It was my lunch break, and I was on the phone with a female friend turned policewoman while the hostage drama was reaching conclusion. She asked me if I'm watching the news, I said no. "Why not?" she asked. I told her it doesnt matter how that started, its going to end in 2 ways only. Either he surrenders, or he gets killed. I've been around armed men enough to know how it was going to end. With dead people."PC yan,hindi pahuhuli ng buhay" she said. Then later, "wala na. patay na xa..."
I said goodbye and went back to the office to take my nap. I didn't want to waste my time to discuss the subject. I wish he surrendered, though. Or at least hurt no one else but himself, especially not the hostages. He got the attention he wanted, didn't he? What's the point of portraying yourself the victim if you're gonna turn other people into your victims? Those people had nothing to do with whatever the hell the point he was trying to make.
If he really wanted to die in a blaze glory, he should have walked out of the bus and started shooting in the air. That would surely make all those armed shoot him full of lead. That's what I am going to do in his place, if i was too stubborn and too stupid to surrender and I really wanted to die. I will not even shoot back at the assault team. Killing any one of them will not make any difference. They're just following orders. Like those hostages, they too have families that they support, people who love them. Like those hostages, killing anyone of them is just nonsense.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
Feeling Like A Flower
There was once a flower who grew in a garden owned by a beautiful maiden. The garden was on fertile ground, and had abundant rain and sunlight all year long and the plants there grew healthy and were always in bloom.
One day the beautiful maiden choose to pick the flower and display it in a vase inside her house for her friends and visitors to see. Her friends admired the flower for its beauty and the flower felt happy and proud in its new environment. The flower didnt realize that being uprooted meant death, and soon it withered and dried. No sooner that this happened that the girl threw the dried flower out her window where it lay crushed under the feet of those passing by.
Sometimes I feel like that flower. I used to think life is so much better here in Cebu. I appreciated the higher pay and the many places to see and things to do. I got caught up in the hustle-bustle of it all that I have forgotten my roots. I engaged in vices like gambling that soon I lost so much, including the love of my life.
NOw I wish I could bring back time and do things differently. Sadly, that's impossible. And now I just have to deal with the fact that some things can't be brought back from the dead. Fortunately, unlike that flower cut from its roots, i still have my own two feet and I can still stand up and find my way home. And what a long journey it is going to be.
One day the beautiful maiden choose to pick the flower and display it in a vase inside her house for her friends and visitors to see. Her friends admired the flower for its beauty and the flower felt happy and proud in its new environment. The flower didnt realize that being uprooted meant death, and soon it withered and dried. No sooner that this happened that the girl threw the dried flower out her window where it lay crushed under the feet of those passing by.
Sometimes I feel like that flower. I used to think life is so much better here in Cebu. I appreciated the higher pay and the many places to see and things to do. I got caught up in the hustle-bustle of it all that I have forgotten my roots. I engaged in vices like gambling that soon I lost so much, including the love of my life.
NOw I wish I could bring back time and do things differently. Sadly, that's impossible. And now I just have to deal with the fact that some things can't be brought back from the dead. Fortunately, unlike that flower cut from its roots, i still have my own two feet and I can still stand up and find my way home. And what a long journey it is going to be.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Monday, January 4, 2010
Deleted my ex's pics from facebook yesterday. i intended to do that for a long time. it wasn't easy. those pics are the only remaining evidence of our happy times together.
for a few months now i have been hopeful that this is just a phase we're going through. that everything will settle down and we will be as we were. together again. now part of me is saying that it is really over and its time to move on. i am not saying i am ready to move on, but i am looking in that direction.and its sad.
for a few months now i have been hopeful that this is just a phase we're going through. that everything will settle down and we will be as we were. together again. now part of me is saying that it is really over and its time to move on. i am not saying i am ready to move on, but i am looking in that direction.and its sad.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Still Here, Getting By
It has been a long, long while.
Well, just a month, really, but in the age of the internet one month is a very long time. The events mentioned in my last blog stumped me.I was angry and disgusted and ashamed and dismayed. I felt I had to say something. I was after all, a Maguindanaon and what happened felt like an onslaught to my personal identity. Yet I didn't write because I wasn't sure enough that I will not write anything that might compromise my own safety or that of my family. I was reminded why my father didn't want me to be writer or a journalist.
