Category: Blog

Ms. Tippity Toe

Tiptoe, tiptoe, turn, glide, head up, hands in third position, and smile.

Do you know how it feels to unleash everything you feel into one song? To move the way your heart beats, and to keep dancing even when the music is over? I know exactly how that feels. Ever since I was five when I first saw ballerinas twirl on a magical box called the television, I was in love. I was more into dancing when I saw mom’s old ballerina pics, and I knew it was fate. And so my dancing adventures began.

During my first recital at 6 years old

When I was six I tried my hand in Hawaiian dancing for the summer, and I pretty much rocked it. I felt my first rush as being on stage, dancing to my little heart’s delight. When I was seven I tried ballet, but I got lazy and didn’t even finish summer school. And I let the years roll, thinking I was too old to learn again. It wasn’t until I was thirteen that I tried again, both ballet and in jazz this time. It was a lot of fun, being able to meet wonderful people and learn how to dance as well. I got to learn how to split by the end of the summer, and I was hooked!

My ballet recital when I was thirteen

During that same year, I joined the school’s dance club, the Artiste. A spark in me ignited my love for contemporary dance. You didn’t have to have a perfect form, as long as you expressed yourself. And I was addicted to it. I continued dancing for the group till I was fifteen.

The Artiste

I graduated, and got into college. That summer, my sister was enrolled in a summer dance class. And after seeing her dance recital, I wanted another chance in dancing. So the next summer, I did. I was almost the eldest in the class since I was sixteen. I didn’t care though. I still made friends worth keeping and dance steps worth remembering.

Alice in Wonderland, June 2012

At school, I was assigned to do doxologies. For those who doesn’t know, a doxology is a dance during prayer. I was in seventh heaven. I could express without worrying about choreography. I could dance freely without anyone questioning me. And the best part was, I was serving Him.

During one of my doxologies in Robinsons Tacloban

And so my love for dancing never really died, and this summer I enrolled again in dancing. Although I still had the chills whenever I was on stage, I still danced as if it was my last. And I know when I grow up I’d mercilessly enrol my first child, whether he/she may be a boy or a girl, into dancing. Hopefully turning them into the ballerinas who danced on TV. 🙂

Every child is a star, June 2013

In the end, I do believe that there’s a dance for someone out there. That even those dubbed as someone who can’t dance can dance to the beat of their own drum. The best part about dancing is expressing yourself. That when you step on that stage, all your life problems becomes a little dot. It won’t matter if you’re chubby, short, or your legs aren’t too long, it’s just you and the stage and that beat in your heart. Everyone who has the heart and passion can dance, because when a person is really willing anything is possible. 🙂

A writer’s first: Interview

Last June 14, my mom dropped a bombshell. I was going to interview Tacloban’s beloved mayor, Alfred Romualdez. As she instructed me about what I should do, my hand was literally shaking. I just couldn’t believe it. For those who don’t know, I am currently a Junior Writer for Espejo Magazine, a lifestyle magazine here in region eight. I started just before the school ended, checking off something in my bucket list that said “Work for a magazine.” I was ecstatic to say the least, knowing I could be a part of something new.

And even though I have been writing for almost 5 years, this has been my first interview ever. And lucky me, I scored an interview with Tacloban’s Mayor! As you could imagine I was all jittery and nervous as I read the set of questions that my mom prepared for me. I imagined how’d I’d act, and surprisingly, I wasn’t nervous anymore as the Espejo team reached his home.

When I entered his house, I imagined a huge staircase and porcelain walls like in the movies, but I was surprised to see just a humble house, filled with everything they need. When the Mayor graced us with his presence, he certainly wasn’t intimidating as I imagined. He was hospitable and got right to the point. When Sir Michael (one of Espejo’s prestiged editors) and I sat down with the mayor, all my fear ceased and confidence was my new bestfriend. I pipped in whenever necessary, and the interview went well. I surprised to know so much about Tacloban in the span of two hours than I ever did my whole life.

You could tell by the way he spoke that he was passionate about what he did, and he was truly wise. He was down to earth, and he really didn’t leave anything out. he believes in transparency, that the people should be aware about the things happening to their beloved city. He wants Tacloban to grow into a more productive city, because he believes it has so much potential. He was just a mediator for all of the good things to happen to Tacloban.

After the interview, we ate with the mayor who told us jokes and more stories. I am proud to say that at seventeen years old, I got to talk with a visionary who loved Tacloban more than anyone else could. I loved my first interview, and if you want to know what the “Man at Helm” told us, you have to grab the latest issue of Espejo Magazine! 🙂

