Tag: life

Rumination

Hindi ako agad na bumangon.
Pagkamulat, sinubukang hanapin ang diwa habang nakatulala sa kisameng may aninag ng sumasayaw
na liwanag dala ng init ng tanghaling tapat.

Tumingin sa smartphone, blue light radiation and unang pagkain at gamot sa mapungay na mata at malabong diwa. Busina at pipip ng trak at mga kotseng nagmamadali ang nagmimistulang saksi.

Ito pala, mga gagawin ko. Ito na ba ang gagawin ko? Ito na nga ba ako?

Isang anino. Tumagilid, bumulong: kaya ko ito.Saka bumangon, tila isang multong sasabakan muli sa hamon ng panahon.

[A rendition, inspired from Renz Rosario’s poem titled Lauds]

Transcending Something Literary to Community Building

This is my presentation to the 3rd Pasig Writers Workshop last 24-25 October 2026 at the Alumni Hall of Rizal High School, Brgy. Caniogan, Pasig City. I shared my experiences in grassroots initiatives from the world of reading and writing, to organizing and storytelling.

Abstract: From quiet pages to a bustling city movement, this presentation explores the journey of transforming a solitary literary hobby into thriving, interconnected communities. Discover how grassroots initiatives like Pinoy Reads Pinoy Books and AGOS ng Pasig came to life, navigating the delicate balance between personal capacity and real-world hurdles. Through local writing workshops, zine projects, and shared creative spaces, this talk highlights the profound power of showing up for one another. Ultimately, it is a heartfelt reminder of why we write to remember, organize to be remembered, and keep the creative current flowing together.

“Hello, I am Ella! A geriatric millennial who wants to feed you something literary.”

This is my “content creator prompt” in my Tik Tok page, when I tried sharing all of my thoughts of the book that I read, or a Book Discussion that I moderated, or just a random day in the life of a literary event that I attended. I maybe an accountant, but I do have this literary side. Let me navigate you to my personal journey of organizing these collectives.

I always rant when I am drained out from grinding the corporate to cleaning my house and ultimately, to doing routines that are grueling and sad. That is why I encourage you to go to a Third Space. A third space (sometimes called a third place) is a social environment where people come together for connection, creativity, and belonging. Whether that’s a neighborhood coffee shop, a park bench, or a lively online gaming community, these spaces carry an important role in human life.

For me, this third space is the world of books and stories.

Paano ba ako napasok sa mundo ng pagbabasa? I was a newswriter and feature writer in my early years but it was my first ex who oriented me to book clubs.

Way back before social media and content monetization, he would tell me of his plans to attend monthly meetups.

However, it was KD, a member of the goodreads group where my ex was, who sparked the idea of showcasing Filipino works, and going to the places where the books are set, or were written.

At 2012, the Pinoy Reads Pinoy Books was born! Out of the spirit of volunteerism and a passionate desire to explore the world of Filipiniana, doing some trips together and going to the settings of the books, or where a story collection or a novel was made.

Years down the road and with the help of the community built by the same readers who champion the Filipino works, another spark came last 2023. When Justine Taño, mulling about the vision of a local scene of young writers, deciding to post a facebook update about creating spaces to showcase the culture and sensibilities of the city.

Thus, the 2024 Pasig Writers Workshop was organized.

Sakto, may bago akong bahay sa Pasig! But I do not know how to write of the same calibre of Rogelio Sicat. I am not adept to writing an urban poor lens. I was one of the privileged ones: an EMBO girl, an MTAP achiever, and a lucky girl who recited poems about EDSA revolution in DZRH. I was never like those students in UP studying creative writing.

I was filled with self-doubt. I even shared the call for submissions: Sana pumasa kahit anchakang middle class ang lente ng pagsulat ko ahuhu RIP retirement career kineso.

The push to finally submit was my friends from the PRPB. It was actually Jaffy who “pressured me” to just write it up and send it out. If it got declined, then so be it. Keep writing, he says. “Bakla, sumulat ka lang!”

