; so saccharine, so cute, so appealing that we are led to believe that democracy is the end to our means, that democracy is absolute, that democracy is this and that. Bullsh*t, I dare say, just plain bullsh*t. Democracy is but a sugar-coated word for oligarchy: the rule of the few, the rule of the moneyed capitalist elite. Though it is the masa who decides who becomes the president for the six years, but still it is the elite who controls these morons, these politicians who salivates at the mere sight of money and power. Obviously, I have lost faith in the electoral system because the Philippine society will never change. We may have different leaders in every 3/6 years but still the system is intact, unyielding, indestructible and plainly everlasting. Same sh*t, different day. Politics is but a money-making scheme of the elite.

We should take the reins of power from the State. If force is needed then let blood spill and consecrate our motherland. Let teeth grit teeth, metal clang metal. Blow the horn, sound the alarm and let the spirit of revolt consume us all. We should grab it from the elite; seize the day because their end is coming.  Let apocalypse destroy them.

Give what is due to these monkeys: the hangman’s noose. Kill them all, finish them off. Their heads may not be enough to repay for the injustices they have done to us, to our forefathers, to our ancestors.  Let them pay for their insolence, their arrogance and ignorance to our miseries.  We came knocking at their door many times, not begging, but enlightening them of their mistakes, of their wrongdoings. But they slammed their doors and became deaf to our cries, to our demands.  And now, let them pay, we will raise hell so that they will remember us for the rest of their lives. We will let them remember in every second of their dear life.  We will be their nightmare in their every dream. We will haunt them until they become but shadows of their past, echoes of their former self.

Democracy is for the weak, for the feeble-minded, for the capitalists, for those greedy and sleazy bastards who collude with others to earn profits. We should tear it down, demolish it and replace it with something that is attuned to our needs. We need a system of government that is strong in the inside that is invulnerable to attacks from the outside, impenetrable, and has the support of every single citizen of the State. We need a state that can not be swayed by moralists, by the religious sector, or by any sector for that matter. We need a State that protects the weakest of the weak, and checks the strongest and the richest. We need a state powerful enough to hold power yet efficient enough to distribute it to every single citizen. We need a state that concentrates its power in its center but is capable of defusing it to any person who needs it the most. We need a state that is uncompromising, who does not know how to negotiate. It’s either they survive on our terms or not. We need a state that protects our basic rights but could easily take it away because rights should not be inviolable but rather given to those who are deserving of such rights.  We need a state that shares its wealth equitably. Lastly, we need a state that serves justice swiftly and appropriately, who knows no master nor slave; we need a state where the justice system is trusted upon and revered.

In short, we need a State that is powerful yet effervescent.  A state that commands its own destiny.

We should make Machiavelli’s posturings our battle-cry. But we should take it a step further: take the reins of power so that we, the intellectual elite who are the most capable, the most qualified to rule will be able to rule because it is our manifest destiny to govern these nameless, faceless countrymen of ours. Arise, because we have a destiny to fulfill.

 

Before bedtime, Papa would always tell us stories, sometimes fairy tales, sometimes stories about his childhood, of what was it like living in the 60's, and sometimes his travels around MIndanao. And sometimes, and it comes once in a blue moon, he would tell us stories about his life as a tibak (or pseudo-tibak would be appropriate, i think) during his college days in Manila. He would recall how they would throw stones at police officers as they were, in turn, being hacked mercilessly and cruelly. Just because they were airing their opinion that Macoy should step down because he was a puppet of the imperialist, the unwanted messiah of neo-imeperialists. Just because of Macoy's numerous human rights violations. Papa religiously join rallies around Metro Manila; the spirit of revolt was very much alive in him.

