Even these words are inadequate for the loss you and yours suffered last Monday, August 23. I can only say this, on my behalf and that of my family and the people close to my heart: We are sorry that such a thing has happened in our land, to ones who were and should have been our honored guests.
In the light of the recent tragedy, it is ironic that one of the things we Filipinos have always prided ourselves on is hospitality. Most of us have been taught from early childhood that guests should be well taken care of, that no harm or trouble should touch them while they are with us. That one of our own, even if he were deranged, should commit such an atrocity is horrifying.
Along with the world, we were watching last Monday as the events at Quirino Grandstand unfolded. Along with the world, many of us were shocked, horrified, and greatly angered by what we saw. We did not expect, we did not want things to escalate the way they did. Many things went wrong, and the errors proved to be fatal.
As I watched the events unfold on live television, I was wondering whether it had occurred to the media that the hostage-taker was also watching the coverage or knowing of it in some way. I was asking why it did not seem to matter to them or to the police if the gunman knew what was being planned to be done against him. If the police had remembered that the hostage-taker had been one of them and presumably knew what they would do, what they should have been trained to do, in order to neutralize him and save his hostages. At the end, when the police were trying to get into the bus, I was all but screaming at the TV, asking why they did not seem to know what they were doing. Many of us were mortified at the level of incompetence that was exhibited that day, resulting in the loss of many lives. So much could have been done in a different manner.
Today, I saw those photographs circulating on the Internet about people who had their pictures taken in front of the bus as if it were a tourist spot. It is not my place to speak on the behalf of the people who were in those photographs; if I could censure them for their apparent disrespect, I would. There are no excuses that I can make; it was a thoughtless, disgraceful act. Again, I am sorry.
We have lost face before the whole world. And we have to live with it.
I understand your anger and grieve with your loss. I wish that there was something I could do to make amends for the great wrong that we have done to you, aside from pushing for changes in my country so that such a horrifying thing will not happen again.
When I was a bratty eleven-year-old first year high school student who thought she knew a lot about the world even at her young age, teacher evaluation time came around in our national high school. I don't know if this practice still prevails, but at that time, the students were given survey forms and asked to evaluate their teachers anonymously. Although the forms were the kind where you rated certain factors on a scale of one to ten, there was a space at the bottom where you could write "further comments and suggestions." Needless to say, all hell broke loose. It was the first time the students had ever been given that much power: to say what they thought of their teachers without fearing retribution. And we used it with a vengeance.
"Miss X always wears short skirts even though she does not have good legs." "Mrs. Y is boring. Why does she keep making us memorize those boring dates?" "Why do we need to learn math? Will the world end if we don't know the value of 3x + y? And the teacher teaching the subject is ugly, too." "Mr. D should lower his voice. He always startles me." "Mrs. G does not know how to iron her clothes correctly. Why does she come to class in wrinkled clothes? It's as wrinkled as the way she teaches."
Ah, the harshness of the young desperate to prove that despite their age, they knew something, thought something, should be applauded for something, should be lauded for pointing out the ills of society which they thought nobody else had noticed.
What we did not realize was that the teachers themselves were able to read the comments. Although they did not know who wrote which exact comment, they did know which class certain comments came from. Boy, did we not know what was in store for us that day that all our teachers marched into class carrying the survey sheets.
"Class, before we begin, I want to ask you something," Mrs. G began. She was the math teacher who got criticized for her looks and her clothes, and let's face it, math was definitely the least favorite subject in our class.
She held up a piece of white paper with a small inkblot on it.
"Can you tell me what this is, class?"
We all stared at her like she was crazy, and finally someone said, "That's an inkblot, ma'am." "Yeah, an inkblot," someone else chimed in. "That's an inkblot all right," everyone chorused.
"So it's an inkblot, class?"
"Yes, ma'am, what else could it be?"
"I have one more question for you, class. Why is it that you saw only the small inkblot and did not see the white paper?"
Total silence.
"Class," she said in a strong yet trembling voice, "your teachers are doing their best to give you an education. Sometimes you don't like your subjects, sometimes you think certain things are stupid, sometimes you even think your teachers are stupid. You are certainly free to question many things, but you forgot that everything is capable of being viewed in different ways. What if your teacher likes to wear short skirts because she can walk better in them? Do only people with good legs have the right to wear short skirts? If your teacher is ugly, does that reflect on her qualifications to teach you math? What if your teacher had to cook food and iron the clothes of her husband and children first, and had to leave off ironing her own clothes for last, so that she was not able to iron them at all because she would be late for class? Does that reflect on her knowledge of the subject she is trying to teach you? Class, I know you're one of the most intelligent classes I've ever taught in all my years in this school. But you forgot that your teachers are people, too. Why did you see only the inkblot, no matter how small, but did not even mention the white paper that was bigger?"
I am sure we all came home from school in a reflective mood that day. I certainly did. Why did we see the inkblot, and not the paper? Why did we take pains to detail all the things that we didn't like about our teachers, and did not ever mention anything positive? Perhaps it was because the paper was a given. It was there in the background; it went without saying. Perhaps it was because we thought the teachers were already too full of their power and their supposed infallibility as teachers, and they needed to be taken down a notch. (Most of us did hold the attitude that teachers and authority figures were not to be questioned or doubted, although my teachers would later tell me that that was not true of me, as I was their enfant terrible and some of them lived in fear that I would blurt out something they could not answer and put them to shame.) Perhaps we thought that there had already been a lot of positive things said about our teachers and that nobody had ever bothered to point out that there were things about them that were not so positive. We did forget one thing, as Mrs. G said: Everything can be viewed in many different ways. As with the donut and the hole, it depends on how you look at it. To dwell on just one aspect of it, however, would not be fair to the others, especially if you magnify it to the point that it is made to appear the sum total of the thing. If you see only the inkblot, what about the paper?
Also, she said, teachers are people, too. People should be treated with basic courtesy, with respect for what we call their human dignity. As there are always different ways to view things, so too are there different ways to state things: some offensively, others courteously but no less firmly. I realized that she was trying to tell us that although you may not agree with someone, although you may question someone, you should always keep in mind that he/she is also a person, that you can express that disagreement and doubt in a manner that is courteous without being less forceful. That you can argue with or criticize someone without calling them names.
