Category: 2005

(written: June 02, 2005)

Jo: (SMS) nga pala mau, I want 2 thank u 4 helping me to b a stronger and tougher woman. don’t ask me why im teling dis, i just realizd u rubbed off me in a gr8 way.mis yah

I guess I really have no right not to be strong after all.  I don’t know how I do that to people but it certainly makes me feel good to hear something like this.


(written: June 16, 2005)

You will always be my enemy and my comrade.

You are my enemy.

How I hate it when you look at our home as your kingdom.  It’s not yours alone and not for you to rule.  As far as I’m concerned, we should be equal, because we are all equal, regardless of age, of gender, and of power.

How I hate it when you state everything that you know as a fact.  Not all of them are.  They are your opinions.  And I got mine too.  Give us a chance to let ours out.

How I hate it when you play the role of a king.  And make everything that you say a rule, although we obey them, not because it’s true but because you expect us to.

How I hate it that you’re a man and I am a woman.  And no matter what I do, in this society we will always be enemies.

But you are also my comrade.

My comrade, who helps me get through the many battles in our lives, protecting and fighting for my life.

My comrade, who sees to it that I will never be wounded, and if it happens, ensures me that I will never bear the pain alone.

My comrade who sees the enemies before I do.  And if possible would fight alone just to save my heart from the anguish. 

My comrade, who never possessed the heart of a warrior but that of a protector.

And above all these you are a Father—My dad, my friend, my love.

Thanks for being all that you are to me.  It made me strong and capable.  It made me not only a better daughter for you, but a better person for the world.

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy! and I love you!

(written: June 16, 2005)

I live a life of a wounded soldier—the strongest when in pain.

You may hurt me but you never can.
I’ll fight.
I’ll survive.

I live a life of a lonely writer—chasing words.
You may hide but you never can.
I’ll find you.
I’ll own you.

I live a life of a cynic dreamer—full of uncertainties.
You may convince me but you never can.
I’ll argue.
I’ll live.

I live a life of a tragic romantic—struggling to believe in love.
You may love me but you never can.
I’ll reject you.
I’ll fail you.

I live a life, wounded and tired
but I’ll keep on living, breathing, believing.

(written: June 22, 2005)

I hate realizing that I am just like any other girl not for anything, but because I’ve always thought that my singlehood means that I am way tougher than them.  Whenever people tell me that I should get a boyfriend, I always tell them that there are many girls out there who would desperately need one and I don’t want to steal them the chances.
Me—I am the girl who never runs after a cute guy or someone who goes crazy. Whenever I meet an interesting person I always try hard not to fall or even feel anything that would lead to falling for that person.  So it’s official I am no guy-magnet.  Coz even if they come close they won’t get any chance.  (Not because I think of myself as some goddess or whatever, who’s not worthy for anyone.  I’m just not into these things.)
It is my defense mechanism. I always try to determine my potential enemies and in this case, love and romance will definitely qualify.  I stay away from them simply because when they’re around I turn into an ordinary silly person.  Want proofs?


Case # 001

Guy:  So…ok lang bang lumabas tayo minsan?  Hang-out lang.

Me: (In my head: Ha? What does he mean? Kami lang dalawa or with other people?)

Me: (Kinakabahan! Nagpa-panic!!) May boyfriend na ko eh! (Why did I say that!)
Guy: (Smile, sighs)

Me: (Better come up with a name and all the details…walked away…feeling like crap!) Uy wait lang ha may tatawagan lang ako.



Case # 002

Me: (Alone in the room, sleepy, ZZzs, cute guy approaching)

Me: (Tried to look busy so picked up the newspaper, pretending that I was reading it)

Guy: Uy!  ngayon yan?

Me: (Reading but not actually getting anything from it) Oo naman.  Ang alam ko.

Me: (Turned the page to the frontpage)

Me: (Oh, My gosh! kahapon pa to!)

Me: (Screaming in my head, “Crap! I feel stupid again.)

Guy: (Didn’t mind so extra pogi points)
…after a few minutes
Me: (silence…not saying anything.)


…after a minutes
Me: (Close to becoming amute now.)

Guy: (Still looking so cute and all.)

Me: (Can’t take it anymore!)

Me: (Walked away!  Crap!)


Case # 003
ME:  (holding a black mug)

Guy:  “Miss ok lang ang dami ko kasing dala.”  (Referring to the mugs that he had to fill up with ice)

Me:  O sige ok lang. (Ang cute! Sige mauna ka na)
Guy: Miss ako na..(getting my mug) kasi pinaghintay naman kita. Ang tagal ko.

Me: Ha?  Hindi ako na lang.  Ok lang.

Guy:  Ako na…

Me: Ok lang ako na lang.

Guy:  Sure ka? Ako na…ok lang.

Me: (Damned!) Ako na!  I can do it on my own.  I’m just gonna put ice on my  mug.  Hindi naman mahirap to!