My own unique calibre was my personal experiences, my practices with book reviews and summarizing BT’s (Book Talakayan), and the perspective of translating SOPs, Audit Findings and vlookup formulas to a prose easily digestible by the non-accountants.

I have to thank Markus Aserit of CYWA for mentioning this in his previous talk with PS Cavite Reads, another literary for Caviteños encouraging the audience to write. As he said, “In a community, there is support and encouragement.”

MY ESSAY GOT ACCEPTED! I was one of the lucky fellows, and the last entry that the whole crowd discussed. Panelists, speakers, and even the organizers have a piece to say about my piece! I was elated, never had I experienced such power in the prose: an entry to open a discourse about crafting Creative Nonficton traversing two cities, two socioeconomic strata, and two languages.

We graduated last 21 April 2024. They gifted us insights, books, and a huge responsibility: “Next year, kayo na magpu-push nito ah!”

Pangiti-ngiti lang yan sila, pero kabado bente na kami nyan.

Back to KD and Justine: these two men started the moment. But the struggle really is the continuous movement. Sustainability and Longetivity is a huge challenge. All of us are newbies! We haven’t had any experience in spearheading a writing workshop. All we had are our hobby of reading and a desire to write.

But with the push of Gerome, we hopped on a zoom meeting to finalize the name of our collective that can resonate our city and our connections as writers. Thanks to Brayan Buten he coined the name Adhika ng Giting sa Obra at Sining ng Pasig (AGOS ng PASIG) — envisioning ourselves to be a body of water that connects, traverses and gives life to the city.

At the same meeting, they asked: “Kailan sisimulan ang pagpa-plano ng 2025 Pasig Writers Workshop? May pondo ba? Paano?” to which I simply replied in sigh:

Maitatawid naman siguro natin ito!

At the start of January 2025, we identified how the group will be structured (like the PH government), the different Secretariats or Committees, the calendar of postings and the logistics of seeking donations. We did the hard-launch at 11:55PM last 31 January 2025 to finally identify the new group name and logo.

We did the call for submissions, did some extensions, prepared for the printouts, logistics and all. The 2025 Workshop happened last 26-27 April 2025.

After the rush of the 4 months worth of preparation, I was simply tired. I don’t want to do workshops anymore. Felt burnout, but the momentum was already there. I personally cannot risk losing the inspiration and the connections formed with the batch 2 fellows.

Again, back to what Markus mentioned: Magkita-kita lang! Regular meetups help on reaching out to the writers who wanted to explore the world of reading literary. Meetups help in building a sustainable routine, even if it becomes a FOMO (in effect).

Good thing that we 2024 fellows brainstormed an idea to collate creative works and create a journal that can be sold for Php200, increasing our funding for future workshops. In addition, queer fellows from 1st and 2nd batches were tapped to submit their craft for the citywide PRIDE Month celebration.

We also collaborated with another collective in the city — Samahang Pangkasaysayan ng Pasig — who are composed of anthropologists, journalists, and musicians who conduct historical walking tours, open mic poetries, and soirees to all Pasigueños who are interested in joining the said group. We attended their events last August 2025 in commemoration of the National Heroes day, reliving the moments of “Nagsabado ng Pasig” a historical Saturday that sparked the Philippine Revolution against the Spanish colonialism.

The biggest crossover with these two groups I lead with happened last September 2025, when fellows from the AGOS ng Pasig attended a Book Talakayan for PRPB. Most of us joined Pat Evangelista’s Some People Need Killing.

Come 2026, lots of things happened with most of the fellows. Some resigned and moved jobs, others graduated and pursued Graduate studies, and some jumpstarted their careers and focusing less on creative writing. Meanwhile, Ella got promoted and hounded at Feb 1st, rushed a family member to the hospital last April 10th, and encountered death at May 9th.

To atone for so many things, I simply donated a lump sum to the fund, hoping that the rest of the fellows and organizers forgive me for being too demotivated to run the 3rd year of Pasig Writers Workshop. Hindi pa kasi ako nakakapagluksa. I even went to a far-flung municipality of Siruma (Happy birthday Ronie!) just to sit and do nothing, or maybe I give myself a space to look at the sea and cry.

