presidentmarcos blogs for Cory Aquino

It just occurred to me, that despite the utter enshrinement of President Aquino in this blog of mine, it seems the height of irony that I have nicknamed myself presidentmarcos or for that matter, addressed this site presidentmarcos.blogspot.com. Of course, all must know that Marcos was the dictator, and the widow Aquino was the liberator (in more ways than one). In other words, for presidentmarcos to blog exultantly about Cory Aquino is mind-boggling on so many levels.

Truthfully, it is quite funny and to an extent, disturbing, at the same time. By no means though, have I meant for this play on words to come about, given that I have made and named this blog, and my blogger self, almost four long years ago; not even perceiving that one day I'll have to say goodbye so emotionally to Cory, as a blogger who's namesake is her arch nemesis.

At any rate, this does remind me that I haven't really explained why these names are such: the blog and the blogger.

I'll explain it then, in my next post, how I've meant for this blog to live out its life, carrying such a name, and having such an alter-ego as its author. Certainly, when presidentmarcos blogs for Cory Aquino, explanations need to be threshed out. For sure. :D

Exploring love and sadness and the un-differentiating of the two

This is about that spontaneous thing that I actually did this early morning (around 2AM).

I was having one of my random walks, admittedly to let an overwhelming feeling of sadness dissipate, and then I felt I could help organize my thoughts and let my emotions flow by writing something. I didn't really quite know what it was that saddened me, and I was getting tired of feeling depressed without knowing why. To a great extent, perhaps I knew why, at least unconsciously, or I haven't just been true to myself, magpakatotoo kung baga.

So I stopped at a nearby 7-Eleven store, bought a Gatorade drink (cause I thought they had a promo, but they didn't! sigh) and a hot dog sandwich and then, as if I always wanted to, a pen and since I couldn't find another type of notebook, I bought an almost girly notebook. Haha. At any rate, I bought them, without really thinking much, sat down and wrote.

I just let my thoughts flow, but at the same time I didn't really think of them. To a certain degree they were emotions textualized, a sort of translation of sadness to words, of apprehension to words, of doubts, of questions, of visions, of futures, into words.

Below is what I wrote. I am tempted to put a disclaimer, but I would very much negate my idea of being true to do that. Disclaimers, after all, sometimes translate to "I didn't actually mean it". Nonetheless, this I will say: The essence of fiction is not to present the truth per se, but from the imagined the truth is born, from the un-true, the glaring truth is given light.

In that context, I say, these are all the truth, written as un-true forms.

"I want to write a story that's why I've bought this, these pen and paper. I want to write a story because I feel restless, yet very tired at the same time. I want to write a story because I'm sad and I really don't know why. Okay, maybe I'm just not ready to accept why; why I'm sad, why I feel the need to write, or why I want to share a story, perhaps my story. Just now, I think I've realized... I don't know exactly how to put it in words

Is it because I've loved, or think I've loved, or at least felt and cared? But somehow the boundary up to which my heart can give selflessly has been passed; that perhaps the I in me, deprived of utter compassion, has longed too much, too long and turned to a broken wing, to a barren field, to a snowy peak, to a shard of glass, to an endless wail and sharp pain. I long for warmth undisguised, for intimacy uninhibited, for the mending of a scar, for a drowning embrace and a curious glance. I only wait to melt in your heart, to be considered part of you, to be loved and seen and hear and thought of.

I travel alone, not so much to leave but to be found. Too long have I walked to reach you, too heavy has been my burden in carrying you, expired has been my voice in reminding you, too weary my mind is thinking of you, too lonely has my heart been in caring.

Permit this time for me to consider myself, to consider perhaps my needs, to consider the me, the I who has cared despite myself.

I do not know what I aim for, what I shoot for. I only know I've cared, but I'm tired now. Perhaps, just perhaps, love has found cliffs that are far too steep to climb and the fall too far down, that I think I've fallen enough times.

Simply, I have not regretted my care for you, but perhaps I ask, I expect from you that which you could never give. I am sorry that it is at this point in my life that I've decided to fore go many things that I've been generous in. I fore go our friendship not to end it, but to start over. Hopefully, this time it is to forge a bond where I, the I, the me is present.

I do not know what or how that really is. Neither do I know who. I no longer think about that, I only am, be, do.

I've loved you all sincerely and truly from the core of my heart and being. I just feel tired from loving too much and perhaps I feel I must rest. I do not think I can ever figure in your lives that way you all have in my life. Perhaps I just love too much indeed, and that has only brought me pain that overwhelm the bright times of smiles. I hurt, and I want to stop it.

The spring that flows within me has dried up. I must give my heart then to people who will replenish me as well.

Consider my genuineness as a friend and perhaps you will find me there.

