Days of Disquiet, Nights of Rage

Previously: To Die For Digong

My parents are both social change activists, who, in their youth, marched in the streets and had run-ins with authorities. My dad (bless his soul) was imprisoned during Martial Law, and my mom, who is a Sociologist held various posts in Non-Government Organizations after Democracy was restored. In a home where liberal ideas were openly discussed and somehow encouraged, I grew up knowing more than what the average kid did. In my youth, I saw Conrado de Quiros, Cheche Lazaro, Solita Monsod and Randy David as my champions. To say at least, I was informed, and this was amplified by the college program I took at the University. And although I never became a Journalist by profession, in every essay I wrote and in every spur-of-the-moment thought I posted on Twitter, I tried my best to speak the truth. 

Or at least, pass along the message.

I thought this worldview would have escaped me as I sink deeper into matters of domestic concerns. But no. Though I have refrained from writing anything political after the present powers that be took charge of the government, I continued to speak out against the wrongs of this administration. From its decision to allow the Dictator to be buried at the Libingan ng mga Bayani, to the brutality that is the Oplan Tokhang, nothing seems right about how we are governed. Two years and counting and all I can think of is how we are sold to the Chinese, how the TRAIN law will make more people poorer, how the plunderers were set free and are now making a political comeback, and how the media outlets critical of this government are being bullied to submission. With Fake News proliferating on the internet, and friendships broken because of the Dilawan/DDS divide, it seems there is no hope in sight. And the people who I once looked up to in my youth appear to have grown silent as we edge closer to a new kind of dictatorship.

There are times I wish I would just wake up and realize that everything is just a nightmare, and that, the candidates I have chosen have won last elections. But the painful truth spoils your newsfeed with bad news every day, with barely a pause to absorb the impunity and corruption done under this administration. And it seems the struggle will drag on as the worst is yet to come: The idea of "Federalism" is being peddled in the countryside as we speak of a no-election scenario in 2019. Should this become a law, local political families will have more say in the government, allowing them to rule like princelings in their own little fiefdoms. Also, Marcos Jr inches closer to getting the elected Vice-President unseated knowing his family can bend the Supreme Court to their will (Hello Sereno impeachment). Things have now become so ugly that I have started shunning friends who continue to justify this regime. 

I will remember each one of them, and judge them solely for what they stood today.

May this be the last time I would write about how fucked up this country is. While hope remains for a sunnier tomorrow, I am more inclined to believe that the damage done has become so irreparable, it will change everyone once this freak show had seen its final run. 

Compendium

Rarely do I stay over at my Favorite Aunt's place these days, and when I do, they would likely find me in the driveway, writing snippets for the raketship. 

But there was a time, not so long ago, that I did stay for the night and when sleep seemed hard to find, I would read books - tomes containing raw information - until daybreak - or until my eyelids demand a shut-eye. If I wasn't reading the almanac about the events of World War 2, I would on-and-on turn the pages of Kasaysayan: The Story of the Filipino People for illumination. This 10-volume body of knowledge covers everything about the Philippines. From its geography and wildlife to its precolonial past and beyond. Published by the Reader's Digest, having possession of these books is a must for a true disciple of history.

What I like about these books is the way facts are presented. Straight to the point and well-researched, but with a narrative carefully arranged by some of the best storytellers of our time. The encyclopedia portrays heroes with flaws (Manuel L. Quezon having dictatorial leanings) or a society that deviates from the collective memory (women in pre-colonial times are expected not just to manage the family affairs, but also run the business if necessary). It also tells seldom-mentioned events in our history (The brief British occupation of Manila, which is largely uneventful save for the English masters paying on time and in full for services rendered to them). The books also have short essays written by the likes of Ambeth Ocampo and Bienvenido Lumbrera. Scholars, who have to tell something about our history from their own studies. Sometimes, these essays tell of a personal experience, so harrowing that it encapsulates an entire period in Philippine history. Take for example the autobiography of Lourdes Montinola, the sole survivor of her family during the Liberation of Manila in 1945.

"Father ordered an early supper, but the Japanese soldiers came too soon. Only a gunshot, a dog's howling, and the trampling of boots announced their arrival. We were all in the vestibule, including Mother, who had witnessed the shooting from her balcony, and run downstairs to warn us. Father gathered us around him - an uncle, an aunt, their son Edgar, my mother, my sister, my brothers; five other members of the household. Father had time to say only 'be brave' before ten Japanese soldiers came barging in, bayonets gleaming, sneers on their faces. Mother protested weakly, 'We're only civilians.'"

The Americans, she wrote, had liberated the north side of Manila on February 3 of that year. Georgia Peach, the tank that crashed into their iron gate and ran over it came only on February 14. She was the only one to welcome the victors. 

What an anecdote to close an entire volume about the Japanese Occupation.

Stories like these kept me glued to the collection, that there were times I was tempted to borrow a few books from my Favorite Aunt so I can continue dwelling on the pages in the comforts of my own room. For some reasons, the idea failed to push through, and no matter how I tried looking for a set during the yearly Manila International Book Fair, I always went home empty handed. That was until this June. When a classmate from the university announced on Facebook that he was able to acquire a set for 2,000 pesos. He was gracious enough to provide the details: That Fully Booked, the bookstore, offered the set at a discounted rate. Knowing that I have always wanted to have my own, an approval from my mother (emphasizing that one day, the nephews will benefit from these books) ended with me getting a set at one of the last branches that still accept reservations. 

The books were specifically written to commemorate the centennial anniversary of the First Philippine Republic. In the 15 years after the first copies of Kasaysayan were published, much has changed and events in the years after Martial Law need to be written and put into new chapters that will make up our nation's story.

Meanwhile, the wait didn't take long. Two weeks after the payment, and the books that I reserved were already available at the bookstore for pickup. I may have never been able to read a volume from cover to cover in the nights I stayed at my Favorite Aunt's place. But now that I have my own, I will be able to digest its contents and learn more about my people's story at a leisurely pace.

To Die For Digong

You need to understand. Mayor is our heart and soul. He protected us. He is not a dictator and he listens to us. That's why we are emotional. He is like our father, he will do anything to make his children safe from any harm, he provides what we want and he understand what we need.

Please excuse us if we are too affected and emotional.

Again you will never understand cause you are not from Davao and you haven't been there.