"Class, most of all," Mrs. G said that day, "it would really help if you offered a solution to something if you must criticize it! Why criticize it, especially that harshly, if you cannot help the matter? You're only adding to the problem, not solving it." Well, yes. Although I might not agree fully with offering criticism only if you have a solution to propose, bashing really doesn't help, it just makes matters worse. Oftentimes bashing just serves to show off what a person thinks he or she knows, instead of correcting the problem. Instead of just pointing out the inkblot and making much of it, why not offer ways to erase it or turn it into something good?
----
Mrs. G, you know who you are. See, I never forgot your lesson. Thank you, Ma'am.
Just because I'm straight doesn't mean I'm not voting for Ang Ladlad party-list on Monday.
Logically, I should vote for a women's rights party-list. Or something. But, I figured, there are many women's and children's rights advocates in Congress already. On the other hand, there are no LGBT rights advocates.
This is a decision that crystallized, actually, long before the infamous Comelec decision on Ang Ladlad, and its subsequent overturn by the Supreme Court.
Credit it, in part, to BB Gandanghari. Yes, that BB Gandanghari and her “Be all that you can be” thing, when she tried to explain the death of heartthrob Rustom Padilla and the birth of BB Gandanghari. Assigned to write articles about her, I had to find a deeper understanding of the larger picture, the situation of the LGBTs, in order to do justice to her story. This article was one of the results, the reason why I can easily address a member of the LGBT sector by the gender he/she prefers, in BB's case, “she.”
When Comelec came out with their homophobic decision to disqualify Ang Ladlad as a party list, I was one of those who reacted in indignation. The memory of BB and Dee came back full-force: why deny them the representation they so badly need in Congress? If women's and children's rights groups had representation, why not the LGBTs? Even security guards could be granted representation, but not, it seemed, a much-maligned and misunderstood, often denigrated and overlooked, substantial sector of our society clearly in need of representation. Ang Ladlad did not disappoint me; they fought it out all the way to the highest tribunal in the land. When the Supreme Court decision came out, I cheered.
That does it, I said. That's the party-list I'm voting for. They want representation, they fought for it, they deserve to get it. Besides, I asked myself, in which other congress in the world do LGBTs have a voice in their own right? Perhaps this is the first. And I want to give them, if only for once, that victory.
BB, Dee, and all the LGBTs out there: This vote's for you.
Ohoho, the raised eyebrows. The shock on your faces. It tickles my funnybone.
I actually first thought of titling this "where have all the nice guys gone?" Then, having read all the rants asking why girls pass over nice guys in favor of guys who are not so nice, who mostly treat them like dirt, and enumerating all the virtues of the nice guys that the girls have passed over, I realized: I don't really want a nice guy as described in those rants-- I want a man. That word implying not just a nice guy, but a guy who can stand up for himself, who knows his own mind, speaks it, and acts on it.
Sooooo...
I don't really want just a nice guy-- I want a man.
I wouldn't mind a nice guy. I wouldn't mind a shoulder to cry on, a pat on the back, having doors opened for me. I would appreciate it very much if a guy waited outside the department store dressing room for me without grumbling (and passed honest and appreciative judgment on whatever I tried on). But, as a friend of mine once said, it's to a girl's advantage to have a guy best friend-- most of the advantages of having a boyfriend with none of the advantages (er, guy best friends, you know I love you, come back here).
It's just that I'd like a guy to be more assertive. Girls like bad boys, so they say-- and being a girl myself, I'd say it's because the bad boys are always so assertive. If they want you, they tell you without hemming and hawing about it. A girl does like being swept off her feet once in a while. If we already know you are a nice guy, it won't tarnish your image if you threw caution to the winds sometimes. As Amelia Peabody Emerson once told her son in one of Elizabeth Peters' books, a lady might like it when a gentleman finds her beauty so irresistible that it overcomes his scruples. So you may dance attendance on a certain girl all you want, but unless you decide to cross the line, the girl won't think of you as anything more than a best friend, even though she might have entertained the thought that perhaps you were having different feelings for her. As long as you act like a best friend, you'll get treated like one, because the girl won't be able to read your mind and won't want to assume something that isn't there. (Go watch the K-Drama Shining Inheritance. Pay close attention to Sun Woo Hwan and Park Jun Se.) Then, when a badder guy than you comes into her life and latches on to her first, she will turn her attention to him... and even if you confess after that it will be too late. She saw him first, and she might think that you just realized you liked her as more than a friend when she was already with somebody else. Either way, once someone gets her attention ahead of you, you're doomed, unless the other guy is such a jerk that she realizes you're a knight in shining armor in comparison. But even then, human nature being kind of tunnel-vision in that way, it's a long shot.
I know someone who does the best-friend routine as a way of weeding out the wimps from the men. She calls them all "kuya," and waits to see if someone would dare to break the "kuya" assumption. Until now, she bewails the fact that even when the guys show signs of interest in her, none of them ever tells her that they felt any differently. One of our other friends told her that it was likely none of them ever would because they thought she would not be interested in them aside from being a friend. Which begs the question: Does the guy only show open interest, then, when the girl does? To me that would be wimpy... why should it be the girl that first crossed the line? The guy who would wait for the girl to do that is not worth crossing the line for. Corollarily, a girl who would still deny you once you crossed that line for them either really isn't interested in you apart from friendship and will act that way, or go on with that "we're just friends" schtick but take advantage of your feelings, in which case they're probably not worth it.
Sometimes, too, guys simply seem too good to be true (and have girls secretly asking themselves the questions: Is he a saint? No wait... is he gay?). Then they begin to doubt themselves: If he's a saint... then he's too good for me and I don't deserve him. We're illogical that way. If he's gay, then I shouldn't fall for him as I might just get hurt if he rejects me. It's that "too good" thing that really traps us. (Go read Jane Eyre and watch Queen Seon Deok. Pay attention to St. John Rivers and Edward Rochester in the former, and to Yushin and Bidam in the latter... then ask yourself why Jane fell for Rochester and Seon Deok fell for Bidam. Until now I want to whack the quintessential nice guy Yushin on the head with a palu-palo for being too nice. He had Seon Deok right there... and he stepped aside and let her fall for somebody else.)
The part about not wanting to ruin a friendship also rings true: for girls who've been dumped, friends probably last more than boyfriends. In which case she wants to keep you for as long as she can, logic being that boyfriends come and go, but friends are forever. So you're more important to her, really. It's up to you to prove it to her that a best friend can be a boyfriend; better yet, that a best friend can be a boyfriend who will never leave. Otherwise, she'll settle for half a loaf... a friend who will always be around, even if she has to share him with other people.
