Category: philippines

Peace and quiet at Kalanggaman Island

Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t think. Just float. Feel the soft breeze. Feel the heat radiating around you.

Sounds relaxing doesn’t it? This is the paradise that Kalanggaman Island promises. It is a 45 minute boat ride from Palompon Leyte, which is a two hour ride from Eastern Visayas’ capital, Tacloban City, which is an hour plane ride from Manila. Now let me talk you back on our own journey of twists and turns, on our way to paradise. 🙂

We started off by waking up at 3 in the morning. We then got onto the road as we tried to catch some sleep on the way to Palompon. But what could have been an easy route, turned out to be rocky. We got lost a bit, trailing off to a rocky mountain. Though we weren’t sure where we were going, we went with it. We laughed as we counted how many chickens my dad almost run over. Turns out though, that the road we took was actually a shortcut towards Palompon. How lucky could we get? And what seemed like hours of going round and round, we finally reached the city of Palompon. When we got there, we set off on a pre-pictorial pictorial!

As the boat zoomed off, we were in for a big surprise: there was a looming storm and we were lucky enough that we left before the coast guard announced that no boats were allowed to leave! So we braved the waves as we approached the island, seeing dolphins and flying fish! 

 Once we arrived at the island, we forgot about out rumbling stomachs and dove into a pictorial of the breath taking island!

 And then, when we could not deny our stomachs any further, we ate our very yummy brunch 🙂

And as narcissistic as I am, I couldn’t stop taking pictures of myself and the island!

And then, we dove into the clear waters of the ocean. Everything was so visible that it looked like we were in a pool!

We then ventured to the end of the island, where we resumed the pictorial!

After we swam and ate, we finally bid adieu to the island that gave us the relaxation we all needed 🙂

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. 🙂

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?

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.

Land of mirrors

As reality shrinks into a dark abyss, I find myself in an empty void. I forget everything; my name, my age, the things around me. It is as if I was born again, into a world that I can create with my mind. And in my mind, I am a baby; an innocent bag of flesh, just waiting to conquer the world with the secret insanity that I held myself with. I am pampered, and I have my family hanging at my every babble and talk. As I stagger and begin to walk, my parents held my hand. Soon enough, I began to walk on my own, eat on my own, and I begin to not depend on my family on every little thing. I fell asleep on my own bed, thinking of how cool it would be when I grow up, unbound to the chains of my parents.

As I open my eyes, I see little children running around, without a care of the world. I join them, and I become part of their world. For a moment, I do not care about everything else. I only have these children, carefree and untouched by the sore reality of the flesh world. I stay with them for a while, and I laugh so loud that some people would call me indiscreet. Then in a blink of an eye, the little kids were gone. I find myself alone again, walking along the depths, not knowing where to go. What I do know is that I have to follow my bare feet, which were having cuts and bruises because of the small rocks I stumbled upon. The strength of my sole was tested, and though I winced and cried a time or two, I kept going, excited to learn what else is in the depths of my mind.

Then I found myself in a room full of mirrors; mirrors of different shapes, of different lengths. In each mirror, I looked different. In some mirrors I was tall, in some mirrors, I was small. In some I was a blur and some I looked as naked as a new born baby. I felt stripped, I felt judged, and I ran away as fast as I could. But I could never run from them and the more farther I ran more mirrors appeared in front of me. Then I stopped and looked at myself. As I studied my body, I saw that it was developing. My mind too, was more open, more developed in a way.

