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[theaxtorres]

Democracy Does Not Concede

As the country falls to the hands of the unjust, now, more than ever, is the time to strengthen our democracy.

The country’s 2019 midterm elections have shown to be one of the most disconcerting ones yet, and the results have shown that the following senators have taken on the position as the newly elected senate of our country: Cynthia Villar, Grace Poe, Bong Go, Pia Cayetano, Bato dela Rosa, Sonny Angara, Lito Lapid, Imee Marcos, Francis Tolentino, Koko Pimentel, Bong Revilla, and Nancy Binay.

Unfortunately, a majority of these are the people whose histories have shown blood on their hands, not to mention millions of pesos in their pockets.

These senators have been blessed with the support of the Duterte administration, and this unending support was reflected in their landslide win and domination of all twelve seats in the senatorial race.

However, during the election day last May 13, many have reported anomalies in voting their ballots. Other than occurrences of vote buying and mismatched ballots to their receipts, Commission on Elections (COMELEC) reported that 400 to 600 VCMs malfunctioned in the process, with problems that ranged from paper jams to defective machines. At a precinct at Valle Verde, Pasig, the voters were instructed to cast their votes and merely leave their ballots. Citizens from Roxas District, Mandaluyong City, Bicol, and other precincts shared experiences of their voting receipts not reflecting their votes for the opposition.

Added to this, at around 6:30 p.m. on Monday, the results showed the partial votes from 0.38% of polling precincts. The live feed of votes then froze for around seven hours, as the COMELEC’s transparency servers stopped sending results to media organizations and watchdogs. COMELEC Spokesman James Jimenez explained that the official results are not tracked immediately tracked by the transparency server, but rather pass through the municipal and provincial board of canvassers, before arriving to the COMELEC. However, minutes past 1 a.m. the following day, the server showed the results of 90.57% of the polling precincts, and the Duterte administration’s beloved bets were winning the race.

All this leaves a trail of suspicion whether or not the midterm elections was even a fair and honest race to begin with.

The result of the senatorial elections showed the return of plunderers, murderers, and celebrities to make the laws of our country, despite having actual lawyers who ran for the same race. The senate is supposed to be the harbinger of justice to its people; for this, we have senators with a history of extrajudicial killings who barely have knowledge of the Constitution (with one of them admitting to this lack of crucial information). The senate is in charge of budgeting the country’s money; for this, we have senators who stole billions from the citizens. The senate is supposed to oversee the appointments and functions being done in the government; for this, we have senators who are willing to sell the Philippines to another country—not to mention one who doesn’t even show up.

As these people take their seats in the senate, we are left to adhere with their own stances and beliefs. In the near future, we are to expect a charter change, removal of term limits, stronger relationships with China, the lowering of the minimum age of criminality, and possibly a revival of the death penalty.

The results showed no favor for the ones who could have brought what we desperately needed in our country today. But unfortunately, it skirted over those who opposed the administration, who actually fought and cared about all the sectors of the Filipino society. These are the people who could have brought justice and development to our country, and these are the people who lost.

Now, they stand as pedestals and symbols of what we should continue to fight for.

In these trying times, it will not do well to lose hope. It will not do well to fall back into apathy in response to these hardships. It is not the time to run away to another country when our Motherland needs us the most, when the less privileged who can barely afford to live have to deal with the rubble left behind. It is not the time to blame the our fellow Filipino citizens, when they were never even given a chance by the country’s system which never favored the marginalized to begin with. The system thrives on its poverty, pushing for the poor, so the rich maintain their ranks. With no priority for education, the marginalized are left to believe whatever’s spoonfed to them, and those who are privileged enough to be blinded by wealth, comfort, and power, continue to sit on the throne and play with puppet strings.

The few who see the bigger picture as an issue of an unjust and anti-poor system, who are simply craving for the morals to be given power, are those who have to stand taller and fight louder.

When injustice takes power in the government, then it must start to fear the power of its people.

We, the members of the Benildean Press Corps, as purveyors of truth and justice through journalism, continue to stand against the plunderers and violators of human rights who have gained power. We continue to stand with the marginalized, the uneducated, and the overall Filipino people. As part of the youth, we encourage everyone to listen to what our parents taught us, not to kill and not to steal, and at the same time, fight against the wreckage of killers and alleged criminals their generation has left us with.

The Philippines cannot fall when there are those who are still fighting for what’s right. Let no evil, despair, or sorrow stop us from holding the line. The state of the nation is in the values of its people, and this time, more than ever, is our utmost chance to rally our democracy.

If you are angry about the election’s outcome, let it be known. Scream louder, and educate more people. In the end, the revolution will thank the youth.

[theaxtorres]

In Fleeting Memory

When youthful bliss loses its grip on the present, the musings of old age catches up. “In fleeting memory” is a story of contentment and melancholy told through excerpts an old man scribbled in his journal.

Microwaved bagels and a cup of store-bought coffee take the place of morning hikes to the mango farm. I sit on the chair I made when I was 21 and I’m reminded of all the things I swore I’d do and all the places I hoped I’d go to. Now I’m 72, wrinkled and old, and I’ve done all the things I swore I’d do and I’ve been to all the places I hoped I’d go to.

January 23, 2008, 10:00 AM

It’s finally stopped raining here in Seattle. The sun has come out and its soft rays are making the dewy grass glisten. It’s the perfect weather to spend the day with my granddaughter at the park. I sometimes forget she’s not three years old anymore but 12—what a number; Bella’s 12 and, like most young ladies her age, she’s obsessed with her new iPhone. On our way to the park, she was busy tapping away on that little device. I walked quietly beside her, hands in my pocket, remembering the last time we went to the park together when she asked me to hold her hand as she skipped cracks on the pavement.

Bella and I sat side by side on a bench in silence. While the empty swing danced to the beat of the wind, Bella’s playing a game on her phone, the one with a bunch of tiny animals racing around in colorful cars. I don’t know how kids today call it, but to Bella, it happens to be worth ignoring the rare view of the cloudless, vibrant sky above us. If I were her age, I’d be causing a ruckus all over this park. Except, not to the fullest—the trees here are trapped by ropes that hung “Do not climb” signs.

January 23, 2008, 5:00PM

While eating ice cream by a pond, I told Bella about the summer when I was 12. I’d wake up at five in the morning to see the sunrise with the fishermen who lived by the coast. Summer days in the Philippines looked exactly like how they look in postcards; sunny and clear. I wish the postcards could carry the scent of the salty coastal air and the sound of lapping waves.

I told my granddaughter I learned how to swim with the currents by tagging along with the fishermen. She chuckled and said, “Lolo Ernie, there aren’t even any currents in the pool I take swimming lessons in. It’s blue and still, there aren’t any waves to tug on my ankles and the sunlight only touches my skin through the thin glass window panes.”

It made me laugh. It was true, there were no currents in indoor swimming pools and the sun had to snake its way through the windows.

February 24, 2008, 3:46 PM

“Prayer coupled with perseverance will help you achieve your dreams.”

I could still hear my mother’s soothing voice when I was a boy, with her gentle gaze and a soft grip on my shoulder; this was her daily reminder to me and my brother growing up in Leyte. Kuya Emman and I prayed to own the only Banaba tree in the neighborhood (to whom we were praying to was no more than a name we started these litanies of childish faith with). Truthfully, we never actually cared for Church, so we used that Sunday hour to only play by the pews or catch some more sleep. By college, we stopped attending mass; maybe because mom wasn’t there to remind us anymore. And the Banaba tree remained a part of our childish prayers.

But the older you get, the more you search for moments of prayer. It returned to me in whispered wishes, in declarations of desperation, and cries for help. When my daughter became too busy being a mother, the Church kept the loneliness at bay. At Church, there are subtle buzzes of life everywhere; children dress their Sunday’s best, choir’s melodies urge everyone to sing along, and the priest plays a raconteur’s role. I’ve never been a devout Catholic, but I’ll always be fascinated by the blind power of religion—how strangers gather in one house to sing praises and listen to stories, and find refuge in someone who could merely be a historical character.