Whille we were in Davao, my father was very vocal against the Marcos administration. He could not stomach the perversity and extravagance of La Imelda and the continuing pillage and plunder of Marcos of our ailing economy, sending it kissing the canvass. While they were busy holding ballroom parties with their cronies and friends in Malacañang, the rest of the Filipinos are contented eating one meal a day just to survive. When Macoy declared that there will be a snap election on January 17, 1986 (which was later on moved to February 7, 1986), father volunteered in National Movement for Free Elections (NAMFREL), which was an organization of 300,000 volunteers determined to protect the electoral process from fraud and abuse. Nagpatahi pa nga siya ng isang jacket na may malaking NAMFREL logo sa likod. He was determined to protect the ballots with his life, that was how fanatic he was. And when Ms. Aquino came to town to hold a political rally, father was there shouting Macoy, tuta ng kano! Of course, he dragged my innocent ass so that I could also be a part of history, so that I can claim and boast that I was also there when Tita Cory was campaigning for the incoming elections, that I was there to witness the birth of a new Philippines. And I have pictures to prove it. We were standing an arms length away from Tita Cory; we were reaching out our hands to her (an act that only fans do with rockstars) so that she could touch our hands and eventually our hearts. I don't know whether she touched mine or my father's o yung katabi ko. I don't care at all. What matters most was that she touched our lives, giving us hope that someday we will see the horizon without fear written across our faces.

Even if i could not understand the revelry going on (mind you, the rally has a very festive mood), I know that history was unfolding itself in that very moment. People were dancing, jumping and just plainly celebrating. I tried to sing along, I tried to cheer, I tried to cry, but my little voice was drowned by the chants of thousands of people who see Tita Cory as their saviour, as their true and long-awaited messiah leading them to the "true Canaan." The only vivid memory I could remember during that fateful night was the shower of yellow confett, flying above our heads like a swarm of locusts. It was like a shower of stars, a shower of million hope, a shower of promise. On that fateful night, when the world was celebrating it's triumph over tyranny, when everyone was enjoying the sweet taste of victory, I underwent a metamorhosis. I transformed into a political animal. Ah, on such an early and tender age, I knew definitely what I'm going to be in the future: a politician. Just like them, just like Tita Cory, just like Ninoy and eventually just like my father. Now, catch a yellow confetti and wish that it might come true.


Part 2 of Politics is Life series...

For my family, politics has become our bread and butter, our shield, our sword, our armour, our life. We live and die with it. We practically are survived by it and are destroyed by it. For us, politics is everything, the Alpha and Omega.

We are not aristocrats, neither are we baronic landlords. We are just a middle class family who, in some mysterious way, collected enough respectablity and crediblity; just barely enough to propel us into the political limelight. Our story began in 1992 national elections, the year that forever changed our lives.

Before 1992, we were still in Davao, living a happy middle class life: my siblings and I were studying at the exclusive Stella Maris Academy, my mother was taking up her masteral degree at a certain university and father was the sole salesman of National Bookstore in Mindanao (and yes he receives a big,fat paycheck every month plus commision for his sales). We were living the high life. It was just too damn perfect for a family portrait. Too damn perfect that it was too good to be true.

During the Christmas break of 1991, we went to our province (Eastern Samar) to have a vacation, to get away from the busy urban life, to escape momentarily from living the fast lane. It was during that vacation that destiny caught up with my father. He could no longer deny the political bug that has been biting him since time immemorial. He could no longer stomach the injustice, the corruption, the degradation of his beloved town, of his birthplace. Add the ongoing harrasment of the administration and its cronies to his parents and siblings, and we have the picture of a man trapped by circumstance and by his fate. Tormented by the mounting tensions and by his inner demons, he promised that he will run for mayor in the incoming election.