So a month has passed. Whatever emotions I had back then has come and gone away. Its about time I returned to my normal life. Whatever definition of "normal" in my life may have.
Fixing my life is one of those things I always think about, planning the specific steps that I need to do, but never really get to doing. It's like a promise to myself that I keep on breaking. Or not really break, but kept on delaying, postponing, procrastinating. I am still waiting for the day or night when I wake up from a long and restful sleep, feeling refreshed and inspired to do wonderful things in my life.
I know that is only a remote possibility, since I barely sleep 4 hours a day, between 11pm and 3am or so. My days ends every night being worried that I don't have enough time to sleep before I have to get up again, feeling angry at myself for wasting my time on useless things and with foreboding certainty that I will be sleepy during the next day's shift.
My regular day begins with me waking up, pleasantly surprised that I didnt oversleep completely ignoring the alarm on my on my cp which could have disastrous consequences. This happened frequently enough in the past to merit a warning for me and the utter dismay of my supervisor.
I set my alarm at 3am, which is actually closer to 2.30 since I set my clocks a little early but I don't know by how much. If I knew the exact time then I wouldnt hurry and that will cause me to be tardy. I know, I learned from experience.
Work begins at 4. My first break comes an hour and a half later. And then begins the stretch of time between my first break that is regularly punctuated by a cup of coffee and/or a yosi break. I bring my own box of Nescafe 3-in-1 sachets, in Lingzhi or Hazelnuts variants,since I often find the free coffee in the coffee machine less than agreeable in taste and substance. My officemates often find my coffee aromatic and i tend to agree with them.
My lunch time is seldom spent on eating. I usually take 30-minute naps during my lunch break. I only eat at this hour when I feel the hunger to be more urgent than my desire to sleep, which happens very rarely. Sleep, or the lack of it, can be very overpowering.
One hour after my lunch break ends I have my last 15-minute break. It is only short wait, made shorter by a second cup of coffee which i usually have immediately after my nap.
Then the final two hours of the shift. There are less calls during this time and people on the floor usually chat or share jokes with each other, often loudly and quite irritatingly to those still taking calls. The highlight of the day of course is Log-out time.
It is really not a terrible job. There is no pressure, the stats are easy to attain and the people are nice. The callers are usually nice, too. I guess they have to be because we have the final say on whether they will be able to use their credit card or not. And that is VERY IMPORTANT.
to be continued...
Well, just a month, really, but in the age of the internet one month is a very long time. The events mentioned in my last blog stumped me.I was angry and disgusted and ashamed and dismayed. I felt I had to say something. I was after all, a Maguindanaon and what happened felt like an onslaught to my personal identity. Yet I didn't write because I wasn't sure enough that I will not write anything that might compromise my own safety or that of my family. I was reminded why my father didn't want me to be writer or a journalist.
So a month has passed. Whatever emotions I had back then has come and gone away. Its about time I returned to my normal life. Whatever definition of "normal" in my life may have.
Fixing my life is one of those things I always think about, planning the specific steps that I need to do, but never really get to doing. It's like a promise to myself that I keep on breaking. Or not really break, but kept on delaying, postponing, procrastinating. I am still waiting for the day or night when I wake up from a long and restful sleep, feeling refreshed and inspired to do wonderful things in my life.
I know that is only a remote possibility, since I barely sleep 4 hours a day, between 11pm and 3am or so. My days ends every night being worried that I don't have enough time to sleep before I have to get up again, feeling angry at myself for wasting my time on useless things and with foreboding certainty that I will be sleepy during the next day's shift.
My regular day begins with me waking up, pleasantly surprised that I didnt oversleep completely ignoring the alarm on my on my cp which could have disastrous consequences. This happened frequently enough in the past to merit a warning for me and the utter dismay of my supervisor.
I set my alarm at 3am, which is actually closer to 2.30 since I set my clocks a little early but I don't know by how much. If I knew the exact time then I wouldnt hurry and that will cause me to be tardy. I know, I learned from experience.
Work begins at 4. My first break comes an hour and a half later. And then begins the stretch of time between my first break that is regularly punctuated by a cup of coffee and/or a yosi break. I bring my own box of Nescafe 3-in-1 sachets, in Lingzhi or Hazelnuts variants,since I often find the free coffee in the coffee machine less than agreeable in taste and substance. My officemates often find my coffee aromatic and i tend to agree with them.