March 5, 2008, 5:40PM

Bella invited me to go to the park this morning. This time, Bella left her phone at home. In front of us is the horizon, hues of red and yellow clamoring over fleeting clouds. A while ago, she asked me why I left the Philippines. I told her it was a decision I made in my youth—to press the refresh button with my only daughter who was just three at that time, after her mom chose to stay far away from us. There wasn’t anything special in the Philippines for me anymore. “It was boring,” I finished, trying to get a laugh out of her. She just stared at the sun as it lost its rays. After a while, she told me that people run away when things get too predictable.

“Easy can be unsettling,” she answered casually, no air of pretension.

Bella doesn’t realize she’s growing up too fast.

March 20, 2008, 8:12PM

My brother called me today and told me a house in the Philippines was waiting for me. We finally had enough money to pay for the house and lot that was planned to be our family’s little compound for us older relatives. By next month, I’ll be settled back in the Philippines for good. Mom was right; prayers do go a long way.

April 24, 2008, 8:02AM

I have to stop tightening my seatbelt and ignore the newspaper headlines about plane crashes pulsating under my eyelids. I always believed I feared flying but I realize now the imminent fear is falling into the sky, consumed by gravity.

Before the sun gives way to night, I’d be back home. I’d finally get to see the bluest seas and touch the tree barks I used to scale barefoot. I’ve lived in many homes throughout my lifetime but the Philippines was the home that I never left behind, oceans and miles in between considered; the Philippines stayed within me.

“Please take your seat and fasten your seatbelt. Make sure your seat and folding tray are in their full…” crackled through the plane’s PA as I put all my strength in my weatherworn hands to clutch onto the armrests.

If there ever was a situation that called for a prayer, I figured it would be this.

“God, let me come home.”

This article was originally published in The Benildean Vol. 4 No. 2: Preservation and on The Benildean website.

[theaxtorres]

In the Nature of Resistance

Under the covers of scheming politics, the notions of the privileged battling over the underdogs manifests itself through a correspondence between various personas of the youth.

May 14, 1994

To: Amir Rodriguez

Dear Amir,

How have you been? I was going through all the clutter in my room today and found an old stash of childhood photos. There’s one of us sharing a bowl of ice cream while our moms are chatting away in the background. It’s reminded me of the innocent fun we used to have when our parents left us to our pleasure and have the maids to clean up after us.

I believe it’s been four years now since you moved away to the province and my parents still silence me every time I mention wanting to see you again. To this day, I still wonder what happened between our parents that forced you to leave the city. Do you know why? Whenever I ask, Dad merely tells me that your parents didn’t do their job well and chose self-indulgence over the greater good. I have no idea what he means. It gets me absolutely riled up the way he talks to me like I’m one of his colleagues, with words falling out of his mouth like a corporate letter and actions so dry, it’s like he’s living off a script.

Recently, Mom and Dad have been too caught up in meetings with the big bosses of the government to even bother about me. They’re also in and out of courtrooms, only coming home early to hold a party every time one of their cases gets dismissed with the defendant found not guilty. You know I’ve met the President because of these parties? He was rushing away from a reporter drilling him for his opinion on those rallies those random people do on the streets, when Mom and Dad invited him to join us in our ride to the party. He’s very loud though, too assertive to make friends with.

Anyway, I’ve been trying to read more books to forget about all these mom and dad issues. It really is working so far. I’m on my fourth novel this month. Have you read State of War by Ninotchka Rosca? I highly recommend it.

I’d love to hear about your life, your family. Are Tita and Tito doing well? How about your Ate Lisa? Did she get accepted in the school paper? Or has she graduated already? I wouldn’t know. I really wish you replied to all my previous letters to you.

Hoping to finally get word from you soon, Mir.

Sincerely,

Adrian Ocampo

   May 18, 1994

To: Lisa Rodriguez 

Dear Ate Lisa,

Mom and Dad are doing as well as they can. However, Dad really needs to learn how to control his temper every time he reads the newspaper. Those Ocampos have become the right hand of the President, and it’s stirring Dad back to his, in the words of the ever-articulate Lois Ocampo, ‘aktibistang kanser sa lipunan’ days. With all the impossibly speedy court trials where all the President’s best friends are deemed innocent, even Mom has started slipping some awry spiels against this government’s subtle despotism during her barangay meetings. 

Are there any updates on our exposé, Ate? I heard Richard gathered enough accounts from the victims of the Sta. Clara narcotics bust. I think that high of a number of deaths of innocent people is enough to start a conversation. Tyranny’s on the way and I’m sick of having to wait and wait for more evidence, statistics, and public statements. Are the masses really as ignorant as you say they are? Would they really ignore the truth even if it’s lying bloodied on the ground in front of them? 

Speaking of ignorance, Adrian sent me a letter again. Poor soul is still horribly blinded by his privilege to see that the country’s justice system is crumbling to the ground because of their happy circle of friends and family. Apparently, he’s met the President. He probably even has the opportunity to poison that man, but he’s too busy complaining about how his parents don’t give him enough attention. He says he’s been reading more books now. I hope that finally teaches him to put two and two together and realize it was his father who filed that senseless treason allegation against Mom and Dad that got us into this mess of a life, of a country. 

Write back quickly, Ate. Give me assignments, people to interview, anything I can do to help speed up the process. If Mom and Dad are too worn down in this fight for justice, the least we can do is to continue it.

Be careful always.

Love,

Amir

  May 24, 1994

To: Amir Rodriguez

 Amir,

I’ve been meaning to hear from you since my last letter, but I just can’t help but let you know what’s been going on. Home doesn’t feel like home anymore. I barely even get to talk to my parents, especially Dad. He spends more time with those bland looking men in his study everyday, and he barely gets out. I could hear weird sounds and chants about exposés and rebellions up in where you are right now.

As I was reading, I heard them mention your sister’s name. I’m having a gutting feeling about this. Even though the voices I heard were faint, I don’t have a good feeling about this, Amir. I know you’re ignoring me right now because of who I am and where I am right now, but I want you to know that I still see you as a friend.

Be careful, brother.

Adrian

 May 26, 1984

To: Adrian Ocampo

Adrian,

I hope this letter reaches to you in time. 

I’m Lisa, Amir’s older sister. I used to scold you two for making too much noise when you were children playing. Before we left, I remember you always asking me how my application to the school paper was going. It always put a smile on my face how much you cared, even if it was just to annoy me at that time.

Right now, I need you to care about my school paper again. I need you to care about Amir and all the other innocent families and lives that were thrown into a hell of a life because of the people you’re surrounded by. Dear Adrian, open your eyes, I beg you. Look around the confines of your big palace and see the struggle of the poor. Read the news with a brave heart. There’s truth in the bloodshed.

You are our closest hope to understanding their schemes. By writing you this letter, I put myself and my family at risk. You could easily expose us to your Dad and have us killed by morning, or you could finally make it up to us, to the country for what your family has done.

On May 28, your parents will be meeting with the President, the Presidential Spokesperson, and the Secretary of National Defense, and a few more unidentified individuals to most probably talk about a new scheme. The news have been showing their ugly side too much. They’re going to do something about it.

Listen to them, Adrian. Give us caution. Send us a letter about what you hear, and dear God, I hope to hell you do the right thing.

Thank you.

Lisa Rodriguez

 June 12, 1994

To: Lisa Rodriguez

 Ate Lisa,

They’re planning to shut down all media organizations. They have fake documents and forged papers at their disposal. They’re going to silence anyone who gets in their way with only two things; with a shutdown or with a gun. It doesn’t matter to them as long as the lies go on. I’ve read enough books to know this is Martial Law. This is tyranny and a call for justice.

I assure you, you can trust me. I know you’re in the good fight. Keep going at it. It doesn’t make sense here anymore.

Please, save yourselves and hide. I think they’re on to you and your family. Write back.

I’ll write to you everything I know. I’m on your side, believe me. 

Sincerely,

Adrian

 June 16, 1994

To: Amir Rodriguez

Ate Lisa’s safe. She’s back in school now.

Take care. I heard there was a number of collateral damage in the attack. They’re unstoppable.

