To My Dearest Friend L

Asalam allaikum Sister. I greet you this morning with peace and love.

I miss our weekend walks and our ranting about the hassles in our workplace. I miss drinking tea with you in that small cafe beside the gasoline station. I miss knocking on your flat, then you would tell me to come inside and ply me with cookies from that Iraqi bakery. I miss that you would call our Bangladeshi driver to take us to the souq where I would be making unplanned purchases just because it was so much fun.

“The Friends” by Gustav Klimt. Image from https://www.gustav-klimt.com/The-Friends.jsp

Sister, you voted for that pretender in the Palace. Yeah, I understand why you and your kin were so enamored of him. Remember we used to talk about Imperial Manila? And didn’t I agree with you that the Christians have taken lands you consider your own? I understand where your resentments come from — they come from the same place where mine used to reside. There was this place in my heart where I considered “others” to be the source of my pains. And you were one of the “others” until you became my friend.

I visited our country recently — and hey, we even bumped into each other at a conference! It was wonderful seeing you again; and I am happy that you are well and safe and thriving. Those three words, though, do not apply to most of our people, don’t you think? That is a sad fact. I used to believe, cynically, that being unwell, unsafe and un-thriving was just what most of our people deserved — because they are ignorant; superficial; they choose thugs or fools as leaders; and just because we are so clannish and clique-ish.

But I am here now, a land not my own, and I come to realize that nobody deserves to be “unwell, unsafe, un-thriving.”

I realize that one’s tendency to be superficial, to be ignorant, to make poor choices — can be rooted in one’s heritage, in one’s history. We are what our parents (our forebears) have made us. That is not an excuse for defects in our character and for the choices we make; but hey, it is a valid enough reason to explain why we are what we are.

I do not know if there is hope yet for our country, my sister. Though I know that I so very much want to come home.

I want to work for and build up things that are Mine (or will be). I want to see your lake, the one near your house — the house that was bombed and destroyed by ISIS; still to be rebuilt from the ashes. I want to feel Christmas — the fancy lights in our shanties, the carols of grimy kids, the parties where we sing and drink our sorrows away, the simple gifts we give just because. I want to speak our tongue — there are many of them and we make fun  of each other’s accents but we are all the same despite our differences.

Someday, inshallah, I will return home. I just need to learn to become the person that deserve it.

Nationalism or What do Filipinos Care About?

I am presently working in a foreign country as a temporary economic migrant. Someday, I will return home, but for now, I owe my financial resources to this nation whose culture is as different from mine as night is from day.

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I was thinking about my situation when I came across this article from one of the blogs I follow and usually comment on.  It is asking about nationalism, how it can be a bad thing, and finally, what Filipinos care about.

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First, the question of whether nationalism is “good” or “bad” is maybe a question of gradient and context.  When I was in elementary, the message I got from my teachers is that nationalism is “good” – and that is something we should strive for. We sang the national anthem and recited the “Panatang Makabayan” every morning without fail so this vague thing called “nationalism” could be instilled in our young minds and hearts. I had this idea as a child that it is a noble quality to be willing to die for one’s country. Back then, I was not aware of the nuances – i.e: what exactly are you dying for your country for?

Fast forward to Now.

Nationalism has taken on a bad rap.  The idea that “nationalism” is a dangerous concept probably started in Europe with its issues about the Nazis; fascism;  the breakdown of Yugoslavia due to the nationalist tendencies of the states that made it up; and now the deluge of non-European migrants into European soil. Presently, the US President is the poster child of the poisonous “nationalist” – a word which has become almost synonymous with “bigot”.

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A personal story regarding nationalism & immigration:

My aunts and uncles have all migrated to Canada in the 1990s. They have worked there and paid their taxes and eventually became Canadian citizens. So recently, Justin Trudeau has been welcoming Syrian and other immigrants to Canada. I would think that given their previous positions as economic migrants, my relatives would agree with Trudeau’s policies, in the spirit of paying it forward. But, alas … no. When I spoke with my aunt and uncle, all they could complain about was how the Canadian government policies would mean more taxes for them to pay and how welcoming more immigrants would be such a drain on the economy and how these middle eastern migrants are terrorists-in-disguise etc etc. So I just rolled my eyes and stopped the debate because I love my relatives and I don’t want us to spend their vacation arguing over immigration policies.