At June 2026, we hopped on another zoom call. Kriselda and I suggested that we can chill out first and postpone the workshop to 2027, and instead, do a poetry night on my birthday just to maintain the connection we all started. However, Brian kept on asking, “Bakit ba ayaw mong ituloy this year? May humahadlang ba?”

Told him I was demotivated because we lacked the funds and the help from other members. I wasn’t the only one who experiences burnout, there are many of us. But Brian kept encouraging. I counter-offered two things, “I nominate Brian to be this year’s workshop director, and make the theme Intimate and Personal, because we cannot afford inviting people for their free food and for their free comment on someone’s submission.”

At the same meeting, they asked: “Kailan sisimulan ang pagpa-plano ng 2026 Pasig Writers Workshop? May pondo ba? Paano?” to which I simply replied in singhal:

Maitatawid naman siguro natin ito!

I guess I can also share my previous facebook post about making 2026 Pasig Writers Workshop a reality:

Madalas kong naging tanong ngayong taon ang pagpapatuloy. Parating may preno, pero mas madalas ang highway to hell. Ang pag-angat ko sa corporate ladder ang nagiging biyaheng expressway, at ang pagpanaw ni papa ang kanyang sudden break. Katawan ko man ay naka-seatbelt, pero madalas ang diwa at ang kaluluwa ang tumitilapon.

Pero heto ako ngayon, nagsasabing huwag basta bitawan ang dahilan kung bakit tayo nagsimula. Sa bawat pintig ng pulso pagkadinig ng, “Ui! Ang ganda nitong group nyo.” at sa bawat luha sa mga katagang, “Ang gandang vision ito, sana tuluy-tuloy”, at sa bawat lukso ng dibdib sa, “May ganito pala? Wala kasi nito noon!”, isa itong maliit na kislap sa puso para magkaroon ng tibay at tiyaga. Isang spark na hindi lang ako ang personal na naghahanap, pero marami tayo. Ang kapag marami tayong nagtutulungan, kaya nating ihandog ang simple passion project sa mga susunod na taon, hanggang sa, harinawa, maging institusyon.

Nasa awa nga ba ang halina? Siguro. Ang masasabi ko muna, bilang tumatayong pangulo ng ating adhika, tuloy lang!

Padayon sa pagpapadaloy.

At the end of my yapping session, the ethos is this: Nagsusulat tayo para maalala, nago-organisa tayo para makaalala.

We write, hoping to remember.
We organize, hoping to be remembered.

Pagpapatuloy

Nalulunod sa dami ng gulo ng mundo, kaya ko nilayasan ito ng isang linggo.
Pagbalik ko, hindi na naubos. Sa isang banda, may gustong ituloy. Sa kabila, may yumao.
Tila napapaligiran ako ng ingay at patay, at hindi ako pinagbibigyang tumulala at magnilay.

Sabi nila, kailangang ikaw mismo ang maglalaan ng sandali ng pagtunganga at pagtulala. Mga minsanang pagdinig sa paligid na patuloy ang kwento habang ikaw ay isang rebultong nakatanghod sa isang sansaglit na sana’y mas humaba, mas tumagal.

“Grabe naman yung gamot sa ospital, tatlong milyon.” Wala akong ipon, wala akong kakayarang magbayad nang ganon. Wala akong kakayahang tumigil sa pagbuno, sa pagkayod.

Kailan ba ako makakapagpahinga? Hanggang sa susunod bang pag-akyat sa bundok? Hanggang sa susunod na langoy? Or mas mabuti bang ipikit ang mata at diwa at itigil ang sariling mundo.

Bukas, panibagong trabaho, panibagong adhika, panibagong pagpapatuloy. Ito na lang ba ang dahilan ng pagbangon? O ito na talaga yun, ang inaasam kong maipamana sa kapwa-tao…?