Regards,

Richard

 The Metro Standard

Friday, July 1, 1994

Ocampo son mistakenly shot by presidential aide

By: Karl Trinidad

MANILA, PHILIPPINES - Adrian Ocampo, son of senator Lois Ocampo and presidential right hand Bong Ocampo, was shot dead by a presidential aide early this morning, July 1. According to news reports, the Ocampo boy was suspiciously walking around the Malacañang Palace in the early hours of the morning, which alerted the aide as a possible spy from activists or militant groups which could harm President Ernesto Barrameda.

The aide who shot the boy indicated he alerted the boy and asked who he was, but the boy ran away towards the halls. 

“It was my second nature to [pull] the trigger. I didn’t know who [the boy] was. I thought I was just doing my job,” the suspect said.

Witnesses reported the boy came from a morning run to the post office to send some letters and postcards and bought coffee afterwards from a local shop. Although his intentions in the Palace are still unknown, administrators are currently looking for more sufficient evidence about the matter. 

Bong and Lois Ocampo, who had recently signed an agreement with President Barrameda concerning new retributions of the media’s alleged propagandist attacks towards the government, have rescheduled a number of court hearings in order to organize their son’s funeral.

The Metro Standard tried to reach out to the Ocampo family for a statement, but the request is still unanswered.

This article was originally published in The Benildean Issue 14 and on The Benildean website.

[theaxtorres]

The Fall of Justice

Right at the genesis of Duterte’s presidency, democracy has been on a gradual state of danger and has ultimately reached its threshold with the recent breach in the country’s judicial system. 

With the recent impeachment of former chief justice Maria Lourdes Sereno, the Philippine judicial system shows itself to be an easily manipulated aspect of our government. With democracy seemingly shattering right in front of us, the government seems to be threatening those who are in opposition by gradually stripping them off their positions—spearheaded by no less than President Rodrigo Duterte himself. Evidently enough, this proves to be an evident struggle for Filipinos as dictatorship looms nearby.

In August 2017, lawyer Larry Gadon filed an impeachment complaint against Sereno under the grounds of “culpable violation of the Constitution, corruption, other high crimes, and betrayal of public trust.” Gadon’s accusations also included Sereno’s alleged noncompliance in passing the Sworn Statements of Assets and Liabilities (SALN). With these, the House Committee on Justice voted 38-2, declaring all allegations against Sereno to have legitimate bases. On May 12 of this year, a quo warranto petition filed by Solicitor General Jose Calida to impeach Sereno earned the vote of 8-6 from the Supreme Court, officially securing the chief justice’s exodus from the country’s judicial system.

Sereno’s removal was a blatant disregard for the official and just processes of the government. As promulgated by the Constitution, an impeachment of a member of the Supreme Court can only be done through a full impeachment trial headed by the Senate. With this unjust action instigated by our very own government, the true colors of our country’s politicians became even more vivid–signs of dictatorship, injustice, and tyranny reek through the power given to them under the presidency of Duterte. Instead of a government that sets an example of integrity to its citizens, the Philippine government is doing the opposite, thriving in the upper hand they’ve ceased as the Filipino people hang on by a thread.

 The decision to impeach Sereno through quo warranto shows the imprudence of the government and strengthens the possibility of the Duterte administration to tie their puppet strings around the country’s politicians and one by one cut off anyone in opposition. Widely portraying the telltale signs of tyranny, it would be no surprise if the Philippine government becomes a party of Duterte cronies. With Duterte’s previous deceptions and attacks against the legislative branch and press freedom, added to the violent rampancy of extrajudicial killings, Filipinos are witnessing the consistent rise of authoritarian powers.

 In addition, by having a super-majority in both the upper and lower house on Duterte’s side, which will allow the President to get away with his wants through manipulative means, the essence of the government being “independent and co-equal” is being tarnished.

Sereno’s impeachment emphasized the easily penetrable state of our government by unlawful politicians, Filipinos are left to bask in the aftermath of these declarations. When justice in the highest branch of the government itself cannot be attained, what’s left for the average Filipino citizen to hold on to when a need for fair and righteous judgment has to be addressed?

 Therefore, it is during these attacks on democracy that the Filipinos must finally heed this wake-up call for to truly unite to secure a free country guided by a just democracy for the future generations to experience.

Be it through journalism, protests, or simple actions that call for justice, Filipinos must extend the power of the masses in letting the truth be heard, freedom be protected, and judicial independence be secured.

In the face of dictatorship, the fight for freedom must stand firmer than ever. 

This article was originally published in The Benildean website.

[theaxtorres]

Manila’s Silver Spoon

When the city never sleeps, the province ends up paying for it.

Manila has always been the Philippines’ spotlight. In the words of National Artist for Literature Nick Joaquin, “When Manila sneezes, the Philippines catches a cold.” With the city being the center of politics and home of popular culture, the radar for an urbanite snobbery signals loudly over the city.

Countless chances and significant opportunities are what starry-eyed probinsyanas see once they imagine their lives in Manila. Who could deny the powers of the country’s capital city? Certainly not me, a bright-eyed girl from Visayas who was innocent enough to believe that Metro Manila would easily hand me my dreams and wishes on a golden platter.

 Having been born and raised in Bacolod, I was accustomed to fields of green and skies of blue. In the province, I never experienced three-hour traffic jams and migraine-induced days. It was a stress-free environment; so stress-free that it was lethargic sometimes. I arrived in Metro Manila with high hopes, but the city’s bittersweet truth slowly made itself apparent. Besides traffic jams and a polluted environment, society wasn’t exactly a bed of roses. With stereotypes such as “mukhang katulong” and “promdi,” a term that loosely correlates to “unsophisticated hick,” it dawned on me that while most probinsiyanas regarded Manilenyos with utmost respect and admiration, the feelings weren’t mutual. Although, I’ve had my share of personal quarrels related to this, the issue falls on a much wider spectrum.

Work by the double

At first sight, the difference between Manila and other provinces would simply be their environment–Manila, the concrete jungle, and the province, the simple life. Beyond that is the difference of culture. With Manila being the country’s capital, development continues to thrive within it, and non-Manileños continue to wait by the sides. This leads to the presence of an Imperial Manila, a term used to describe the phenomenon of Metro Manila being the center of all Philippine affairs which consequently pushes other provinces out of the picture.

The country’s centralized government also paves way for what seems to be a bias for the home team, providing little attention for provinces. In a 2015 report by the Philippine Statistics Authority on the country’s top 20 poorest provinces, the top 11 are in Mindanao and six are in Visayas.

 The lingering internal colonialism of the Philippines is an issue that concerns our political and cultural structure. Manila isn’t the only cradle of Filipino lifestyle. Other provinces contribute just as much to our country, yet have a minimum wage of P380 at most (with regions like ARMM and Ilocos going as low as P240), while those in the city have a minimum wage of P475 to P512 stated by the National Wages and Productivity Commission as of October 2017. Hence, probinsiyanos are working double just to get a taste of the silver spoon Metro Manila is accustomed to.

 Due to the centralized government located in Metro Manila, an uneven development occurs and minority groups such as the Moros in Mindanao, continue to be the poorest in the country. The usual solution is to result to internal migration so laborers who are not achieving sufficient economic progression in their own province may reach advancement. This also sends the message that progression is only abundant in Manila and mobility for other provinces stay stagnant.

While it’s easy to speak about the phenomenon of Imperial Manila, the real struggle also works as the solution–to be listened to and to act towards our country’s internal equality. Beyond our country’s capital city is an abundance of breathtaking and historically rich places. As much as each city and province trudges with their own struggles, each one also holds a culture unique from the others. Through customary methods of respect and appreciation or through drastic innovations by the government, it is time for us to step beyond the limits of internal colonialism and acclaim each province as equal to the capital.

This article was originally published in The Benildean Issue 12.

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Hindered by belief

Hanging on to the idea of tradition may be seen as a form of upholding a country’s culture, but when it reaches circumstances of curtailing progress, it’s best to let go of the past.