And run he did. He ran under the newly-formed Lakas-NUCD-UMDP of Ramos and De Venecia. Even if his candidacy was a longshot, he still tried to avenge our family honor. Being a neophyte among the giants and veterans, he encountered blunders upon blunders; it seems that the show would soon stop because of logistical problems, because of internal problems, because of anything sanely possible. While nearing the homestretch, father suffered a major setback: his father died of cardiac arrest. Our family was devastated. It seems we were about to break into a million pieces, about to fall apart. But our family was made of sterner stuff, from there we picked up ourselves and moved on and rallied, dedicating the ongoing and raging elections to our beloved patriarch. As the cliche goes, the show must go on. Although lacking in experience but full of heart and passion, father charged forward, leaping to the unknown. His star rose and rose. And during the day of judgement his star rose the highest, eclipsing all.
He won by a hair, just by a slim margin. My father's victory became a vindication of some sorts: for our family - after years of being in the dark, we could now longer say hello to the light; for our townfolks, who supported and believed in my father's dream; for the oppressed, now they have a champion who will deliver them out from their living hell.

The year 1992 marked the start of our "politial legacy." And from there on, we started writing our own history.

It was not only father who changed, from being a long lost son to a local town hero, in the year 1992. I too made a major transformation. From being a shy, and sometimes spoiled brat, I transformed into an assertive and goody-goody politician's son. I become more sensitive to the miseries of my kababayan. I become more political, more outspoken, and idealism was burning inside me like a raging fire, consuming me. And I vowed that I will never do anything that will taint my father's name and his legacy. So I became a good son, a good student and a good citizen.


Part 1 of a series

i came upon an article in INQ7.com concerning EDSA. Gusto kong ishare para di natin makalimutan ang mga nangyari noon. Bata pa ako noon kaya wala akong alam sa mga nangyayari pero ngayong mulat na ako, kailangan kong magbaliktanaw sa mga nangyari noong 1986. Kailangang maging estudyante ako ng kasaysayaan para di na maulit ang mga trahedya sa kinabukasan.


Amnesia anyone?
Feb. 25, 2004
By Juan Mercado
this story was taken from www.inq7.net
http://www.inq7.net/opi/2004/feb/26/text/opi_jmercado-1-p.htm

"COULD all newsmen please follow me," Colonel Generoso Alejo told the milling detainees in cramped Camp Crame's gym. It was almost midnight, first week of martial law. Outside, an eerie silence blanketed the streets, deserted due to the dusk-to-dawn curfew. "You have a visitor," he added.

Amando Doronila and I followed the late Louie Beltran, Luis Mauricio, Ben David, Manuel Almario, Benny Esquivel and others, filing into the barred reception room.

"Arresting teams" earlier nailed all of us with photocopies of warrants, signed by Ferdinand Marcos’ martial law enforcer Juan Ponce Enrile, under Proclamation 1081, by which Marcos placed the Philippines under martial law in 1972.

"Our midnight visitor" turned out to be our "host": Philippine Constabulary Commander General Fidel V. Ramos. "Nothing personal, gentlemen," he said after the amenities. "I was just ordered to neutralize you. Please cooperate. And we'll try to make things easy."

That was 31 years back. Have we cooperated since then -- by forgetting?

Eight out of 10 students today barely recall Senator Benigno Aquino's kangaroo trial before Military Commission No. 2, or why he was gunned down at the Manila airport tarmac.

Under Marcos’ "New Society," the Philippines "became a gulag of safe houses" where the regime tortured, maimed and salvaged, Amnesty International declared.

The Metropolitan Intelligence Security Group (MISG) ruled as Marcos' torture chamber. The notorious Colonel Rolando Abadilla and Lieutenant Panfilo Lacson (Philippine Military Academy Class of 1971) were MISG "stars."

But do we care?

Forget martial law and let's move on, Joseph Estrada whimpered when protests erupted over his move in 1998 to bury the dictator in Libingan ng mga Bayani [Cemetery of Heroes].

"We have very little collective memory of the past," Ateneo de Manila University president Bienvenido Nebres, S.J., told the Legacies of the Marcos Dictatorship conference. "We tend to live in a perpetual present. Thus, we can not see well into the future."