All of this really poses an knotty dilemma. Some people who put emphasis on trust might view falling in love with a friend as a betrayal of that trust. A guy may be hesitant of telling a girl his feelings because she might feel that he really wanted something else all along and was just stringing her along with his talk of friendship; a girl might think, and for good reason, that a guy friend would leave if she fell for him. It happens. It comes to an impasse between one's own concept of what is honorable and what is not. If you really were just going through a nice guy act just to get laid, then "get thee away," you're worse than the baddest of bad boys, and don't have the right to gripe about how nice guys finish last, because you really aren't a nice guy at heart.
A real man, on the other hand, to me is a completely different thing. He'd be the guy who does all the things the nice guys do but knows when to put his foot down. He'd be the guy who'd tell me honestly, but nicely, what he feels, and who'd have the strength to face whatever I told him in return. He'd insist that I stop playing around and give him a straight answer, instead of giving in to me every time I dragged him along as "a symbolic warm body for my ego." A real man has enough self-respect not to let me make a fool out of him, and enough respect for me to speak to me honestly about how I make him feel. He would know how to be supportive and protective without being suffocating, and how to let me do my own thing without being too compliant.
So yes, I really don't want a nice guy. Bring on the men.
I saw a picture that had been making the rounds lately... a rumored Filipino adaptation (and we've been getting a lot of those lately) this time of Meteor Garden. Remember it? San Cai and the four boys of F4, which spawned such F4 mania that my mom still has F4 placemats and coasters to this very day. As we all know, Meteor Garden was but one of the small-screen adaptations of a popular manga... the other adaptations include Hanayori Dango and Boys over Flowers. I admit to being one of those who watched Meteor Garden off and on during the height of the F4 fever just to find out what the fuss was all about. While I did appreciate the charms of the four guys that made up F4, I couldn't help but think that it was the very foreign-ness of the series that made its quirks palatable to Pinoy audiences. I mean, really, what self-respecting Pinoy 'kada, in view of the "macho" Pinoy culture, would call itself the "Flower Four?"
On the heels of the rumored Meteor Garden adaptation comes the rumors of yet another adaptation of a foreign TV series, this time a personal favorite: Shining Inheritance, which had only concluded its Philippine run early this January. I don't think you'll find a fan of that drama in these islands more devoted than I am, but all I could think upon hearing the rumor was : Oh, shoot no, you'll ruin it for me! I had been thinking recently, what if Shining Inheritance had a sequel, since I hated that it had to end. But then I thought... nah, it's best that way, to leave it as it is. It's the chemistry between the characters of Hwan and Eun Sung that made it so great to watch, and Lee Seung Gi and Han Hyo Joo played them well. I don't want them to be superseded by another Juan and Inna. For that matter, I watched the series in both the original Korean with subtitles on the internet and the Tagalog dub on TV, and was annoyed with some of the changes in the dialogue, as sometimes perhaps the original words did not fit with the character's lip movements when translated, or perhaps the dubbers thought that the Filipino audience would not understand references to Korean culture, I don't know. For me, since the series was after all Korean, the references to Korean culture was part of the whole parcel and I was glad to learn something new.
Let's face it, local TV nowadays is full of derivative shows, either sequels to old shows, remakes of old movies or soaps, or local adaptations of foreign series. Everything is something old made over. It gives new meaning to the old adage that "Filipinos are great imitators," doesn't it? We've got the local versions of Deal or No Deal, Who Wants to be a Millionaire, Survivor, even Pinoy Idol. We have the Pinoy versions of Marimar, Ugly Betty, and now Full House... coming soon, Endless Love. Goddammit, can't you even give us something new to watch? What is this rut you guys are in? What's next, a local version of CSI or 24? Why can't you put on a series on Lapu-lapu, Bantugan, or Mga Ibong Mandaragit? Our school children know who Jumong and Jang Geum and Seon Deok are, but do they know who Maria Makiling and Bernardo Carpio are? They could probably name the hierarchies of old Korean nobility, but couldn't probably name all ten Bornean datus from the Maragtas (Datus Puti, Bangkaya, Lumbay, Balinsuna, Paiburong, Dumalogdog, Dumangsol, Padohinog, Sumakwel, Dumangsil.) They could learn Japanese or Chinese or Korean, but not Ilocano or Cebuano or Bikolano if those are not their native tongues.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that we should not learn something about other places. I'm just saying that it's just plain wrong that we don't pay as much attention to the richness of our own history and culture as we do to that of other places. Why does everything have to be an imitation of what's elsewhere? Why can't we create something that's uniquely Filipino? And don't give me any of that crap about it "not selling," about it being "not interesting enough." If you couldn't make the old stories, or stories about our own culture, interesting enough to sell, then you probably aren't good enough writers. And you have a captive audience, for goodness' sake. Look at the crap they swallow right now because there isn't anything better. I guess though, that it is easy for just any paid hack to churn out reams of derivative junk on formula. As long as it sells, it doesn't matter if it's junk, right? As long as the advertisers keep paying for ads, and people go on watching because there isn't anything better. If the Koreans could turn out beautiful versions of their own epics and capture a global audience, why can't we? Let's leave the foreign-made originals as they are, perfectly good originals that we all fell in love with, and create some good originals of our own.
Among the books I read in my early childhood were Nancy Drews and Hardy Boys. I was inspired to create something like that on my own, drawing characters from the people around me. The only problem was that they all ended up with American names, and I had written about twenty pages before it dawned on me that characters with American names do not live in a small barrio in the Philippines. I was about nine or ten years old, and the problem was that the American small town and its culture was more familiar territory to me in books than were the Philippine barrio and town. I would only learn much much later that it is always best to write about what you know, that no matter how fictitious your stories are, they should always be
rooted in something that is real to you in order for you to do justice to them. I ripped up what I had written and resolved from then on that I would always try to write about what I knew, with characters that were like the people around me, that I would try my best to come up with original stories and not derivations of those I read. From then on, I paid more attention to what was around me so that I could infuse local color into what I write. My recent NaNoWriMo effort, "The Secret of the Cottage," hearkens back to those stories I once wrote for fun when I was younger; the characters, Kat and her brothers Ian and Andy and her friends Pie and Michael and Eddie and Toffee could be any one of the people around me when I was growing up.
For God's sake, stop with these derivative things already and give us something new for a change.