Well-known for its religious affinities and persistent faith, the Philippines is a boiling pot of conservatism. The Church plays a powerful role in the country, almost equalling to that of the government’s authority. Bishops and priests lead with an iron fist steeled by enticing homilies and gospels, paving the way for the easily-influenced Filipinos to mimic the messages of the Bible. With a faith so strong, one can easily be blinded by it. Taking into consideration that the majority of the population follows this belief, it goes to show that conservatism is a force to be reckoned with.

Conservatism, according to Encyclopedia Britannica, is any political philosophy that favors the tradition of various religious, cultural, nationally-defined beliefs and customs. With this, change becomes a distant concept and progressive science a mere idea, if not an enemy. With a belief system that preaches that homosexuals are sinners and women have lesser function than men, the Philippines has adhered to these flawed concepts, but have recently been caught in the middle of a modernized generation.

Between two sides

It is evident tradition plays a significant role in the formation of a country’s identity, but the Philippines is no stranger to such a tug-of-war. The battle between Church and State has led to widespread arguments. A most notable example is the Reproductive Health Law, in which the Church was expectedly against the legalization of divorce, abortion, and contraceptives, while a handful of government officials were for it. This division occurred as the Philippines is a democratic and technologically-driven country and liberal views are inevitable, yet the said law contradicts with the conservative ideals Filipinos have grown accustomed to. Because of these opposing perspectives within the country, Filipinos are conflicted with their own identity, and the government and Church become more questionable.

Filipino Catholics now seem to have two sides to their beliefs, leaning towards a split-level Christianity of selecting only preferred parts of their belief to latch on to. A global survey by Univision, a US-based TV network, found that Catholics are more open to the idea of divorce and contraception. When the 12,038 respondents were asked if they agree or disagree with Catholic Church policy, a majority of 58 percent chose to disagree, and 78 percent also support the use of contraception. In accordance, statistics from the Department of Health and Philippine Statistics Authority showed the country’s modern contraceptive prevalence rate among married women have kept a steady figure of 45 to 50 percent since the mid-1990s to 2011, and was at 44 percent, around 5.5 million Filipino contraceptive users, in 2015. The Office of the Solicitor General also released a report which stated more than 10,000 cases were filed for annulment and nullity in the Philippines as of 2016, with the numbers consistently increasing ever since the 1,094 cases in 2008.

From a gender perspective, Filipinos are also more open to the company of homosexuals, with the entertainment industry composed of a handful of renowned openly gay personalities like Vice Ganda, Pooh, and Boy Abunda. In addition, there are a number of movies centering on LGBTQ+ themes, such as the internationally-acclaimed “Die Beautiful,” a movie about a transwoman vying to be a beauty pageant queen, and the mainstream, box-office hit “Praybeyt Benjamin,” a comedy about a gay dance teacher joining the military. However, the same Filipinos who enjoy Vice Ganda’s jokes and Die Beautiful’s message are seemingly also the same people who abhor gay marriage and spit on the idea of contraceptives just to protect the ideal holiness of love.

It’s time to view the bigger picture for what it is—a society hindered by belief.

Push for progress

Perhaps the reason why the Church promotes this conservative thinking is that these non-conformist attitudes veer far from the tradition and may not be in favor to the societal norm. Yet, when have gay marriage, sexual confidence, and contraception ever been detrimental to society? Progress is what allows people to excel as it pushes each one to adapt to technological and societal advancements, and also assures all to be comfortable in one’s own skin.

Conservatism is the belief that the fear of sudden chaos looms over every splurge of progress and science. Although conservatives may think such philosophy is meant to protect people, it only imposes ignorance and intolerance. By continuing on the path of conservatism, it recalls the perils of the past such as times when inequality and injustice were the norm; when women were viewed as sexual objects who belonged in the kitchen; when even the idea homosexuality was ousted; when children with abusive parents had to survive that way just to keep the sanctity of marriage and; when people fought wars to protect an ideology of religion.

In a generation that’s more aware of their rights and more outspoken about their beliefs, it’s best for Filipinos to take a stand for themselves, the same way the Church stands with the Holy Doctrines. As traditions are rooted in conservatism, the better way to handle this modernization is to define one’s own beliefs in accordance to what is right, just, and rooted from an open-minded morality.

Filipino values of kabayanihan and respect for culture and country can still be considered pillars to national identity. These positive and innocuous beliefs are the ones that should be preserved in this modernized age and not a conservative ideology that curtails the Filipino from social change.

This article was originally published in The Benildean Issue 13.

[theaxtorres]

Ethnic Faux Paus

With the Philippines being home to various minorities, it can be easy to unconsciously disrespect the rich culture behind traditional creations.

Beyond the visuals of art and design is the culture that was able to create it. From the knowledge and history of a local heritage, minorities and their people continue to uphold a commemoration of systems, traditions, and beliefs by turning them into distinct designs and styles passed from generation to generation. Yet, without context about these creations, the act of disrespecting their culture can easily end up as one’s cross to bear.

According to Cambridge Dictionary, cultural appropriation is the adoption of the elements of a culture that is not one’s own. Meanwhile, in a 2017 interview with CNN Philippines, Marlon Martin, chief of the Save the Ifugao Terraces Movement and founder of the Ifugao Heritage School, further expounded on it by simply defining it as claiming and disrespecting a culture different from one’s own, while being unaware of its it ethnic and historical context.

The Philippines is composed of numerous tribes and different religions, such as the Ifugao tribes, who boost their economy by making clothes, blankets, and other textile products using the patterns they create from weaving. For practicing muslims, hijabs are essential to Islam while Kalinga tattoos are badges of honor given to those who have fought and protected their people. With these items being out in plain sight, the mistake of using them for personal use is just around the corner; one could be casually wearing clothing from the Mt. Province meant for the dead, textiles which Cordillerans use for rituals and festivities could accidentally be regarded as table covers by consumers, while some teenagers could be sporting an ethnic tattoo with symbols they don’t even understand. Unfortunately, these trademarks of a minority culture are also victims of cultural appropriation.

Fashion in the wrong

From outfits to hairstyles, fashion and merchandising always craves something unique; the usual denim jacket looks better with a few ethnic patterns, a hairstyle seems more stylish with a makeshift hijab, and a tattoo with an ethnic design certainly adds a ‘cool’ factor.

Despite the cultural background of the minorities’ traditional pieces, there has been a recurrence of these items being used for commercial gain. During their 2012 fashion show, women’s lifestyle company Victoria’s Secret received backlash for having their models take the runway while sporting Native American props with lingerie, while Marc Jacobs’ Spring 2017 Ready-to-Wear collection was called out for designing models’ hair with dreadlocks, a trademark of African-American culture that was used as a symbol for the Rastafari religion.

What one chooses to wear is an expression of their identity; be it through smart casual attires or maximalist outfits, fashion shows a meaningful trademark of one’s personality. The same goes for minorities who have their own garments that express a significant meaning to their cultural identity. The glaring difference is that these minorities have a history of being victims of social injustices, poverty, or microaggression, and have used their clothes and accessories to emphasize their unity and strength in the face of the hardships they have gone through.

The controversy of cultural appropriation was recently magnified in April 2018 when an article published by print and digital newspaper Philippine Star on local fashion brand Filip+Inna’s summer collection featured a model wearing a bikini partnered with a traditional blouse from the Tagakaolo tribe of the Municipality of Malungon in Sarangani. This received negative reactions from the locals who regard the tribe as one of the municipality’s founders and as a result, Mayor Tessa Constantino posted her sentiments about the matter on Facebook.

“We are very proud of our ethnic origins as a people and we value our cultural heritage that in all the undertakings of our local government, we see to it that our tribes are not offended and neglected,” Constantino stated. The blouse was from the Tagakaolo Tribal Museum and was used by the fashion brand without consulting the locals. It was merely marketed as a fashion statement, disregarding its ethnic significance to the Tagakaolo tribe and locals of Malungon.

Wearing indigenous attires as a fashion statement or a mere decoration is the same as pretending to be part of a race or culture completely unaffiliated with one’s own. One should not simply sport ethnic tattoos and already act like they themselves have gone to the wars the natives have gone through. It’s similar to stealing from their beliefs and traditions, and disregarding their given purposes. By using a people’s culture without succinct knowledge beforehand, it creates a pseudo-understanding a person has about the said culture, which forges an idea that these items can be used for one’s own personal gain while also belittling the history and ethnic identity of the minority groups.