Takawka

Let me tell you a story of a boy who grew up in a city in the south. This city has known peace since the time he blossomed into manhood. He feels safe when he walks down the streets even at past midnight. Local businesses are booming despite the conflicts in the restive regions of the island, and social institutions, like hospitals and schools actually serve the needs of the public. Even the jails for women are clean and well-maintained. There is a stand-by response team for fires and other emergencies. While issues of poverty or petty crimes still persist, there is a pervading sense of order. Mayor makes sure everyone follows the law. He doesn't steal. He lives a frugal life. He drives a taxi from time to time to hear personally what the people need. Impressive feat, in a country where most politicians feel entitled as they go on with the business of governing.

This boy, by stroke of luck, had to relocate. In the imperial capital where everything is a mess. Road gridlock makes commuting a daily pain. Trains break down all the time. His phone gets snatched, his wallet, stolen. Hospitals and schools operate beyond capacity. Corruption is rampant, the elite feels they own everything. The government protects its interest, unlike in the south where he feels the city serves its citizens. He had thoughts of giving up, to return to his homeland if not for the good pay. Then one day, the Mayor decides to run for President. The boy knew him well, like how he knew his own father: Imperfect, but effective. Reasonable, but applies discipline when needed. Protective to the point of using measures, outsiders will frown upon. 

Overnight, he dons his colors to campaign for the man. This is our Mayor, and change is coming.

Unfortunately, I am not the boy and in my eyes, I will never see what the Mayor has done for his city. Perhaps, his accomplishments are possible given its small population. Maybe, they knew him, like an old patriarch who they must follow like obedient children. I do not know. And often I do not care. Except that from time to time, I remind myself to spare his city when portraying the Mayor as the candidate who shouldn't be the next president.

He doesn't represent me. That, I posted on my Twitter account.

And for a number of reasons.

For one, he kills drug peddlers. This is all over the news. Even the Human Rights Watch has confirmed this. What if his death squad mistakes an innocent teen from a drug pusher? Who will account for the life that had been lost? Then he curses and treats women like sex objects. One that should be seen as conquests, and not partners in progress. He also doesn't mind engaging diplomats in verbal spats. Remember what he said to the Australian and the United States ambassadors after the rape joke? The Mayor doesn't even have the social niceties when describing countries and their local problems. I won't be surprised of the diplomatic snubs should he becomes the next leader. Whispers also tell of his allegiance with the Communists, his alliance with Beijing, and his plans of giving up the islands in the West Philippine Sea in exchange for a railway system in Mindanao. There is so much to tell that would make me a hater, but nothing compares to the brutality of his supporters - some personal acquaintances - who have marked me as the enemy because I speak against the Mayor.

Only a few nights ago, a friend of a friend suggested that I should consult a doctor implying that I was mad. He had the gall to block me, then speak my name when I can't read it on his Twitter feed. Fortunately, word had reached me through a concerned friend. Screen-capping his comment, I posted the update on my Twitter account for his barkada to find out. There was also another friend, of a friend, who told me through a sub tweet that I was an animal who had no achievements. This was after I told his bet that he's "yawa" for duping his supporters. When confronted about his remarks, he didn't reply to my direct message, letting his friends instead to speak on his behalf.  

Rabid dogs without balls.

If there is one thing I've learned this election, it is that politics is personal. What you say against a person who speak out against your chosen will stay after the ballots have been counted. No doubt, I will remember what they said, not because of the Mayor and his forgettable antics. But because of how I was treated by boys whose choice of candidate I never judged. So much for helping me appreciate who their Mayor is.

Fortunately, there are people who are patient enough to reach out - not to win my vote - but to see their mayor, Rodrigo Duterte, in a better light. They are the ones who shaped this entry, and by extension, my personal assessment of their candidate. It helps too, that my favorite Aunt is for the Mayor. It is because of her that I was able to distinguish the trolls from genuine supporters. She may hate the candidate I am supporting, but it doesn't change my fondness for her.

So is my willingness to recognize her leader.

If surveys are indication of who the next leader is, Digong will be the next President of the Republic. It will upset the rest, while vindicating those who stood with him, including the fictional boy in this entry who yearns nothing but a better Philippines. Being the outsider who is suspicious of those I don't know, and for the trolls who have hurt so many instead of trying to create bridges of understanding, the Mayor will not get my vote. But deep down, my sincere wish is to one day send a message to the men who overlooked my hatred and tell them I was wrong and they are right.

That beneath the facade, their Mayor has nothing but love for this nation.

Saving Grace

I might have thought this was an exaggeration if I had not caught that report by Aladdin Bacolodan in the news. Bacolodan had gone to the place where FPJ spent his last moments on earth, the studio where he gasped his last while hosting a party. In a corner of the studio was a huge pile of goods that FPJ had been collecting, which reportedly cost him a pretty penny and which he meant to distribute to the typhoon victims. None of the goods carried a label, least of all FPJ's name, on them. The cartons were unmarked completely. Based on his interviews with people close to FPJ, Bacolodan reported that FPJ was like that: he refused to advertise himself when he gave.

A Touch of Class

Conrado de Quiros

The ties that bind are strong.

Once, in the brashness of my youth, I did invoke her father's name when I thought of a headline that perfectly fits the breaking news. It was on the day he announced his presidential bid. Elated to know that there is someone who stood against the oppressive incumbent, I asked for my dad's approval (the publisher) when I put in bold and capital letters "The King For President" on the front page of our newspaper. I knew I would break a cardinal rule in Journalism, and even sought the wisdom of a teacher in my university for assurance. With hesitation, I was able to secure his blessing, and from the day we openly supported him through a thinly-veiled banner story, we were the only tabloid to be welcomed with open arms by FPJ in his campaign sorties. 

He lost that election and died while repacking relief goods for the disaster-stricken a few years later. But it didn't stop his adopted daughter in following his footsteps when she ran for senator nearly a decade after his passing. With her father's defeat in the hands of a cheating president still fresh in the nation's collective memory, the daughter gained the highest number of votes in the last election.

The father was at long last, vindicated.

The daughter did quite well as a legislator. She was calm and collected and lead a number of Senate hearings that improved her standing among political observers. There was no doubt the future is bright for the King's daughter, and this was reflected in the surveys a year before the coming election. 

The president even stepped up to broker a power deal that would groom her to become the next leader of the country - in 2022. 

The problem, however, is the unchecked ambition. It blinds people. It makes you believe that your anointment (from certain groups with vested interests or ambivalent gods who have nothing to do with the daily lives of men, whichever comes first in your head) is self-evident that you tend to overlook your limitations that make you undeserving of a promotion. In her case, this promotion is to lead a nation of over 100 million people. A task that may require a lifetime of experience, or a vision that springs from the depths of one's soul.

Personally, I don't find either.