In short, sorry for the hiatus, people. There were a lot of posts that never made it to this blog in that period of time I wasn't posting in it. For example, I was planning on my 30th birthday "midlife crisis" post which never materialized, lol. IDK... a natural reservation against baring all? A lot of other things have happened in the meantime, especially on the political scene, which I never got around to formulating concrete commentary over. Anyway, I'm back... I hope. LOL. *sticks charger in socket and zaps self*
I was in the middle of the crush in Divisoria yesterday, looking for a black dress I needed for an upcoming event, when I happened upon a vendor of those small cheap "stuff toys" that look vaguely like a cross between pigs and bears and are wrapped in a sort of netting and tied at the top. All they're good for is sitting on your dresser and gathering dust, like cloth bric-a-brac. I should know. I've got some of them on my dresser, all "gifts" from people on some holiday or occasion or other.
There was this guy, making a selection among those stuffed toys, cradling about a half-dozen of them in his arms and choosing more. "Dagdagan mo pa, marami pa akong pagbibigyan (Add some more, I have many people to give these to)," I heard him tell the vendor as I pushed my way past them.
I wondered to myself why, of the myriad gift choices one can make in Divisoria, the guy ended up buying those. Was it because he couldn't think of anything more to give and these were the cheapest? Or that he didn't really care about what would happen to the gift, as long as he was able to give something? I couldn't help but think that it would just be a waste of money. All in the spirit of giving.
I remembered my own Christmas list. Family members and friends and godchildren. Many of them would be expecting at least some little gift from me, although a very few of them would manifest their disappointment if the gift didn't materialize. To many of them, there were so many things that I wanted to give, but because there are so many of them, my budget would be up in protest if I did what I wanted. After all, for the past several years, that's all my 13th-month pay has ever been good for-- Christmas presents, and the cost of either sending them through LBC or traveling to be able to give them out myself.
My aunt once asked, perhaps unwisely, why I didn't have any substantial savings to buy myself the things I needed for Christmas. She asked this on the occasion of my last trip home for that holiday, the bulk of my luggage being Christmas gifts. Since I had also just shelled out the better part of the cost for the noche buena, I snapped, "Because I keep spending it on tickets to go home, since you keep reproaching me that I can't even be home for that one holiday in the year that the family should be together. Because I keep spending it on gifts and presents for all of you, since you would say Paskong Pasko na nga lang, ang laki ng sweldo mo, hindi mo man lang kami maalala, Paskong Pasko na nga lang, nagdadamot ka pa (Even on Christmas, with a big salary, you couldn't even remember to give us something, even on Christmas, you would be stingy)."
I couldn't help but think: To hell with this Christmas thing. What if I didn't give anyone anything next year? Picture the sad faces of my godchildren, the surprise on the faces of my so-called friends, the annoyance on the faces of my family.
Don't get me wrong: I love giving. Sometimes I find excuses just to give people things. It's when the thing becomes an obligation, when people begin expecting me to give them things, that I begin to find it irksome, that the joy goes out of it. I end up looking for cheap gifts that don't really mean anything, like those stuffed thingies, just so I've fulfilled the obligation. I don't have an obligation to be nice and generous to everybody just because it's supposed to be Christmas, dammit. To tell the truth, I've given up believing in that holiday a while back-- it's just that old habits die hard.
I've been living on my own for the past five years. Christmas has ceased to be the wonderful thing that it used to be for me, for a long time now. It's ended up as just another day when there's no work; if I don't go to my parents' house, I end up spending it alone. If friends don't invite me to spend the holidays with them and their family, I do spend the holiday alone. Even then, spending the holidays with them just makes me sad because I know that I would not have had anywhere else to go, that I'm just a saling-pusa in their festivities. Even then, there have been one or two Christmases that I've spent sitting at the back of the church, crying.
For this Christmas, I am very seriously considering getting so stone-cold drunk that I will pass out and not wake up until the next day. To hell with it all.
Bah, humbug.
I was recently invited to a fiesta in Bulacan. My roommates had been busy for weeks with the preparations and I had hardly seen them in our shared digs. Finally the preparations had been completed and the fiesta was in full swing. When I stepped down from the jeepney I suddenly felt as if I had been transported into a movie... one of those old movies where a visitor arrives for a fiesta and sees the marching bands go by, and the people in their best clothes greeting one another in the streets, and everybody goes from house to house partying till they're stuffed.
Of course we had fiestas where I was born and grew up. Those were mostly centered around the plaza, though. We usually had activities at the plaza every day and night for the whole week, usually basketball and volleyball tournaments and martial arts and synchronized calesthenics and dancing exhibitions. There would be a perya in the vacant field beside the plaza, filled with people at all hours, and if we were lucky, a ferris wheel. At night there would be beauty pageants and dances.
The last day and night of the fiesta would be the grandest. There would be a parade in the afternoon, with the school majorettes and drum and bugle corps leading it. There would be people from each purok with their floats... if it was a good year and there was money to spend, the floats would be trucks, if not, they'd be traysikads (bicycles with sidecars) or tricycles. The purok's princess, usually an elementary (aged 6 to 12) or high school (aged 13 to 17) girl, depending on the year's criteria, who has been picked by the people of the purok for beauty, talent, personality or popularity, or affluence, rode on the float with her escort, usually the purok's most personable boy of the year.
Although there will most likely have been beauty pageants the previous nights, the queen and princesses in the parade are not the winners of the pageants. They are selected by their puroks, and their families and neighbors then endeavor to raise donations for them in the form of money, which will be used to supplement the fiesta fund. The candidate who raises the most money becomes the queen, and the next four are her princesses.
I often took part in fiesta exhibitions when I was still in elementary school, as a majorette or a member of the synchronized dance or calesthenics exhibitions. My pet peeve though was not getting to be one of the princesses because my family didn't have any money, and on those occasions when someone approached my dad to ask if I could be the purok's princess he would always refuse. How I would look at the queen in her white gown with silver and gold embroidery and her long train that stretched out behind her for two meters and was held up by two little girls dressed just as beautifully.
The years passed, however, and my family's lot in life improved, so that my sister got to be a fiesta princess years later. Fortunately for me, too, when I got to high school our school principal picked me to become the school's princess for a fiesta, so I got to ride on a float and wear gowns after all. By then, I was already wondering why I wanted to do that sort of thing in the first place, lol. I had discovered that makeup made my face and neck feel sticky and that the heavy gowns made me feel hot and itchy. So much for wanting to be a princess!