Bully Acceptance



If you took one look at me today, you’d say that I’m a feisty girl and “mataray”. Some even have called me “over confident”, being able to say what I want and do anything I want within reason. You can look at me and say that I’m really comfortable with the fact that I’m always by myself, that I could handle anything. But you know what? Since I was a kid I haven’t changed much. And though presently my characteristics as being temperamental and being brave enough to do things may be seen as something unique, but when I was a kid it was seen as a threat. A threat I usually had to face by myself.
Growing up, I was taught the difference between right and wrong. I was taught that you should always put yourself in the other person’s shoes, causing me to think critically, to be sympathetic and to be understanding.  This caused me to have loyal friends when I was in elementary. But this also caused me to have the worst enemies. 
Although I had friends, I still like the thought of being alone at times. I wasn’t a real loner, it was just I was more comfortable keeping things to myself. I realized this just as I was turning seven years old, because I loved to wander around my school usually alone. There was a spot just above our cafeteria where I would just sit and eat my snacks. I would climb to the highest point of the stairs and just ate by the door of the second floor since the door was usually locked.
In class, I was the “new waraynon girl” because my family moved from Tacloban to Maasin because of my mom’s work. So while adjusting to the new language, I spoke in English because I was so used to hear my mom speak english. Although a lot were amazed of how I spoke english, some didn’t. I was branded as “sosyalera” because I couldn’t speak Tagalog that well. But that was the least of my problems when it came to bullying.
One normal day I went up to my usual spot during snack time. While I was going up the stairs, I noticed my classmates’ shoes on the bottom of the stairs. I didn’t think too much of it, knowing that the 2nd floor was open because there was a program there that day. Suddenly my classmates cajoled me into going inside, and that’s when I realized they were the naughty boys who were always sent to the principal. 
Suddenly one of them ran off with my half-eaten sandwich. I impulsively ran after him, when the tallest one in their group held my hand tightly, hugging me slightly. He then motioned his hand and hovered it to my “down there” area. Thinking fast, I held my bottle full of water that was hung on my shoulder and hit his head hard with it. I ran before any of his friends caught up with me. I was scared. I don’t remember much, but I do remember not going to school the next day, saying I was sick. I then told my mom everything, and they were sent to the principal. But sadly, they never stopped there.
About a year after, when I was eight, they were still my classmates. There was a time in class, when the teacher would ask everyone who sat at the back to come forward. Since I was already at the front I didn’t have to move. Unfortunately, the bullies sat at the back, and they comfortably sat in front of me. Now I want you to imagine what kind of desks we had. It was a wooden desk just like the ones at church where there was a seat at the front. So the boys would sit there, and when the teachers weren’t looking they would reach below, and they would try to hitch up my skirt. Now comes the humiliating part. When I told the teacher upfront during class, she only said that the boys were just playing around. But it made me uncomfortable, and I knew it wasn’t right. But my classmates were laughing at me for being so “sensitive” so I never really told anyone that. I didn’t like anyone touching me “down there” anymore. It’s still true to this day. I just wasn’t comfortable.
Luckily, the next year I got into a class which didn’t include them. But then the other gender began to pick on me. I always wanted to have something different, and I used to have this bead set wherein I’d make my own bracelets. One time this girl from my class called it ugly, and ripped it from my hand causing the beads to fall to the ground. But for some reason I didn’t care anymore. The next year my family moved back to Tacloban and I was happy to be finally rid of all the bullies. Little did I know that there were more out there.
I was in fifth grade when I transferred. I naturally didn’t know anyone, except for those whom I had summer classes with, but we weren’t close. It was harder to make friends when you had a Bisaya accent and you were the youngest in class. They didn’t understand me, the things I was doing. 
On the first few weeks of class, I didn’t have my uniform yet because the tailor wasn’t finished with them yet. So I wore either shorts or pants to school, and pairing them with my blouses that my mom bought for me. Since I was comfortable anyway with being myself, I played in the playground by myself. It was a sad sight to be honest, but I really didn’t care. I would go to the library alone, immersing myself with books. The librarian who worked there is still my friend to this day.
Soon enough, the teasing started. They began calling me “Miss Playground” or the girl who loved to flaunt her Barbie blouses. I was ashamed, so I never went to playground alone again. I pleaded my mom for my uniform, and I got them. I was soon making friends with the very people who bullied me, because I knew they just didn’t know me enough so they judged me. It was in the middle of the school year when I found a best friend, so I felt like everything was going to change. As usual, I was wrong.
In sixth grade, my “best friend” began ignoring me, so I was once more on my own. I found a “sister” though, and we became inseparable. But when we befriended two other girls, we became “personal assistants” in a way. They made it clear that they were the Alphas and we were the Betas. My friend and I didn’t mind though. We still enjoyed being with each other.
But although I had a best friend, I was never comfortable in telling people my problems. That’s when I discovered my love for writing. I wrote everything I could think about, all my bottled up feelings. Until the day my adviser took my diary, and I felt outraged. To make things worse, it was my own best friend who ratted me out. But as forgiving as I am, it didn’t bother me. When graduation day came, I thought it was bound to get better. Not.
I was shocked on the first day of highschool when I saw my name in the “smart” class. I was so used on being in the average class that all my friends were in the average class. So I was pretty intimidated when I entered the classroom. I felt like I was being judged, like they sensed that I didn’t belong in that room with them. I was lucky that my “sister” was in that same class, but she quickly had her own group of friends. 
And as try as I might, I was never really accepted into the group she was in. I always felt left out. I usually came home crying, blaming myself for being so darn different. There was a time when I cried in school, but I always composed myself, not letting them see me broken. As used I was to being alone, I really wanted to feel accepted for once in my life. I was going through the “identity crisis” stage, and I lowered myself into picking up their trash, being as obedient as a dog, just so they would finally accept me. I just wanted to please them. But everything just backfired. Soon enough they were calling me a cruel name, “Chimiaa” At first I didn’t understand it, but then I had a feeling it meant maid. That was the night I attempted what no twelve year old should do, I attempted suicide. 
I was just so tired of everything. Of not being smart enough, of not being pretty enough, and all that jazz. I ended up just having a small wound, which was easily covered by my watch. Stupidly enough, I was afraid of blood, so I didn’t go through with making a big wound.
 From that time on, I always resorted to hurting myself. I knew it was wrong, but other than writing there wasn’t another way to get it out. I secretly did it, hating myself the next morning. Then when I was in my sophomore year, I did the stupidest thing. I let them read my diary. They liked how I wrote, so I let them read it. It became a novel to them, and I was happy to have pleased them. I have let the bully accept me. From then on, I got used to get picked on. I got used to being pushed around. As long as I had “friends.”
Fortunately for me, when I was in my senior year they became my real friends. I also had other friends from the lower years, and I felt like the world was at last in balance. I didn’t feel bullied anymore. They just had to know me to be able to accept me. I felt happy. That was when I built my confidence. That was when I looked back and saw that I would never be the person to be stepped on again. That gave me confidence. Having friends who didn’t really talked about me behind my back and having an understanding boyfriend helped too.
So to clear everything up, that’s my story. I was bullied and I walked away from it. Through the tragedies, through the mess and everything else in between, I could tell myself I was really strong and brave because I was able to endure all of that. I know that after you people read this, some of you will pity me. Please don’t. Because without all that, I wouldn’t be the girl I am today. Strong, confident and ready to face anything. 
My point is this though: not everyone could have been as brave as I was. Not everyone could have been strong enough. So after you read this I hope you realize that bullying is not something to be overlooked. I was lucky enough that I had writing to distract me from everything. But what about the kid you taunted? Is it fair to think that they have something to distract them from the pain you caused? Always, and I repeat, ALWAYS, put yourself in their shoes. This is why I never resorted to bullying myself, because I put myself in other people’s shoes. You should never judge a person so easily. Be human enough to think about what they might be going through.

