Magta-Tagalog muna ako ngayon, dahil usapang Pinoy ‘to. Magbi-Bisaya din sana ako, kaso ambot eh, kaya Tagalog na lang.

Kagabi, habang pinapanood ko sa TV kung paano gulpihin ng mga kawani ng gobyerno si Jun Lozada, parang nagka-amnesia ako. Parang sa isang iglap, hindi ko na maalala kung bakit sa loob ng mahigit dalawampung taon, ipinagpipilitan kong Pilipino ako, kahit alam kong ayaw sa ‘kin ng bansang ‘to.

Pula ang passport ko, kahit dito ako sa Pilipinas ipinanganak, lumaki, nag-aral at natuto ng katarantaduhan. Wala akong pakialam sa sinasabi ng Bureau of Immigrations. Pilipinas ang bayan ko. Pilipino ako.

Pero kagabi, parang hindi ko na maalala kung bakit pinagsisiksikan ko ang sarili ko sa bansang ‘to. Para ano? Para magpaloko? Para magpagamit? Para gawing tanga?

Buti sana kung sampid lang talaga ako dito. Yun bang nakikikain, nakikinood ng tv, nakikitawag sa telepono. Pero hindi eh. Buwan-buwan pagdating sa ‘kin ng payslip ko, may kaltas na. Tapos saan napupunta? “This is where your taxes go,” sabi ng mga nakapaskil na billboard na naglipana sa Pilipinas. Kasama ang mukha ng taong walang kahit katiting na hiya sa akin — sa akin na nagpakahirap na makipagsiksikan sa MRT at nagtrabaho ng mahigit walong oras bawat araw para lang maipangalandakan niya ang kawalanghiyaan niya.

Buti sana kung hindi ko pera ang pinagtatalunan ngayon sa senado. Buti sana kung pinupulot ko lang sa kalye yung kinakaltas nilang buwis. Buti sana kung may mapagkukunan ako ng 130 million dollars eh, pero wala. Wala.

Ang meron lang ako, yung katiting na perang natitira sa ‘kin bawat sweldo, yung baryang tinira ng gobyerno dahil kahit papaano, meron naman silang awa. Dahil siguro, alam nilang kailangan ko rin ng pambili ng makakain, at para na rin may ipambayad ako sa e-Vat.

Sa totoo lang, ilang beses na nating paulit-ulit na nakita ‘tong pangyayaring ‘to. Lagi pang televised, dahil lahat ng bagay sa Pilipinas, dapat showbiz. Hindi naman ito ang unang beses na pinagtangkaan tayong nakawan. Malamang, hindi rin ito ang huli. At, mas malamang sa hindi, maraming beses na tayong nanakawan ng wala tayong kaalam-alam.

Pero anak ng tutchang naman, isang beses ko pang marinig iyang “move on” na iyan, susuka na talaga ako ng dugo. Sa bawat alegasyon na lumalabas, wala nang sinabi ang gobyerno kundi ito: “Pakana lang iyan ng mga kalaban ng gobyerno, wag tayong magpadala. We need unity. We must move on.”

Pero sino ba talaga ‘tong kalaban ng gobyerno na punong-abala sa mga planong destabilisasyon? Bakit parang napakamakapangyarihan niya at alam niya ang lahat ng nangyayari sa loob at labas ng Malakanyang? Sino ba siya? Si Lolit Solis?

Simple ang pagkaintindi ko sa linyang “move on” ng gobyerno eh. Para matahimik ang sambayanan, huwag kang mag-isip, huwag kang magtanong, huwag kang manggulo. Sa madaling salita, manahimik ka, para walang gulo. Parang 1984.

Tama, wala nga namang gulo. Walang gulo para sa mga taong nagpapakasasa sa bawat sentimong pinaghirapan ng bawat Pilipino (At hindi Pilipinong tulad ko). Maganda nga naman iyon para sa kanila. Kaso lang, sabi ni Confucius, injury requits justice. Katarungan ang kailangan, hindi iyang pesteng “move on”.

At sino ba talaga sa tingin nila ang niloloko nila?