Anyway, our fiestas were more about the plaza and all the presentations. As for the food, though, not everyone prepared fiesta food. Often, only the more affluent families did, and everyone just ate lunch, merienda, or dinner there. My own family only took the trouble to prepare fiesta food only when we were expecting guests from out of the barrio. Otherwise, we were all just busy preparing for whatever parts we had in the programs and were at the plaza most of the time. My mom would just cook spaghetti or pancit and a meat dish like afritada or pochero, and make macaroni salad, and perhaps suman and other kakanin, and that was it. Our guests ate lunch, went with us to the plaza and watched the presentations or played at the perya, and went back to our house for dinner before going home.
In Bulacan, the first thing I noticed was the sheer number of guests in my roommate's house. Neighbors, friends and relatives were there with their children in tow, and guests kept arriving and leaving. The house was dressed up to the nines and there was a buffet table on the porch groaning with food. At the side of the house was another table laden with drink, where the men stayed. People were also talking about the houses they had already visited and who was serving what dish and whether someone had cooked her specialty for this fiesta.
I also noticed a marching band passing by and naively asked about the route of the parade, since in our place, the band marches and plays only in the parade and in its presentation during the program that follows. My roommate laughed at me because apparently, in their place, the fiesta committee hires a band or "mosiko" that just goes around the barrio playing tunes. *facepalm*
The last guest finally staggered out the gate at nearly ten o'clock that night, laden with parcels of take-home food, and my roommate's mom said that it was time to unwrap the gifts. I was like, whoa, gifts? because I knew that it wasn't the birthday of anyone in their family. Apparently, it was customary for guests to bring a gift for their hosts. uh-oh. And I hadn't brought anything! So I just commented that I didn't know Christmas came early in their town, and they all laughed. The gifts usually consisted of household items, such as dishes, pots and pans, blankets, towels, and figurines or odd knick knacks to display. Well, I thought, now I know what to bring next time. If I'm ever invited back, that is.
But the day wasn't over yet, for we then headed to my other roommate's house (they're cousins), had a little midnight snack, and videoked into the wee hours of the morning. Wheeee. The next day, the whole place was strangely quiet as everyone recovered from the previous day's events.
Filipinos all over the archipelago celebrate fiestas, but apparently, we all have our little customs that vary from place to place. All I know is, if I ever get invited to another Bulacan fiesta, I should remember to drop by and buy some housewares.
Thanks to my roommates and their wonderful families for the invitation!
Whew. Parokya sa Web, the virtual parish of Running Priest Fr. Robert Reyes, turns a year old on Monday, September 21, 2009. I can't believe it's been a year since I first met Fr. Robert, when we were still setting up Parokya sa Web on the fledgling Philippine Online Chronicles. POC was only a couple of months old at that time.
I'd seen Fr. Robert before on TV, and was curious about the priest who dared to defy the conventions and speak out for what he believed was right. He became a priest without an earthly parish, with a scattered flock. Yet he still believed that what he was doing, what he was fighting for, was right.
When I met Fr. Robert, I realized how revolutionary he was in his own way. How many of us would dare to face censure and jeers and even ostracism for what we believe is right? Far too many of us decide to back down, to hide. Though we may be screaming inside ourselves in anger and frustration, even just the thought of facing the world's contempt is too hard for us to attempt. But Fr. Robert did it, and he is still doing it everyday until this very minute.
I'm not a good Catholic; I can't even be called a Catholic anymore unless it's a lapsed one. Too many policies and stands taken by the church anger me and make me feel that I cannot stay a member of something when I don't agree with its principles. Yet Fr. Robert, even when he dared to challenge many of the decisions and pronouncements of the local church, stayed as devout as ever, something that I always wondered how to do. In spite of all his trials and tribulations, he has stayed steadfast to his faith, has stayed serene and amiable throughout it all, and has even reached out his hand to people from other faiths and does not judge them, but simply accepts. I can't help but admire him. When I read his daily reflections on Parokya sa Web, it helps me attain at least some small measure of his serenity and faith.
Kubol Pag-asa and the Philippine Online Chronicles will be having an event for bloggers to meet and greet Fr. Robert Reyes on Monday, September 21, 2009, from 3:00 to 5:00 pm at Conspiracy Bar, Quezon City. Please come and meet him, no matter what your denomination.
I was already afraid of running late this morning, so I hailed a taxi at the corner of Araneta and Aurora. The taxi driver had the radio on and was listening to the morning news. Something, I believe, about the Lakas-Kampi meeting to be held later in the day.
I commented that we would finally get to know who the administration candidate would be. He answered that whoever the administration chose didn't matter because he wasn't voting for that candidate. I asked him why.
Because we need a change, he said. Because the present administration should be thrown out and replaced with people who would actually do something for the country. Replaced with people who would actually think of the country first before themselves and their pockets.
"Di ako naniniwala doon sa sinasabi nilang di pwedeng tanggalin dahil walang ipapalit, mam. Hindi naman ang ipapalit ang tanong doon eh, ang tanong eh kung karapat-dapat pa ba silang manatili sa puwesto. Sa ibang bansa nga, hindi pa ganun kasama ang ginagawa ng pinuno nila tinatanggal na nila. Di kaya yung tao na mismo kusang nagbibitiw. Dito hindi. Sinusuka na natin at sinisipa nagsusumiksik pa rin sa puwesto."
[I don't believe in what they are saying that we cannot remove them because there is no one to replace them, ma'am. The question is not who to replace them with, the question is whether they are still fit for the post. In other countries, even if their leaders aren't that bad yet, they already remove them. Or the person himself voluntarily steps down. Here, it doesn't happen. We are already vomiting them and kicking them out but they still insist on staying in office.]
Why didn't he like the present administration, I asked.
"Kasi mam, wala silang honor."
[Because, ma'am, they don't have any honor.]
He went on to say that the administration said that our lives had improved but they haven't. "Ngayon yata tayo pinakamahirap, mam. [It seems we're poorest right now.]"
"Pero wais din tong administration na to. Noong magkakagulo na sana dahil sa NBN, bigla nilang pinalabas na kapos tayo sa bigas. Siyempre, pinapili tayo kung anong iintindihin, yung corruption o yung sikmura natin. Kaya imbes na magrally, pinili natin pumila dun sa bigas."