And in spite of her lacking accomplishments, or of years of residence required to become a legitimate President, or of a strong party that will support her candidacy, Grace Poe, decided to repeat what her father did believing that time is ripe to claim what has been theirs all along. It would have been a fitting narrative in a political drama that is the Philippine elections, except that her personal storyline - believable or not - may never have a happy ending once the business of running the government drags her family name down the drain. 

I have heard of her campaign platform - mostly improvements in the programs that are already being applied by the government. Except for the passing of the freedom of information bill, a creation of a separate cabinet for Information and Communications Technology, and acquisition of more trains for a metropolis with serious infrastructure problems, all I heard were motherhood statements: Populist blabber that is good to hear, but lacking substance on paper. So far, I have yet to digest some attainable ideas on job creation, protection of overseas Filipino workers' rights, or even steps to defend our islands in the West Philippine Sea. She has yet to say something on climate change, the promotion of the agricultural sector, or even how to improve the quality of education in the country.

Silly as it may sound but his father was even worse. Not a single chance he graced the media for an interview. He turned down the national debates, and instead appeared on makeshift stages to charm the folks who knew him as the Panday. And even in the absence of experience or ideas on how to govern a nation, He would still have my vote if I had the privilege to cast it in 2004.

Because I knew he would bring decency and honor back in the government.

Given this revelation, and the occasional rage on social media every time I read Grace fumbling in the face of newsmakers, I still keep a soft spot when I look at the lady and recall her good father. Ms. Poe may not have my vote this time, but I can live under her leadership, certain that she would never step over my rights, or hear opponents disappearing into the dead of the night.

  

The Patronage Politics Of Jojo

At sumulat na rin ako kay Col. Jose Sta Romana, ang deputy chief ng Office of Detainer’s Affairs para hingin ang release ni Sammy. Sinagot niya ako na hindi maire-release si Sammy dahil naisampana ang kaso niya, PD 33 sa lalawigan ng Pasig kay Fiscal Rodolfo Mateo.

Sinabi ko ito kay Atty. Rene Sarmiento. Siya kasi ang sumusubaybay sa kaso ni Sammy at Agot. Pagkalipas ng ilang araw, sinabi niya na inilipat niya ang kaso ko kay Atty. Jojo Binay. Kilala daw kasi nito si Fiscal Mateo at classmate pa sa sabungan. Mula noon, kay Atty. Binay na ako nagpapa-follow up.

Inaamin ko na sa mga panahong iyon, may mga oras na napapagod din ako. May araw na ayaw kong kumilos. Pero ang asawa ni Agot, si Rose ang kumukulit sa akin. Kinukulit din kasi siya ng asawa niya. Kaya’t walang panahon na mapagod, na tumigil sa paglalakad ng release papers.

Pinayuhan ako ni Atty. Jojo Binay na pasulatin si Sammy at Agot kay Fiscal Mateo at umapela sila sa kanilang release for humanitarian reasons. Sumulat ang dalawa at sa impluwensya na rin siguro ni Atty. Binay, pumayag si Fiscal Mateo. Sumulat siya sa Office of Detainees Affairs na wala siyang tutol sa release nung dalawa upang magkaroon sila ng pagkakataon na maayos ang mga papeles nila sa kanilang kaso.

Sworn Statement,

Martial Law Recollections

Nothing but good words - I think - would come out of my dad's mouth if he were to talk about Jojo Binay and the ties that bound them. I would not even be surprised if he and the publishing empire that he had built would carry the mayor's name if he were still alive today. After all, my dad owes his freedom to this man, who used to be a little-known public servant before Cory Aquino installed him as the custodian of Makati. For politicians and constituents alike, he is still the same person who would use his connections and resources to grant favors to those who would approach him.

But first, let me assure you, dear readers, that I do not share my father's affinity with the old man. Not even in my subconscious do I believe in the sincerity of his words. The least I could offer is recognition, of how he has become part of the family lore. I would no longer go into details, but it is possible that he was the reason for my being. Beyond this begrudging utang-na-loob is my attempt at understanding; of why despite the corruption charges hurled against him, and his wily attempts to evade the accusations, Jojo Binay appeals to millions of voters who choose to ignore the truth and would still want for him to become the next President of this country.

The answer lies within our barest notion of Democracy.

I have always said that we never got past the idea of Feudalism. Sa probinsya man o sa lungsod, we are expecting politicians to provide for our basic needs. We think we are entitled to it. We let them become lords and princes in exchange for little conveniences that in time would appear like we owe it to them. And the former mayor of Makati is just a fine example of a leader spawned by this perverted social pact. His platform of governance, including the 5Ps and the reduction of taxes, assure that this system will be expanded beyond the peripheries of  his city. The grateful masses, in return, would perpetuate his dynasty. This is what happened when his daughter was elected a Senator despite her lack of experience in the government.

Jojo Binay would tell everyone that his city offers free healthcare for its residents. He also offers free education for its students. I do not know what else is free in Makati aside from the bland cakes, and school bags (with the Binay trademark adorning its surface) but my aunt, who is a surgeon, had sworn in our family talks that the city runs the public hospitals with the best medical facilities. How can you beat that? This augmented reality, obscured by the fact that it was Makati's small indigent population and a robust business and commercial district that afford them such privilege. This narrative passed on from word-of-mouth is what's making the elder Binay a favorite among the natives.

But can we blame them for believing this pipe dream?

Much as I would like to think that Jojo embraces a social system similar to socialism, the truth is that he practices a leadership style that allows for the politics of patronage to flourish. And when the people - from the village elders to the landed princelings hold their allegiance to that one family responsible for their well-being, the excesses of power, including the audacity to generate personal income through shady deals get overlooked and forgotten. It is only when determined rivals, aided by intrusive journalists unearth these secrets do the truth come out. This is the real Binay story. And given that he has been ignored for so long, he goes to great lengths (including the infamous no-shows at the Senate hearings) denying the accusations despite the damning evidence.

Meanwhile, the masa doesn't care. Forever swayed by politicians who "eat among them" and "dole out cash and goods when it's time to campaign," they see our political system as a sham; That no matter who you put in Malacanan, nothing will ever change. Hence, the solid 23% of the voting population remains and will carry him to the finish line.

I will never vote for him in any elections, but as long as the Padrino system goes on, Jojo Binay, and the likes of him will always have loyal followers, no matter where they peddle their lies.