Figuring Out the Logistics of Loss While Inside the Coffee Shop

As I wait for that last P2P bus going to the Bicol International Airport, I re-read my most recent blog about figuring our the logistics of loss. Here is a recap of sorts:

a. Kazakhstan is cancelled for 2026. I rechanneled the funds to a local travel with my family and for tanking another “Death Plan”

b. Taiwan alpine hike is at 50-50, meaning, I am still undecided on tanking the credit card bills for three months worth, just to take a difficult trail (because the body and mental health needed it)

c. I did the KiudKad – the last resort this week, to have a rest, to hike the mini-peak of Daldagon, to play mobile legends, to read novels and poems… and totally forgotten to ugly cry.

As of this moment, I do not have the capacity or the space to do the ugly dramas of grieving; I just received a message from Mama that the GSIS is yet requiring another document to submit when I get back to Manila. Another set of “burden of proof”, another subset of Remedial Law that I read in my younger years, another count of the two-to-three-weeks before them saying, “Mrs. Betos is entitled to the Surviving Spouse benefit. Please proceed to the Landbank Account Opening on the Pensioner’s Lounge.”

The last time I ugly cried was three years ago, when I was asked, “Why are you really here?” and my response was the tears of hope and a possibility of a parallel timeline of a Tax Accountant’s wife, disintegrated before my very eyes. Moreoften than then I think about things, and no matter how polished a death plan is, the life is indeed fleeting and I still feel like rushing on the moments when I should be still.

Does ugly crying become a personal tick box that I long to check, making sure that my sagacity is earned with emotional maturity?

What if I tell you, that I forgot to grieve the moment I left my eight-year-old American tourister in the middle of the Eminent luggage store in Taichung HSR, while rushing for the bullet train bound for Taipei?

Will I still be that person that you seek wisdom for?

Figuring Out the Logistics of Loss While Inside the Hospital Wards

At hour 8 of “watcher duties”, the sleepiness and my adrenalin goes into a battle. The need to be alert wins via the blue light of this mobile phone, as I type away that same prompt I had in my head when I wanted to write about the grief of my old luggage, staying in Taichung HSR as I roll the newly-bought one. In the same manner as I watch my father struggling with a deep sleep, I imagined all the beautiful memories of Japan with my American Tourister. Suddenly he sleeptalked, “Kailan ba matatapos ang hinayupak na paghihirap na ito para sa malalim na tulog?”

A friend asked via IG earlier, “Do we look kindly to our family when we see them frail and weak?” All I had was indifference in this very minute, but in hindsight, an anxiety looms about tanking the projected hospital bills (ergo, putting the current travel lifestyle on hold). What about Kiudkad staycation and hike? The SG visit? The Kazakhstan nomad reels? The Taiwan Alpine trail? Should my life be on pause just because the old guy demands it so…?

Corporate Actions

Business need is:
Avoid taxes by splitting the price
or splitting the shares.
It definitely split my time
for focus work, for things
that should only take
15-30 minutes ETA of
“Are we Green?” email.

But these Stock Splits, Reverse Splits,
Mergers and Spinoffs
have robbed me of my sleep,
keeping me out of my hobby.
While these shares—
keeping me count other’s money.

With all of the time and energy
wasted or spent,
Can I even have my taxes saved?

Or was it spent again
By politicos and nepos,
reverse splitting their wares?

Poetics: These ridiculous daily BAU at #TheBank  since the last week ebb away the lutheal phase and left me with positional vertigo and high levels of cortisol.

Macapa[ga]l Playbook

Working draft of 2025 submission to Palihang Rogelio Sicat. Constructive feedback are welcome, just message me on instagram.

Alas nuwebe na, pero hindi pa tulog ang Barangay Pineda. Tahimik? Oo. Pero buhay? Laging oo. Dumaan ang Vios sa isang street na may abandonadong police outpost at tinatakluban ng dilim, dala ng malaking puno ng  balete. Ang puno ay tila isang matandang marunong nang magbasa ng realidad. Alam nito ang kwento ng dalawang lagusan: ang maalong kahabaan ng F. Banaag, kung paano ito maging isang kanlungan ng mga taong nasa iba’t-ibang baitang ng mga manggagawang uri; at ang maluwang at patarik na kalsada ng Sta. Clara, patungo sa mailaw na daan at  marangyang Barangay Kapitolyo. Palatandaan ang balete lalo na sa mga grab driver, kasabay ang malasinghal na pagmumura at pasasalamat ay ang pagluwag ng daan, isang palatandaan ng pagkakaiba ng social strata ng magkapit-barangay. 