[But this administration is wise. When it seemed there would be trouble over the NBN, they suddenly made it appear that there was a rice shortage. Of course, we were given a choice which we would attend to first, corruption or our hungry stomachs. So instead of rallying, we lined up to buy rice instead.]
That was why he was happy the election was near, he said. So that the present administration would be replaced.
I asked him if he already had a candidate for president.
Yes, he said with pride. Of course. Noynoy Aquino. He asked if I had already chosen a candidate.
I said I was still thinking over my choice. What if I chose someone and he turned out to be as bad as the present administration?
He shook his head. Not Noynoy, he said. Noynoy was the son of Ninoy and Cory. He had been brought up well. He knew what his parents believed in.
"Kahit na mam, sigurado ako, hindi siya magiging sinsama ng mga nakaupo ngayon. [Even then, I'm sure he won't be as bad as the ones in power now.]"
What if, I said, the administration would do something to be able to stay in power beyond 2010?
"Dapat hindi tayo nasa bahay lang mam. Dapat lumaban tayo para pigilan na mangyari yun. Dapat magsalita tayo. [We shouldn't just stay at home, ma'am. We should fight to stop that happening. We should speak out.]"
At that point we had arrived at the office and I paid him and disembarked. I didn't even think to note his name, or the name and number of his taxi. But from my earlier frantic mood, I felt considerably better because of that conversation.
Mabuhay ka, mamang driver, kung sino ka man. [Long live you, Mr. Driver, whoever you are.] I hope there are more and more Filipinos like you.
With the 2010 elections coming up, I was happy to see the beginnings of intelligent political discourse by Filipinos on the Internet, aside from the ones I overheard at the sari-sari store at the corner, at the jeepney terminal, and between even my neighbors across the street as they did their laundry by our front steps.
On Plurk, plurksters engaged in lively political debate the likes of which you rarely see outside the academe or even in the hallowed (or hollowed) halls of the legislature nowadays. From debates on Noynoy Aquino's fitness for the presidency, to whether or not he is just riding the media hype, to approbation of Winnie Monsod's grilling of Mikey Arroyo on TV, to reactions to Ping Lacson's exposes, I was beginning to think that yes, perhaps Filipinos are truly waking up to their obligations and responsibilities as citizens.
Then recently someone threw a spanner into the works. To a thread discussing why Noynoy Aquino is being grilled over Hacienda Luisita while Villar is not being asked about the C-5 "insertions," this 17-year-old girl who called herself "Iena" retorted,
"ang pnakamagandang tanung e!!bkt kau namr0mr0bLEma niAn???di nga namr0bLema ung g0byern0 e!!"
For literate persons, what she said was, "The best question is!! Why are you people worrying over that? The government isn't even worried!"
EPIC FAIL.
Today, in the midst of a discussion of Ping Lacson's exposes, this 21-year-old female who called herself, aptly enough, "karenderia," (I am reminded of Vilma Santos's immortal "Para kang karenderyang bukas sa lahat ng gustong kumain (You are like a cheap diner that is open to all who want to eat)!") interjected,
"ang dami niong alam.. dami niong galit sa mga pulitiko wala ka namang naambag sa pilipinas"
Again, for literate people, she said, "You people know too much.. You are so angry at politicians when you haven't contributed anything to the Philippines."
Asked if she had contributed anything, she confidently answered that she had. Asked to enumerate her contributions, she retorted that there were too many to fit in the thread. And expressed joy at having "stolen the scene (agaw eksena)" in the thread. Although she seemed to have raised a point at first, her answers became more and more jeering and sarcastic, so that people on the thread chose to treat her as a troll and ignore her.
Perhaps I am only exhibiting what one of my Law professors once called "intellectual arrogance." Perhaps I am only being arrogant and blind because of who and what I perceive myself to be. But it is frustrating to engage people in serious discussion if they choose to ridicule the process. Frustrating and sad to see that there are people so caught up in their own images in the mirror that everything else without them in the center is a subject to be ridiculed. That there are people like those who suddenly enter and disrupt a discussion, no matter how serious, just to attract attention to themselves, without anything intelligent to contribute to the discourse. Suddenly I fear for the future generation, a generation that can't even spell and seems not to know proper grammar. Will they all grow up to be as shallow and silly and egocentric, caring for nothing else but their clothes and their gadgets and the pettiness of their lives? Will they be sheep, complacent in their silly, shallow lives, not knowing or caring what happens around them until the holocaust sweeps them away without warning?
I know I could look at them as objects of ridicule, of contempt. I could laugh at the silly, ignorant, unwitting sheep. But I want to cry instead.
Or, Bloggers aren't freeloaders. Really.
I am reminded of the old definition of the legal profession by Dean Roscoe Pound... "a group of men pursuing a learned art as a common calling in the spirit of a public service, no less a public service because it may incidentally be a means of livelihood. The pursuit of the learned art in the spirit of public service is the primary purpose."
In a sense, blogging is also like that. If you are a blogger who naturally loves writing, sharing your thoughts, talking with other people in the hope that by what you have shared you have rendered some help, "writing a letter to a world that never wrote to you," then the writing itself and the sharing is its own reward. No matter that your status as a blogger may entitle you to some perks along the way, or gain you entree into some things that would normally not be available to the average citizen. Those perks and advantages are privileges and not rights, and as such really shouldn't be abused. Perhaps it might make you some money, perhaps not. But the moment you let the money and the benefits take center stage and the bloggership relegated to a secondary purpose, you have already betrayed your calling. You have put the effect ahead of the cause. You have those privileges because you are a blogger, not the other way around.
Expenses come naturally when you blog. You buy a computer, you pay for electricity, you pay for your internet. You spend for transportation to an event. That's part of the calling you have dedicated yourself to. I bought a laptop and prepaid broadband so I could blog more, but I don't really count that cost. The pleasure I get from writing is enough. The pleasure of meeting and making friends with my fellow bloggers, the pleasure of finding that someone from a distant country has commented on my blog because what I wrote struck some chord inside him or her or given him or her some small understanding into my country and culture, can't be bought anywhere in the world.
This thing about expenses reminds me of that little story about the child who billed his parents for every little thing he did for them. His parents paid up, but left the child with a bill of their own: For loving you and taking care of you when you were born-- no charge.
The funny thing is, many of the greatest blogs I've read, those that contain well-written, thought-provoking posts, posts that leave me rubbing my chin and feeling the glow that comes with having read a good piece of writing, usually have minimal or no ads at all. The Daily Dose is one. The Marocharim Experiment is another. I'd have to use up a lot more space to mention all the ones I like, but many of those on my blog roll are good examples.