My lunch time is seldom spent on eating. I usually take 30-minute naps during my lunch break. I only eat at this hour when I feel the hunger to be more urgent than my desire to sleep, which happens very rarely. Sleep, or the lack of it, can be very overpowering.
One hour after my lunch break ends I have my last 15-minute break. It is only short wait, made shorter by a second cup of coffee which i usually have immediately after my nap.
Then the final two hours of the shift. There are less calls during this time and people on the floor usually chat or share jokes with each other, often loudly and quite irritatingly to those still taking calls. The highlight of the day of course is Log-out time.
It is really not a terrible job. There is no pressure, the stats are easy to attain and the people are nice. The callers are usually nice, too. I guess they have to be because we have the final say on whether they will be able to use their credit card or not. And that is VERY IMPORTANT.
to be continued...
Monday, November 23, 2009
Unspeakable
I went jogging earlier tonight. It was something I have been thinking about doing for a long time, and although my clock said I was gone for just about half an hour, I was glad I did.
I am not a fan of prolonged jogging, or marathon-like running. I am more of a sprinter, like my Dad. I would run for around 100 to 200 meters, walk to catch my breath, start running again when I get bored, stop when I get breathless, then start walking again. This run-walk routine works for me. I always feel good afterwards. I was looking forward to a sound and restful sleep tonight.
That notion left my head as I watched the news while having my dinner. It's a shocking news that is now known as the Maguindanao Massacre. I don't know how to begin talking about. I am almost dumfounded. I spent the better part of the evening txting with my sister.
This is what I gathered. An incumbent municipal vice-mayor who is planning to run for Governor in the same province next year sent his wife, his two sisters, and a party of female supporters and some media people to file his candidacy. This decision is primarily to avoid confrontation with the rival candidate whose hometown the Governor's office is located in. According to media reports, the entire delegation was abducted by 100 armed men from the rival party, and as of news time tonight 21 bodies have been recovered. 13 females, 8 males. The death toll, already staggering, is expected to rise. Reports indicate that they were more than 40 persons abducted, including about a dozen media people.
Its a henious gruesome crime. The candidate whose wife was confirmed to be among the dead, apparently underestimated his opponent's coldbloodedness. Who would be so ruthless to kill unarmed, defenseless women? And how do you even begin to slaughter 40 innocent civilians?
I am from that place. Its just right beyond my mother's former farmland. right beyond the river that marks the boundary between the two towns. It is the place where we used to spend my summers as a child. I know the politics in the region. I know the political figures there are ruthless. Still I could hardly comprehend this madness. It is madness, senseless madness. I am enraged, disgusted, and saddened at the same time. How could they do that? How could they?
I am not a fan of prolonged jogging, or marathon-like running. I am more of a sprinter, like my Dad. I would run for around 100 to 200 meters, walk to catch my breath, start running again when I get bored, stop when I get breathless, then start walking again. This run-walk routine works for me. I always feel good afterwards. I was looking forward to a sound and restful sleep tonight.
That notion left my head as I watched the news while having my dinner. It's a shocking news that is now known as the Maguindanao Massacre. I don't know how to begin talking about. I am almost dumfounded. I spent the better part of the evening txting with my sister.
This is what I gathered. An incumbent municipal vice-mayor who is planning to run for Governor in the same province next year sent his wife, his two sisters, and a party of female supporters and some media people to file his candidacy. This decision is primarily to avoid confrontation with the rival candidate whose hometown the Governor's office is located in. According to media reports, the entire delegation was abducted by 100 armed men from the rival party, and as of news time tonight 21 bodies have been recovered. 13 females, 8 males. The death toll, already staggering, is expected to rise. Reports indicate that they were more than 40 persons abducted, including about a dozen media people.
Its a henious gruesome crime. The candidate whose wife was confirmed to be among the dead, apparently underestimated his opponent's coldbloodedness. Who would be so ruthless to kill unarmed, defenseless women? And how do you even begin to slaughter 40 innocent civilians?
I am from that place. Its just right beyond my mother's former farmland. right beyond the river that marks the boundary between the two towns. It is the place where we used to spend my summers as a child. I know the politics in the region. I know the political figures there are ruthless. Still I could hardly comprehend this madness. It is madness, senseless madness. I am enraged, disgusted, and saddened at the same time. How could they do that? How could they?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