So what has this story got to do with JoeAm’s blog post is this: “What inspires Filipinos, broadly? Family, faith in the rituals of it all, gossip, and the practicalities of life: eating and getting around. Where is the MORAL foundation?” — particularly, me, mulling the answer to that question.

F Sionil Jose once wrote that Filipinos are  a shallow people (by the way, FSJ also supported and probably voted for Rodrigo Duterte — go figure).

FSJ said that we are shallow because we are “mayabang” (arrogant), we do not read (hence we are under-educated) and that our  mass media is shallow.

Given this “shallowness”, what inspires us then? I mean what would one expect a child to be inspired of? JoeAm gives this answer “Family, faith in the rituals of it all, gossip, and the practicalities of life”– ouch, but true. If we want to get rid of our shallowness, of this narrow definition of nationalism that we have, then we have to start with the family. And because of this we must consider that the unmet need for family planning in the Philippines is presently at 17.5% — oops, but this is another topic for another blog post  🙂

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So, to connect the ideas of this meandering post: do I believe nationalism is bad? Not necessarily, depending on how it is used. I mean, if one will define nationalism as a sense of loyalty to one’s country of birth/allegiance, that is not a perilous thing. That is actually a virtue. However, if one uses nationalism to justify the exclusion or persecution of “the other”, meaning people who are not part of your country of allegiance then that would just be mean. And if nationalism is used to defend one’s laziness and shortsightedness and unwillingness to make the personal sacrifices needed to combat climate change, well, that is just stupid.

Do Filipinos have a sense of nationalism? Yes and no. We have a superficial (“shallow” is the word FSJ’s used) sense of nation. We love our families to our detriment; and we identify with our tribes/regions (i.e Ilokano, Tagalog, Maranao etc), to the exclusion of our identity as “Filipinos”.

Given this fact, the question of “what inspires us?”, with all due respect, is the wrong question. The question should be: “how should that which inspire us translate to love of nation?”

Like, I love my family, my family inspires me. But would my family have existed at all if Filipino nationalists have not asserted our independence from Spain, America or Japan? My grandmother was telling me a story how the Japanese used to bayonet babies in their village. Without Filipino nationalism, she could have been one of the kids who suffered and then I would not exist.

This is a what-if of history (something my aunts get exasperated about when I bring it up, saying it is futile to think of what ifs).  But part of learning history is wondering about what ifs.  And that is what Filipinos lack, I think, why our love of our family does not translate to love of nation. We lack history. Somebody stole it from us (the colonial masters, the fucked up educational system, the present elites, you name it) – and now we fail to be inspired.

 

 

 

Better Late Than Never

Yesterday, December 10, was International Human Rights Day.

Sixty-nine years ago yesterday, this document was signed by 48 states including my beloved country.

The creation of the document was mainly a reaction (horrified, deeply saddened, remorseful, resolute) of the world to the atrocities that happened in World War II (which is just a sequel to World War I; just in case someone becomes interested in making a superhero-movie out of it — there’s your marketing strategy people.)

Image from TheHumanist.com

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Jesus was probably the 1st (well-documented) human rights advocate. John the Baptist was also maybe a human rights advocate too; but we do not know that much about him — King Herod beheaded him upon the request of Salome in behalf of her mom Herodias  whose  marriage to Herod was criticized by John the Baptist as unlawful because Herodias was already married to Herod’s brother. Yeah, this was the soap opera during Antiquity.

From Pinterest

I am not really sure about Gautama Buddha’s position on human rights; he was a proponent of The Noble Eightfold Path which emphasized a lot on doing the “right” things, but I bet he would relegate “human rights” into the background if it derailed the Eightfold Path.

As for Confucius —  naah, definitely not a human rights advocate. Someone whose worldview emphasized believing in your parents (and other authorities) even after they are dead would not a human rights advocate make.