Miriam's Last Stand

Santiago’s antics during the Erap trial would already have shown how the provocation tends to lie completely with her. It’s a good reminder that her pretensions to brilliance, which is where she gets off thinking she has a right to lecture others on the finer points of law or ethics, are just that: pretensions. It’s neither borne by her legal nor political life. Getting a grade of 76 in the bar exams is not a masterful legal achievement, and I don’t know why the lawyers she waylays in the impeachment court do not demur by saying, “I’m sorry, Madame, but having gotten 77 in the bar exams, I do not see myself as needing your hectoring to pass this test.” And goading the unshod, or rubber-sandaled, masa to sugod-sugod Malacañang, and defying the authorities to arrest her afterward, gun on the table, only to turn to the other side faster than you can say “Brenda,” is not a sign of ethical behavior, let alone a sane one.

Conrado de Quiros, Contempt

When Miriam Defensor-Santiago had floated her Presidential aspiration last year, I knew it was motivated by some unfinished business. After all, among the candidates running for this national election, she was - if whispers are to be believed - robbed of the Presidency the first time she ran for office. In 1992, she lost to FVR by some 1 million votes. With rampant cheating prevailing during the last days of the canvassing, (including the Dagdag-bawas scheme done by some fixers in the Comelec) it is possible that she could have won that election.

Three years later, she entered politics again and ran for senate. Miriam was able to secure a seat in the upper chamber of congress. From being a graft-buster with a cabinet-level position during the first Aquino presidency, she became an elected official. A generation of voters would then know her as a Senator, and she is, without a doubt, will stay associated with being a lawmaker no matter the person sitting in Malacanang.

However, the trouble with Miriam is that her loyalty could be swayed by the wrong people. What is worse is that she would use the technicalities of the law to her advantage. This behavior was evident during the Erap impeachment trial when she sided with the president who had a hand (and probably more) on the Jose Velarde scandal. I remember how she fiercely defended Estrada, even voting against the opening of the second envelope that will further implicate the president. This has enraged the people as the evidence on that envelope contained information that will no longer be available for scrutiny. Within days, a revolution would take place in Edsa and Erap had no choice but to vacate Malacanang and hand over the Presidency to GMA. 

Miriam was undaunted.

Four months later, I remember seeing a grainy video recording of her, exhorting the protesters at Edsa 3 to storm the Palace and remove Gloria Macapagal Arroyo from power. It didn't succeed, and with her losing the Senate seat during the election of 2001, Miriam retreated from the public eye. She would only resurface three years later when she got elected to the Senate once more.

---

The Miriam narrative, as I would like to call it, is like a tale of a protagonist who had lost, and won admiration, only to lose it again for her habit of leaning towards the characters belonging to the perverted side of history. Her association with Erap, with Gloria, and now with Bongbong Marcos leaves you without a reasonable doubt that she can trade principles for political survival. But like any other person, she too has a soft side, and when she exposes this to the public, the nation responds with compassion. When her son committed suicide, after being humiliated by professors while being interviewed at the UP College of Law, public sympathy was with her. This sympathy would eventually lead to the partial restoration of her image. In 2004, and again, in 2010, she would be elected as a Senator of the republic. Even I, who has a historic distrust with the senator, would overlook the truth and put her name on my ballot.

Pero hanggang dun na lang.

Miriam will go down in history as one of the colorful characters to grace the Senate. I will always cherish her feistiness, her pedestrian language when interrogating witnesses during Senate inquiries, her social media savviness, her legal acumen, the laws she had authored and passed in congress, and many other things both good and bad. But her decision to run together with the dictator's son and her refusal to reveal her medical condition after declaring "victory" against cancer leave a bad taste when one contemplates whether to support her Presidential bid or not. There is simply too much at stake, and given her performance in the last Presidential debate, the fire in her belly is no longer there. It feels like she merely wants to run in search of validation. 

I have much respect for her supporters - both online and offline - for holding still. But by judging the outcome of the surveys, as well as how her campaign is going, I am seeing that this is Miriam's last stand.

There is nothing for her beyond this election.

Unfair Treatment

Taong 2004 nang magsimula akong mag-blog. Ito'y isang past time na nabuo dahil sa pakikiuso sa isang ka-tropa na minsang ipinagmalaki sa Yahoo Group ang kanyang Blogger page. Namangha ako sa kanyang blog. Ipanakita niya ang kanyang katalinuhan at husay sa pagsusulat. Bilang graduate ng Journalism ay hindi ako nagpatalo. Di ko man siya kasinggaling ay nakakita ako ng outlet, ng kalayaan ipahayag ang saloobin. Kaya gumawa ako ng sariling online journal at doon ibinuhos ang aking mga kuwentong pakikipagsapalaran sa buhay. Taon ang lumipas. Nauso ang iba't ibang mga blogs. Nagkaroon ito ng niche market - pagkain, paglalakbay, at pulitika. Pati erotika ay hindi pinalampas. Hindi man ako nakilala gaya ng iba, ngunit naging faithful ako sa craft. Pinaghusayan ko ito. Iniwasang makasira ng mga taong subject ng aking mga kuwento. At dahil doon ay ginantimpalaan akong makapagsulat ng maraming bagay na hinugot sa aking personal na karanasan. Nagkaroon rin ako ng respeto sa mga kasamahang bloggers, sapagkat kung hindi dahil sa aming collective effort, ang impormasyon na ngayo'y malayang kumakalat sa social media ay hindi mababasa ng mga readers noong panahong wala pang Facebook. Nito na lamang mga nakaraang taon, nang isa-isang nawala ang mga batikang manunulat ng mga kuwento ay nagsimula akong manamlay. Sanay na akong walang readers, at nang makita ko ang convenience ng paglalahad ng saloobin sa Twitter (kasama na ang swift gratification na nakukuha mo sa pag "like" ng iyong followers,) tuluyan na akong tinamad magsulat ng mahahabang entries. 

Nang lumaon ay huminto na rin ako sa pagblo-blog.

I would like to think that we are shaped by our time, and most of the bloggers I know who migrated on Twitter and Facebook are discerning and critical of the information they get from social media. We have this profound respect for the craft that we won't turn a blind eye while some paid hack uses this platform to spread lies and promote ignorance online. Gaya na lang ng screenshot na kalakip nitong entry ko. To write sweeping generalizations and get rewarded for it by hundreds of comments is a slap to the hard work bloggers did to publish credible posts.

Unfair din kay Mar Roxas.

And so I decided to go back to blogging, and in my own way set things straight now that the election is just around the corner. I will be fair to all candidates - even to Jojo Binay, who I despise the most. I won't mind if my entries won't reach its intended audience. After all, the entries are for my own pleasure. One thing is for sure, I will write well-thought entries. I will write what is right and just to my subjects. And I will write so as to finish what the "blogger" I mentioned didn't complete (he posted 4 trashy entries and he was gone).

These will not be paid posts. After all, this is my art.