On the other hand, many blogs that get a lot of traffic and have high page rank on Google, often end up there because of SEO optimization and don't really contain any substance. No originality, so I really don't get anything new from them. They remind me of a robot that has been programmed to spew banalities, and I navigate away as fast as I can, dissatisfied.
So, are bloggers really freeloaders? I have to disagree with this. Bloggers are not freeloaders, because those who are freeloaders are really not fit to be called bloggers. Nuff said.
Sometimes I think of myself as one of the Epigoni. The After-Born, as they were called, were the children of the Seven Against Thebes, the seven Greek chieftains who marched against the City of Thebes to help Oedipus' son Polyneices regain his right to the throne. The people of Thebes had, after all, decided that he and his brother Eteocles would rule Thebes in alternate years after their father died, but Eteocles wanted to rule alone and kicked his brother out. To make the long story short, the seven marched against Thebes and waged a long war, but ultimately lost. Their sons were called the After-Born because they were considered to be born too late to participate in their fathers' deeds of glory.
I sometimes feel that like them, I was born too late to be part of anything worthwhile. I wasn't at Ninoy's funeral in 1983 nor at EDSA in 1986. Events after EDSA are well, anti-climactic, and most of them fizzed out anyway. Nothing had quite as much or as lasting an effect as that first People Power.
Yet I go to rallies, anyway, as much as I am able. Not so much to say that I was there, or to feel that I was part of something greater than I was, but to give my small contribution to a group effort. I want to add my small voice to make a greater voice that could be heard, much as I am doing by writing this blog. I want to be part of a movement that could change things for the better. Of course, I do not go to just any rally; I only lend my voice to something that I myself believe in. Otherwise I would just be a voice without a message.
I went to pay my last respects to Cory Aquino at La Salle Greenhills not because I wanted to be a part of a historic event, not because I wanted to say I was there, but because I wanted to bid my last farewell to a woman I had always looked up to, not so much because she was President but because she was one of the staunchest defenders of democracy, because she was a model of integrity, a virtue that is now all but nonexistent in this country with her passing. Were I not needed at work, I would have been one of those lining the roads as her funeral procession passed. Were I not needed at work tomorrow, I would be one of those following her remains to Manila Memorial Park.
I could very well sit at home and plurk or tweet inanities and idiotic comments, or troll forums to stir people up, or play games, or go out and indulge in shallow flirtations and wonder about nothing more than how many men might be interested in me or whether my new dress was the top of fashion, as I have given up watching Wowowee because green jokes and inane contests and commentaries bore me. But that is not what I want to do with my life. As Cory herself once said, it is better to die a meaningful death than to live a meaningless life. A long time ago, when I was still a believer, I always hoped that when I died, when I was asked whether I had done anything good in my life, I would be able to give an answer. An answer that my life now would reflect.
After all, the Epigoni were Epigoni only in name. The rest of their story goes on to say that when they grew up they stormed Thebes and succeeded where their fathers failed. Maybe, so too can we succeed in doing the things our forebears have not done. But only if we go out and do something.
So yes, in all the events I have been to, I was there not because someone had told me to, not because I wanted to be part of something great happening. I was there because I hoped that something great would succeed in happening because I was there.
With all that is happening around us nowadays, would you want to go to sleep and never wake up? Would these reasons listed below be sufficient to wake you up, or would you want to go on dreaming?
Original plurk post: Please wake me up.
Replies:
Wake up!
Nagresign na si GMA.
Martial law na ulet.
Binaril si Mike A.!
...nakailag si Mike A.
Ambush daw ng Abu Sayyaf.
Humiram daw ng anting-anting kay Revilla, siya lang buhay sa ambush.
Sumulat ng libro, best-seller *pakshet*
At dahil martial law, required reading ng mga bata.
Resulta: Binago lahat rules ng mga old school games (taguan, patintero, piko, tumbang preso) dahil lagi ng nandadaya ang mga bata
at ang ethics classes ginawang petiks classes
ang valedictorian ang pinakatuso sa exams
na abolish na ang GMRC classes sa elem
kailangan mong maglagay sa tindera ng karinderia para bentahan ka ng bananaque
sabay-sabay nabomba batasan at malacanang at patay na lahat ng pulitiko kaya kelangan mag-elect ng bago
(eh dream come true naman yan laya e. bangungot ang hinihirit namin ditoh
eloisa lalong di magigising yan kung binabangungot
true true... back to dream sequence)
nagtutulungan na mga tao. lahat umaayaw na sa lagay
may cure na ang lahat ng STDs, kaya back sa era of free love
at AIDS, specially AIDS
lahat ng tao, wala nang problema sa pera or sakit or overpopulation or lack of any type of resources
(teka... rapture na ata to eh)
lahat ng pamilyang Pilipino may katulong na taga HongKong or Korean
kami katulong namin Amerikano, driver Arabo
konti nalang gumagamit ng EDSA, lahat kasi connected na ng hi-tech na Train System, hangga Baguio
mga tanders lang yan, the rest teleports to jupiter and mars
pag-kakain sa fastfood, pede ng cellphone ang pang-save ng upuan habang umo-order
at walang nagnanakaw ng cellphone. pagkat nakakabit ito sa robotic arm
--------------------------
This originated from a plurk post by mari and participated in by quintessential, eloisa, gilbz, Alyas Torpe, and yours truly.
When I was in high school, every Monday in the school year was always special. There was a program after the flag ceremony, hosted by a different class each week, revolving about different themes. The program mostly consisted of a solo by the class singer, a short play that we referred to as the playlet, a talk by the class adviser on the theme, a dance number and a couple of choral performances by the whole class.
In our second year, our class was assigned the theme "Love of God." Our class adviser was faced with the challenge of interpreting the theme when her class was made up of students from more than ten different churches, including Roman Catholics and Muslims. As a result, she taught us two songs, which have stayed with at least one of her students up to today, over fifteen years later. They were "One God," which I later found to be a Streisand song, and "Up With People."
One God
Millions of stars placed in the skies by one God
Millions of men lift up their hearts to one God
So many people calling to Him by many different names
One Father, loving each the same.
Many the ways all of us pray to one God
Many the paths winding their ways to one God,
Walk with me brother, there are no strangers
After His work is done
For your God and my God are one.