With all these common ethnic faux paus, is the current fashion scene suggesting that culture can be sacrificed for its sake? Short answer is no; and it’s time to do something about it.

Change by learning

Some may say cultural appropriation can easily be excused as drawing inspiration from these Filipino artefacts. However, there’s a fine line between the two, separated by upholding traditional heritage. When the usage of these artefacts is to preserve art and history, the culture is promoted and the minority’s legacy lives on. Through educational purposes, like school festivities or dedicated museums, Filipinos can learn to respect the traditional customs and, consequently, act on supporting it.

Buying their products for the culture’s promotion, and not for aesthetic purposes, helps their people thrive by having their products appreciated by the public with its intended function. By collaborating with the locals through development projects,  this can further enhance and spread awareness to their craft.

What seems to be mere prints on a carpet or abstract shapes on a bag are threaded by a rigorous and meticulous process made specifically by that culture. From the blood, sweat, and tears that originated these culture’s products, there’s no doubt how the simple act of respect and caution is well-deserved. Studying about the various cultures and understanding the hard work behind each cultural piece is one easy step to avoid cultural appropriation that leads to a more well-informed and just society.

Filipinos, as an international minority, still have the tendency to disrespect their own national minorities, groups, and tribes who exemplify and contribute to the Filipino legacy, by reducing their artefacts to commercial trends. However, once properly researched, anyone can be the bridge between the traditional and the modern, and reinvigorate the art of indigenous cultures for what they are truly meant to be—a symbol of the people’s identity.

This article was originally published in The Benildean Issue 13.

[theaxtorres]

Grace Period

Above and beyond the musky walls,

sour odors,

and dizzying motions,

there stands a hospitable notion

of a careful escape,

calculated and idealized.

Far and across a button-down life,

an unfiltered rush waits with a breeze,

a lightheaded waste,

a necessary irresponsibility,

caught in the reputation of distraction,

disruption discouraged.

Over and under the robotic scheme,

the monochromatic thrust,

the jealous gray fields,

an apparition of delight and easy slumbers,

a spirit of recklessness

to finally crack those heavy bones.

Inside and deeper is the surge of selfishness,

for a search for bliss, a longing for contentment,

each exciting detail, each flash of trust,

allows this sliver of laughter,

this countless detest of contempt,

to hone itself, unafraid and undefeated,

in the instruction of escape.

[theaxtorres]

Condolence

Hear the rush of the siren, and count the times its red light traps your face.

This is the hope we live in, the hope we die for.

Call the gods. They’re dancing on graves, tossing your hope back and forth

like a game of ball those children used to play.

Only with them, they let it drop, fall with no attempts of saving.

Try to call the unafraid, the brave, the strong before they send them to jail.

Arrest them for their voice, and scratch at their throats.

And then, you will notice that the silence is not deafening.

No, they have played with that as well, dressed it up with the finest lies.

The noise is coalescent, and a parasite to your knowledge.

Make way for salvation. They promised safety, progression, an honest direction.

In vindication, they celebrate their success, loud and happy and mighty,

and ignorant of their bloodied hands, proud of their manipulative minds.

Condolence, they pray, for the death of their justice

Here lies the state of the nation, hindered in its resistance.

[theaxtorres]

Oscars Top 9: Silver screen standouts

Will your choice for Academy Best Picture take home the coveted award this year?

The Academy’s votes are finally in! And while the whole world awaits the awards show this Monday, March 5, Philippine Standard Time, we rounded up this year’s Best Picture nominees and gave a few snapshots and cliffsnotes as to why these bad boys (and girls) deserve the coveted Academy Award nods.

Lady Bird

At first glance, Lady Bird might come off as just another coming-of-age film, but director Greta Gerwig challenges the average tropes, stirring away from the clichés, and splices the story with a humor drenched with the sensitivity of a hard-knock life. The story centers on spunky teenage girl, “Lady Bird” played by Saoirse Ronan, who consistently longs for a future beyond the comfort zone of her family, school, and hometown. Devoid of overly dramatic declarations of love and loss, the film captures the overall concept of being young and growing up. Most importantly, it highlights the relationship of mother and daughter—its repercussions and complexities. All the while, Lady Bird maintains its originality, consistently building on its subtle comedy and drama, and keeping the audience entertained, almost as if certain points of the story were taken from a page of their own diary.

Rating: 3.5 / 5

Get Out

Pushing the creative boundaries of the horror genre, comedian-turned-director Jordan Peele makes his directorial debut with his horror film Get Out and explores a more insidious form of racism that lurks behind even the most sincerest of intentions. Peele breaks this down even more as the audience follows Chris (Daniel Kaluuya), an African American, and his girlfriend Rose (Allison Williams) as she invites him over for a weekend getaway to meet her parents whose warm, fuzzy welcome masks a sinister secret. The film blends satire, comedy, and horror elements so well that it doesn’t lose its focus and keeps to the theme surprisingly well. What’s even more brilliant is how Peele challenges the usual horror tropes without going so far as to parodizing it like Scream or going to more extremes such as the Scary Movie franchise. Get Out may not be as loud as the other nominees, but it can certainly pull a come-from-behind win this year.

Rating: 3 / 5

The Post

In a time when journalism is facing grave threats, Steven Spielberg’s political thriller The Post is nothing but timely. The film focuses on the expose of the Pentagon Papers, documents proving America’s military involvement in Vietnam from 1945 to 1967, by The New York Times, followed by The Washington Post. The film squares off Katharine Graham, The Post’s publisher played by Meryl Streep, and Ben Bradlee, The Post’s editor in chief played by Tom Hanks, as they clash their contradictory views on what to make of the expose. With an incredible amount of talent from its ensemble cast alone and the weight of the story they bring, Spielberg’s thriller is paced well—all while maintaining the tension for most of the scenes, putting justice to the struggle journalists face. While The Post may not be a groundbreaking work on its own, the story this film delivers is more relevant than ever.

Rating: 3 / 5 

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri 

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri falls no short from delivering hard-hitting, not to mention pain-staking, honesty brought by small-town locals facing a tragedy and consequential bites of revenge. The movie revolves around the actions of protagonist, Mildred Hayes (Frances McDormand) after she sets up three billboards outside her hometown that call out the local authorities for failing to catch the culprit of her daughter’s rape and eventual murder. Under Martin McDonagh’s direction, all the characters’ stories come full circle, with each one contributing their own pains, wits, and strengths to the foundation of the movie. While resonating the familiar chaos between opposing strong personalities, the film consistently compels its audience to puzzle together its intricacies, and in the end, embeds itself as a movie that is hard to forget.

Rating: 4 / 5

Darkest Hour

Exploring the events that transpired at the onset of the Second World War in Western Europe, this war drama film from director Joe Wright presents a closer look at Winston Churchill, Britain’s then Prime Minister who refused to bow to German Nazis. Focused on Churchill’s struggle of whether or not to negotiate with former dictator Adolf Hitler as they advance towards the United Kingdom, the film takes the audience through the push and pull in making tough decisions. While there are considerable narrative flaws and complications throughout the film, Gary Oldman’s rousing and electrifying performance as he “disappears” into the role of the British Prime Minister alone is able to hold the film together and proves that it certainly deserves its Oscar nod.

Rating: 3 / 5

Phantom Thread 

Set in the glitz and glamour of London in the 1950s, Phantom Thread centers on a story of love that deceives its audience with its initial simplicity, but progresses into a choreography of a thrilling and intimate romance. As expected, Reynald Woodcock (Daniel Day-Lewis) delivers a hauntingly powerful performance as a renowned fashion designer lovestruck by waitress Alma Elson (Vicky Krieps). Director Paul Thomas Anderson stitches together pristine visuals and innocent personas, while managing to maintain the messiness of a stubborn romance. Phantom Thread secures its audience with an honest relationship, satisfying the hopeless romantics, but never trapping itself within a cliché.