Could you be human enough to put yourself in their shoes?

Fusion Crew

Have you ever had people in your life who knows the most humiliating stories about you, who taunts you every chance they get, and yet you still love them? That even when you haven’t seen each other for months, when you get together it’s like you’ve never been apart? That no matter how much you’re grown, you still act the same way around them? Those were the types of friends I have surrounded myself with.

They’re the type of people who bring out the best and worst of me, and yet they stick around. I’ve seen them crying, I’ve seen them laugh their heads off, I’ve seen them at their best and their worst, but I have never left them.

Whenever we would get together everything would just be crazy, loud and out of control. We were just so comfortable with each other that way.

Our story started somewhere when we were seniors in high school. Although we have been in the same section for the past four years, we had different cliques at first. There were the “Chinets”, “GeAnLy” and “5 Active Molecules”. 
At the start of the year, almost all of us have somehow ran for candidacy for the Supreme Student Government for our school. When we all won, it brought us closer. We were groupmates in ” homeroom cleaners” as well, and we were active participants in school competitions. And when we started training for the DSSPC, we became inseparable.

 So sometime in the middle of everything, we were pulled together and became one whole group. That’s when Frances, the only thorn among the roses, named the group “Fusion Crew”. We knew almost everything about each other. From the acquaintance party to prom to graduation, we celebrated them together.

Looking back, I could have never asked for better friends. And I know in my heart that no matter how far we go, or how successful we’d be, we would still be as noisy and immature whenever we were together. And that for me, is the real definition of friendship. That no matter where you go, they always stay in your heart. 🙂
Pictures grabbed from :
Carrie Velasco
Sharmaine Bungabong
Ann Ruby Ongbit

Jeepney people


One thing’s true about being a Filipino: You’re not a Filipino if you haven’t traveled through the Public Utility Jeepney. According to Wikipedia, when American troops began to leave the Philippines at the end of WWII, hundreds of surplus jeeps were sold or given to the Filipinos. And through the ingenuity of our ancestors, the normal jeepney was transformed into something that could accommodate at least 20 passengers. Which brings me to my title. Jeepney people. When you’re stuck in a jeepney for thirty minutes, you notice things and see things you wish you haven’t. And here are just some of the people or species we encounter during public transportation:

The crammer (pasaherus dinagstudyus). These species get in the jeep with eyes haunted by dark eye bags. They usually have a book with them or a dog-eared photocopy of their lessons. They murmur among themselves, reading throughout the ride. Their two eyebrows become one, as they focus through the bumps and stops the jeepney makes. Even though reading in a moving vehicle is bad for their eyes, they still take the risk into making sure they pass their exam. Their stomachs are growling tigers, a result of skipping a few meals. Beware of these types of passengers as they are subject to grouchiness when disturbed.

The smoker (pasaherus pataybaganus). Even when there is a sign that reads “No Smoking”, the stubbornness of this specie could be compared to a mule. They look away from the others to feel less guilty, even though they blow their poisonous gas to the unfortunate person beside them. They truly have no conscience as they do not think of the health and welfare of the other passengers, more so to him. He thinks he looks like a bad-ass for smoking, but all they really look like is someone inconsiderate.  These species are to be handled by an elder whose anger to the specie could humiliate them for doing such an act.