Note: I was misled by the title and betrayed by the person who shared the entry above on his Twitter feed. Feeling cheated, I blocked that person and decided to leave social media for a week. It was simply too much for me. Born out of frustration, my creativity has been awakened. I may not be as prolific as I was before, but I'd keep my word and do what the blogger didn't finish. To readers who will find these entries, I'd promise to keep you informed the best I could. 

You will be the wise Pinoy voter.

Our Edsa Story

The battle for memory is as much about the future as it is about the past.

Milan Kundera

It was at this spot I once stood, leaned my chest against the metal railing to witness the sea of humanity converging below. The Left were on the other side of the intersection, unfurling their large banner demanding the ouster of a corrupt leader. The civic society groups were at the center, cheering, and raising their hands with the Laban sign for every good news coming from the radio stations. In just a matter of hours, the speaker on the makeshift stage would announce the withdrawal of support of the military. They too would show up in that corner, lending their voices calling for a leadership change. 

Just days before, I remember sneaking out of the house at sunrise after hearing some groups converging at the foot of the Blessed Mother. The group they said came all the way from Ateneo, who after seeing the good Senators weeping, and a clown dancing went to Edsa to call for the President to step down. The admin lawmakers had gone too far. The impeachment court had just lost its authority. When they voted against the opening of the second envelope containing evidence that would further press the President, it was time to do another Edsa.

And boy did we succeed.

What we didn't know is that every political force demanding the government to step down would replicate what we did and assemble at Edsa to block all traffic. They would set up camp, and like the ebb and flow of tides would swell later during the evenings. In less than three months after Ms. Gloria took office and Mr. Erap carted away to face his plunder charges, the masses would mount another Edsa. They would be crushed completely when they tried to storm the Palace gates.

We were horrified to learn the truth, that the People Power of the past that was called to restore democracy would be twisted and mangled to serve the interest of the few. It is, for this reason, no other Edsa protest was ever mounted after the third. Gloria knew this too, and for nine years - an equivalent of a single generation - she would bury the memory - in print and in spirit. The revolution that inspired so many nations to turn to Democracy would slowly fade from our national consciousness leaving this hollow notion that the Marcos years weren't bad at all.

As a result, we have kids today who knew nothing of that revolution. Of how People Power guaranteed our freedom to express our aspirations; of how that mass movement restored our right to enact change (through elections and street protest) when our leaders fail; of how, in our coming together, made us a nation of freedom-loving souls. Though I may often find it depressing how some people in authority would try to change what is already history, of how they would try to picture the years after the revolution as nothing but a series of failed promises, I still have faith in the legend. 

For once our rights are suppressed (in social and traditional media); and once we see opposition leaders being dragged in the streets, bloodied and screaming while protesting against an oppressive government, we will once again come together - with beaming pride and overflowing spirit - in that corner that brought us to where we are today.

Teacher Mugen

Previously:

Guro (First Part)
Guro (Second Part)
Guro (Last Part)

From time to time, my mother would ask me to make an appearance at her class, not to talk about what I know in my profession, but to listen to her students as they conduct their report. It was a ceremonial task, performed so as to ensure my mom won't miss her once or twice-a-week lecture, and at the same time, avoid being marked absent by the checkers going around to demand account of the teachers. The last time I did show up was because of an affliction that almost led my mom to be confined in a hospital. It could have been worse. With her blood pressure shooting up to almost 200/xx, there was certainty of stroke. 

But this story is reserved for another entry.

As she recovered, the professor asked me to oversee her class as they discuss the literature of the Africans. For most people, (including me, if I were not familiar with the writings of Chinua Achebe) nobody would ever think those black people from that continent ever produced a body of literary work. Even the students, who began reporting on the topic appear to merely scratch the surface: there was mention of the hieroglyphics, but the Egyptians were omitted. A reporter said that Africans had written and oral literature before the Europeans came, and yet, didn't know anything about the University of Sankore. Worst, they keep harping about racism and apartheid, and yet didn't say a word about the cruelty of the state policy once applied by South Africa

I can't help but intervene and tell them what I know about the people and their tragedy.

Being a student of history, I have always understood that every literary work was drawn from a time period lived by the author. Every social experiment, every revolution, every war he or she had seen and felt leave a mark on his or her writing. This, I explained with so much passion that my arms were all over the place as if to point out what I would like to hear in their report. At the same time, I cannot help but lament what I should be doing, knowing I could have enriched the lives of these students and set the facts straight when every story can be twisted on Social Media and beyond.

"So the Africans had built their civilizations, but they destroyed one another in the name of the slave trade."

"That is why there are Negroes all over the Americas."

"Sometime during the Industrial Revolution, the Europeans decided to colonize the whole continent instead (since forced labor is being replaced by machines)"

"Resources were exploited and so were the people."

"Then the missionaries came, together with their families, converted the heathens to Christianity, only to treat them as second-class people in their own land."

"They divided families from one another, made tribes fight each another."

"In some places, imagine being forbidden to enter a hospital for the white people, eat food for the white people (which the blacks have planted and harvested in the land the whites now own), ride in an elevator reserved only for white people."

"Only a few realized this mistake, and very recently did they make steps to correct this social injustice.

"That is the story of the Africans."

Gasps and sighs were heard inside the classroom.

---

Feeling satisfied with the grain of knowledge I imparted to my students, I returned to my seat and refrained from interrupting the reporters any further. Meanwhile, inside my head, where the actual thought process was happening, I would have wished I pursued those juvenile dreams of returning to the academe to lend a credible voice and speak out against the systematic revision being done to this country's recent history.

Searching for identity and real self-pride, like the Africans do, we still have a long way to go before we finally re-discover our true selves.

Leni

Previously on Mariposa

"Ibibigay ko po ang aking sarili nang buong-buo sa ating mga kababayan, lalong lalo na sa inyong mga naka-tsinelas, na nasa labas, nasa ibaba at nasa laylayan ng lipunan."

Atty. Leni Robredo

Liberal Party Vice Presidential Candidate

Only last month she vowed, never to aspire for some higher government post, in a live interview during late night news. Part of the reason was her lack of experience: with just three years as representative of her district, she would rather draft laws to improve the lives of her constituents in Camarines Sur than wade through trash that is national politics. Unlike her late husband, who has been a mayor for almost two decades, she finds strength standing in the background, lending her mind, when needed, in creating policies that made Naga one of the most vibrant cities in Bicol. Her three young daughters are against this new idea. They knew it would change their lives. As the party she had faithfully served runs out of choices when the foundling they groomed to be the vice-president joined the presidential race, everyone who believes in grassroots leadership pleaded for her to have a change of heart. Even the current occupant of Malacanan, offered himself as a broker, so the straight path he envisioned would endure long after he exits the spotlight.

