True, Bongbong Marcos cannot be made to account for his father’s sins. He is just the son. He was a kid when his father imposed a corrupt and brutal dictatorship over the country. It is not his fault to be the son of Ferdinand and Imelda and to have grown up so used to the trappings of absolute power and shielded from the realities of ordinary Filipino lives.
But he is accountable for many other things. Let me count the ways:
- Agreeing to and taking part in his father’s corruption, human rights atrocities and other abuses when his family was in power.
- His continuing cover-up of his family’s ill-gotten wealth and complicity in various schemes to rob the Filipino people.
- His continued enjoyment of such wealth and its use to keep his family in power.
- His continued denial, despite facts, historical accounts and official documents, of the atrocities of his parent’s conjugal dictatorship.
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2 years in and i am still infatuated with the fact that i have a beautiful wife and a cute daughter. i did not plan this. no one plans this shit. those lists that you create when you were young. those supposed bucket lists that are achievable only if you earn gold and doubloons. of course, there is a plan somewhere, sort of, when your foot is inside the circle. YES, THE CIRCLE. you know, the circle?
you fly with your guts. you pestle your emotions. you agree with what the world is telling you. and these sacred things are the bigger picture.
we are often enamored with the grand scheme. the wanderlust of life. the extremities of such. sometimes, we are leaving the supposedly useless things behind. we barge through all those tiny things around us. and boy, we are usually wrong.
eating dinner made by your wife, different sounds of laughter from your daughter, and simply walking from your house and walk a quarter of a kilometer to buy something while tagging your whole family with you is definitely the perfect memory.
everything is fast-paced nowadays. maybe it’s better to stop and look and smell. maybe, she’s cooking adobong paa ng manok.
When life gives you lemons; well, yeah…
Maybe in this lifetime, I was not meant to exist. Maybe in this lifetime, I should have been a rag or a dust or a floormat or anything disgusting (don’t forget barf too!) to experience such ludicrous and excruciating unavoidable unnecessary things that would often make myself wonder with, “nananahimik naman ako dito. what is your problem?”
Maybe, and just maybe, I exhibit a bullseye over my forehead to take the fall, to take the hate, and to take everything else in between to achieve such.
Or maybe I am just an evil person and I am not fully aware about it. And this one is more acceptable as everything is easily justified. Just like any wrestling heel.
You invest friendship. You lose. You dare to be enigmatic. You lose. You even experience the hate first hand and you’d come up as the bad guy when you retaliate.
You’d love to fight back. But is there a point in all these.
I say this because of an incident that happened recently.
Hotdog band was about to wrap up a lucrative deal with a reputable casino group and it involved the use of the song “Manila” which my brother, Rene Garcia & I (Dennis) created.
Sadly, the deal fell through because the prospective client found out that the lyrics of the song “Manila” was emblazoned on the casino floor of a competitive establishment.
Many people have been telling me about this but I never really found time to see it for myself.
So one day, I finally went and saw the “thing”. The core lyrics of Manila at the pricey Resorts World Manila – on display… without permission, without attribution, without remuneration and with absolutely no guilt.
I guess I wasn’t…
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the big fish in the sea comes in many shapes, sounds, colors, and sizes enamored by the possible distribution to the perfect consumptionist worthy of origin or also, a plain survivor. as the survivor takes the worst percentage of the pie, he deactivates his social media and opts to enjoy the plain but sumptuous treat provided by the higher being. it may not be much but at the end of the day, it is better than nothing.
in reality, we think of the first and actually is the latter. we can always set it to the dreaded gray area but we end up with the bookends. given the chance to take the latter, as much as i would want to take what was provided, i have the choice to add a few more bites. though sometimes there are people happy enough to take the tiniest bite worthy of an astronaut meal. yes, an astronaut meal ready to get sucked in the black hole that goes through a worm hole and provides the worst time space dimension that one can even extend to: Sam Raimi’s Army Of Darkness’ last scene where Ash ends up alone.
i have to admit that improv philosophy is one hell of a herculean task especially to the unwilling. even if everything is handed, given, and provided, it usually emits the most dangerous proportions of what the ID could handle. it’s the decades worth of survival versus the am i happy fraction. and it eventually kick the nuts of the good vibe improv majority wherein chances are always offered to the point where the true reality kicks in. that people can be unknowingly selfish in the world of improv and if self-awareness kicks in, a dangerous tool to use albeit mostly successful initially, a probable word war three is taken into account unless defcon 5 releases its alarms to warn and hopefully contained and creates an action plan after.
of course, the greater scale is filled with everything that we-must-not-name. politicians taking the money of the people, security guards power-tripping, and even blue-collar restaurant workers donning the usual cat-and-mouse routine. reality is a vicious cycle yet the optimism is the lonely voice trying to start its own people power. and just like what i said earlier, a lonely voice is better than nothing. if handled and supported properly, it may be the right action plan throught the eye of a needle. it is plain sucky yet extremely satisfying if ends up a success.
i actually posted something like this on twitter a while back, that we are fierce creatures designed to throw all self-awareness through the window. a sad plight indeed.