Silhouette of a protesting woman with a megaphone raising one arm. Image from Pixabay.

When you impose a lockdown, shouldn’t it necessarily follow that you also provide basic needs for your people? What about us, for instance, who depend on having to go out and hustle everyday in order to find money to buy food? Hindi ‘nyo naman pwedeng sabihin na hindi kami naghanda kasi nga wala naman kaming nakaset aside na pera para bumili ng stock na pagkain. Continue reading A SHOUTOUT FROM THE GRASSROOTS



It’s been almost four years, my darling, and the new year has just started. You might find it absurd but, lately, my mind has been revisiting our memories, perusing the forgotten cul-de-sacs filled with the crumbling relics of our ancient meanderings.

How are you? How has life been treating you? Do you still remember me? Do you still recall those days when you and I seemed joined at the hip, always together, whenever and wherever? Really, how are you?

Life has a funny way of teaching us how to survive. It offers several forks when we reach those inevitable junctions on the road. We both made separate choices. I mourned for you, day after day after day.

Yes, life has its peculiar way of revealing the future. It necessitates pain but it also feeds us with the courage to go through each hurtful phase. I learned to live without you and you, I’m sure, learned to live without me, too.

Here I am today, far older and scarred. Several years have passed and it feels like a lifetime sans those carefree moments of petty debacles, boisterous antics, and hopeful dreams. We thought we had it all planned to the T, didn’t we?

Ah. Like sailboats frolicking in the midst of the roaring, open sea, I remained here in the east while you headed toward the furthermost part of east. The sun’s about to set on me whilst you’re waiting for its new rays to shine on you, my dear. I miss you. But–farewell again, okay? And take care, take care.

Aye, it’s been four years without you and it seems that forever’s the only way to rejoin you. I’ll be riding the tide that’s meant for me while you go past the one that’s been waiting there for you. Perhaps we’ll find each other again. Mayhap, on the next shining highway by the sea.

So, I’ll be brewing another pot of chai and pen down some poems of loss and love. I’ll mingle with the birds and the bees–and thrive despite the incessant chaos of life. I’ll keep my fingers crossed and send some prayers above.

Indeed, the heart is built with failure and sacrifice, yet the soul refuses to relinquish hope. The embers of our waning bonfire remain alive. The lilting songs of yesteryears attempt to wash away my grief.