The perverted one (pasaherus hawakhawakus). “Kung siksikan, bawal ang manyak!” (In tight situations, perverts are prohibited!) A sticker on a jeepney once read. These are warnings to girls who may be taken advantaged of when the jeepney’s passenger capacity has maxed. This is when the jeepney looks like a tight can of sardines, just waiting to pop. These are usually when the species come out of hiding. Their hands are skilled into trying to get a “feel” from distracted girls. They pretend to cross their arms and brush their hand to the unknowing prey. Their range of meal covers from the hair of the girl, the breasts and the exposed legs. This type of specie is usually mentally deranged or usually hormonal, as they take the risk of being caught. These species are to be handled with a smack on the face and a police report on sexual harassment.

The music addict (pasaherus musikerus). These species are not to be disturbed easily. They are lost in their own world of music that is practically blasting from their ears.  It’s either they’re listening through an earphone, or they have their music on loud speaker for everyone to hear. They are usually lost in thought, and looking into the distance, trying to find the meaning of life through song. Their earphones range from the huge headphones to the Bluetooth ones that makes you wonder if there is really music playing. These species are to be understood for their lack of understanding of the world and escaping it through plugging their ears with something plastic.

The road blocker (pasaherus maydalaeus). These types of species usually has something big and heavy carried with them, thus blocking the path towards the jeepney’s door. Although these people are not to be blamed by what they carry, they should be considerate enough to give space to the passengers getting on and off the ride or to move to a seat near the driver’s seat so as to not disturb other passenger. As a passenger you must help them get in and out of the vehicle.

The gossip worshipers (pasaherus chikkaeus). These type of species are usually one of the people who just bumped into each other and have started talking almost at the same time about their neighbor, their kids, their husband, politics and everything else under the sun. Though very annoying, they usually provide inside details about important things. Beware of their stare, as they are sometimes quick to judge since they have someone to back them up.

The mommy with babies (pasaherus nanayeus). These species have younger versions of themselves inside the vehicle. They’re usually pesky and wild, as the specie calls out to them. The younger versions are always in some kind of trouble which ends up as a burden to the other passengers. The specie is usually identified the moment little species climb in the vehicle followed by an older woman with a baby in her arms and groceries on the other hand. Be understanding of this species’ stressful lifestyle and help her when possible.

The old one (pasaherus matandaeus). This specie is made of different breeds that could be summed up to grouchy, happy, know-it-all and the judge. As obvious as what their breed means, they are usually harmless unless they notice you. They are identified by the wrinkles of their body and their eyes are usually covered by a small framed glass. They are usually nosy and they butt-in to other people’s conversations, even to complete strangers. They are harmless enough, but be warned for a lecture when your friends are too loud.

The “in-a-relationship” (pasaherus PDAeus). These types of species travel in two’s, the way the animals did back when Noah built the Ark. Most of these species are identified when they hold hands or the male rests his arm around the female. They are usually harmless but some have been found to do more than holding hands. They are usual topics for gossip in the jeepney, receiving bad looks from the “conservative” part of the passengers. Although they dismiss the gossip, they must be treated with respect as you may have done this then, or you might do this in the future. Do unto others what you want others to do unto you. Gossip about them, and soon you’d be the one who they gossip about.

The cliques (pasaherus barkadeus). These types of species prefer to travel in groups, usually tagged as loud and uncivilized, thinking that they have the jeepney all to themselves. They pay their fares together; usually one collects and counts the money before handing it to the driver. They talk in a whole new language and they laugh at the most mundane things. 
They get in the jeepney together and they hop off together, leaving the jeepney very silent. They feel no pain even when other passengers are sending daggers through their eyes wishing they would shut up. Though very harmless, they may cause noise pollution.

 And so in conclusion, public transportation seem to bring out the best in people. People take a ride in it every time they need to go to one place to another. This is where they may interact with others or simply mind about with their business. I know there are more species out there, but the important thing to remember when you’ve encountered these species is to appreciate them. They were part of your journey, and as the saying goes, it’s not the destination that’s important. It’s the journey. So no matter how irritating the people in the jeepney may be, remember that they are just like you. Living life the best way they know how. 🙂

LDR (long distance relationship)