Leni, as she is affectionately called, comes across as a lady who walks among farmers and fishermen; the ordinary folks of the countryside who have less in life than the contract workers and mid-level managers of the cities. She speaks her mind, with reason and fairness that comes from the gut. In that same interview many nights ago, those who have heard her were carried away by her intelligence, she became a trending topic on social media the next day. Being a leader once, I knew her kind of mold. She speaks about servant leadership, and I thought it would be a great loss if the party she represents picks another person to take her place.

As negotiations went behind closed doors, fringe members of the party spoke of alternative candidates. There was the governor-for-all-seasons, as well as the feisty senator from Taguig. Even the House Speaker's name was also floated among the possible candidates. And as the media circus reaches a new crescendo, the core members of the Liberal Party finds no other choice: It's Leni or nothing. Symbolic her place maybe, but what better person to encapsulate the Daang Matuwid philosophy than the widow of the man who first embraced it?

Somewhere in her journey, between the party invitation and her acceptance is a soul searching for answers. "Why me?" Leni asked, when she spoke behind the podium at Club Filipino. "I have no money, not even a machinery to run a local campaign." The audience listened to her epiphany. Drawing strength from Jesse, who had never walk away when friends sought his help, she realized that her husband's legacy will be for naught, if she turns her back this one time her party desperately needs her. With resolve to carry on, not just her husband's Tsinelas leadership, but also the citizen empowerment enjoyed under Pnoy's time, Leni Robredo, at long last, embraced what her calling is all along.  

The DOST National Science and Technology Fair

In the early days, before I began reaching out to fellow humans in the four-corners of the classroom, and make friends with some of them, my cherished companions were the encyclopedias and science almanacs in the library. It was easy to form bonds with them. You say goodbye to your teacher after the last subject ends at 3 pm, drop your belongings right at the door of the school library, and for hours, you get to drift between space and time with pictures and letters, undisturbed behind shelves of tomes seldom explored by other kids inside the spacious room. And these books, don't stab you at the back when others make fun of your habits, or abandon you when other kids do things you hardly enjoy - like sports. Book reading was for me, a solitary leisure activity. What I didn't realize is that I would carry on the fascination, and still gasp at the discoveries, halfway towards the finish line of my life.

It is for this reason I found immense joy when the Weatherman invited me to see the DOST Fair at the SMX Convention Center. He, more than anyone else revere science and technology, and a visit at the exhibit hall, with all those never-before-seen innovations done by our scientists rekindled that sense of wonder in me.

In many ways, this was my formal introduction to such event.

First stop was the exhibit showcasing the hybrid buses and tricycles that would one day complement the mass transportation system already in place in the metropolis. These buses, with two interconnecting carriages, run on clean fuel, and could carry around 200 passengers at a time. They are meant to load and unload passengers at designated bus stops, and may even require their own lanes in a busy highway like Edsa. The motorbikes, meanwhile, could replace the mini gas guzzlers that pollute the suburban air. While it would take another administration to make these buses and trikes run in our major roads, what matters is that the technology exists. Maybe when the right leader take his place, and the new cabinet secretaries realize the urgency to mass produce these eco-friendly vehicles, this public demonstration is just the beginning of our shift towards a more environment-conscious society. 

Onward the Weatherman and I moved to another exhibit, this time, the simulations could save lives when disaster strikes. 

A week before the city-wide earthquake drill happened, visitors to the science fair were able to experience how it feels when the ground shakes during a tremor. At the middle of the exhibition hall was a shaking table similar to the ones used by the Japanese to educate the public about earthquakes. Stepping into the small ring, the mechanical floor begins to sway using simple hydraulic systems. I mentioned that it was simple, for the ground shaking doesn't really come close to the real thing (from what I remember) What I got from the experience was a brief dizzy spell, and that experience of riding a mechanical device better featured in amusement parks. 

Among the innovations we have seen at the fair, there were two which stood out at the exhibit hall. One was the improvements made to Project Noah, the foremost flood control and weather forecasting tool of the government, and the other, which is the Diwata, our nation's ambitious program to send the first home-grown satellite to earth orbit. For Project Noah, new improvements include more accurate data that shows the flood-prone areas of Manila. Also featured at the exhibit are the early-warning devices, from state-of-the-art air raid sirens to digital rain gauges that measure the amount of rain falling at any given time. The Diwata program, meanwhile, was a technological grant from Japan. Using one of their satellite designs, the aim is to build one to serve as our communication beacon in space. A full-size mock-up was on display at the fair, and while it hardly made the spotlight at the exhibit, realizing how this compact machine could start our own space program made me look forward to see it being launched in 2017.

There were many other exhibits worth looking at the fair, like the Lego robot almost the height of a toddler, or the heirloom Abaca and Pina fabric making technique preserved by the science agency for future generations. There were also various advancements in agriculture including native livestock bred and returned to their places of origin, and more cost-effective ways to do shellfish farming. There was also an exhibit about nano-wires already being replicated in the country, as well as a contraption that creates miniature tsunami waves to show how it destroys everything in its path. After making rounds at the exhibit hall, and seeing with my own eyes how vibrant our science and technology innovations are, there is no doubt, we are making progress.

The Metro Manila Shake Drill

It all began with a showing of a topographic map, distributed to the media with blue lines bisecting the metropolis' eastern fringes. These broken dashes represent the fracture in earth's crust. It runs through swathes of Quezon City, Marikina, up to Muntinlupa, and was the result of a survey of the West Valley Fault System. It was commissioned by the government in the interest of public safety, and also for risk reduction in the event of an actual temblor. Overnight, the news became a sensation, something that puts fear and panic to those living near and beneath the tectonic system. While immediate relocation of families living in the danger zone is out of the question, authorities knew that something has to be done. Before this hype was replaced by another buzz, it was decided by the MMDA to set about a metro-wide earthquake drill. The aim is not just actual coordination of government agencies, but also a chance to educate the public of what needs to be done during such disaster.  

The initiative was the first of its kind. Nothing of this magnitude has been done in recent memory, and while it is understandable that the MMDA is also unsure about the drill's execution, what matters is that the foundation for such readiness has already been in place. The original idea was to include power and water interruption, as well as telecommunication disruption. They wanted to remain faithful to a total infrastructure breakdown scenario and let the public experience it. But realizing how inconvenient this is to everyone, the revised plan focused on four sectors set up across the metropolis to simulate civil evacuation, medical relief, and disaster response. 

