For Mar Roxas

Your current campaign add is a no nonsense, straightforward statement, a promise every Filipino can sleep soundly to for the next six years.

To Grace Poe, this candidate is not acting. He is a natural.
To Nognog, this candidate is rich. He is honest, too. He does not steal.
To Miriam, this candidate is brilliant. He mutters his thoughts in a language people understand.
To Duterte, this man is not a killer. In fact, he has a death wish. He wants to be President.

Mar Roxas, you have my vote.
Relax a little. My educated friends, most of whom are not as expressive as I am, will cast their votes for you, too. And here’s what’s more important, even the lowly folks can now see and understand your sincerity. I talk to them. They like you.

Okay, go on with the campaign. Leave no stone unturned. Go to the barrios. To Batanes. The farmer folks and the fisher folks would love to meet the man who would be their president. You would bring a smile on their faces. Clasp their hands. That would make them happy.

And about time you bring along Korina. And your son. We need to see a beautiful Filipino family.

I’ve been crying!

My daughters call me the Drama Queen, because this past couple of years, the tears easily roll down my cheeks, over something I think I care about. Nope, the soft cries were never triggered by telenovelas, I don’t potato couch for overly scripted melodrama.

The heavens make me cry, or the rainbow that hovered over my home for an hour, the green leaves and the fascinating flowers, and tiny bugs that hide in the bushes, or even the classical music that keep me company while driving.

Something must have snapped inside, for I believe I had been a toughie since after college, when, as I went through the crossroads of life, I found my voice, and had become a fighter and a defender of everything good under the sun. I realized that we are all intertwined in this intricate battle of good and evil. Of course, I was wounded many times, and have scars to prove it, some of them jagged and deep.

Or perhaps, this past two years, my daughters have become adults, that perhaps there is this consciousness, that I can afford not to be as wary anymore, for my girls can handle situations on their own.

But yesterday, on my way home from bringing younger daughter to school, I tuned in to DZRH, for news about the aftermath of Typhoon Labuyo. I listened to Governor Bong (if I got the name of the lady right), as she narrated the missing fisher folks that set off to the high ocean even before the warning about the storm was announced. Fifty fishermen left, and six , all in one boat, did not make it back. One of the six actually texted his family that they will be home in two hours. The town folks waited four hours, considering that the lost boat must have battled the rough waves, but after that, the search and rescue was deployed, the waiting began.

The news made my tears roll down my cheeks again, and for reasons I can now imagine. Those fishermen only wanted to bring home fish for their family, and they lost their lives. These are simple people, with simple dreams, with simple lives, never ever dreamed of gift-wrapping a Porsche, never ever thought of coveting their neighbors’ money. Just some food for the family, after a long day at sea.

And the governor loved her people, perhaps Labuyo lashed her Catanduanes, so that we could hear her tell the story of her people.

Another reason I cried, because I heard a politician speak from her heart.

Perhaps my prayers had finally been answered. With all the unraveling of the Napoles greed, we are presented with a juxtaposition of two images, a rich woman who lived the easy and wealthy life by stealing the people’s money and that of a people who never asked so much for themselves but to live lives fearing God and the ocean.

I cried because finally, I wouldn’t have to fight anymore. Justice is being served. And I could get back to listening to the sonatas and the concertos, and watch the heavens unfold.


Conduct Unbecoming of a Senator

I really do not understand why Senator Chiz tops surveys, I never liked him, probably, for one, because of the manner he speaks, lead-on sentences in Tagalog monotone, which, in my view, conceals every time the truth I’d like to hear. It is as if I am always deciphering what he wants to convey. For another, I did find it cowardly of him when he withdrew from the presidential race and disheartened his supporters who believed in him. For me, Chiz is just a tactical move, or a political move, never grew up, just like those frat boys who lust for powerplay by shaking hands, insincere, mindless.

Chiz was married, with kids, and he was a fail in that. Chiz-Heart was, they tried to pass the relationship as cheeky, but to me, stomach revolting, for it looked to me like another strategy, like that of Migs Zubiri using Vina Morales, to gain the affection of the masa.

Look now who is airing their heartache – Heart’s parents. Here’s the news:…

Heart @28. for sure, is in the crossroads, but Chiz @44, using Heart’s condo and Mercedes Benz….well, the parents have every right to feel bad when their daughter is being used, or taken advantage upon. You really believe he loves her? I don’t.


Save Manila from two grumbling old men, please!

It’s ex-con Erap versus Dirty Harry, in a mayoralty debate @ UP Manila yesterday.sad

A pathetic show of old men grumbling, a sorry example to youthful students, brainy and excited, and both old men lashing tirades at each other, mudslinging, that the students were reduced to determining who’s lying more, instead of knowing what could still be possibly done for old Manila, and the people, such as themselves.

The ugly exchange of words between these two men must be censored. Can the COMELEC do something and eliminate these two. Both are bygones clinging to a last hurrah. Both want to end their books of life with a scripted closing chapter, that of serving Manila, how nice!, but of course everybody knows they are in for show.

Save Manila, please, if at all it still can be saved.