Have you ever heard of the saying: “Absence makes the heart grow fonder”? I’ve revised that. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, farther yet stronger.
In this generation, with internet and cell phones connecting people easily from one part of the world to the other, long distance relationships have become rampant. More and more people become a couple via text, chat or by the thousands of online dating sites. And as I have heard, read and even recently experienced, maintaining a long distance relationship(LDR) is never easy.
My mom and dad have known each other for almost 30 years. And since day one, they’ve been in a long distance relationship. They even met through my dad’s niece who gave dad mom’s address. Since dad was taking up college out in the province and mom lived in the city, they formed their relationship through snail mail. And as mischievous as I am, I’ve seen and (secretly) read almost all of their letters. And if people nowadays think that maintaining a long distance relationship is hard with the technology that we have, they have to think again.
Back then, before internet and cellular phones were accessible to the public, people wrote letters. Handwritten or using a typewriter, it was more personal in a way. They would then send these letters through the post office, and patiently wait SEVEN days before the letter arrived to their receiver. Then they would have to wait ANOTHER seven days, to receive the reply. Harsh right? All in all you have to wait 2 weeks to receive a reply. That is IF the person actually replies. Imagine yourself waiting for the mailman to drop off letters at your house. Waiting for a letter that may or may not arrive. Imagine writing a letter to someone, telling them to meet you at this certain place at a certain time, and you just wait there, hoping they got the message?
It was hard, but my parents endured that. Since after college my dad worked overseas, there were more complications. I read in some letters that it took LONGER than seven days for the letter to arrive. Sometimes these letters would get switched up. And worse, sometimes the letters were lost in the mail somewhere. They went through this until I was almost six years old, when we finally got a personal computer at home where we could email dad easily. So it took thirteen years before my mom and dad could communicate properly, and yet their love stood strong through the currents of life.
Nowadays we rarely hear these types of stories. With the magic of the internet, you could easily video chat them and feel like you’re with each other.You could easily update yourself on what your significant other is doing by checking out their Facebook or Twitter or Instagram. You can text them without waiting two whole weeks for a reply unless they have a good reason for doing so. But although the communication part of long distance relationships are significantly better than before, the feeling of being in an LDR is more or less still the same.
There is that feeling of facing things by yourself.  You know you can’t always depend on him/her to hold your hand when you’re about to receive important news. They’re not there to really help you when you’re in trouble because all they’ll know is how you solved the problem. You don’t have a shoulder to lean on or a hand to hold on to. There is just you and a person miles away.
Missing them. There are just moments when it hits you. When there’s no one to carry your heavy bag, no one to kiss you when it starts to rain, when you go home to an empty house. It’s like you’re always daydreaming that they’re there with you. You sometimes loose focus on the things that you’re doing. You forget things, you’re easily distracted and in rare cases, your body feels unloved. Although the person is there for you 24/7, there is still that feeling that they should have been here, that they should be with you right now. It’s the hardest part of it. Knowing that they should be there with you, but they’re not.

You grow apart. As cliche as it may sound, change is really inevitable. You can’t control your surroundings, and neither can you control the surrounding of the person you love. Your interests, likes and dislikes eventually change. So does your partner. There is the risk that whenever you meet in person, you have a hard time adjusting to who they have become. Whether change for the better or for the worst, it depends upon you and your partner. No matter how many times a day you see your partner through video chat or talking to them on the phone, things change in between the times you’re talking to each other and the times that you’re not.
Keeping things interesting. There are some couples who lasted five years without seeing each other in person. There are some couples who have seen each other almost everyday of their life, yet are torn by distance all of the sudden. So how do you keep your romance at check? This is a challenge. You have to think of things to help your relationship exciting. This is where you send surprise gifts, send them e-cards or videos of yourself for them. You just have to keep the ball rolling.

Temptations. Now these are the deal breakers of long distance relationships. When you’re apart from your partner, you feel emotionally incomplete. And when a person comes along who somehow fills that emotional need, you tend to fall for them. The best way to avoid temptations as such is to remember that everything you are doing is for the future of both of you. That everyone around you who may tempt you are only temporary, just a by passer. Remember you’re committed to someone, not everyone.
Waiting. They always say that you should look at the glass half full. That means you must try your best not to think how many days it has been til you’ve last seen them. Rather, think about how near you are to the day that you would melt in their arms. Cheesy, I know, but that’s how we keep ourselves alive. We have to encourage ourselves to think of the crazy things we want to do with them when you finally meet after all this time. Knowing fully that all of your plans will fade when you see them because all you want to do is be with them no matter where the both of you are or what you’re doing.

The anxiousness of meeting. No matter how many times you’ve seen each other before, there is still that excited feeling of holding their hand again, feeling their arms around you, and even when you kiss. There is the question of chemistry, that no matter how often your communication is, it will be further tested when you meet them in person. 
The knowledge that after hello, there would be goodbye. Even when you’re together, there is that nagging feeling that you won’t see each other again for another few weeks or months. Your mind seems to teleport to the future when you’re not together and this leaves you in pieces. The hardest part really is goodbye, when there is the uncertainty of when you’d meet again. This makes the person usually scared of being with his/her partner rather than enjoying the moments spent together.
But in the end, I believe that the people who survive long distance relationships are the strongest people out there. They strive their best not to get tempted, not to fall out of love. They trust with all their heart, even when everything seems doubtful. Their love reaches out through the land and sea that keeps them apart. They conquer every obstacle, and they do their best to succeed for the sake of the other. They spend their days counting to the moment where they’d meet their beloved one. And when they gloriously meet and they have the opportunity to stay, that’s the best part. This is when we know that love really knows no distance. 🙂

Election madness!

