Gaps, patches and in-betweens

I know you don't like the letters that I write to you. But I don't always give you a letter on your birthday, so bear with me. Dear Ilaw, They say that 18 is the age when you become an adult. That is bull****. It is just the start of having a say on who you think will be good for our country, who you think will pave better roads to give you and your friends the environment to pursue what you want to do, with enough opportunities to do so. Thinking for yourself, making your own decisions, sticking by them and knowing when to let go do not happen "from hereon." You have always been at it even when you were yay small. I never told you to study hard. Well, maybe Tatay did. What is important when one is in school is you enjoy the learning process that it offers. And you actually learn something. And yet, you did study. You took your sweet time, in between book chapters of "Series of unfortunate events", but you did. You and your sister were not those...

Dear seatmate at the bank,  How difficult could it be to just sit without shaking your leg? You are causing my earthquake trauma to recur. In case you haven't noticed, the seats are connected. The small ripples you cause in your shifting are like layers of earth reshuffling. Do you really have to beat to the music of the commercials on the monitor showing the number being served at the counter? I understand that you are getting impatient. Let's see, I got here some 30 minutes before you. If I can sit still like a meditating plant, why can you not stop moving!? Do you have someplace else to go? Well, I do too. Away from you! And this goes out also to seatmates at airport boarding gates, hospital waiting halls, and any other facility where we share the same bench. Dear passenger behind seat number 17D on PAL flight 9:20am from Tacloban, Leyte, and the person behind me on the bus from Silang to Manila, and the bus ride back home on December 17, I do not appreciate ...

We survive or remain victims. They talk to me, because of me, for me. They take away my voice. So I lie and wait for the paradise They said would come When things have changed. It was too long in coming. I learned to talk their way. And we screamed Sometime long ago, Or maybe just yesterday Against the --isms that choked us Against how we were held captive And molded the way we are now. Yet it is the eloquence in the foreign language That allows us to move comfortably in the world. It is the faith that we cling to desperately To save us from the pain when we fall Even after all they have done, And the high cost of believing All that they have made us do And give up, that carries us through. The sanctuary of culture Does not keep the vultures at bay. They sweep our feet with sweet words As the promises of traitorous lovers, Yet we bed with them, a knife under the pillows And kiss them goodnight. Maybe we should’ve adap...