Hindi ako dalubhasa sa ekonomiya, wala rin akong kaklase na naging pangulo ng Amerika. Hamak na graduate lang ako ng USTe, dyan sa may Espanya (yung bahaing kalsada, hindi yung bansa). Pero ipupusta ko ang buhay ni Boy Abunda sa katotohanang ito: ako, sampu ng milyun-milyong Pilipino, nakatapos man o hindi — nakikita namin ang katotohanan sa likod ng mala-pelikulang drama sa senado. Kitang-kita namin ang bawat kawaning may pinagtatakpan, pati na ang bawat kawaning kailangang pagtakpan.

Maliwanag pa sa noo ni Lozada ang katotohanan.

Hindi ako Pilipino, sabi ng Bureau of Immigrations. Sumasang-ayon ang birth certificate ko, pasaporte at iCard. Pasensya na. Wala kasi akong pambili ng pagka-Pilipino, di tulad ng mga banyagang kayang-kayang bilhin ito. Hindi ako smuggler, drug lord o artista. Hindi ko afford ang berdeng pasaporte. Pero kahit ayaw sa ‘kin ng Pilipinas, nandito pa rin ako.

Ilang beses ko nang sinabi sa mga kaibigan at kaanak ko ito. Kung hindi rin lang kakailanganin, wala akong planong iwan ang Pilipinas, kahit mamatay akong banyaga sa bayang kinalakhan ko. Hindi ko kayang iwan ang Maynila, ang maduming fishball, ang Parokya ni Edgar, pati si Robin Padilla.

Pero kagabi, sa unang pagkakataon, parang napagod na ako. Sa kauna-unahang pagkakataon, parang nasuya na talaga ako. Sa kauna-unahang pagkakataon, parang naubos na ang lahat ng pag-asa sa puso ko. Naitanong ko:

Hanggang dito na lang ba talaga tayo?

I used to have this major crush on Joker Arroyo, as people who were there when he visited UST in 2001 (or is it 2002?) can attest. I liked Joker because he had funny hair, because he was wrinkly, and most of all because he was an honest, righteous government official, which isn’t really common this side of the world.

Now, well, I’m not sure. It started with the elections, I suppose, when he ran under the administration ticket. By the way, I really can’t figure out why we seem to have only two parties in this government, namely the Administration and Opposition, both with no moral fiber and determined only by political alliances and necessities. Never mind Nacionalista and the Liberal Party and all those acronyms. This country hasn’t even begun to grasp the rudiments of democracy.

But I digress.

Joker Arroyo had always been a symbol of honesty for me. He was frugal, simple and courageous, fighting for human rights and unsullied by issues of corruption. Unlike other senators and public officials, he enjoyed general goodwill from the Filipino people. And so it was horrible for me when he decided to join Gloria, refusing to speak up even when allegations of cheating, corruption and murder assailed the little-girl-who-could.

Honestly, I tried to make excuses for the man. I liked him too much to condemn him immediately. Today, though, after watching him make a fool of himself on national television, I just realized I didn’t like him anymore. He was tripping all over himself, trying to give the witness a show of temperament to intimidate him.

This, darling Joker, is goodbye:

You fought tooth and nail against two oppressive regimes, suffered the consequences of bravery and lived to tell the tale. You never wavered in the face of martial law, fighting to keep the people free. Yesterday, February 11, 2008, you insulted everything you ever stood for, questioning a man kidnapped and coerced by government because his wife dared go to the Supreme Court to seek a writ of habeas corpus. You arrogantly questioned the wife’s decision to protect her husband, calling it a “cheap” move that insulted your very intelligence.

I suppose you didn’t realize you were merely insulting yourself. You have belittled everything you have ever stood for: freedom, democracy, human rights. You stood idly when the Garci scandal surfaced; you turned away when allegations of corruption hit the highest woman in the land; you kept silent even as journalists were murdered all over the country.

What the hell happened?

Joker, you’re too old to be corrupted. If, like Maceda, you had been young and corrupt, it would have been understandable. A young man sullied by the corrupt ways of mucky politics? Understandable. But you, a bastion of integrity, succumbing to the dirty world of politics at your age? You could have retired and maintained a legacy of morality instead.