"Da King" [Fernando Poe Jr., the "king of Philippine movies] -- who would be president -- does not bother to forget. In fact, he cannot even remember.

"I wasn't aware of what's really happening," Poe told The Australian newspaper (Dec. 15). "My younger days -- it was in all movies. Politics just passed you by."

Is amnesia simplex today's response to the late senator Jose Diokno's eloquent letter, written from his Fort Bonifacio prison cell in December 1972:

"I've been deprived of freedom, stripped of my dignity... A non person, I'm reduced to having to ask permission for such a simple pleasure, as to step outside my prison to feel the wind on my face and the warmth of the sun on my back."

But "we can, even now, scrutinize our past; try to pinpoint what went wrong; determine what led to this madness," he added. "And how, when it ends, we can make sure it need never happen again."

Imelda Marcos and soul mates, however, insist on rewriting history.

Martial law was "one of the best things that happened in Philippine history," Madame Marcos asserted in a 1999 interview. "It was a peaceful provision to ensure peace for our country. Tayo ang nagligtas ng demokrasya [We were the ones that saved democracy]."

Textbooks in public schools scrub the national memory blank, Joel Sarmenta and Melvin Yabut of the University of Asia and the Pacific, said in a paper read at the conference on "Memories, Truth Telling and the Pursuit of Justice."

Read by over eight million students, these books paper over militarization of society, denigrate dissidents, ignore human rights abuses and massive kleptocracy. They recycle the claim that jack-booted rule was the only way to "save democracy."

"It should not surprise us that young people today are apathetic about the struggle for democracy," historian Ambeth Ocampo notes. "Martial law textbooks continue to miseducate."

Thus, "the trauma of Marcos terror became embedded in the Philippine institutional fabric," Professor Alfred McCoy writes in "Closer Than Brothers." "The Philippines seems caught in a long nightmare between remembering and forgetting."

There have been piece-meal attempts at rehabilitation. Representative Roque Ablan's House Bill 5147 has made "Ferdinand Marcos Day " a special non-working holiday in Marcos’ home province of Ilocos Norte and its capital Laoag City -- until the outspoken Haydee Yorac and protests shot that idiocy down.

In his novel -- "1984" -- George Orwell depicted a country where truth, freedom and justice were shoved down a "memory hole."

In the vacuum, amnesia institutionalizes injustice. History's falsification invites repeated abuse-and prevents healing. Evil is enshrined as virtue. Net worth becomes self worth as "pecuniary decency" emerges. Bankbooks become the key to social acceptance.

And words lose their meaning. A levy is not a tax, said those who robbed the coconut farmers blind. Theft is enterprise. "Why should I apologize for godly acts?" a puzzled Imelda asks.

People Power has never been about crowds. It was about an enslaved people's "yearning to breathe free." The issue is about values that "endure, even after the sun goes out."

How we remember asserts a shared past. But "all of us... must open our hearts to human memory," Nobel Laureate Elie Weisel insisted at Auschwitz memorial rites. "I do not want my past to become the future of our children."
©2004 www.inq7.net all rights reserved

Percy Bysshe Shelley


"He undoubtedly shatters the world to bits, but only to build it nearer to the heart's desire, only to make out of its coloured fragments some more Elysian home for love, or some more dazzling symbol for that infinite beauty whish is the need - the profound, aching, imperative need - of the human soul."
-- George Santayana, "Shelley" --

Ode to the West Wind
Percy Byshee Shelley

I
0 wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: 0 thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave,until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow

Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours plain and hill:

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and Preserver; hear, 0 hear!

II
Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion,
Loose clouds like Earth's decaying leaves are shed,
Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,

Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread
On the blue surface of thine airy surge,
Like the bright hair uplifted from the head

Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge
Of the horizon to the zenith's height,
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge

Of the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre
Vaulted with all thy congregated might

Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: 0 hear!