As young as I am, I never thought I’d see such vulgarity and dysfunction to what should be a clean election. Over the last few months, I’ve seen, heard and read about the horrid things people would do just to become a politician. 
And now, a few days before the election, I am simply infuriated by the maddening thought that the people who don’t deserve to win are becoming a shoe in winning. These are the very people who buy votes, give death threats, some are drug dealers and in worse cases, people who were “cajoled” or “pressured” to run, meaning they lack the real passion to serve. This is just a disaster waiting to happen! It is political suicide for my country, and as someone who can’t vote for local and national elections, this enrages me. 
I am practically losing my mind whenever I see people posting on social media that they’re voting for the person who could turn this country into ashes and I can’t do anything about it because I’m merely 17! So for now I would be using my voice as a youth and point out and reveal everything I have encountered ever since the year 2013 started:
Early Campaigning. The official start of the Campaigning period was set on March 29 of 2013. But why in the hell were there posters and vehicles with campaign jingles running around the city before the said date? Why was I seeing walls being painted with the logos of a candidate? Were they “special” for some reason that they were allowed to campaign before the end of March?
 It just shows how someone can’t follow a simple instruction. Is this the person you’d like to vote for? Someone who can’t follow instruction? Although this isn’t actually a crime, I do see this as cheating in a way. Imagine a runner who ran before the marathon started. That’s how I see it.
Fixing the roads. Just as the month of January started to peak through, all of the sudden all of the roads that led to my school were being fixed. All over town roads that were fine before were being surrounded by bulldozers and cement fillers. They were practically fixing something that wasn’t broken. This sudden rise of “broken” roads were a big hassle every single day. 
And the fact that this started just as elections were right around the corner was rather peculiar. I knew that whoever was behind the springing of “fixing” the roads were people who needed the budget for the campaigning, or it was someone who could say “I did something for this City. I fixed something. Vote for me.” It was obvious, right in the face, and downright idiotic. But at least they followed instructions and stopped breaking fixed roads before March 29 when construction works were prohibited.
Democracy to monarchy. Now this was interesting. A lot of people who were related to a past or present politician suddenly had the guts to run for a position. That’s right. They used their family name, their parents’/siblings’ achievement in politics just to gain some fame. And this is really pa-the-tic. Although those who are genuinely passionate about filling up their parents’/siblings’ shoes in serving the country is okay, but I am referring to those who are under qualified to run for office, yet their family ties make them qualified. Those people who campaign using the family name like politics was some kind of business that they had to follow through like it was an obligation. People nowadays would do anything to get into position, even using their family ties to bring them straight up. 
Vote Buying. Although this topic has been worn out and has been a public crime, candidates are being more innovative these days in making sure they don’t get caught. They pay the owner of a house so that they could hang their posters and tell their neighbors to vote for them. They pay small stores and pharmacies to tell their costumers that they could get something free if they voted for this candidate. 
And not only do these candidates buy with money, they practically buy a person’s life for a vote. That’s right. I’ve read in so many papers about candidates threatening a person’s life, putting a gun on their face, just to make sure that the candidate would win. This is the hard truth everyone. And you as a voter should know that you have the right to say yes or no to people trying to buy your freedom to vote. Don’t prostitute your vote for something that could be burned. Give your vote to someone who could change our history books in a good way.
Celebrity friends. Now this is a crowd favorite  Just when you think a candidate has laid out all his cards, he pulls in a favor from someone who doesn’t know anything about politics, but knows a lot about corrupting thousands of innocent minds. Someone who could woo people, a puppet in a way. Someone who talks nonsense but still people would believe them. 
It is just pitiful how a candidate would pull something like this, into basically hypnotizing people into voting for them. It’s like, they can’t fool the voters enough, so they brought in an even bigger fool to tell the voters how great they are. Wake up people! These people are using their fame in a very harmful way.
So there you have it folks. Everything that was seen by this seventeen year old girl in her community. So how about it legal voters? Are you going to the ballots next week blindfolded or are you going to vote with your eyes open to the truth? The power of the people is stronger than you think. This is democracy, and we the people have the choice to make something of our country, or break it. In the end you should know, that every vote does count. And your vote, may change this country’s fate. So vote wisely.

For the love of BACA



Discriminated. Seen as too easy. “Eew”.

There was once a BSM student who came across BACA students.

The snotty girl asks them: “Anot iyo course?”

The three freshies proudly answered: “Comm Arts”

And the snotty girl said: “Eew!” And walked away.

These encounters have been experienced by many Comm Arts students. This encounter happened a month ago and the freshies told us immediately of what happened. And as proud BACA peps that we are, we researched and plotted the murder of the snotty girl. We always do this whenever people downgrade our course. We are seen as too little, as an easy course that could be passed with flying colours. Having an A in BA instead of an S makes our course look easier. But they never go through the things we do. They never experience the hardships. They never have to think of a new essay to write every week. They never face the terrifying professors who have achieved so much that they expect perfection from the students. They never feel how harsh DH professors can be. But who cares right? Their course is still more challenging than ours. And so they think.

When I was a freshie, I was oblivious to the discrimination to my course. Right until foundation day when I overheard some people saying that only 3 divisions were fighting head to head. They didn’t consider our division, which enraged us so much that we made up costumes to outshine everyone else. Our chants “Damu la kamo, mahusay kami” and “Small but terrible” made us strong. We made the gods and goddesses of arts proud of us. And for those few moments, we didn’t care about what they said. Everyone was appreciating our efforts and it was paying off. But sadly the foundation celebration only lasted one day, and soon enough people were criticizing our “KSP” costume move. But we didn’t care, we knew there was something they didn’t understand about us, and we let them talk.