But no, you had to go on. You just had to destroy whatever was left of your integrity.

So, Joker, this is goodbye.

I might not exactly be the best person to talk about this, but for some strange reason I feel compelled to write a bit about this rather touchy topic.

First things first, then. Opening salvo: Miriam Defensor-Santiago, senator of the Republic of the Philippines, accused China of inventing corruption. The next morning, red-faced and trying to smile her way out of the diplomatic crisis she created, Defensor-Santiago apologized. As usual, the good senator had the gall to deny she ever made a racist remark, saying it was impossible for her to do so because she was married to a man of Chinese lineage herself.

Which doesn’t really mean anything when your racist remark is caught on tape and legal transcripts.

Then there’s that “Desperate Housewives” thing, where Teri Hatcher’s character made an offensive remark about the Filipino medical industry. ABC already released an official apology.

The issue of race is always a tricky thing. For one, we’re all guilty of stereotyping other people, and we all crack jokes about people of other nationalities at one point or another. If you’re like me, who grew up with TVJ and their off-color humor, Bumbay jokes are the norm. But then where do we draw the line between funny and offensive?

I don’t think I can speak for other people, so I’m drawing my personal 38th parallel. Personally, I only get offended when people make remarks that intend to malign or demean me because of my ethnicity. Joke about tikoy all you want. I’ll laugh (I got this really funny joke about tikoy from Pugad Baboy, by the way). Give me the standard “Intsik ka kasi” to explain my attitude or behavior and you’ll be peeing in a bag for weeks.

I don’t even take offense at the word “Intsik”, mainly because I’ve studied its etymology. It’s only when people sneer and use it as a slur do I find it offensive. I know Nietzsche junked “intent” — it’s the action that counts — but then in social interaction, it could make all the difference.

And oh, I find it incredibly rude when people imitate the way the Chinese talk. The Japanese, at the very least, only have the Ls turned into Rs. I’m talking about the Yoyoy Villame kind of mimicry. It’s irritating, insulting and well, just rude. I once walked out of a store because the tindero was making fun of my dad’s accent.

It’s a tall order to ask everybody to stop making stereotypes and racist jokes. It’s human nature to label anything “different” and lighten things with humor. Then again, when there’s malice and an intent to hurt another, that’s another thing entirely.

I know, I know. The subject of this post is more than a little misleading. I am, after all, not quite sane most of the time. Things have been going a little more hectic than usual, though, hence the fact that I’m a lot more unhinged than usual these past few days.

I suppose it all started when I bit off way more than I could chew more than a month ago. I took up a translation project that, I predict, will be the death of my brain cells. Every single sentence requires intense concentration, caffeine, a magnifying lens, a dictionary and — when all else fails — my father. I suppose it would be pointless now, but to myself, I now say:

“I…am…sorry.”

The deadline’s next Monday, and no, I do not really care about the elections. Two reasons: I can’t vote and I don’t like any of the candidates. A few months ago, my obvious choice would have been Joker Arroyo. The man’s proven himself more than capable over the years, not to mention I have this humongous crush on him that’s lasted over five years now. Yes, I still have his autograph. Unfortunately, his decision to run under TU doesn’t quite sit well with me. He would have been better off running independent, although I realize the problem of “funding” must’ve figured pretty big in his decision.

But the world really is getting weirder everyday. I got harassed by this braless lady last night on the MRT and I swear I tried everything I could to get her boobs off my back, but to no avail. She’d been smilingly oddly at me from the moment I stepped into the train but I didn’t think anything was up. She didn’t look butch, surprisingly, so I really have no idea what she was thinking, foisting her mammaries on my poor back. The creepiest thing of all? She was smiling the ENTIRE time.

I told the people at home about the weird lady, and my mom’s reaction was classic: “Naguwapuhan yun sa ‘yo.”

Well, yes, I suppose so, because the userpic here doesn’t really do justice to the way I look in real life. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am guapo.