III
Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams,

Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave's intenser day,

All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
For whose path the Atlantic's level powers

Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know

Thy voice, and suddenly grow grey with fear,
And tremble and despoil themselves: 0 hear!

IV
If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share

The impulse of thy strength, only less free
Than thou, 0 Uncontrollable! If even
I were as in my boyhood, and could be

The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have striven

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
Oh! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed
One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.

V
Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies

Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,

Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawakened Earth

The trumpet of a prophecy! 0 Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

Pangarap ko na talaga na makapasok sa Kule (Philippine Collegian - the official student publication of the University of the Philippines). Freshman pa siguro ako noon noong naisip ko na dapat bago ako grumaduate, bago ako lumayas sa unibersidad, dapat makapagsulat ako sa Kule. Kasi naman asteeg eh, walang takot sa paglalahad ng mga opinyon, walang takot na sinasambulat ang tunay na boses ng mga estudyante. walang humpay na itinataguyod ang karapatan ng mga estudyante at ng iba pang sektor ng lipunan. Sila ang aking mga munting diyos (sila Ralph Waldo Emerson, Karl Marx, Machiavelli, Kropotkin at Kierkegaard naman ang aking mga tunay na diyos).

Pero unti-unting naglaho ang aking mga pangarap dahil siguro nawalan ako ng gana na magsulat, dahil nalason na ang aking isipan, dahil nawalan na akong ganang mabuhay. Para saan ang pagsusulat kung mamatay ka lang din naman, para saan ang pagsusulat kung ang pwede mong makabig na audience ay ang iyong sarili at ang aso mong may galis, para saan kong di mo naman kayang ipamulat sa lahat ang tunay na nangyayari sa lipunan, para saan pa kung patay na ang ideyalismo sa iyong sarili?

Lumipas ang mga semsestre, ang mga video games na nalulong ako at nabaliw, ang mga panahon, ang mga krismas, new year at EDSA revolution anniversary, hanggang sa nakalimutan ko na unti unti na pala akong inaamag dito sa unibersidad, unti-unting nilulumot sa aking pugad, lumipas ang mga pagkakataon (grumaduate na nga mga batchmates ko), pero heto pa rin ako naiwan, nag-iisa.

At nakita ko ang isang advertisement sa Kule. Nangangailangan daw sila ng bagong writer sa Kule.

Noong disyembre ko pa nakikita yung advertisement nila. Matapos ang tatlong linggo nandoon pa rin yung advertiement nila. Imposible, tatlong linggo na ang lumipas pero wala pa rin silang mahanap na Kultura writer. Hmmm... baka ako na ang hinihintay ng Kule.

Napag-isipan ko na since malapit na akong grumaduate at magaan na lang load ko ngayon, bakit di ko kaya kunin sa baol yung mga pangarap ko na matagal ko nang itinago at isinantabi. Buhayin ko kaya muli kahit ngayon lang, trip lang. Walang naman sigurong masama sa aking ideya, sa aking pangarap. Di ba libre naman mangarap di ba?

Kaya hinalungkat ko ang aking natatanging pangarap sa baol na puno ng naglahong pangarap. One try lang. One time big time. Malay natin, baka tsumamba, baka pumasa, baka matupad na ang matagal ko ng pangarap.

Kaya bumili ako ng dalawang bluebook at tumungo sa Vinzons 401, para mag-exam, para tuparin ko ang aking pangarap. Nagbabakasakali lang naman eh. Wala naman masama doon eh. Di ko alam kung destiny ko talaga na maging bahagi ng Kule pero, what the heck, saktan na yan! Kaya ayun sinaktan ko ang exam. Pero mukhang nagkamali ako ng tantsya, ako ang nasaktan ng exam. Bigla akong nabobo sa exam. Please define the following: 1. kulturang popular; 2. installation art; 3. baroque art; 4. feminism; 5. love etc etc etc. Umabot ng tatlong oras ang aking pagsusulit, naubos na siguro lahat ng nasa utak ko, piniga ng piniga ko para lang magkalaman ang aking bluebook. Buti naman at walang time constraint yung exam, at buti na lang at umaga akong pumunta doon kung hindi baka ginabi ako.