Sa tapat ng balete ay may isang compound na pag-aari ng matandang mag-asawa, ang mga anak ay nagsipag-abroad at ang tangi nilang kapiling ay mga nangungupahang corporate employees at mga construction worker na pinili ang mas maayos na pahingahan kaysa sa barracks ng kanilang site. Dito rin nangungupahan si Ken Sanguyo, matapos niyang ma-finalize ang benta ng kanilang family home sa may simbahan ng Kapitolyo, pangpondo sa kanyang naitatag na NGO. 

Sa loob ng kanyang mumunting apartment, tanging liwanag mula sa laptop screen ang nagpapasiklab sa dilim. Nakaupo si Ken sa gilid ng kanyang kama, nakatitig sa balitang kakarating lamang mula sa Kalinga—mula sa mga taong hindi basta-basta lumilitaw sa liwanag. Isang kasama mula sa bundok ang nagbigay sa kanya ng impormasyon: may isang bagong teknolohiyang pinapagana ng artificial intelligence, proyekto ng isang diumanong Macapagal. Sa sandaling maipatupad ang algorithm na ito, papalitan nito ang lumang kalibreng ginagamit sa mga troll farms. Alam niyang sa panahon ngayon, hindi baril o bomba ang pinakamalakas na sandata—kundi ang mga linya ng code na kayang bumaluktot sa katotohanan, kayang baguhin ang pananaw ng masa sa isang kumpas ng otomatikong ritmo. Sa isang kisapmata, maaaring mapalitan ang kwento ng nakaraan, maaaring mapalitan ang anyo ng kasalukuyan.

Ilang ulit na ba niyang nakita ang gulong ng kasaysayan na umiikot, waring walang pagbabagong hatid? Ilang ulit na rin niyang tinanong ang sarili—hanggang kailan siya magiging isang tahimik na saksi? 

Sa kanyang laptop, bumukas ang isang PDF file. Mga daliri niya’y mabilis na gumalaw sa keyboard. Hindi niya sukat akalain na si codename: neo_kingmaker ay hindi pulitiko, kung di isang lalakeng kaedaran niya. At lalong nakagigimbal na ito mismo ang kanyang malapit na kaibigan, si Iko Macapagal. 

Alam niyang may papel siyang dapat gampanan. At ngayong gabi, sisimulan niya ito.

Dama ni Ken ang sipa ng makinang pagod, ang gasolinang bumabaho sa hangin habang inaangkas niya ang tricycle paahon sa Pasig Boulevard. Pumara siya sa harapan ng lumang Brgy. Pineda signage, ang kaasulan ay pinandidiliman ng magugulong electrical wiring. Tinawid niya ang overpass at natanaw ang Rizal Medical Center—mga ilaw sa emergency room nagpi-flicker na parang nasasaniban. 

“Pre, putangina, si Jay…”

Bumalik ang boses ni Iko sa isip niya, parang alingawngaw ng isang gabing hindi pa tapos. August 2017. Ilang-ilang Looban. Puno ng mga usi at marites, pero walang gustong tumingin nang matagal. Binaliktad ng mga tanod ang bangkay ni Jay. Nangingitim na, parang bangungot na hindi magising. May shabung nakatape sa kanang kamay. Parang props lang sa entabladong ginawa ng pulis. 

Wala pang isang linggo mula nung si Kian, dun sa kalsadang puro putik sa Caloocan. Wala pang isang linggo mula nung nalaman nilang kahit bata, pwedeng kalimutan.

Script. 

Pabula. 

Para pag-usapan sa balita, at maglao’y naging alamat. 