The past few sentences have been nothing more than me frothing at the mouth, but I really am stressed and on the verge of physically breaking down. I’ve been experiencing more of my “supernatural” experiences as of late, which I credit to the terribly stressful state I’m in right now.

Liberty is just a few days away … and the first thing I’ll do to regain my sanity is play The Sims.

Technically speaking, March is the so-called “Fire Prevention” month right? I suppose that means we stop fires from eating up half the slums in Metro Manila from March 1 to 31, never mind April and the rest of the year.

While the rest of the world is so busy decimating each other with bombs and guns, we fall prey to the occasional neglected candle or the dying embers of a cigarette stub. The shanties are the first to fall victim to these fires, considering how their walls are practically glued to each other.

But I suppose it doesn’t really take much to start fires these days, when the heat outside is enough to make anybody spontaneously combust. I step out of the shower and I’m instantly covered in sweat again. Certain days make me feel like staying under the glorious water of our shower at home for hours — never mind the bill or the fact that I could end up a prune for life.

It sucks to step out of the house these days. The office is airconditioned, yes I know, but the way to the office is literally consumed by hellfire. The MRT, as I’ve mentioned repeatedly, is hell in a steel capsule. Step inside and you’ll certainly feel like one of the wretched souls soaking in hellfire, begging heaven for respite and salvation. Yep, the people on board look like they’re bound to live out the rest of their days in eternal damnation as well.

In any case, I’ve been desperately seeking out ways to “beat the heat”, so to speak, and that includes going to the office in capri pants (is that even the correct term?) and shirts that don’t make me feel like a lumpia being fried under the sun’s rays. I’ve also resorted to wearing flat shoes that require no socks in lieu of my ever trusty chucks.

The downside to this type of casual wear I discovered just a few hours ago. I believe I suffered massive third degree burns on my foot after a fifteen-minute jeepney ride. The pain is horrendous, and my skin is even crispier than before (yes, I like thinking of myself as lechon). Now I know how it feels like to be the ant suffering under the combined powers of the sun, a magnifying lens and a nasty little kid who simply has too much time.

The solution to all this, according to most people I know, is to head down to the beach to “beat the heat”. The logic of this concept defies me. How do you beat the heat by immersing yourself in more heat? And no, the water definitely cannot cool you down with the sun beating savagely down your head.

The office, I suppose, subscribes to this rather flawed “summer fun” concept, as we’re heading to a beach outing this May. Dear God, if you agree to hide the brutal sun behind nice clouds on that particular day, I swear never to make fun of Jobert Sucaldito ever, ever again. That means I’ll never get to call him “talikodgenic” ever again — and I do think it’s worth it. Maybe I’ll quit making fun of Kiray, too, as long as God promises not to sunburn me out of my mind.

It’s really quite passé to be writing about the Subic rape case right now, considering that the verdict’s been handed down and everything seems to be going back to normal for all of us.

Or not.

Every single time I come across articles regarding this issue I have the urge to skin someone’s face off. The truth is that I have no solid opinion regarding the case. I’m not really that knowledgeable about the case, the details available to the public are rather fuzzy and as Melanie Marquez would say, I really can’t judge the “book” because I’m not a judge.

It’s just that there are two things about this entire case that keep nagging me endlessly like a stubborn itch that just won’t go away. Before I start blasting away, though, I suppose you need to know something very, very important about me:

1. I am not a Feminazi;
2. I am not a Leftist/Rightist/Overeager Miron/Clueless Idiot.

First up, I saw Bishop Cruz’s comments on how a woman should safeguard her “womanhood” by being virtuous and not parade around like some slut. Of course he would never say slut because he’s a “man of God”, but that’s just how it came across. First of all, who the hell still says “womanhood” without giving away hints of cobwebs and creaking joints? More importantly, the bishop’s statement reeks clearly of the “woman as temptress” school of thought.

You know what’s wrong with that picture? It turns the victim into the inciter of the crime, like things wouldn’t have happened that way if she’d just stayed home wrapped up in her chador. Society indicts the woman, saying things wouldn’t have turned out that way if she hadn’t “asked for it”. I swear I hear women talk that way and it never fails to turn me completely livid in disgust.