Yes, brother, for your God and my God are one.
Up With People
Up, up with people,
you meet them wherever you go.
Up, up with people
they're the best kind of folks we know.
If more people were for
people and people everywhere
There'd be a lot less people to worry about
and a lot more people who care...
It happened just this morning
I was walking down the street
a newsboy and a postman
and a policeman I did meet
There in every window and at every single door
I recognized people I'd never noticed before...
People from the southland
and people from the north
Like a mighty army I saw them coming forth
Twas a great reunion, be afitting of a king
Then I realized people are more important than things...
Inside everybody,
there's some bad and there's some good
but don't let anybody start attacking peoplehood
love them as they are and fight for them to be
the great men and great women that God wants them to be...
Looking back on it, I see what a good thing my teacher had done. With just two songs, she taught her students, adolescents growing up in a small town in Mindanao, the value of acceptance and tolerance. Our small public school had students from many indigenous groups and churches going to it... Roman Catholic, Muslim, Baptist, Iglesia ni Cristo, Seventh Day Adventist, Methodist, Aglipayan, UCCP, to name a few. Picking any religious song, any song on faith, from the hymnbooks of any of the big churches would have been sure to provoke mutiny on one side or another. She taught us, instead, that "so many people call to him by many different names," but He is "one father, loving each the same." She taught us to love people "as they are and fight for them to be the great men and great women that God wants them to be."
In such diverse groups, it is easy for people to take sides and call one another names just because others are "not our sort of people." It is easy to denigrate others for being "poor," "ignorant," "illiterate," and "uncivilized," just because they are not of our culture, easy to insult and curse others because we feel that we are better than they are, that we are more entitled than they are. Yet, I hope that on my home island, people are also beginning to realize that we are all brothers under the skin, although we are segregated by religion and tribe. In some areas, harmony is actually possible, as long as people practise tolerance and acceptance, and as long as others don't come in and remind them that they should be banding together against one another. In my home town, that harmony has been achieved, and I hope that not even the escalating violence in the rest of the island will not disturb that accord.
I hope, too, that the students of 2nd Year Anthurium 1992-1993 will never forget the two songs that our class adviser taught us.
I'm not very religious anymore... I discovered that in my case the belief that all men are brothers is mostly incompatible with a creed that requires evangelization of others. I had arguments with more than one friend over the issue; one of them who belongs to another church tried to persuade me to attend her bible study group. I refused, on the ground that I do not even attend my own church's bible study groups. The argument escalated to the point where she called me "ungodly" and a "sinner" because I do not study the bible as much as she does. At that time I had been reading Robert A. Heinlein's Revolt in 2100, and I pulled out my copy and quoted Zeb in If This Goes On--- "My religious faith is a private matter between me and my God... what my religious beliefs are you will have to judge by my actions for you are not invited to question me about them. I decline to explain or to justify them to you... nor to anyone. I believe that everyone... should be generous to the poor... I believe he should lay down his life for his brothers, should it be required of him. But I don't propose to prove any of these things, for they are beyond proof, nor do I demand that you believe as I do." The effect of that grand speech was that my friend, who also happened to be one of my roommates in the college dorm, ignored me for a whole semester. But at least I was free of someone preaching to me.
Years later, I had another argument with a friend who belongs to a church whose members consider themselves "chosen ones." A debate over being "chosen," which was the premise she made for inviting me to attend their church, led to her likening her church to the Israelites. I had asked why, if there was a chosen people, did God create the diverse peoples of the world. Was he not supposed to be a fair and just God? Why would he show favoritism? There was only one people that God would save, she argued. All others were doomed. That was the way of the world. In which case, I told her, I did not want any part of her God, for he was not good. And either way, I told her, if the Israelites were the chosen ones, she was not an Israelite but a Filipino, so she wouldn't be saved either. She didn't speak for me for half a year.
Right now, I steer shy of religion. I'm not knocking any churches... if others find comfort in their beliefs, then that is their concern. I just believe in live and let live.
In my pre-teen years, I came across a story in a book... it might have been Philippine Prose and Poetry, it might have been the Philippine Readers. (I'd say it was Camilo Osias' Philippine Readers because I distinctly remember the illustration of a boy in a camisa, trousers and chinelas that might have been by Amorsolo.) I don't remember the title, the author, or even the names of the characters, I just remember the story, as it was a huge influence on getting me all het up about voting.
The story begins with a boy waking up on the morning of his birthday. His mother greets him, and there is a reference to them being poor, as his father is already dead, and that she is sorry for not being able to give him a birthday present.
He tells his mother that it's okay because his country has given him a wonderful present for his birthday. It is his 18th birthday, and he is now able to vote. His mother asks what is so wonderful about it, and he explains that his country has now entrusted him with its future. By voting, he will help to decide what happens to his country.
After breakfast, they have a visitor, an old friend of his father who is a politician. The old friend now starts in being buddy buddy and banks on old friendships by asking for the boy's vote in the upcoming elections. The boy refuses, and his mother grows indignant. This is his father's old friend, he is embarrassing his mother by refusing. He now explains that his vote is not to be given away that lightly, that it is his duty to his country to vote for someone because he believes that person will govern wisely, not because that person is a family friend or someone he knows. He cannot make a promise he will not be able to fulfill.
"Someday, mother, you will understand," he tells his mother as the politician angrily leaves.
The boy's words in that story has stayed in my heart and mind over the years. Because of that short story, I was keen to register for the SK elections as soon as I was old enough. I registered as a voter for the regular elections at age 17, because I was turning 18 before Election Day. I dragged my sister to register at the first opportunity she had after her 18th birthday.
Yes, I know, this country has problems, especially during elections. Yes, I know the existence of the dagdag-bawas and all those other forms of cheating. So why do I still vote?
Because, as the boy in the story said, my country has entrusted me with its future. Others may disregard my vote as of no consequence. But if I do not vote, it will be the equivalent of standing aside and doing nothing. "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." Our indifference would, in time, kill what little democracy we still have.
Besides, in law, before you can bring suit for the redress of a wrong, you must first have the legal standing to do it. If there was damage to property, you must be the legal owner of that property. You cannot bring action for damage to your neighbor's property, or even to your sister's property. Same thing, you should not complain of cheating in the polls if you yourself have not voted. You don't have the right; you disenfranchised yourself. Vote first. And if you see your vote misused or disregarded, then speak up for it. No one else then would have better right than you.
That's why I vote. How about you?
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