Now that I’m a sophie turning into a junior, I have encountered not only students who discriminate our course, but also adults. Whenever my relatives or my parents’ friends ask me what my course is and I answer proudly, they ask me, “So ano timo magiging trabaho hito?” It just sounds insulting in a way. Sure, Bio students become doctors, Accountancy students become accountants and Comp Sci students become an ace in the computer world, but why can’t they think of a job for Comm Arts? There is a world of possibilities for us. Our job qualifications range from journalist, a front desk person in a hotel to the personal secretary of the President of the country. We have limitless possibilities, and we’d see who’s asking what our possible job is when we become the bosses of the Bio, Accountancy and Comp Sci students, not that I am downgrading their capabilities.

I have also seen discrimination from incoming freshies. Imagine that, someone who hasn’t even entered UP saying that Comm Arts was a small course! When the UPCAT results were out, it was “trending” in my Facebook feed. And I was rather shocked when I saw someone who put up a status saying “Argh. B.A. Comm Arts la ak. -.-“ I immediately corrected her way of thinking saying “Don’t downgrade yourself. Comm Arts is a great course. Welcome to hell” I just didn’t understand her honestly. She got into U.P.: The University of the Philippines. Why the hell did she sign up for Comm Arts when she’d complain when she would pass?

So why Comm Arts? What is Comm Arts?

I simply love writing. I’ve been addicted to it since I was 11. It has been my ultimate vice. And so when I was filling up my UPCAT form, I knew right away that I wanted to be a Comm Arts student. And when I passed, I was practically in seventh heaven. I was going to a great school with my dream course. Being a Comm Arts student meant having the chance to get my writing skills further furnished. Like the course of Eng 5 where we are tasked to write an essay really pumped me up. It made me realize that everything can be your inspiration: from the death of my Lolo to a snotty girl from DM. And having a teacher criticize my work on where I should improve really helped a lot. I value other people’s opinion because it is the people who would read my work. And so being in my course really helped me a lot.

B.A. Communication Arts in U.P. Tacloban moulds students to be great not only in the English language but in the Tagalog and the Waraynon dialect. It promotes that language is an important part in the community. Being a Comm Arts student means that you are being trained to become someone who can someday speak a thrilling speech or write a life changing story. It all starts with simple subjects then the final furnishing of sleepless nights and tired bodies. Your course mates become your family, and we all help each other in every way possible. We are a close knit group, filled with overflowing creative juices and captivating ideas. Our DH teachers are funny yet wise. The people you come across are the people who’ll help boost you up when you’re down.

As a freshie, you would be welcomed warmly from the first BACA meeting. Some upperclassmen would even offer you tips on what subjects you should take and who are the best professors. Sure you’d struggle adjusting yourself, but we are all here behind you. You’d be amazed with the “Kalakaran” event of the seniors, and even more amazed with the “Oblation Run”(haha). Even when you decide to shift to another course, we’d still be your friends. As a sophie, you are faced with some of your major subjects. Some terror teachers wouldn’t be a terror anymore, and in the end you’d survive. You’d be comparing English grammar to Waray. You’d have closer friends, and writing would be an ease for you sooner or later. When you become a junior, you’d get excited with the thought that you have only one year to go. There are more major subjects, more paperwork. You’d be stressed over the struggles and the on the second sem you’d have to set up Largabista. The best thing is that there are no more Math subjects! You’d have your OJT during the summer, which would give you an insight into the real world. And as you cruise over to your senior year, you are bombarded with more work to be done. And when you time for “Kalakaran” comes, you’d be “sabog” and “sabaw” and clamouring for your term papers. But all ends well when you get to wear your sash and you get your diploma. Because the things you have learned and experienced would help you boost yourself in the real world.

So you see? Our course is nothing short of easy. We struggle and we keep fighting. We fight 3.0’s, dropped subjects and terror Profs. We fight student loans and STFAP problems. We are just like any other course, not below. We are of the same level as anyone, and we are not “eew”. We deserve to be respected for the things we go through. And even after you finish reading this and you still think little of us, then it’s your choice. We would go farther than your crab mentality. We are BACA. Don’t judge what you never went through. Because what you discriminate might surprise you in the end.

Ale, pabili nang boto. (Can I buy a vote?)



A week ago I asked a friend of mine who he was voting for. Sadly enough, he answered “Whoever gives me the most money.”As a person who is not given the privilege to vote yet as I am only seventeen, I was dismayed by his answer. I was rather insulted as a matter in fact with the thought that our right and privilege to vote has been overpowered by the thought of money. Since I was a kid I was already aware of vote buying all over the town. And to this day, politicians still continue to buy the votes of the people because they patronize it.

Yes, I dare say it. It is not the fault of the politicians, but it is the fault of the people. It is clear to the masses that if a politician gives a little something on the side, he/she usually ends up winning. And so this method, although illegal, has been used every darn time an election is coming up. And like moths to the flame, the voters are bought. I see this as prostituting a freedom to vote. You get paid to willingly give your only chance to change the way of the country to someone who’d try to win the money back when he gets the position. And this is where the corruption starts; but that’s another story.

The right to vote is given at the early age of sixteen with the Sangguniang Kabataan Elections. Young leaders are cajoled to run for positions to be the voice of the youth in every town. But even what should be an innocent and clean election has also been tainted with the stench of vote buying. I had a schoolmate who ran for the SK Elections a few years back. She told me that she was a sure win when suddenly her opponent began to not so secretly giving “favours” to the voters. Against her will, she gave in to the tactic of her opponent and “bought” the people. Although in the end she won, she felt guilty for what she did. This example shows that money really does push people into doing the most grievous of acts.