Rating: 3 / 5

Dunkirk

Give it to auteur director Christopher Nolan to take the historical account of the seemingly impossible task of evacuating 400,000 Allied Forces soldiers from the beaches of Dunkirk, France during the early campaign of the Second World War and turn it into a riveting, heart-stopping war thriller. In true Nolan fashion, he masterfully weaves a non-linear narrative structure (three timelines moving at three different paces and moment in time) with such audacity and craftsmanship that as these timelines converge in the end, audiences cannot help but be swept away. Nolan creates such a visceral cinematic viewing experience for the audience, all while showcasing his technical prowess and attention to detail. And while Dunkirk may not be a frontrunner in the Best Picture race, Nolan’s tour de force performance as the film’s director may very well land him the recognition he deserves from the Academy.

Rating: 4 / 5

Call Me by Your Name 

Capturing the sensibilities of a coming-of-age film through the lens of queer cinema, Call Me by Your Name provides the audience with a breath of fresh air and a subtle hypnosis from the film’s concept of love and beauty. The film centers on the budding romance between 17-year-old Elio (Timothee Chalamet) and the American scholar working for his father, Oliver (Armie Hammer). Although director Luca Guadagnino follows a slow-paced direction and rests majorly on the dimension of a sultry, rebellious romance, the characters stand out as refreshingly endearing and the story deems itself memorable through its undramatic, but moving approach. No doubt, this movie will tug on the heartstrings of anyone longing for that touch of young love.

Rating: 3 / 5

The Shape of Water 

Guillermo Del Toro’s genius shines through in his ode to the magic of film in The Shape of Water. No stranger to disobedient fairytales, Del Toro produces the perfect mixture of star-crossed lovers and action-packed chases. As a romantic melodrama completely unlike any other, Elisa Esposito (Sally Hawkins) slowly builds an authentic romance with a sea-like creature and faces the perils of a love so unconventional. With each character’s story explicitly given attention, the movie’s coherence and formed camaraderies entrance the audience, almost reeling them into an immersion of the extraordinary events of the movie. What makes Shape of Water stand out from the rest is the utter creativity of each scene; every detail of production and costume design is built to finesse, the script strikes the minds of attentive listeners, and even the mere idea behind a sequence can render you speechless.

Rating: 5 / 5

This year’s Academy Award nominees for Best Picture have been some of the best and more interesting ones within the last three to five years. But with all things considered, this year’s most coveted award could ultimately go to Del Torro’s The Shape of Water. Considered by some critics as one of the frontrunners in the race, Del Torro’s fantasy drama outshines all other competitors with its captivating story executed with such passion and creativity. 

This article was originally published in the Benildean website and was written with EJ Lanuza.

[theaxtorres]

When mom arrives

An imbalance crosses the momentum,

it falters and withers and lingers in its fragility

and when the morning comes,

it cowers in the corner and waits for the night.

She arrives with her own ragged smile.

She too longs for rest, runs away from the disturbance

Her fingers are empty, hands calloused

Behind her solemn eyes, she remembers a beating

This is her pain. She covers it with an old song,

hums to its distraction as she cooks me breakfast.

Always, she prays to the morning’s chances

for a wake of peace, a silence in her memory.

I know she does not speak of her past.

When it comes to haunt her, she lessens.

Delicate woman, cracking her bones to free her blood

Sickly mother, born strong, and done wrong

When she laughs, I count the seconds it lasts;

a happiness that clings to a daughter’s momentum.

Her sorrows pause when mines start to play,

caught in the crossfire of a selfless nature.

This is her wisdom. Her pain has fueled its fire.

She filters her words as she wipes my tears.

Lighten my load without scratching her surface,

casts a shadow on herself to shed sunlight on me.

Delicate woman, musters all her strength to raise

Independent woman must not falter nor weaken

This is her rest, when she carries my pain.

Strong mother, morning arrives in her wake.

[theaxtorres]

Salvation

We keep salvation in my mother’s arms

Her innocent screams fill the speechless room

Beautiful, red lips and puffy cheeks

A small spirit, as fragile as a flower

An angel, a stolen gift from the gods above

We keep salvation in a crib

Plastic stars and galloping ponies circling above her

She laughs and the room brightens

My mother’s lullabies slow her sprightly static

As she sleeps, I promise her protection

We keep salvation in a playground

Her tiny legs leaving footprints on the soft ground

Feeble bruises on her knees, nothing more than child play

Band-aid and betadine, then off to the slides again

Merry-go-round, she brings the sun in her step

We keep salvation in a classroom

Uniform as clean as day, hair as tidy as a princess’

Teacher gives her 5 stars each day

She comes home with a 100 on her testpaper

Over dinner, she asks about the table of multiplication

We keep salvation in my mother’s arms

When she falls asleep as Mom finishes her bedtime story

When she hugs Mom goodbye before she skips off to school

When she lies on the street seconds after gunshots

A small spirit, as fragile as a flower

We keep salvation in a casket

When the police tell us she was collateral damage

President tells them they are pardoned

A bullet hole in her chest, no such thing as child play

She sleeps before my mother sings her lullabies

We keep salvation as a revolution

An angel, a stolen gift by the gods below

[theaxtorres]

Woman

i allow myself intelligence

i allow myself philosophy and mathematics

judged by the hardwork on my fingertips

respected by my words

beyond the fabric of my clothes

or the length of my hair

and irrelevant to the color of my skin

i allow myself language without explanation

i allow myself strength without assurance

no stereotypic man-like shout

no masculine declaration

of your ability to think in numbers

in dictionary definitions

and magazine cut outs

i allow myself protection without permission

i allow myself freedom without desperation

not to be a category, a DIY project, a pay as you go

not to be half-empty without you

not to count fights and bruises

not to waste myself on insecurity

but to be a home for myself

[theaxtorres]

Revolution

what time are they waking up

gold flecks of dust have sprinkled on the carpet

outside, the street sweepers sing a melody

inside, incessant breathy hums snooze away

in a timeless theater, this could wait

the city lights could rest in tranquil thoughts

these public flaws could pretend in private

but the same old streets hold a noisy ruckus

and at this point, they should wake

my indignation patters silently

the ticking clock spares no alibi

for this proud, bed-ridden daze

across the street, the children have started to play

a rampage of vigor in a childhood battlefield

their fickle minds take control of their feet

on swings and see-saws, and on top of their worlds

these four walls i live in bear no fortress

against their quaking steps

one runs like ceaseless dominoes

a girl ablaze with stellar senses

a quantum slipping off the courts

unabashed and head in the skies

a little boy takes on galaxies and wormholes

pouring out evidence through photos and stolen stars

syntax fails at the rambles of another

standing on a platform of Freudian slips and birdsongs

and one stands on mountains

chest forward and eyes on the sun

his native tongue liberated like a gospel

this one showers the garden with a spice of life

snaps trifling blips into salts of the earth

talks like a commoner of aristocratic descent

her friend arranges the flowers and weeds

lays them out and presents them on a gourmet table

the others carve stories out of trees

designing dreams and unsettling on mediocrity

even the sullen ears have heard their voices

refining their edges, one pats dirt off their crumpled clothes

managing to balance their adrenaline out of delirium

leaving gardens in their steps, they chase the sun

an art in their swing, juggling colors in their hands

impossible of fading away from the light

through golden windows, i can hear their rhythm

a pulse of the unafraid, a hue and cry of restless

their youth like drums banging on my cold house

they are loud enough to make them wake

in playgrounds and castles, the children have stirred

the lethargic out of hazy slumbers

the kangaroo courts out of useless ordeals

with a sweet tooth for fearless pursuits

the children stay vibrant in the aftermath

gold flecks of dust have sprinkled on the carpet

outside, the children dance to the melodies

inside, salt-stained eyes start to flicker

[theaxtorres]

A Certain Burning

8:04 PM

The windows rattle as she slams the door to her house. She pats her pockets and fumbles through her bag, making sure she’s brought all her necessities. Wallet, check. Phone, check. Staff ID, check. Habit makes her look at her watch, even though she doesn’t want to. She’s positive she’s running late. Four minutes past 8:00. Her play starts at exactly 9:00.

Walking to the waiting shed, she opens her phone. There’s a few text messages from the backstage crew asking her if she’s on her way.