Me: (You’re not gonna get me with that! huh…!)

Guy:  walked away (still looking cute)

Me: (Shit! Why did I have to say that? Why can’t I just give the darn mug! I turned into my usual self again!)


So are you convinced that I am not really the best person for these kinds of magic moments?  I totally suck at these things!  All the time!

Sometimes I think that I am actually doing these things on purpose.  I never liked rejection but I find it even harder to accept compliments (Especially from a guy).  I don’t want to recognize moments like these when this neurotic, psycho person turn into ordinary stupid girl.

I am not ordinary.  I refuse to admit that love (or attraction) can sweep me off my feet or fly me to the moon. I want my feet on the ground, where reality lies.  And pain is just a step behind. 

I keep my enemies closer. I recognize love and romance but I will not ever let them near enough to hurt me.

Save me.

It can be a crying scream or a desperate whisper.

Save me.

It doesn’t matter how.

Just do it right now.

While my heart is still breathing.

Save me.

Save me not because I can’t save myself
Save me not because I am a woman and I am weak
Save me not because I need you to
just save me, because you can and you want to

(written: July 22, 2005)

I just realized that healing a broken heart out of love is easier compared to healing a broken heart out of misery.  I have been in that state for too long or maybe it’s just because I’m not used to holding joy longer and tighter in my heart.  Or maybe I was holding on to it too tight and it slipped away. 

I don’t know.  I don’t know what to do and what not to do anymore.  Suddenly my own rules are losing their values.  Suddenly the freedom that I used to have is becoming secondary to everything that is important to them.

 I don’t know why I am here.  Maybe because I’m meant to see this world or maybe I needed whatever I’m getting from it.  But what about wanting it?  Loving it?  Enjoying it?  Is that part of being human?—forgetting all about the essential things that really matter because we have to survive this challenging world that we’re living in?

Yes.  We are surviving.  The physical body lives on because it’s getting most of the nourishment that it needs. But the soul is slowly dying every time the body gets stronger.

What makes us live longer and happier? Is it this body made of blood and flesh or the soul made of heart and spirit?

I don’t know. I don’t know anymore. And I’m not sure If I still want to know.

(written: August 25, 2005)

Wherever you are….

I miss the times when we were idealistic and fighting for everything that we believed in.  We still are, but we just have to face the harsh reality of this material world.  That the dominant class will always have the power and we would always have to bow our heads in order to survive and live.  We may be struggling in our situation right now, sucking all the ideas that we could have puked if only we were allowed to be the people that we once were and wanted to be. 

There may be times when we give in to the powers-that-be simply because they bring us the comfort that we need and want.  Sometimes, we’d think there’s nothing wrong with what we’re doing because we’re only thinking of the people, who depend on us, but sometimes we’d be sick of the system, wanting to leave and end the oppression of our ideal selves, but we can’t.

It is a never ending story and it only means they have not won the battle yet.  One day, we’ll find the courage to break the circle, turn it into the pyramid where we will be on top with the rest of the people who had to kill themselves in order to live.

My friend, I miss the times when we were idealistic and fighting for everything that we believed in.  But remember, we still are!  That part of us will never leave us.  That part of us will always find its way TO BE HEARD AND LIVE!

(written: September 15, 2005)

I don’t know how some people claim that Filipinos don’t have their own identity.  Clearly their minds are full of Western thoughts and Western ego!  They claim that the situation in the country is too bad yet they are not even doing anything about it.  They complain about staying in the country yet they never leave.  They complain about the politicians yet they vote for them.  If they got too many issues about the country why don’t they vote wisely or do something about it instead of just ranting about how bad it is to be a Filipino and to live here.

Of course, protesting on the streets is not the only option but haven’t they noticed that all the other options have been done and still being done.  There are ‘antis’ (for lack of a better and politically correct term) who have joined the government hoping that they could influence the system or push the changes that the majority of us need.  But they are outnumbered, most of the time defeated, because they lack machineries, influence and power.  But they are fighting!  Not just for themselves but for all of us. 

I know this sounds too familiar already, but let’s just think about it. They never proclaim that they are heroes or heroines and they are not hoping that people would think of them that way. These are people who don’t just think about what’s best for them but what’s best for all Filipinos.

I hate to hear people speak so badly of Filipinos and adore Westerners and they claim that they are smart because they claim that they see what’s wrong with the country.  I am not saying I haven’t complained about the situation of the country.  I have.  Many times.  But I always look for reasons.  Why these things are happening. 

People rally not because they want to enjoy and scream under the sun or cause traffic.  They are out there hoping that the government will hear their cries, or hoping at least to earn money for their families, they resort to this kind of action simply because it is the only thing that’s left to do. 

We are in dire need of change, these people cannot live another day without food, medicine, education and a descent house for their families.  Because these people don’t have time to relax and not think that tomorrow they would be selling their souls for food. 