I was then put in a box, a box filled with facts and numbers and the proper grammar. I was taught this way and that, and my mind grew bigger and stronger. I had developed reasoning and judgement, and when I did I saw mirrors of other people, and I began to see them from a different view. I criticized most of them, some I envied. I wanted to be a part of their world, a part of their group. I tried my best to fit in the mirrors; I even changed my structure and the way I was. I found myself squeezing in, desperately trying to be the same with the plane of their life. But no matter how I tried, I was different. After a while, I got tired. I haven’t seen my reflection every since I was fascinated by trying to be one of the people. And so I searched and searched through the mirrors, but I could not find the reflection of me. I began to wonder what I looked like, if I looked like the people I criticized. I became mad, insane, driven into finding the mirror that held my face. I began to break every glass, and I stopped looking at other people. I got bruised and hurt, and I got scars everywhere. I was laughed at and judged, but I broke all the mirrors, knowing I had nothing to lose.  And then, at the end of everything, I saw a lone mirror, standing proud and unmoved. I stopped, as my sanity returned. My heart began pounding like a maniac on drugs, and I saw my reflection in the mirror. And I hated what I saw. I was disgusted as I saw a young woman, who looked at everywhere but herself. I realized that the more I envied other people, the more I wanted to be a part of their world I didn’t have time to create my world.

And so I started over. I picked up myself, and got my head on straight. I took a part of my mirror, so I won’t forget how I looked like.  As new mirrors replaced old ones, I began not to care about them. I put my head up, and began to walk on my own. I heard whispers and taunts and names that ridiculed me, I tried my best not to care. I became stronger and mightier, able to stand on my own two feet. I learned that the things I learned in the “box” could never be enough to be able to be on my own in the land of mirrors. And at one point, I saw my own reflection again. It was on another mirror, and as I checked the small piece from my own mirror, I saw it was an almost perfect match as how I saw myself. It was a brighter mirror, with more colours and it sparkled. I smiled and I twirled at my reflection, and I felt comfortable. Low and behold, the mirror became a man. He smiled at me, and made me laugh.  And he walked with me through life. And as I began to regain my consciousness, I saw a mirror in his eyes. It was the same reflection before he turned into a man, a reflection of who I was in his eyes. As reality pinched me back into its cruelty, I held in my heart the memory of the land of the mirrors.

Farewell, Doplhy.

Goodbyes are never easy. Especially when you’re saying goodbye to someone you dearly love, who changed your life forever.

For thousands of people, mostly Pinoys, this week has been a heart breaking one, because of a great loss in the movie industry. Rodolfo Quizon, more widely known as “Dolphy The Comedy King” died last Tuesday night. It was a culmination after 5 weeks of being in the hospital. The whole country was shocked when he was officially announced dead. The King of Comedy was no more, and people didn’t know what else the was to do. The only thing to do, was to be able to say their farewell.

Dolphy was the real joker. And to him, we were his king and queens.

For 64 long years, Dolphy loved to entertain. He made people laugh, smile, giggle and even knew how to make them cry. He knew how to tickle people’s funny bones, no matter which generation the person came from. He never failed at his art, his own genre. He was the master of his won game. Though I personally have only watched his more recent movies, I could say that he lives up to his name. He knows how to portray his character, and knows timing. And because of his years of acting, and making people laugh, making himself laugh, his face doesn’t look a day over 50.

He was like a part of a family to all, a father like figure who made people laugh.

The thing about Dolphy is that he was always a comic relief. When people had a bad day, they could just turn on the TV and laugh their blues away. And Dolphy was just the right medicine for a day full of hard work. He had this charisma that even if you were watching a very old film, you could still laugh at his jokes, you could still relate to what he is saying, and could still have fun with his shenanigans.

And now that he is gone, there would be a missing piece in the movie industry. A hole that could never be filled by anyone else other than the King of Comedy himself. His death is mourned all over the country, and for a teenage girl like me, I mourn for his loss, and I can easily relate to what his family feels right now.And most people do. We can feel for his family because in one way or another we have lost someone important in our life. For me his loss reminded me of my dearest lolo, whose name was also Rodolfo. Right now I can imagine him happy, laughing in fact, with the company of the great Comedy King.

In the end we must accept, that everything really has an end. That we must know that we have to move on with the changes life has set. And in the end, we could only just hope, that the persons we have lost are in a better place.

To Mr. Rodolfo “Dolphy” Quizon, may you rest in peace. 🙂