If you wish to forget, then that will be hurtful, but I guess inevitable.

I sincerely don't know what I ask from you then.

Let me just find myself, and make sure that me survives.

You're very much welcome to help me out, if you deem it so."

There. Now considering it, I'm certain this is more fiction than fact or personal reflection. I don't think I'm the one speaking there. At the very least though, I think and feel, that this is more of a writer's exploration of love and sadness and the un-differentiating between the two. Although, I feel that the line that separates them is more muddled than clear. Perhaps to care is to be at risk of pain? Hmm. A question that sits atop an iceberg of more questions, that's what that is.

Yet, after writing that, I feel more lighter now. Maybe some heavy truth is hidden in that text, something unchained from my heart and my heart is a little freer.

Perhaps, the truth does really set you free? But what if that truth is the one that tells that there is no difference between love and sadness; that they're one and the same?

Hmm.

Nagpapakatotoo

Did and wrote something spontaneous just a while back. I was wondering what to post (yesterday), and had a lot of ideas, but somehow, I guess I was just waiting for something other.

I'll post it in a while, the moment I wake up I guess. Its around 3:10 AM already anyway, and I'm just heading off to sleep, because I do feel sleepy. Okay, that was borderline nonsensical.

At any rate, I'll update the world once I do, for now, however, I sleep.

Sweet dreams!

Paalam po

Paalam po Ginang Aquino!

Finally, after quite a while, I am starting to grieve a lot less and to release the sorrow a lot more, from the passing of our dear, yellow-clad leader. I really don't understand it myself, but for the past days, from her death until the days of mourning that followed, I was deeply depressed. I know for one that I can be a greatly emotional person, and to add to that, I am emotional with anything that concerns this country of ours. The passing of Cory, I guess, compounded themselves to burn my heart with grief.

I have cried, and cried many times. But why or for whom, I could never really say.

I cry for the family she left behind, her children and grandchildren, her siblings and cousins, her in-laws, her, our people. I cry for the nation that has lost its living conscience. I cry for myself, who has lost a personal hero. I cry because I do not know how to express my love and appreciation of her person.

A friend asked me why I was a fan of Cory. To my ears, he asked me why I shed tears for this lady. She was a person he never really knew a lot about. He wasn't born during Aquino's time. Neither was I, I thought. But even if I do know quite a few things about her, I couldn't really answer.

Yet, words came out of my lips, recalling her political significance and her democratic legacy, as well as her courage and tenacity confronted by tragedy and impossibility. But in my mind, her impact to me is truly more than words can say. In the same breath, her death is as incomprehensible.

I could say a lot of things, and say nothing at all, but this I say: She showed me, as Ninoy did before her, that there is goodness in humanity; and that there is value in hoping against hope; that there is courage in the most humble of hearts; and that heroism is not about being the one but being someone, someone who cares, someone whose principles move him to act, someone who encourages, someone who tries to make the lives of others better despite how heavy that burden is, someone who believes and makes his life a vocation for humanity.

Helen Keller shared before that "I am one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something; and because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do something I can do." That for me is what heroism is: giving everything to do that something that you can contribute. President Aquino exemplified that; and she is gone.

I cried and I hurt. But now the hurt is gone, and slowly, but surely, I guess I understand more the reality of her death, but also the magnanimity of her life.

I could write never-ending texts about this incredible lady, yet that wouldn't express my gratitude for her nor live-up to what is due her. I leave the countless resources on her life and legacy for you to read. What I can share here then is my heartfelt thanks to her.

I hope she knows that here is one human soul, fundamentally inspired by her, with the way she lived her life and carried on. I hope she knows how much as a Filipino, I look up to her as a modern mother of this, our troubled nation. I hope she knows that her memory continues to warm my heart, in facing the cold storms of an uncertain future of Philippine democratization and good governance.

I am happy, and I no longer cry, because I have been a witness, however indirectly, of the giantess that is Cory Aquino. After all, they say we reach and see farther when standing on the shoulders of giants. Tears are held at bay by this beautiful thought; that wherever we go, what ever the risks we face, and no matter how dark the times can get, President Cory Aquino showed that there is good in the hearts of men and that there is value in hoping and fighting for a better world.

My tears have been shed for the last time, and I say goodbye to them, to the pain. I comfort myself with the thought that, perhaps, it is in our hearts where the departed survive, and it is in our works that they live on.

More importantly, we do it not for the ones who have left this finite world, but for the living, the oppressed, the dismissed and the marginalized, to whom Mrs. Aquino fought a lot for.

She showed me the grace of inspiration, colored the nation yellow, and to the world, I share my own hue.

Paalam po, aming inang bayani,

Ginang-Pangulo Cory Aquino!