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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.
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
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.
