Passer-by

I am a downpour
in a sun-soaked beach,
the small spill
on a bottled quink;
I am the blues
in the sunset sky,
and a deer
on a dirt road
passing by;

I am the flares of light
on a photo you love,
and the small tear
on your favorite gloves;
I am the shipwreck
of your peaceful seas,
and the ghost
in your childlike dreams;

I am lingering, living
know nothing of my misdeal;
I am where you are
and I exist where you exist;
I am a piece of life,
disrupting only little;
I am a grey shade of color
in a solemn painting
you mistake for errors.

Inside and Out

I am plagued by the peace
of the outside;
and maddened
by the chaos
within;

blinded by the blazing
rays of morning;
and shrouded
by the dark of
nightfall;

I lay awake
always
wondering,
always moving,
never dreaming;

I am maddened by the silence
of the outside;
and killed
by the voices
within.

An open letter for the next six years and counting

Dear Filipinas,

Generally, I’ve kept to myself all this time. I’ve posted mundane things in the most pretentious fashion and I thought I could avoid the day I’m supposed to pray hard for my own people’s future.

Now that the elections are over I felt the need to remind the general public of my own fears. Hate me as you wish, but if none of these fears happen, then I could only be wrong. I’d be wasting only my time, worrying. In the fair chance that I might be right, then there’s nothing to do about it except fight, isn’t there? I won’t say I told you so–no, never. It wasn’t your fault you were deceived by so many promises made by selfish individuals who only care about dropping the statistics in crime rates but never addressing the economic and social crises motivating the crimes. I don’t blame you if you were swayed to think that grander, fancier malls meant that there is no increase in the urban poor. I won’t even blame you if you think that the rise in the number or rich people doesn’t come with poor people getting replaced by machines, forced to work abroad, or driven into contractual, underpaid work.

Here’s the thing: I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I hadn’t spoken loud enough. I’m sorry I didn’t try. I’m sorry I didn’t campaign harder so we wouldn’t end up electing foul-mouthed misogynists and LGBT-hating individuals. Here’s the thing, I don’t mind free speech, peace and justice, I really don’t–but don’t go around saying hate speech is a justifiable exercise of free speech,  fear to do anything as peace, and killing everyone without due process (it is a right, by the way) as tantamount to justice. Our votes do not imply direct approval to everything you do or say; we have the right to clamor and fight against it. This is a democracy after all, isn’t it? That one thing you all hold most dear? Then why do you we allow disrespectful people to push us around as if we didn’t know what’s right and wrong? We do you we allow them to suppress us from complaining about them not doing every single thing they are meant to do for us?

A mall’s great, thanks. But I really need to go to school. Don’t sell me out to transnational corporations who will one day turn me into a tool they could use overseas. Don’t forget about the books that I’m supposed to have, even if I had to just loan it in the library. Don’t force my indigenous brothers and sisters out of their own lands so you could continue to be dogs of the richer countries whose feet you so eagerly lick . Don’t put priority on “beautification”, use our taxes for some pretty plant, when you could have used that to help out the urban poor living near your malls and hotels and fancy restaurants. Don’t refer to my mother-tongue as barbaric, not suitable for debates, because why would you want to change the entire educational system if you didn’t want me to use it?

Here’s another thing: Why do you hate yourself so much? Why don’t you respect yourself and the people around you?

As a woman in the third world, recognition is one thing. But we are also starving. We’re starved and abused, disrespected and humiliated; and you call yourself a modern society that moves forwards instead of backwards? You make jokes of rape culture and don’t seem to mind throwing it out there for everyone to just laugh at. You are so obsessed by your macho standards that it makes me wonder whether or not you ever loved your own mothers. And don’t make moral and religious arguments about my LGBT brothers, sisters, siblings, etc. They are human beings and are entitled Human Rights. You might not be for gay marriage but at least respect them as people that are equally as competent as you are, as starved, as abused, and as important. The moment we start disrespecting each other is the last knot, and even I, don’t want to imagine the day that would happen.

Also, I write plenty. Not ready to be Palanca or Nobel prize worthy yet, but I’ll get there. I have been inspired by many writers–including our own. Don’t refer to foreign material as something immediately better. It would sadden me, since that would reflect how you truly view yourself as an artist, a person, or an educational institution. We take so much pride in the people who’ve won international awards for us–beauty pageants and sports alike–but it’s a shame that we could never see ourselves exceptional by our own standards, in our own time space.

Lastly, if you think of this letter as reasonable/brilliant/argumentative because I wrote it in English, then here’s to you: It wouldn’t change anything even if I change the language. My points and grievances will be the same, but what’s sadder is that you belittle your own language. You probably wouldn’t take me as seriously if I hadn’t done this. Wouldn’t have thought I was educated or sensible just because I didn’t write in the language of the “globally competent”.

If anything fails, come back to me in the next six years, and we’ll see where we’ve gone by then.