Feeling ko di ako papasa sa exam. Kiss your dream goodbye, dude.

Pagkatapos ng exam, nawalan na ako ng ganang kumain. Bwiset naman kasi eh. Pero okey lang. At least nagtangka ako na tuparin ang aking pangarap. At least nag-try. Kaysa naman magsisisi akohabambuhay kung bakit di ako nagtangka man lang. At least di ako maninirahan habambuhay sa mundo ng what-if's at what-should-have-been-if-I-took-that exam. At least, no space for whining. Ine-expect ko na 'di na ako matatanggap sa Kule. Tanggap ko na noong una kong binasa ang unang tanong sa exam. Tanggap ko na kaya kinonsole ko na lang ang akin sarili, 'tsong pang-logscript ka lang, di ka pang-Kule.

Pero di ko ineexpect na itetext nila ako for an interview. Shocked ako noong nalaman ko na iinterbyuhin ako ng Kule. Oh my God!! Di ba wrong send yung text? Baka nagkamali sila. Paano papasa yung sagot kung barubal at walang patutunguhan? Paano papasa ito:

Define the following: ........3. Baroque

3. Baroque: >> I know its an art movement usually associated with architecture. Argggh, how I wish I was listening to my Hum 2 teacher when we were tackling Baroque art .
>> Baroque (Barok) isang caveman, idolo ng mga bata, jologs. uga-uga uga-uga uga-uga

Aber? Paano papasa iyon? Pero, siguro nakulitan sila sa akin kaya ayun, namalikmata sila at kinukuha ako para mag-interbyu. O siguro nagandahan sila sa mga sagot ko sa ibang mga tanong kaya pumasa ako for an interbyu. Pero, im not saying that all of of my answers were patapon, walang kwenta. Syempre, mayroon din mga kick-ass answers ako sa aking bluebook. At malamang yun yung mga napuna nila. O baka dahil sa aking perspektibo na sumisigaw at kumakabig ng atensyon. O baka wala lang, trip lang nila akong interbyuhin.

At dahil interbyu yun, dapat on time ako, kasi ang taong mulat ay dapat punctual. 5:00 pm yung interbyu ko kaya pumunta ako ng 4:45. Kasama ko si Ron papuntang Vinzon's Hall, naghiwalay kami sa sakayan papuntang SM North.

Buntong hininga. Hinga ng malamim. This is it. Time to shine!

Umakyat ako habang nag-iisip ng kung anu-ano para may maisagot naman ako sa interbyu. Kung bakit ako nag-Kule, kung bakit Kultura section ang pinili ko, kung bakit ngayon lang ako nag-attempt, kung bakit umaasa ako sa wala, kung bakit sumusuntok ako sa buwan. Suntok sa buwan. Ito ang palaging nasa isip ko. Kahit malabo ang chances na makapasok, just give your best shot. Baka mapuling mo sila, malay natin?

Dumating ako mga 5 minutes before 5:oopm sa Kule office. Binati ako ng isang writer, nagpakilala ako at sinabi sa kanya na ako yung interbyuhin para sa Kultura section. Hintay ka lang dyan, sabi niya. may tinawag siya sa loob, at pagkatapos ay lumapit sa akin. Sabi niya, "Ang aga mo naman, nakasulat dito na 6:00pm yung interview mo eh."