I will not say anything about the Prophet Mohammed at this point out of respect for my adoptive country. (But … note to myself: write an article about how lip-smackingly delicious forbidden sex can be, consensual sex of course, once you are out of Dune.)

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In any case, the concept of human rights, and its subsequent adoption as a basis for human relations, changed the world as we know it. It’s much like the Eukaryote Revolution, but on a smaller scale.

Because of human rights, people do not have to worry about being killed arbitrarily — the law is supposed to protect them from that; which is why “murder” is a crime and the state is the only one with the authority doing the killing (ooops, this is still a muddlesome subject in human rights circles).

Human rights, supposedly, should prevent authoritarian regimes from having absolute power over their people.

Human rights made us recognize women’s rights (which are creatures who are also human, you know, even if they do not have a Y chromosome).

Human rights made us more sensitive to persons with disabilities (PWDs). So now, PWDs do not have to secure online appointment and can just walk-in to the Department of Foreign Affairs Office to secure a Philippine passport.

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So there are many reasons to love International Human Rights Day … hence I wrote this blog post even if it is a day late.

On a side-note, related to my country’s present predicament (and maybe related to women’s rights? and state rights? and uhmmm s-e-x!!!? ehem there is such a things as sexual and reproductive health and rights or SRHR boys and girls) one of my favorite bloggers just said this, and I quote: “Saying ‘I love you’ to get a good lay is not right.” Wow … 🙂

Image from PhilNews.ph

 

Margaux Stalks JL Or How to Plot the Perfect Revenge

(a continuing  story)

I’ve always hated ugly smarty pants bitch do-gooders. I don’t trust them. People who do not have apparent skeletons in their closets are elitist cunts who love to lord their lily pure resumes over you.

I have done plenty of stuff  that I am not proud of. But I am honest enough to admit them. Besides, I have paid my fucking dues, lots of times, most of them on my knees.

I am trying to better myself, you pig-face – that’s why I posted those photos of myself studying.

(By the way, I totally agree with Mam Lory when she said you are ugly enough to arouse reverse erection in a man. Lory should know what she’s talking about since she studied Anatomy and actually finished medical school, while you are just a fucking law student.)

And yeah, assholes, I read that book. Not cover-to-cover, as I do have a day job that I try to fulfill as faithfully as I can; but I read enough to know that what differentiates  so-called lawyers from me is just the amount of words that they use. Hell, I can infuse my fucking sentences with wherefore and therein and you scumbags will be impressed by my erudition. (Hah! See I do know big words you motherfuckers!)

So, JL you fat-porky-excuse-of-a-female, yeah see you in school … and we will see if you will still be laughing when I seduce your fucking boyfriend right under your nose. The only reason he sticks it in you is because he’s never had anyone better. He thinks you are the pot of gold. Well honey, wait til I make him come. Ha, ha, ha ….

Being smart does not mean you can make the world a better place. Look at all those smarty pants debating on whether giving the vaccines to the kids was right or wrong. Some of them are saying only 1% of those vaccinated will have a severe infection. That 1% is more than a thousand children, pea-brains. If your kid is one of those 1% what would you fucking feel? Not so good, yeah?

The problem with know-it-alls like you is that you do not recognize that you are already doing Oplan Tokhang in your own way.

You. Are. Hypocrites. You accuse my Big Daddy of genocide when all he wants is to rid this country of hopeless criminals who do not deserve to live anyway. But you cannot even see that you are committing the same thing to this country’s children. And yeah I’m not a scientist or a doctor but between killing children and killing criminals, well I think killing criminals is way better.

Enough with this ranting. I still have that goddamned book on Constitutional Law to plod on and pictures to upload on FB. It’s getting late and I haven’t removed my makeup and put on my moisturizer. Dry skin is the least of my worries though. These genital warts are killing me. I really have to get them cauterized. Again.

I wonder which dickhead retard SOB gave me this infection. I swear if I find the bastard I will castrate him and feed him his balls!

