Names

I was scrolling through my phone’s contact list, and I was surprised to find at least 12 names there that I don’t recognise. I absolutely have no idea how they got there and who those people are and how they figured into my life.

There’s this name, Rommel Bolesa, for instance, who I can only guess must’ve been a driver from a car rental firm my old employer once hired for an out-of-town gig or a contact person in a provincial office somewhere.

I guess most of these unrecognisable names are like condoms or napkins: very valuable but are really “for one-time use” only. They were very important in a particular moment in my life, but are now essentially useless.

Yet, somehow, I can’t bring myself to delete them. There’s this nagging thought that one day, maybe by some cruel trick of fate, having these names in my cell phone will save me from some desperate, tragic situation on a boring, Sunday afternoon.

Thousands march against charter change

A bank employee throws confetti over a crowd gathering at a busy intersection in Makati’s central business district on June 10, 2009 for a rally against moves by the legislature to amend the Philippine Constitution. Various religious and left-leaning groups organised the massive protest against charter change, seen as a ploy to prolong President Gloria Arroyo’s stay in power. Reuters

Liham mula sa isang ginahasa

Noong Hunyo 2, sa kadiliman ng gabi, ginahasa ako ng mahigit 150 na kalalakihan. Kinaladkad nila ako sa isang malaking silid sa isang magarang gusali sa Quezon City at doon pinagpasa-pasahan at nilapastangan na parang isang kinatay na baboy.

Hinubaran nila ako ng damit hanggang walang natira ni isang saplot at kahihiyan sa aking katawan.  Inihiga nila ako sa isang malapad at malamig na lamesa na mistulang altar at itinali ang mga kamay at paa ko sa apat na sulok nito.

Pinilit ko na maging matapang, na magmanhid na lamang ang katawan at pagkatao. Nagmakaawa ako. Nagsumamo. Humagulgol.  Subalit tila mga wala silang marinig. Tila wala sila sa sarili nila, wala sila sa matuwid na pagiisip o talagang bulag lang sa kanilang kasamaan.

‘Ang issue dito ay pang-aabuso sa kababaihan’

Blogger’s Note: Katrina Halili’s opening statement during a Senate committee hearing on the Hayden Kho-Katrina Halili video scandal.
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“Artista po ako. Trabaho ko ang maghatid ng tuwa. Pantasya ng telebisyon at pelikula. Pero tulad ng iba may pribado ring buhay din ako gaya ng lahat. Sa pagkakataong ito. dangal ko at dangal ng pamilya ang pinag uusapan dito.

Minahal ko si Hayden. bata ako kaya madaling nalagyan ng piring ang aking mga mata para isisping ako lang ang nagmamay ari ng puso niya. pero gaya ng lahat ng relasyong nagsimula sa kasinunagalingan wala itong pinatunguhan. Wala akong malay na ang bawat yakap at halik ay scripted. Buong-buo kong binigay yung puso at ang kaluluwa ko sa isang lalaking gumagawa pala ng sariling pelikula. Ang tanga ko. Imbes na doktor, direktor pala.

Pinakamamahal kong Bong

Panalo ka talaga, Idol! Halos nakalimutan ko na na nakaupo ka nga pala sa Senado.

Sa wakas, tumayo ka din upang ipakita sa mga kapwa mo senador kung p’ano talaga makatulong sa ating Inang Bayan, partikular na sa mga kababaihan.

Mabuhay ka, Idol!  Sana dumami ang lahi mo. (Ay teka, madami na nga pala ang lahi mo — at ng tatay mo.)

Tama ka.  Isa talagang ‘pervert of the highest degree’ iyang si Hayden Kho.  Hindi gaya mo.  Sobrang manyak pa at mapagsamantala iyang si Hayden. Hindi gaya mo.  At ‘buang’ at ‘wala sa tamang pag-iisip’ talaga iyang tao na iyan — doktor pa naman. Hindi gaya ni Miriam.

Cost of living

I go to Mercury Drug each week, and each time I see these faces, queuing in front of the counter with a look that is both hesitant and indignant but ultimately resigned and begging for some small comfort they know will never come from the pharmacist staring them down.