While public support was tepid, at best, given the lack of news build-up after the drill was announced, I have already resolved not to leave the fate of my loved ones to chance. Heavy duty plastic containers were procured to store water in case the water pipes get busted. The acquisition of transistor radios also became a priority. Finally, with the medicine cabinet replenished with new bandages and antiseptic fluids, somehow my fears were put to rest. What is missing are the go-bags should we need to stay outdoors, and instructions to everyone about what to do during an earthquake.

The metro-wide drill was the perfect excuse to educate everyone.

I would not deny being tempted to go all the way to Intramuros to watch how the fire suppression drill is being performed. There is also the command center at the LRT Santolan station for disaster relief and rescue affecting residents closest to the fault line. I could have gone to these places and write my experiences. But then, I realized, much of the preparation at home would be for naught if my family members have no idea about "drop," "cover," and "hold" which are the basics of earthquake survival.

"Ang pinakamahalaga mama, eh maprotektahan yung ulo mo." Handing over a pillow to the matriarch, I told her to use it to cover her head. A disabled person like her would have no time to hide under a table or run out of the house in case of a temblor.

This is the same instruction I told the maids, and also pointed at the objects at home that have the highest risk of falling and hitting someone in the head.

That includes my dad's man-sized sketch portrait.

Looking back, giving up the chance to be out there and joining the actual drills was nothing compared to what I can contribute at home. They say, disaster preparedness begins with loved ones, and what better way to do this by teaching the littlest ones - my nephews - who need to be protected more than anyone else.

"Lenin, tayo ka." I had ask him to take a break from his child's play to impart the lessons I've been telling everyone since that morning.

"Try mo nga magtago dito sa ilalim ng kama." Following my orders, the elder nephew tried to fit himself into the small space under my mom's hardwood bed.

"Alam mo kung ano yung lindol?"

He shook his head and smiled at me. Apparently, it wasn't properly communicated at school what the drill that morning happened. At 4 years old and with no actual experience of ground shaking, it was difficult to explain what an earthquake is.

"Ah eh ganito yun." I started shaking my mother's bookcase.

"Kapag gumalaw ito ng walang tao, kailangan mo magtago sa ilalim ng bed ha?" To make it more realistic, I shook the bookcase violently, until the books stacked on top of the shelves started falling.

"Kailangan mo magtago kasi mababagsakan ka nitong mga books."

Getting my idea, my nephew hid once more under the bed as the book shaking continued. I didn't stop, and instead, made sure everything on the shelf lay bare on top of the bed.

"Tandaan mo ito palagi ha?"


---


It has been 25 years since the last big quake shook the city. Another 22 and news of the Ruby Towers collapsing, and killing more than 200 souls put fear in the hearts of high-rise dwellers. The great big one is long overdue. Should a time come the ground shakes once more, I hope that all these efforts in family preparation will not be for nothing.

Like the Metro Manila Shake Drill, knowing and actual practice are the keys to saving lives.


  

Fajr

Previously: Eid

The hypnotic chant of the Muezzin, carried by the wind calls the faithful for the early morning prayer. The lyrical recitation of Adhan bounces off from the loud speakers perched high above the electric posts, leaving those who seldom hear it spellbound at how ancient this way of summoning is. It is 4:17 in the morning, the exact time the Fajr is offered on that special day. And as Allah's children rushes towards the Golden Mosque, I sat across the street, with my eyes closed to listen to the unabridged Quoranic verses, while my mind soars to distant lands in the south, where at that very moment, Muslims from Tawi-Tawi to Cotabato were heading towards the house of prayer to celebrate the breaking of the fast.  

It was the Eid, the end of the Ramadan. To this day, I remain uninstructed of the tradition, and I haven't really internalized its religious significance. Despite the ignorance, I decided to mark the occasion by going all the way to Quiapo to see the sights and sounds around Globo del Oro. The last time I was there was half-a-decade ago, when I headed straight to the Muslim community after getting a haircut from my barber. I arrived late in the afternoon, when most of the worshipers have already gone home. There was little to see then; most of the shops were closed, the restaurants have yet to serve Halal dishes, and except for being mistaken as an applicant for the Balik-Islam program, the attempt to fit in wasn't really a success. At a hindsight, I find it silly greeting people "Eid Mubarak," when locals likely don't greet strangers they come across.

Now five years later, I decided to make a comeback. To somehow indulge that little Dora in me. I arrived in Quiapo a little past 4 am, to a sleeping neighborhood still about to set shop for the day-long festivities. Except for the unusually bright lights illuminating the side streets, little could be gleaned from this expedition: the shops were still closed; glass racks displaying curry dishes were still empty, and while I saw the TV networks' trucks parked beside the mosque, (as they always do every year since the government declared Eid a national holiday) news would only get beamed to households at sunrise, when the imam ends the Fajr.

Still, without understanding a single word, I choose to remain on the sidewalk and waited for the dawn prayer to finish. Between live-tweeting what I see, and contemplating my presence in a world I would never be part of, I tried to understand my curiosity when nobody outside the religion seems to care. Perhaps, it is the thought of squeezing a pre-dawn adventure that made this whole trip worth doing. In my hour's linger at the Muslim community, not a single soul had asked if I'm interested to join the conversion program; an elder in his early sixties had mistaken me for a store attendant. He spoke in the vernacular, which I didn't understand. When I pointed him to the real shopkeepers, I learned that he was asking how much was the cheapest prayer mat. Arabic verses may have spoken by the worship leaders, but their melodic recital kept me glued to the pavement. When the men wearing Taquiyah and the women wearing Hijab started showing up at the exit to return home and partake at the feast, I decided to leave as well. One last stroll and in one of the canteens dotting the neighborhood, bowls and bowls of chicken and fish curries were now displayed on the glass racks. I would have ended the trip by having a hearty halal breakfast, but the thought of doing it with the Weatherman would have made the experience more special.

*Fajr is the first of the five daily prayers offered by practicing Muslims.

*Muezzin is the person appointed at a mosque to lead, and recite, the call to prayer for every event of prayer and worship in the mosque.

*Adhan is the Islamic call to prayer.

Same Love

Previously:

On Gay Marriage Pt. 1
On Gay Marriage Pt. 2
On Gay Marriage Last Pt.

A deeply divisive ruling in the Supreme Court of the United States of America has made gay marriage legal across the land. It was a historic decision, a liberating precept that allows all couples regardless of sexual leaning to form a union that is protected and recognized by the state. It was a struggle that is as old as the first riots of Stonewall, and a victory shared by all people who put love first before the wrath of God.