You know what’s worse with that picture? It reduces the man to nothing more than a bloody mess of hormones with nary a trace of human reason or will. Like men have no brains and have no more than the instincts of cavemen to get by. Really now. I’d really like to give men a little more credit than that. It’s a terrible excuse, really, that a man faced with a woman unable to object to his advances will have NO CHOICE but to sleep with her as if it were his born obligation.

You could say that the woman was stupid, that she was really putting herself in a dangerous situation and should have had more common sense. That, however, doesn’t mean she deserved getting violated. You can call someone who waves his cellphone around in the middle of Quiapo stupid, but it doesn’t take away the fact that the thief is still a thief – and criminally liable.

Second, people have been breaking their necks trying to get their piece published regarding Judge Pozon’s decision to keep the convicted marine here in the country’s beautiful and unbelievably comfortable penitentiary system. The justice secretary, of course, has been all over town declaring his usual spiel, so much that I’m starting to wonder about his mental health.

Just as terrible, though, are the civil society groups who’ve lost no time fawning over the Judge, calling him a brave man who decided in the interest of the motherland. Please, spare me. And spare the good man as well. Unromantic as it may sound, it’s not really the judge’s job to decide “in the interest of the country”. He’s there to interpret the law. That’s the man’s job – no more, no less. To be fair, Judge Pozon refused the accolades, downplaying his role in the controversial case despite the eagerness of certain groups in insisting this a score against the tuta government and the evil imperyalista, the United States.

Everybody’s so damn busy trying to get their mugs into the picture, like flies swarming over sweets. They’re all trying to ride the wave, hoping to at least get a shot at a little over fifteen minutes of fame. Sure, they say it’s all about their causes, their principles. Whatever. Everyone is so busy trying to be too goddamn self-righteous to even think about anyone else.

I think I just burst a blood vessel right there.

I suppose the Philippines is getting a little more surreal each day.

Maybe we’ve gotten a little too jaded for our own good. I know that as a people our patience rivals the traffic jam on EDSA at rush hour, but really now? How long can we stay quiet while they pick “destabilizers” of the streets and pave the roads with blood?

The issue of massive, large-scale, wholesale (insert your favorite synonym for “humongous” here) cheating in the last presidential elections we shrugged off with a consoling “let’s move on”, as if closure would come with playing dumb. For the good of the country, they say. For their own good most likely.

They’ve forced our people off the streets, making free speech near illegal in this democratic country. Granted, too much rallying has desensitized the masses, but still. I’d rather endure cursing at random ralliers for causing mayhem on the streets than have the government slam down on a natural HUMAN right and tell them they can’t speak at all.

Like someone once said (can’t remember who), I may not support their cause, but I certainly support their right to fight for it.

We’ve been gagged, beaten up, arrested and hauled off to jail for exercising our rights. And we’re a freaking democracy? Now we’re seeing thousands of Filipinos stuck in a war-torn country because the funds for them have been quietly siphoned off and unloaded somewhere else. Where? Your guess is as good as mine.

But what really freaks me out is the unnerving lack of reaction on the part of the masses. We promised never again, the day Marcos left this country in shame. Never again will we let anyone gag, repress and kill our rights. Never.

But now it’s happening all over again. There was a time when random arrests and extrajudicial killings would have people ranting against the government, demanding justice. There was a time when suppressing rallies was met with more rallies in a show of defiance. There was a time when exposed corruption would have us foaming at the mouth, threatening to throw the guilty into hellfire for all eternity.

Sure, we’ve never successfully convicted anyone for corruption (not the big ones anyway), but we’ve always been a lot more vigilant, a lot more defiant, a lot more CONCERNED.

Maybe it’s true. Maybe we’ve been too desensitized that nothing fazes us anymore. Maybe this regime has gotten us so scared out of our wits that we’d rather shut up, endure pseudo-martial law and just get on with our lives rather than end up on the pavement with five bullets in our chest.

Well, then.

I suppose we get the government we deserve.