“Bianca! Where are you? The props guy isn’t coming tonight. Should we just do it ourselves?”

 “hey bianca, do u think u can get here earlier? wanna run my lines with u”

She puts her phone back into the bag, ignoring them. Her cast and crew have gotten into a bad habit of relying the show’s success on her presence. Ever since their director abandoned ship and never showed up again, everyone turned to her direction. They trusted her creative vision and listened to all her opinions, even if she was just the screenwriter. Truthfully, she can’t deny feeling a bit of frustration with them every time they act like the weight of the play sits on only her shoulders. They don’t even pay her enough.

She’s snapped out of her thoughts as the bus appears in front of her. She joins the crowd of people shuffling in, and takes a seat by the window. 8:10 PM. The idea of her arriving at the show on time is so much a distant dream that she manages to chuckle about it.

 8:30 PM 

Gab can’t wait to get this night done and over with. He’s been rushing back and forth between film sets and production meetings the whole day, and all he can think about now is willingly fainting on his soft, feathery bed, snuggled up next to his favorite pillow, blissfully dreaming all the tension away.

 He slaps himself awake. If he falls asleep on this bench at the side of the road, his friends would kill him. Well, he might also actually get killed by a murderer in the night, but his friends’ incessant screams at him for missing yet another play seemed to scare him more.

 Thirty-three minutes past eight. He wonders if he can actually make it in time for the 9:00 show. The the traffic’s simmered down, and the theater’s not far. If he had the energy, he could actually walk to it.

 The bus arrives, and he steps in. He’s positive he can make it to the show with ample time. Might even buy himself some coffee to boost up his energy.  He takes a seat beside a girl talking rapidly on her phone. She looks awfully familiar. The girl finishes her call, and closes her eyes. He feels a bit awkward for staring at her, but he’s this close to remembering who she is.

 “Bianca!”

 8:35 PM

One, two, three. She’s been counting the fire trucks that have passed by in front of her. A family beside her is starting to leave, afraid that the fire would start spreading. Thea couldn’t care less about precaution and safety right now. This was the most excitement she’s witnessed in a week.

 After five consecutive nights of being alone and eating cinnamon buns for dinner, that foreign feeling of loneliness has started to creep up on her. It’s finals week and all her friends can barely spare a break from crouching over books at the school library. Thea, much to her surprise, has finished all the requirements a week before their deadlines.  Her thesis topic from her first college major was relevant enough to her studies in anthropology now. All she had to do was scan her past research, tweak some parts, and pass the papers.

 She’s positive the fire will take time to come to an end. The air around her feels heavier, and a sense of urgency is apparent. She imagines the ruckus that could be happening where the fire is. Is there a handsome and brave fireman coming to the rescue? Is their anguish expressed exactly like the throat-cutting, hyperventilating cries of those in TV shows? Do the toddlers think of the fire as pretty, gigantic light beings dancing around in the sky?

 Four, five, six. A car parks in the driveway and a girl steps out of it, slamming her car door shut. A smile runs through Thea’s lips as she recognizes who it is.

 8:40 PM

She hasn’t moved her car for about fifteen minutes. It’s almost 9:00. Traffic shouldn’t be this bad anymore. She takes a deep sigh, attempting to calm her nerves. Being editor-in-chief for Blank magazine could really put a knot in her stomach.

 A scream teeters on the edge of her throat when she checks the time and sees it’s been five minutes of absolutely no movement along the road. She can almost feel her staff’s umbrage when the clock strikes nine and their editor-in-chief isn’t present at the meeting she herself called for.

 She honks her horn out of annoyance, knowing it won’t do anything to budge the traffic. Accepting defeat, she takes her phone and starts writing an apology to her staff. The car in front of her moves, and she immediately springs into action. She drives for just about five seconds, until she’s forced to stop again.

 There are only five minutes left to 9:00, and she’s positive that it’s impossible for her to make it in time. As she presses send on her message to her staff, she can’t help but ponder over the idea of simply abandoning ship, and thrusting the weight on her shoulders to someone else’s.

 The traffic moves the slightest bit, but she takes the opportunity to turn to the driveway of the first restaurant she sees. She understands she’s privileged to be the editor-in-chief of a renowned magazine, but that doesn’t mean she’s incapable of handling a bit of escapism when necessary.

 She parks her car, and steps out of it. She makes a mental promise to work full force on making up for the responsibilities she’s missed tonight. Later. Now, she just needs a drink.

“Zoe!”

She turns to the voice calling her name, and smiles when she sees a friend from college.

 8:55 PM

“We can still make it!”

 “We haven’t moved for 20 minutes, Gab!” Bianca’s fed up with Gab’s annoyingly optimistic perspective. She’s positive neither of them could even catch up to the play Bianca was directing, which coincidentally is what Gab was supposed to be watching. “It’s five minutes to nine. What makes you think we can still make it?”

 Gab ignores her question. There’s a commotion happening in front of the bus. The passengers are standing up begrudgingly, and leaving the bus.

 “What’s happening?” Bianca practically screams beside him.

 The woman in the seat in front of them stands up. “There’s a fire. The roads are blocked,” she says, making her way to leave. “You should get down too.”

 Bianca and Gab stare incredulously at the number of people stepping out of the bus one by one, until they’re the only people left inside.

 “Get down!” The driver yells at them. “No more ride!”

 They finally move, too slow for the driver’s liking as he keeps complaining under his breath. As they step down, they see the roads filled with people being forced out of the public vehicles, and taking refuge at sidewalks. There’s a sense of emergency and indignation in the air, and it’s sending chills up Bianca’s spine. Gab, on the other hand, has completely lost every inch of drowsiness in his system.

 He stares at the sky in front of him. An ember light has disturbed the starless night sky. The sirens could be heard as if the fire trucks were just inches away. Around them, people are concocting question after question, declarations after declarations. It’s the worst kind of music, but it springs him to action.

 “What do we do now?” Bianca’s voice breaks his thoughts, but Gab’s attention falls somewhere else.

 9:00 PM

He bikes away from the fire, swerving left and right to avoid the cars and people flooding the roads. Mark hasn’t had a vacation ever since he graduated from college. He’s been travelling to different countries for work by the month, so he relishes the feeling of being home as much as he can. Despite the humid winds, he lived for the adrenaline of the city.

 When he received a message from his old college friends that they were hanging out at a nearby restaurant, he couldn’t miss the opportunity. A fire was happening a few blocks from his apartment, but the wind was blowing the opposite direction and he could no longer stand listening to the drone of those sirens all alone. Travelling for more than a two years has vanquished the tiniest specks of paranoia in him.

 He reaches the corner of the restaurant, where people are walking in huddles, standing clueless by the streets, or talking loudly at one another. In the midst of random faces, he sees two familiar ones. He lets out a hearty laugh. What are the chances?

 “What do we do now?” Mark hears Bianca asking Gab.

 “Mark?” Gab sees him. He waves and walks over. The three meet at the center.

 “What brings you two here?” Mark asks.

 “We were on our way to a play she was directing,” Gab answers. “But the roads are blocked.”

 “Because of the fire.” Bianca expounds.

 Mark couldn’t help but smile widely in response at the two friends in front of him. They haven’t seen or talked to each other in years. Now, here they are, practically having a reunion in the midst of a catastrophe.

 “Why are you smiling like that?”

 He laughs. “Thea and Zoe are just over there. We’re hanging out for a while.”

 “Thea and Zoe?” Gab repeats, disbelievingly.

 “Yup!” Mark answers. “Pretty sure you’ve got nowhere to go now, right?”

 9:10 PM 

The fire continued to flare in the distance. The ember light grew higher and higher, battling against the moon’s spotlight. The locals’ yells became dissonant noise meddling with the sound of sirens. Ten, eleven, twelve fire trucks have blazed down the roads, followed by two, three, four ambulances. The customers and people around their vicinity were either gossiping loudly with sweat on their brows, or standing up to retreat back to their homes. One thing was certain that night – missed meetings, abandoned plays, lonely dinners, and busy schedules was no match against the stresses of the fire.