They stand there, holding a piece of paper in one hand and a worn-down purse (they may as well use a plastic bag) in the other, sad, helpless, like they’re clawing through straws, furious, trying to climb up, though they probably know they’re grabbing at nothing but air. They seem to me like they’re drowning in air.

They’re the poor who, already deep in debt trying to make ends meet with a budget of less than a hundred a day for an oversized, very extended family of 12, has had, by some cruel trick of fate, to deal with a father or a husband or a grandparent who has tuberculosis or has suffered a stroke.

So, they line up in a drugstore with money borrowed from a loan shark or charged against their future salaries, so they can buy that antibiotic or pill that costs as much as a week’s worth of the food they are already in short supply of.

Call me emotional, but I think the biggest lie Big Pharma is making us swallow is that we don’t deserve to live if we can’t pay up because good health – with all the research and marketing that go into it – costs money.

How I spent my near-Christmas vacation

It was a cruel joke; Baz Luhrmann’s kind, the kind that blindsides on an idle Tuesday. I was locked, loaded and ready for that three-week vacation that was sedating my mind like an opium-induced dream and spicing up my pathetic moss-watching existence when it hit. I suddenly felt bloated and heavy, like a balloon that’s about to burst. The pain was searing, and it was creeping all over my abdomen like a pissed-off python.

The joke was, it struck just hours before my flight from Singapore to Manila. Just moments before, my head was swimming in a nice haze that pretty much involved a white, tropical beach in Batangas, a full-body massage at The Spa, and “nature-tripping” around Makati and Timog avenues with some dirty old friends from college. It was my sweet escape from the sweatshop, my chance to refurbish that bubbewrap of self-esteem my toxic boss had methodically stripped away.

That dream went “poof!” when my insides went “pop!”. Instead of a hammock on a beach in Batangas, I wound up on a bed in some second-class hospital in Paranaque.

Dear Mrs Arroyo: An open letter on our wacko maids

Thank you very much, Mrs Arroyo, for the heads up on all those loco maids the Philippines has been sending out all these years and for your newfound zeal to rid the world of them and your assurance that as long as presidential blood runs in your veins, you will never again let any luka-luka and baliw work for a God-fearing household in the First World.

Thank you, indeed, for making the world a safer place. Now, everyone can sleep soundly knowing that when they have a Filipino maid in their employ, they can work her to death without paying her a whiff, beat her to a pulp, molest her and basically strip her of her humanity and treat her worse than they would a stray dog, and she’d still come through the day singing, smiling and shouting, “Mabuhay, y’all!”

Kung bakit ako nangibang-bayan

Isinulat ko ito bago ako nagkaroon ng pagkakataong makapag-trabaho sa Singapore. Foreshadowing. Inaamin ko, sumuko na din ako.

PARA sa isang motoristang naipit sa trapiko, nakakairita naman talaga ang makakita ng isang convoy ng mga pribadong sasakyan na, sa tulong ng ilang police escorts, ay nagsusumiksik at nambabraso ng iba pang mga sasakyan gayong napakasikip na nga ng kalsada.

Higit nga bang mahalaga ang oras ng kung sino mang mga Ponsyo Pilatong ito kung ihahambing sa panahon nating mga hoi polloi?

Naalala ko tuloy ang essay ng nobelistang si F. Sionil Jose, ang Bakit Mahirap Tayong Mga Pilipino? Ayon sa kanya, mahirap tayo dahil mahirap tayo. Nasa kultura natin ang kahirapan. Bukod sa karamihan sa ati’y tamad, masyado rin tayong mahangin.

Housemates from hell

August last year was a particularly bad time to be looking for a  flat in Singapore. Property prices were going through the roof and, with them, rents. A four-room flat that would’ve cost just S$900 a month in rent a few months back was already going for S$1,400.  Still, I was lucky. I went to Singapore with a “live-in” partner in tow – the talented Mr ManF.

The company hired us at about the same time and gave us a relocation allowance of S$10,000 each. Between us, we had S$20,000 to spend on finding a flat, furnishing it and generally finding a place to park our assess in after a hard day at the office.

So, we wound up getting a pretty decent five-room flat for S$1,700 a month in Woodlands.