This is what Kris and I have in common. I love her! That’s a secret but I do — I mean, have you noticed that I do not bash her too much? She is just sooooo inspiring (I love her skin, her style, her hair and her bags are just glorious!) …. and if she could beat Chlamydia, then I can survive genital warts!

Maybe I should have listened to my OB when she told me to get that HPV vaccine?

Shit.

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References:

https://pinoyakoblog.com/blog/mochang-studious/

https://pinoyakoblog.com/blog/epekto-sa-mga-health-worker/

http://filipinogerman.blogsport.eu/up-to-200-filipino-children-risk-severe-dengue/

http://www.straitstimes.com/asia/se-asia/philippines-rolls-out-worlds-first-dengue-vaccine

 

 

Stalking Teddy

I have a new crush.

His name is Teddy and he has long hair and he comes from a tribe of warriors.

The Northern part of my country had been infamous for head-hunting activities in their distant past; on the other  hand, the north is also famous for one of the Eight Wonders of the World, the Banaue Rice Terraces.

from Mr. Baguilat’s twitter

Mr. Baguilat is the representative of the lone district of Ifugao. He is 51 years old and I cannot find any details of a wife or partner  when  I googled him.

Can it be that he is still single? Waiting for THE ONE ? 🙂 🙂

In any case, Rep. Teddy is one of the more principled, outspoken, hardworking congressmen we have.

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I came across this interview in The Philippine Star … here are some excerpts:

What is your favorite occupation?
Writing documents, doing my communications, letters, project proposals, concept plans. My laptop is my loyal sweetheart. (imagine that, the guy is unattached!!!!)
What is the quality you most like in a woman?
As a constituent, patience. “Please be patient,” I tell constituents when they ask me for work or about their projects. (Teddy, I am the queen of Patience)

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And no, this is definitely not a paid advertisement.

I just love the long hair.

from aminadoditalentado.blogspot.com

 

 

On History and Heartbreaks

 

You should not love what you will never own. You only set yourself up for a humongous heartbreak.

A broken heart can have disastrous consequences, the magnitude of which depends on who owns that heart.

Cities, states, empires even, have fallen because of broken hearts — and that is in a literal sense.

We only appreciate the lessons of history when we study the personal details of the players that have acted in it.

We are humans, hence, we never learn from the story of others, unless we relate it to ourselves. That is called ego.

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Last Week in History:

Philippine Senator Antonio Trillanes IV met with US Senator Marco Rubio.

As anyone who cares to know is aware, my country is currently in crisisfake news (some of them are even state-sanctioned) is masquerading as real news, innocent people are sent to jail, there is a so-called “drug war” which has killed over 10000 of my fellow citizens, ISIS has ravaged our southern city Marawi where one of my bestfriends lives, and China is rapidly devouring Philippine territory (China has Sauron-like tendencies these days).

My country has never stood a chance to powers that are larger than she is. The Philippines is like all those Hollywood actresses who were sexually harrassed by Harvey Weinstein.

Also, we Filipinos have never had a lot of luck with our leaders. Most of them have pimped, abused or sold us. Or were too weak to stand up for us. In fairness to them, we Pinoys were also babies, we were a bunch of mewling, whining, unlettered idiots. Give us a break, we were in a convent for 300 years (under good old Mother Spain), drugged by Hollywood for 40 years (thank you Mother America), tortured by Kempetai for 4 years (Japan and WWII). We have only been to primary school and high school after 1945. And today, we are like starting college.

So … here’s to hoping for better leaders in the future, and more informed and active citizens to guide them.

Margaux Is Faking It (a short story)

 

“I’m gonna fuck your ass, I’m gonna fuck your ass. Ugh, ugh”

“Yes, fuck me in the ass, fuck me in the ass.”

I yawned. This Chinese-looking guy with a big dick is totally having the time of his life pummeling behind me, uncaring whether my head is hitting the wall with the force of his thrusts.

Men are such pigs.

I really didn’t care much about him; but he looked cute, I was wasted and horny and he wanted to fuck. So hell. Yeah.

The foreplay is routine, to be honest. Lip-sucking, breast sucking,  cunt-fingering – he didn’t go down on me, what a dope. But I got off. Kinda.