I know we hate traffic, may it be a cause of rallies, narrow roads, poor traffic policies, etc.  But don’t blame these people who are only doing what they think is right and effective in order for YOU to live a comfortable life and really have the kind of government that serves the people. 

I adore them, the sacrifices that they make, the beautiful minds that they have.  Most of them may not have formal education but believe me most of them are intellectuals.  Their experiences are enough to teach them about life and how the system works.  I thanked them because they never gave up.  They never stopped when the rest of the country has already given up.  I thanked them because they are fighting the battle that I should be fighting with them.  I thanked them because they show me that there is still hope for the country.

I salute you!  All of you!  The Filipino blood thrives in all of you!  And you show me the identity that most of our fellow Filipinos claim we don’t have.


(written: October 13, 2005)

 My recent disgust is the mentality that only men talk about politics. It is so ancient and it is very much evident that such premise is not true at this time anymore or even during the early days.  As much as I wanted to feel sorry for people who think this way, the offense comes first. 

I admit that I am not the best person to talk to when it comes to political issues because I do not want argument.  I am not very influential when it comes to forming opinions because it is my nature to be quiet and to keep my beliefs to myself.  But that doesn’t make me even a bit of a nonsensical individual or woman. 

Being political is inevitable for women because all kinds of politics dwell in the wholeness of our being.  The body of a woman is a political arena, from her brain down to the very tips of her toes; every inch of her is a venue for political consciousness and political upheaval that started from her birth until her death. 

Female infants in Ancient China were killed because they believe that those children would not contribute anything to their society (because they are female!).  And in Africa, India and in other parts of the world, a lot of women (teenagers) specially those from the lower class are sold and pushed into marriage by their own families because it was believed that the only place for women is inside a house built by a man.  Most of the time their fathers even pay (dowry) a man to take their daughters.  Because then, a woman has to be married whether for love or for something else. 
In India, hundreds of women were killed and are being killed due to bride burning.  The perpetrators of these crimes are their own husbands.  Months after being wed and serving as slave to the family of their husbands, wives are burned for not paying the right amount of dowry.  In some cases the husband demands for additional dowry even after the marriage, they could ask for a car, explicitly large amount of cash and other luxuries that put the families of these women into debt.  If the demands were not met, the flames of their husbands’ anger are literally suffered by their bodies.  

In Africa, girls are impregnated at a very young age.  They usually give birth inside their houses, some along the road while travelling back to their homes, and since they rarely receive proper medical attention they suffer from the consequences.  After giving birth, a certain kind of liquid with an undesirable smell was released by the mothers, and since there were no hospitals to take them to or if there were, it would be too far from their houses they remain in that situation and results into giving them a foul smell.  For fear of contaminating others and for the smell, these women are hidden in caves or thrown out of their houses with their children.  Some died and some were saved but who knows the exact number and the degree of their misery.   Most of these women served in barracks and camps in Africa. 

There are still a number of topics that deals with a woman’s mind and body.  A number of topics that I’d rather talk about that than silly politicking in the country.  I don’t care who says what to whom.  I care about my own mind and body and its relation to our society because this is my politics.

I do not want an argument with any of you.  Your argument is yours, my argument is mine.

(written: November 22, 2005)

But I never thought then that after college I would never use a tape recorder again.  I guess I have always pictured myself doing journalism work.  I guess I have always dreamed of seeing myself out there and living in a world that I have longed and hoped to be in one day when I’m ready.   Sometimes I see colleagues on TV, hear and read their names.  I wonder why all of them are where they are supposed to be—doing what they studied in college and prepared themselves for, when I ended up being here—definitely not hell but far from being my paradise. 

I am afraid of losing the fire in me, the fire that drives me into writing whatever I want and whenever it’s needed.  I am afraid of waking up one day and all I could write about are feelings of desperation and sad stories of love.  I am afraid of not making sense.  I’m afraid of not being who I want to be anymore.  I am afraid of giving up my passion and dreams.

When I see the journalism students now, I get the weirdest feeling. I envy them because they have that desire, the desire to shout to the world the grievances of those who were not allowed to speak, the desire of finally making a difference through their writing.  I envy the freedom that they have.  I envy their freedom to choose their destiny.  I envy them because they never had to blink their eyes to see their futures clearly.

But then I realized I also had those chances, I also used to have those desires. Maybe it wasn’t my personal responsibility that stopped me, maybe it wasn’t this place that imprisoned me, maybe there was really no room for one more of us in the business, maybe I was the last one to arrive when the boat started to sail, maybe the fault was all mine.

But maybe it’s not too late to catch the boat or maybe the boat will come again to fetch me and those who never wanted to let go of their desires and those who never killed the fire in their hearts but had to stay for a while.

Maybe this is the prelude of a beautiful journey that I will take. I will wait for the boat. I will long for my journey. I will dream of myself being there, unnoticed but making a difference.