Nung gabing ‘yon, hindi na umuwi si Iko. Nagkaroon ng unspoken rule na siya na ang roommate ni Ken sa family home. Ang malaking bahay na may minsanang dalaw ng katulong ang naging kanlungan ng magkaibigan, parehong ulila ng pagkakataon: si Ken, bilang anak ng mga civil engineers sa Kuwait; at si Iko na nakikitira sa tiyahing arawan ang sahuran. At least dito, mas maluwang at mas ligtas dahil malapit sa simbahan. Sa paglipas ng mga buwan, pinuno ni Iko ang katahimikan ng tunog ng keyboard, kodigo ng bagong buhay, tunog ng hiningang hindi pa natitigil. Trauma? Hindi niya gustong pag-usapan. Hindi niya gustong balikan. Kaya’t pinili niyang magpakalunod sa thesis, sa syntax, sa debugging, sa anumang bagay na magbibigay sa kanya ng kontrol. Dahil sa coding, alam niya kung saan siya nagkamali. Alam niya kung paano ito itatama. Hindi tulad ng totoong buhay, kung saan minsan, kahit anong ayos mo, may mga bagay na hindi mo kayang i-debug. 

Dumaan ang May 2018. Tinapos nila ang dapat tapusin. 

Ken, AB Public Administration. 

Iko, BS Computer Science. 

Nakadamit pormal, may hawak na diploma. Dalawang linggo lang, umalis si Iko.

“Sa Makati na ‘ko, pre.” 

Naramdaman niyang malamig ang gabi, pero mainit ang alaala. Sa pagitan ng dalawang kalye—sa pagitan ng dalawang mundo—sino na nga ba si Iko? Isa bang multong hindi matanggal sa kasaysayan ng Pineda, o isa nang aninong unti-unting nilulunok ng Kapitolyo? Nilulunod si Ken ng mga alaala’t katanungan habang hinaharabas ng jeep ang kahabaan ng Pasig Boulevard, ninanakaw ang mga sansaglit ng walang trapik sa alas-diyes ng gabi.

Bumaba si Ken mula sa jeep, tinapik ang bulsa para siguraduhin may pamasahe pa siyang pauwi. Nasa pinaka-entrada na siya ng Capitol Commons, Pasig—isang lugar na tila may sariling mundo. Malapad ang kalsada, malinis ang paligid, at kahit gabi na, parang umaga pa rin sa kinang ng mga ilaw mula sa mga restobar at high-end boutiques. Hindi na siya sanay sa ganitong lugar. Mas gamay na niya ang Benguet, kung saan nagiging minsanang kargador sya ng mga gulay at tagahatid ng mga ito patungo sa kanyang mga tinutulungang grupo na nagpapatuloy sa Community Pantry mula noong pandemic lockdowns. Pero nandito siya ngayon, hinahanap ang Tipsy Pig, isang gastropub na usong-uso sa mga bigating millennials at influencers na gustong magmukhang effortless pero halatang pinag-isipan ang outfit. Dahan-dahan siyang naglakad, tinutunton ang direksyon gamit ang Google Maps. Hindi niya na kailangang tingnan ang paligid para malaman na iba ang mundo rito—ang amoy ng mamahaling pabango, ang ingay ng halakhak na walang bahid ng pag-aalala, at ang presensya ng mga taong hindi kailangang bilangin ang laman ng kanilang pitaka bago umorder. Pero wala siyang pakialam. Nandito siya hindi para magkumpara, kundi para makita si Iko. Hindi basta mawala sa isipan ang impormasyon ni neo_kingmaker, at ang huling mensahe sa PDF file na, “The only way to stop the release of algorithm is to kill its creator.”

Napapikit siya saglit, nilalasahan ang bigat ng mensahe.

Sa gitna ng kislap ng lungsod, sa ilalim ng malalamig na ilaw, isang tanong ang bumibigat sa kanyang dibdib—kaya ba niya? 

Nag-apir ang dalawa, dama ang pagkamiss ng isa’t-isa na hindi nagkita simula ng pandemic lockdown. Nagkakausap na lang sila kapag may minsanang kulitan sa messenger at sa minsanang tawagan, lalo na’t busy si Iko sa kanyang pagiging “Tech Bro”.  Hindi rin masisi ni Ken ang sarili at busy siya sa kanyang ginawang NGO noon pa man, lalo na’t nang mag-viral ang Community Pantry. Nakita niya ang balita at naghanap ng kakilala para makatulong siya sa pamamagitan ng pagbaba ng mga pagkain mula sa Benguet. 