It’s getting harder and harder to go off these days.

And dammit, I need to go off. My work which I totally love is totally fucking me.

Like yesterday. I went to this meeting. Or hearing. Whatever.

It’s on fake news. And it was held in the grand, august halls of the Senate. And this porky-looking senator had the temerity to show up. What an asshole! He’s a pig, really. His wife died of cancer and I fucked him once. I don’t even think he remembers. Those were the days when I was desperate … like money-desperate.

I am not so desperate now. I have my page, my following. I have the ear of the most important man of the land. And he likes me. And he’s like my dad (in my mind I call him Big Daddy). He brings me on trips. He thinks I’m smart and funny and just … we are just having fun together. I tried to seduce him once, but he couldn’t get it up anymore, poor guy. So I just blew him. He was very grateful. His cum tasted like  durian.

“Let’s get on the bed, baby,” the big oaf behind me is saying.

“Huh?” I say. I walk the few steps to the king-sized bed in this space-age themed motel room in the capital city. I love this motel. I have a lot great memories here. I don’t know if this will be one of them.

“Now baby grab your tits. Yeah like that.” I lie supine and make myself comfortable. I do as he says. He hunkers over me and licks my nipples. Please … what is it with guys and nipples? I mean, 70% of those I fuck have this thing with nipples.  I’m like, you’re such babies, get a fucking pacifier. I want him to go down on me. But I forgot to shave, and men generally like dealing with your clit only if they can see it. Otherwise, they don’t bother.

I let my mind wander. So yesterday was not so bad. My bosses did not throw me under the bus or anything. They were very protective, actually. (They should take care of me, of course; or they will answer to their boss, Big Daddy.)

I haven’t seen Big Daddy for several days now. He was busy going around the country pacifying the military troops. He’s paranoid about coup d’etat. I laugh at him when he goes all serious like that. I remind him that 16 million of his people want him in office. The military is putz, because he is the rightful king, I mean, leader.

But he told me that this country is fickle-minded and he has to cover all his bases. Poor Big Daddy, he’s so stressed. Last week, he had a showdown with this ex-convict senator who had the gall to accuse Big Daddy of corruption. Big Daddy had to defend himself. Too bad the info this bastard Snoopy gave us was fake; Big Daddy was burned. Snoopy would have to die, of course. Scum.

“Ugh, ugh … you are totally hot, babe. Grab my ass.”

I roll my eyes. My legs are hanging on his shoulders and he’s pummeling on me again. I want to tell him: you have to pace yourself, dude. But guys are dicks, they will go limp the moment you give them instructions.

Anyway, yesterday, I thought I was doing well until Senator Piolo came. He’s an autistic nerd, honestly. I wonder how he fucks his wife. Darling, I can’t find your clitoris, let me grab my map? I swear, he must have memorized Masters and Johnson’s before his wedding night. His wife is a limp-faced, elitist bitch. I hope she  is anorgasmic.

Senator Piolo is a total dope. He had the temerity to make fun of Roy. But Roy is smart and very bitchy. I love Roy; we went shopping in Prada that day in Dubai. Roy’s blog has 700,000 followers, way less than mine (only 4 million, bitch) but when I tease him about it, he just laughs and says most of mine are bots. Roy has a dark sense of humor, but I love him.

Senator Piolo, in his high-and-mighty chair, really went hard on Roy. But Roy held his own. Afterwards, I whispered to him, next time, we’ll gut the nerd. Roy laughed and gave me a high five.

I feel myself getting wet again. Good, great … ahh … so this big, dumb oaf knows what he is doing after all. He pumps like a piston and now he’s gonna kiss me. I take his tongue, taste the apple in his breath. I suck him; he sucks me. He bites my lip. I give myself to the pleasure, riding high on dope and cock. Hell, fuck. Yeah.

 

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“Was it great for you babe?” he asks me after.

I think on his question. I remember yesterday when the nerd asked me: “Were you fair when you wrote those stuff about me?”

I look at the Chinese-looking guy in the eye and say: “Definitely.”