 The table of five were no martyrs blazing through fires to scour for valuables and protect the youth. All they could do was mumble their well wishes, and wait for the sirens’ silence. But until then, the uproar was regarded as background noise over their lengthy discussions of life after college coupled with subtle laughter. They sip their coffees and share a cinnamon bun as they strip off their worries and responsibilities. They couldn’t bother the universe right now. It had too much on its plate.

 “Shouldn’t we feel guilty?” Bianca asks. “We’re laughing here, while there’s a huge fire over there.”

 “I think it’s poetic.” Thea jokes. “Maybe we can turn this into a poem.”

 As they share stories under the dimming night, the fire dies. The sirens are replaced with the policemen’s muffled voices through speakerphones, and the roads no longer seem like runways for vehicles bearing bad news. They hear news from the waiters that the reinforcements managed to prevent the fire from spreading, and that injuries were kept to a minimum.

 When the night falls into complete silence and the restaurant starts shutting their windows, they bid their goodbyes with lighter hearts. They were positive that the next time they would reunite; it wouldn’t be under such a fiery circumstance. 

[theaxtorres]

A List of My Freudian Slips

Here is a list of my Freudian slips Of the times when my two left feet sat on the edge of a blunder Or when the ink pooled around the heels of my shoes And when my heart lost balance from my sleeve This is a list of my Freudian slips A list of my could-have-beens that have turned into had-beens

 First, of course, is you No, I will not save you for last because you were never really the best You crept up like secondhand smoke, like gum under my shoe But somehow, I got used to you, your fidgets and coughs I never asked for your company, and I never asked for your loveliness But here you are, in a list of my Freudian slips A list of the times I chose dare to escape truth

A year after we met, I started wearing makeup Let’s blame the lipstick, that slippery red juice That made my nothings seep through the corners of my mouth When your fingers spindled around hers, I clasped my hands together I had all the weapons needed to lock you into my prayers But my bullets were saltwater that left acid in my mouth An addition to the list of my Freudian slips A list of the times I dragged my tongue against Pacific wind

 Minus a mistake, but your hand was always a sliver away I waited for the moment, made sure you wanted me to hold it Your hands looked so naked, I wanted to clothe them with the finest silk One that was threaded by my honest infections And wrapped with skin that could have been yours to touch Touch-and-go, you connect your hand with mines, one, two, three Until it felt unhinged, like a gospel being whispered or a romance being forced Until it felt wrong, until it felt like a Freudian slip Another to my list A list of times I confessed to my own religion

So sing me Hallelujah, take my songs and dismantle them Until they become your Freudian slips Your list of times you held on to me like a chain smoker Grasping on the enigmatic air of a cigarette, Did you really think I was vivacious enough a breath to leave a callous on your lips, a flicker in your throat, and a numbness on your spine?

Three, two, one, until I realized that the numbers to this list were seconds to a timebomb and that my two left feet danced to a song of pins and needles, and that the ink that pooled around my feet left scratches on a paper I never meant to stain

So here is a list of my Freudian slips My slip of the tongues, and the errors in my conscience This a list of times when my heart lost balance from my sleeve.

This piece won an Award of Merit under Communication Skills at the IABC Philippines Student Quill Awards 2018.

[theaxtorres]

A Vanguard of Filipino Heritage

Through an almost literal trip down memory lane, Las Casas Filipinas de Acuzar takes the Filipino’s past and rebuilds it to fit the modernized era.

As the country forges its ascent into a modernized haven, the city of Bataan, rich with its significance in Philippine history, backtracks to the authentic heritage of the country’s most notable features of the past. Las Casas Filipinas de Acuzar, nicknamed Las Casas, a 400-hectare open-air museum and heritage village located in Bagac, Bataan, provides locals and tourists alike the complete experience of life during the country’s Spanish colonial period.

Venturing into Las Casas emits the impression of travelling back in time, evident in its features that are meant to resemble the Spanish rule in the Philippines. Replicating the notable accesoria of the Spanish era, the houses are decorated with European columns and stained-glass windows matched with antique furniture and massive chandeliers, providing anyone who enters these houses that ever-grandiose and Illustrado sense of royalty. 

Spearheaded by Mr. Jose “Jerry” Acuzar, Las Casas’ 62-year-old owner and current chairman of real estate development company New San Jose Builders, Inc., the construction of Las Casas began as a way to preserve the country’s past and embed it permanently up to the future.

Currently on its eighth year of operation since it was opened to the public in 2010, the heritage and convention center is most popular for its collection of restored Spanish-Filipino houses that were originally built between the years of late 1700s to early 1900s. According to one of the site’s tour guides, Roy Gray Madrid, Las Casas houses a total of 57 mansions, with 36 of those still using 40 to 60 percent of its original material and structure. Casa Baliuag and Casa Hagonoy from Bulacan, and Casa Jaen from Nueva Ecija are a few of the mansions taken from their former locations and rebuilt in Bataan. The rebuilding stage is a rigorous process of marking and labelling scaffolds, bricks, furniture, and other items to accurately follow the original model of the houses.

With the slogan, “Pride in the past, hope for the future,” the famous tourist site draws all attention to the beauty and craft of the Spanish-Filipino architecture and lifestyle, while catering to the interests of the current generation.

Immersed in the Filipino culture

Living up to the site’s physicalities, the all-out, authentic Filipino culture thrives in Las Casas. The tour guides, dressed in barongs and sayangs, are adept with a passion for the country’s heritage. Through their knowledge, various questions, from how the preservation of the mansions are maintained to the specific names and artists of the statues that decorate the site, can be answered.

A day tour allows one to experience notable Filipino festivities, with the tour guides and staff encouraging visitors to join a game of hampas palayok, in which the player tries to spike a clay pot filled with treats while blindfolded, as well as place a bet during a round of sabungan (cockfighting). Visitors can also watch a short musical play on the life and works of Dr. Jose Rizal, as the site also houses a replica of the national hero’s childhood home, Casa Biñan. Additional features include mansions with exhibits on World War II and monumental churches in the Philippines.

Meanwhile, Cusina ni Nanay Maria, a delightful restaurant that offers meals based on the original recipes of Acuzar’s mother, offers authentic Filipino cuisine as well. Included in the menu are the classic Filipino meals such as Sinigang na Bangus sa Bayabas and Adobong Pusit, and Gabi ice cream for dessert. Non-profit art collective, Bellas Artes Projects’ contemporary and experimental art installations can also be found inside the Villanueva Mansion built in 1867, which was then converted into the Philippines’ first art school and is currently preserved in Las Casas.

For relaxation and leisure, visitors can spend a day by the site’s beach and catch a stunning view of the sunset. With no venue losing its touch of Filipino culture, recreational activities, such as carabao racing and bamboo climbing, occasionally occur by the beach for people to watch and participate in.

Brick by brick

Every detail in Las Casas is crafted with precision and behind this are the undoubtedly hardworking and talented artists, builders, and workers that turn sketches and blueprints into reality. Though all of it could be easily accomplished through modern machinery, the Acuzars choose to maintain the traditional method of work. From the foundational structure to the artistic decorations, the production of Las Casas is accomplished through manpower.  Not only does it uphold the site’s culture, but it has also provided hundreds of job opportunities to the locals of Bataan. 

By gathering people who center all their skill and talent to one goal, Las Casas has become a tight-knit community. In addition, the employees are encouraged to stay in houses provided by the Acuzars themselves that are just a walk away from the site. Not only has this ignited a sense of camaraderie and kabayanihan among them, it also sheds light on the positive Filipino values that Acuzar himself promotes. 

“Kung andito si Mr. Jerry, aakalain mo isang turista lang din siya. Naka-shorts at polo lang, napakasimple. Tapos pumupunta siya dito sa warehouses palagi para kamustahin ‘yung mga manggagawa,” Madrid said, reflecting how Mr. Acuzar’s humility shines through every time he visits the site.

As a symbol of the Philippines’ pride in its past, Las Casas Filipina de Acuzar continues to imprint a crucial message of the significance of heritage and remembrance for future generations. With the country’s rapid modernization catching up, Las Casas holds firm ground on the roots the Philippines’ rich history and reinvigorates the Filipino culture.

This article was originally published in The Benildean Issue 13.