“So paano ka pala nakarating dito? San ka nakapark?”

Pabulong na sumagot si Ken, “Ha? Eh di nag-jeep.” 

Nagtaka si Iko. “Nasaan ba kasi ang sasakyan mo pre?”

“Wala na, binenta ko na. Pang-pondo sa NGO. #ParasaBayan, ganun.”

“Boang. Nakanino na? Pwede kong bilhin, may paparating naman akong paldo ulit, bukas na ang deployment to prod nun.”

“Deployment? Sundalo ka?”

“Gagu, hindi. Yung tech project ko pumasa na sa testing. Baby ko yun so kapag ok ang resulta, mataas ko maibebenta. On top of that, may performance fee. Kapag naging successful yun dito sa Pinas, pwede ko syang iexport as a playbook.”

“Playbook?”

“Sorry, corporate jargon. App siya, pero wala sa google o apple store. Sa selpon ko pa lang meron.” 

Hinugot sa bulsa ang isang lumang Asus zenphone at sa bilis ng mata ni Ken, napansin niyang gumuhit ng letrang L si Iko bago ito nag-unlock. Pinindot nya ang isang folder icon na nasa home page, at bumungad ang isang mala-papel na icon  na may filename na d_Macapa[ga]l_ggwp.exe

Natawa si Ken. “Ano ba namang pangalan yan?! Halatang gawa mo gar, parang tamang jejemon lang eh!”

Ngumiti si Iko. “Syempre ako ang imbentor, minsan lang magpasikat! Trabaho neto ay gumawa ng automatic facebook post depende sa gusto ng customer, pati comments ng mga kunyaring user. Alam din ng playbook kung araw at oras maganda magpost para marami mag-comment na totoong tao at lalong magviral.”

Natigilan si Ken. Ninamnam ang huling sagot ng kanyang bestfriend, saka niya seryosong tinanong. 

“Hindi ka ba natatakot, Iko?”

Napakunot-noo si Iko at hinarap si Ken. “Sa’n?”

“Sa ginagawa mo. Sa ‘d_Macapa[ga]l_ggwp.exe’ mo. Kahit sino, pwedeng bumili ng AI mo para gumawa ng troll farm, magpalaganap ng kasinungalingan, at impluwensyahan ang eleksyon.”

Ngumiti si Iko, isang tipid na ngiti ng isang taong walang oras sa moral lectures. “Ken, negosyo ‘to. Automation. Progress. Hindi ko kasalanan kung paano ginagamit ng tao ang tech na ginawa ko.”

“Pre, ‘wag mong gawing neutral ang isang bagay na may malinaw na epekto. Ang AI mo, hindi lang ‘to automation. Isa ‘tong makina ng disimpormasyon. Isang click lang, may libo-libong fake accounts na. Isang click lang, may manufactured outrage na. Isang click lang, kayang burahin ang katotohanan.”

Umiling si Iko. “At anong gagawin mo? Magrereklamo sa gobyerno? Wala ngang batas tungkol dito, Ken. Hindi illegal ang troll farms. Hindi ako kriminal.” Tumawa siya, pero si Ken, nanatiling seryoso. 

“Dahil lang walang batas, ibig sabihin okay lang? ‘Yan ba talaga tayo, Iko? Alam mong may mali, pero dahil hindi pa ginagawang batas, parang wala lang?”

Huminga nang malalim si Iko. Sinandal niya ang katawan sa upuan at pinagmasdan si Ken, parang iniisip kung paano ipapaintindi sa kanya ang isang bagay na sa tingin niya, hindi na dapat ipaliwanag. “Ken, hindi ako pulitiko. Hindi ako aktibista. Hindi ako katulad mo. Ginawa ko ‘to kasi may demand. Kung hindi ako ang gumawa, may ibang gagawa rin. At ang tanong, sino ang mas responsible? Yung may alam kung paano ito gumana, o yung bibili at gagamit ng tech na ‘to para sa sarili nilang interes?”