Another example of vote buying among adolescents is taking the voters to a “resort” or some place that they could stay for a few days before the elections. They are pampered by the running politicians with food and accommodation. They are kept in that place for a few days and are “freed” on Election Day. This tactic is used in a lot of small towns, and has been effective because the ones who were “captured” will feel a sense of wanting to pay back what has been given to them, thus, prostituting their vote.

So at the young age of sixteen, the minds of the country’s future are polluted with the thought that money can buy everything. And when they reach eighteen and they can vote for senatorial and presidential elections, they are stuck with the same mentality, thus the success of the cycle that normally those who buy votes are the ones who lead the country to misery.

You may be thinking that you can easily just take the money but voting for another candidate. Sadly this is not the case, for there are “guards”. These are people who are paid to make sure the people who they gave money to would vote for their candidate. A lot of people are threatened if they do not vote for a certain candidate. In far flung areas, some candidates show guns and other weapons to put a scare into the people. The other day I texted my friend who was from a province, and she told me the most horrible things. The candidates really threaten to take their houses or their farm if the people did not vote for them. This is a scary thought that people should know about, because it is happening in reality.

Although it may seem too late for our country, it’s not. We can still do something in order to give back the freedom to choose who to vote without the thought of money. As citizens, we must learn to refuse the smell of money because as easy as the money comes, the easier you lose it. It’s better to have hard earned money than prostituting your freedom to change the political system of your country. Even a seventeen year old girl sees this clearly. Why can’t you?

Shedding hope (how to cry)

Everyone does it more than once in their life. For women, we do it more often than men. Or maybe men hide it better than we do. You know what I’m talking about. That moment when someone breaks your heart, when you get disappointed about something, when you’re left alone to yourself, or things just aren’t going your way? And then when you get into your room and everything just pours out? That’s right. As Buford of Phinneas and Ferb says, “sweating through our eyes.” Or in lay man’s terms, “crying”. So here are simple steps on how to cry:
Set the mood. Put on some sad music. If you’ve just broken up over a guy, play the song that best reminds you of him. If your best friend isn’t noticing you anymore, play that playlist that you made whenever you’d get together. Make sure to tell people around you to not to disturb you and warn them of weeping monsters that may appear in your room when they start hearing noises. Then go to your room, make sure to lock the door. Put up pillows around you. Turn off the lights and get hold of at least 2 boxes of tissue paper. Get a paper bag ready in case you reach to the point when you can’t breathe well. Fill a whole pitcher with water. Refrain from lighting candles as there is a possibility that you may burn the house down.
Visualize. Think about what you could have done if you won that beauty contest. Think about what you could have achieved if you aced that exam. Think about that bully that taunted you for being too skinny. Think about every detail: the cash prize received by the other contestant, the face of your parents when they find out you failed, and the pimples on your enemy’s face. If you have pictures, put them around you. Imagine everything your brain could come up with. Put up the image in your brain and don’t wipe it away.
Put away sharp and poisonous objects. Prevention is better than cure. So you better prevent tempting yourself to end your life just because your wish on a magical star didn’t come true. Most suicides are because of people crying their eyes out and the first thing they see is a knife. Stray from scissors, blades, and sleeping pills and if possible, tie your legs together and handcuff yourself.
Start crying. Don’t hold anything back. Scream, throw pillows, rip apart pictures, you can even murmur things to yourself. Just don’t hurt yourself. Say curse words, sing with the damn song, and just let things roll. Just go crazy. Just think about everything that made you feel like the lowest critter in the universe. Make sure that you let everything out, never leaving something for later. Just let it out. Imagine you’re a actress and your career depends on how you cry. Imagine you’re Kris Aquino or Kathryn Bernardo and you just lost your man to your best friend. You never know if you’re crying might get you an Oscar one day.
Clean up. Organize your desktop. Delete the files that remind you of what you just went through. Throw or give away the clothes that remind you of that person because I guarantee you that even after a few years, you’d still be reminded of the times you wore that clothing. So just clean everything up till you reach the point that nothing material can make you remember things.
Write it down. So history won’t repeat itself, write. Just free write everything you ever think about and don’t stop for a mistake or a grammar correction. Just write it all down. You can burn it, or seal it tight. You’d never know when our deepest darkest experiences may be of use someday. If you’re not that good at writing, it’s okay. No one else will read it other than you.
Move on. So you’ve cried it all out, and nothing is left. That’s a good thing. It’s better to let it out than to bottle it all in. And remember this famous mantra: you have to walk before you run. So take things slow. Don’t rush yourself into feeling better. Change is more gradual than you may expect it to be, so just take each day with hope that you may never go through it again. Do better. Everything is in the past and it happened for a reason.
And always remember, there’s always a rainbow after the rain. Something better is out there for you, and it would happen when you least expect it. The best stories in life happen when you get the courage to stand up after you fall. And no matter how many bruises you’ll get along the way, remember the people who were there for you and appreciate them. You’re not getting any younger, so don’t waste your time crying about one thing over and over. Great things are ahead, so stop putting your head down and look straight up with a smile.