"Ah, ganun ba? 5 kasi ang itinext sa akin eh. O sige oks lang. Hintayin ko na lang sila." Buti na lang at may nakatambak na newspaper doon kung hindi mamatay ako sa dahil sa boredom. Nagbasa-basa baka may mapulot ako para may maisagot naman ako mamaya. May dumating na isang grupo, akala ko sila na yung mag-iinterbyu sa akin. Hindi pala, mga kandidato pala sila at magpapapicture para sa USC election issue ng Kule. Instead na magbasa, pinanood ko na lang sila. Smile. Sige smile pa. Tingin sa camera. Project naman diyan, para kang galit, para kang kakain ng tao niyan. Smile. Flash! "Okei ba ang kuha? patingin." "Ngek, tingin ka kasi sa camera at ayusin mo ng kunti yung buhok mo. Wala ka bang clip diyan?" "Hirap maging artista pala!" "Hirap pala ginagawa ni rainier, yung ngumiti, yung iflash ang killer smile."

Di ko namalayan na 6:30 na pala.

Tinawag ako ng isang staff na magsisimula na daw yung interbyu. Doon daw sa loob magaganap. Huminga ako ng malalim. This is it, sabi ko sa sarili ko, basta be your self at wag na wag magpapanggap. Sumunod ako sa kanya. Naglakad ako na parang kailan lang ako natuto maglakad. Nanginginig, di sigurado sa pag-apak, nangangatog ang aking mga tuhod. Ang bawat hakbang ay parusa.

First time kong makapasok sa kanilang work area. Malinis at di makalat. May nakalatag na foam kung saan sila natutulog kapag nag-oovernight. May gumagamit ng computer (naglalay-out ata). Siguro, cardinal rule na dapat wag maging makalat dahil ang taong mulat ay di burara. Nagulat ako na dalawa sa apat na mag-iinterbyu sa akin ay kilala ko. Whew! Buti naman at di nila ako kakarnehin ng lubusan. Okey lang kung i-grill ako ng lubusan. Interbyu nga ito eh, pero syempre I will put a good fight. Di pwede na tapak tapakan lang nila ako.

First question: please sell yourself. Ano pangalan mo? Sino ka? Ano ang mga hilig mo? Sino/Ano ang mga impluwensiya mo? Binenta ko nga ang aking sarili sa kanila. Mali, binugaw ko pala ang sarili ko sa kanila. Para sa aking pangarap. Para na rin sa aking sarili.

Nagkamali ako ng akala. Akala ko tutostahin nila ako ng sobra, kakatayin ng walang awa, ididisect na parang palaka. Mali pala. Akala ko magiging battleground ang room na iyon. Mali pala. Akala ko magiging madugo at hahantong sa sigawan ang magaganap na interbyu. Mali pala. Akala ko magiging masungit sila. Mali pala. Marami pa akong maling akala na nakonsiyensya ako kung bakit naisip ko pa iyon. Naging masaya ang interbyu. Naging comportable dahil hindi hostile sa akin yung mga nag-iinterbyu. At dahil doon, nailahad, naibenta, naibugaw, nai-explain, naipaliwanag at naibugaw ko ang aking sarili ng mas mabuti. Hinayag ko ang aking mga opinyon tungkol sa kung anu-ano, tungkol sa UP, tungkol sa Kule, tungkol sa aking sarili, tungkol as aking pinapasukan, tungkol sa Stand-UP at Alyansa, tungkol sa iba't ibang campus at national issues, tungkol sa kultura at lipunan. Gumamit ako ng samu't-saring theoritical frameworks para i-push forward ko ang aking opinyon. Populist, apocalyptic, pragmatic, communist, anarchist, post modern, individualistic, at minsan narcisstic. Pinaghalu-halo ko. Jinumble-jumble ko.

itutuloy

Bakit? Bakit nagcross na naman ang ating landas?

Happy Birthday Dangs!!!