The global jubilation was immediately followed by a collective derision. Religious conservatives call for civil disobedience. Those who speak of abomination were being mocked on Social Media. Meanwhile, closer to home, friends are pitted against one another all in the name of creed. In a nation where the Creator has the first say in everything, flocks risk burning bridges just to speak their conviction. While my own Facebook page is free from such bigotry, others were not as fortunate as me. A same-friend voiced his disappointment on Twitter after two of his girl best friends wrote on their wall their scathing rejection of gay weddings. 

He fears he may never be accepted.

The gay marriage debate has been going on long before I embraced my sexuality a decade and a half ago. From a mere thought of people who might not even understand the separation of church and the state, the possibility of such family arrangement and social policy grows with each generation being exposed to the wonderful world of gender diversity. And all along, I saw how minds change. While hypocrisy lingers with each dose of religious poison, I have faith that the progressives will prevail in the end. 

And my stand has remained, no matter how swift the changes are. Same love will become commonplace, and while a government-sanctioned union may still be light years away, the certainty of marriage equality will reach these shores some day.

Baby steps will still get us there.

Parliament Of The Streets

I walked with these people to stop the Vice President from running for higher office for the following reasons:

• Corruption. It's in the news long before Jojo announced his candidacy for the presidency. From his unexplained wealth when he was still the mayor of Makati, to his acres of land in Batangas, which was never declared in his Statement of Assets, Liabilities, and Net Worth, to the overpriced construction of a parking lot building next to the city hall. He goes around the country telling locals that he is being persecuted without ever answering the accusations thrown at him and his family.
• Traditional Politics. When Jojo becomes the president, everything will return to the way it was. Politicians preening as if their constituents owe them the social services they receive; Politicians attaching their name next to government projects and freebies. Politicians, whose sense of entitlement keeps things from getting done. The first family, whose children are already in various elected posts will only turn the entire country into their personal fiefdom, like in GMA's time.
• Media Spin. After floating the idea of Grace Poe becoming Jojo's veep, which the esteemed Senator respectfully declined, the veep's political party responded by accusing the latter of being a foundling, whose citizenship should be questioned in court. This press release, backfired, and a few days later, Jojo claims he too, was adopted. Recently, the first daughter made comparisons between a family of doctors and politicians in defense of dynasties. She questions the logic behind preventing generations of political families from holding offices when professionals freely pass their knowledge from elders to children. Refutations came quick, and a doctor even wrote an open letter challenging the Senator's impaired logic. 
• Promotion of Mediocrity. Anyone who supports a Binay presidency after all the scandals and corruption allegations came out is either from Makati, who enjoyed freebies and social services offered by the local government, or countryside folks who are used to the culture of mendicancy being practiced throughout generations. A Jojo Binay victory would mean the triumph of a leadership with no long-term vision except for the enrichment of his family (and friends) and the perpetuation of his power.
• Term Limit and Foreign Policy Changes. Jojo would definitely want to stay in power for as long as he breathes and to live this aspiration, he would have to change the constitution to a four-year presidency, with a choice to get re-elected once again. He would also work with China to resolve the West Philippine Sea issue since they have the resources to develop the area, virtually giving away chunks of territory to Beijing, which the second Aquino government tried to protect at all cost.
• Collective Action. I have always believed that should Jojo wins this election, sooner or later, someone will mount another People Power at Edsa. I have already committed myself to the cause, and the first step is to seek like-minded individuals who would stand for what is right and good for the nation. Like what I've said to Leah Navarro during the short walk, forces aligned with the Vice President are slowly making their presence in social media. It is up to reformers like us to shake people's indifference and show what is at stake if a person with a dubious character reign over the land.

             

Independence

Previously: San Nicolas, Manila
               Turbulence At The Home Front

The San Nicolas walk trip was born out of curiosity, when instead of riding a jeep at the corner of Abad Santos and Recto to go home, I thought of traipsing further into the bowels of Divisoria to find what's beyond Tabora street. Lately, I've been spotted at the central flea market looking for cheap home items such as hangers with clippers and large water containers. 

The last time I was there, I searched the side streets for a rain poncho.

Now the rain poncho is not for me, but for Kuya O, who is my mother's personal assistant. Since the monsoon season is beginning to bring cloudy skies and late afternoon showers, a complete rain gear is needed by family members who often needed to go outdoors no matter what the weather be. With him having to hold a large umbrella while pushing a wheelchair from the State University going to our house a few blocks away, there is a likely chance that my mom will get wet, so he asked for a rain coat the last time heavy thunderstorms inundated the city. 

And my response came swift.

Kuya O's request was a fitting excuse to return and explore my favorite marketplace. He had asked for a rain protection gear with a transparent membrane, one that is hard to find that not even department stores might carry such types in their stocks. I already looked for one in Quiapo but didn't find any. 

Thus, my only hope is Divisoria.

Even in Divisoria, looking for a raincoat proved quite difficult. None is being sold at the malls, and outside, while cheap varieties exist, even an uninstructed buyer can easily glean how the edges can tear up with one slight pull. An industrial-strength coat should exist somewhere. One that is used by fishermen who is working in rough seas.

And so I walked further, beyond the row of department stores with names inspired by numbers, until I came across a street where tarpaulin sheets are being sold. Here, raincoats are displayed outside the shops for pedestrians to see. There was this one brand the vendors often spoke, and while it was slightly pricier than the first ones offered to me, the vendors I met at the tarpaulin shops vouched for the coat's quality simply by speaking its name.

Spartan.

It was expensive indeed - by Divisoria standards. The raincoats fetch a price twice the generic varieties, whose hem appears to be made by the same material as the plastic pouches one uses when collecting trash. The cost did turn me off at first, so I made rounds again until I found myself at the same street where the rain gears are being sold. As a first-time buyer, there was no one to consult, until the second vendor who spoke of Spartan's near-rubbery texture being proof of its durability said one detail that made me seal the deal.

"Gawa po dito ito."

The vendor's words were drawn from the gut, not because he was desperate to make a sale, or because of his faith in the product, but because he knew many buyers would choose the cheaper ones dumped by the mainland Chinese. I'm sure, Spartan's quality has already swayed me to get the rain poncho. But on that inconspicuous day, a week before the nation celebrates its Independence, something profound had struck me, like a long lost love has been rekindled: In a time when cheap imported goods flood the market, and the local brands need to rely on a good name or cheap labor to keep the industry afloat, there is a tinge of pride and comfort knowing I'd still be willing to shell more for an item that is Philippine made. We may speak of nationhood in the face of adversity in our waters, in beauty pageants, or in sports, but what purpose does our sovereignty serve without collective patronage for things that truly make us stand on our feet?