To The Tito I've Never Known: Musings and Stories on the National Day of Mourning

Today, over sandwiches and coffee, I talked with my Nanay for a bit about what it was like back then, and why she had so much fear towards Muslims. 

It started a few hours ago, when we watched a live broadcast of the necrological services on TV. Nanay, (actually my aunt, but she practically raised me, so I call her so) a frail-looking but still surprisingly strong woman of 60 years of age, had such strong reactions against the encounter but I couldn't help but ask myself why. She told me herself a few hours later over merienda that when she was a child, her brother was ambushed and kidnapped by Muslim raiders in the mountains. My Tito bebot, the Tito i had never known, never came back down since.

Saying Goodbyes

Break the Cycle, You + Me

A few weeks into 2015, I said goodbye to a friend.

To those of you who've come into my room, you might notice several things. You might notice the black and red marker writings on the inside and outside of the closets, a thing i started one late night into my junior year, when a scene from an anime series kind of inspired me to do so. You might also notice the large pile of books stacked haphazardly in one corner. Maybe you'd look at the shelves above the mirror and notice the rows of Goosebumps books. Or maybe you might notice the assorted things i've crammed into this wall over here. It's kind of a medley of all the things i've found throughout more or less 9 years, to be honest. There's countless CDs (broken, mind you) of movies and music, some notices and meetings i've had a hand in officiating, some k-zone posters from my elementary days, an old map of UP from when I took the UPCAT and even a calendar of Our Lady of Buensuceso - the patron saint of my old high school alma mater.