Sana masaya ka ngayon sa birthday mo. Salamat sa ice cream. Kahit keso yung flavor, pinatulan ko na rin kasi ice cream din yun. Hehe. Sorry talaga kung poring doll lang ang birthday gift ko ha? I hope I made your day happier and brighter and livelier and so on and so on. Hmmph, ibibigay ko pa man din kay *deleted* yun. Hehehe, joke lang. Malakas ka sa akin eh. (",)

Pero honestly, binigay ko yung poring doll para pasalamatan kita sa lahat ng advices na binigay mo sa akin, sa lahat ng oras na binigay mo para lang makinig sa mga problema ko, at dahil ikaw ay naging isang tunay na kaibigan, through thick and thin. Hehehe, good luck na lang sa ating STS at video presentation. Sayang di ka makakpunta sa Tagaytay bukas. Mamimiss ka namin. Don't worry, iiinom kita. Happy bertday again and sana magkaayos na kayo ni *deleted*..

Di mo na ako kinikibo. Di mo na ako pinapansin. Parang iniiwasan mo ako na
parang may leprosy ako o may SARS. Di mo na ako binabati kapag nagkikita tayo sa
tambayan, di tulad ng dati. Di mo na rin ako linalapitan at kinakausap.

At kapag nag-attempt naman akong kausapin ka, ika'y lumalayo, dumidistansya. O
kung mag-usap man tayo dahil napilitan ka lang, palaging mabilis lang at lagi
mong tinatapos agad. Isang tanong, isang sagot. Yun lagi ang ating drama sa
tambayan. Buti na lang at di nila nahahalata.

Bakit humantong sa ganito ang lahat? Di na tayo tulad ng dati, di na tayo
nag-uusap, nagkukulitan, naglalaro ng baraha, nagtatawanan, nag-eexchange ng mga
sekreto, nagchichismisan, at higit sa lahat nagpapansinan. Bakit? Ano ang
nangyari? Kasalanan ko ba? O ikaw itong lumalayo at umiiwas.

Syempre di ako si Madam Auring na manghuhula sa iyong drama ngayon. Kasi di ako
marunong manghula kung ano ang iyong nararamdaman ngayon. Kasi di ko alam kung
bakit ganyan ang kinikilos mo ngayon. Kung bakit you are giving me a cold
treatment. Ano ba ito, isang cold war? Walang pansinan. Walang imikan, as in
wala lahat.

Lagi kong iniisip kung ano na naman ang aking pagkakamali. Akala ko okey na
tayo, akala ko kinalimutan na natin ang lahat, binaon na natin sa limot ang
nakaraan. Sabi nga nila, maraming namamatay sa maling akala. Sige na, nagkamali
ako ng akala. Di mo pa rin pala nakalimutan ang lahat. At dahil doon namatay
ako, gumuho ang aking mundo dahil sa aking mga maling akala.

Hanggang kelan kaya itong charade natin? Kelan kaya ang season ender ng palabas
natin? Hanggang kelan kaya itong cold war natin? Patigasan ba ito, patagalan,
hinihintay kung sino ang unang bibigay? Hihintayin na lang ba natin ang panahon
na matutunan na nating mabuhay na wala ang isa sa ating sistema? Alam ko na kaya
mong mabuhay na kahit wala kang kasama kasi noon mo pang tanggap na ganyan ka,
na bato ka, na manhid ka. Personally, di ko kaya. Pero kakayanin ko na lang kasi
malamang kelangan ko na rin mag-move on, kailangan ko na rin maghanap ng iba,
kailangan ko na rin matuto na mabuhay na wala ka sa aking tabi.

Sana noon pa, natuto na akong di umasa sa iyo. Sana, di ako umasa sa iyo ng
todo. Pero salamat sa iyo, (at dahil sa aking sobrang pagiging dependent)
devastated ako ngayon, sa kangkungan pinupulot.

Kanina, di mo pa rin ako kinibo. Hudyat na ba ito na tapos na ang ating pagiging
magkaibigan? Na patuloy pa rin ang ating cold war? Sana kaya ko ito. Sana kaya ko na mabuhay na wala ka na sa aking tabi. Sana.