“Ganyan din ang sinasabi ng mga illegal mining company, par. ‘Kung hindi kami ang mag-quarry, iba ang kukuha.’ Paano mo nga aayusin ang isang bulok na sistema kung ikaw mismo ang nagpapalakas nito?” 

Biglang dumaan ang waiter at ibinaba ang inorder na dalawang bote ng Sanmig Super Dry at isang maliit na pan ng Tipsy Sisig. Tahimik nilang kinuha ang kanya-kanyang serbesa. Nagtagal pa ang katahimikan. Sa labas ng bintana ng Tipsy Pig, tanaw ang ilaw ng Capitol Commons—mga gusaling puno ng corporate offices, restaurants, at overpriced na coffee shops. Dito, hindi halata ang epekto ng mga troll farm. Pero sa social media, sa bawat click, sa bawat viral post, sa bawat manipulated narrative, unti-unting mahuhubog ng AI ni Iko ang realidad ng bansa.

“Alam mo, Iko, darating ang panahon na magkakaroon din ng batas para pigilan ang ganito. At kapag dumating ‘yon, ikaw ang magiging poster boy ng kung paano sinira ng AI ang demokrasya natin.” 

Matalim ang tingin ni Iko. Pero imbes na sumagot, sinimulan niya ang seremonya ng pag-inom.

“Ken, kung mahuli man ako, anong kaso ang isasampa sa’kin? Cyber libel? Hindi ko naman gawa ang sinasabi ng AI. Ako lang ang gumawa ng tool. Parang kutsilyo lang ‘to—hindi kasalanan ng panday kung ipangsasaksak mo ‘to sa tao.”

Huminga nang malalim si Ken. “Pero pre alam mo… Sa totoo lang…”

Biglang lumabas ang malakas na tawa bago nito tapikin ang likod ni Iko. “Ikaw ang kilala kong may kaya na naka-android phone! Lumang-luma pa, jusko! Hindi ka ba nahumaling sa iPhone? May lalabas na bago ah!”

Humalakhak pabalik si Iko, “Hahaha! Hindi naman ako ganung jejemonggago na nakikigaya. Wais tayo, hindi ako magpapalubog sa utang para lang sa gadget! Isa pa, mas kaya kong mag-save ng mga nagagawa kong program dito.” 

Umorder pa ang dalawa ng tag-isang bote ng serbesa, at tinuluyan nilang papakin ang sisig. Tinuloy din nila ang kwentuhan, tungkol sa mga lumipas na taon mula nang huli silang magkita. Pero ang mga naihapag na anekdota ay malayo na sa AI at tinatrabaho ni Iko. Batid ni Ken, na sa pagitan nilang dalawa, hindi na kailangang sabihin ang totoo—na may linya silang tinatawid, at wala nang balikan.

“Salamat pare ha, ihahatid mo pa ako. Nakakahiya.”

“Ano ka ba, wala yun!” Hinugot ni Iko ang phone, gumuhit ng letrang L saka pinindot ang app na mag-automatic on ng kanyang Ford Ranger. Namangha si Ken sa nakita. 

“Dun ka pa rin ba sa malapit sa simbahan ng Kapitolyo?”

Sumagot si Ken, “Ay hindi na, sa Pineda na ako. Nagre-rent ako dun sa may compound, tapat ng Balete. May gate naman kaya ligtas dun kahit hatinggabi. Baka mapalayo ka pa. San ka na ba nakatira ngayon?” 

Napangiti si Iko. “Ano ka ba? Hindi naman ako masyado umalis sa kinalakhan natin. Malapit lang din ako, pero dun ako sa sa loob ng Capitol 8. Dun na ako nagre-rent. Alam mo na, nakaahon na sa buhay. Hatid muna kita.”

Tahimik si Ken. Habang bumabagtas ang kotse sa Shaw Boulevard, napatingin siya sa mataas na gusali ng mga condo, isang malaking palatandaan ng pagbabago ng Kapitolyo. Napatitig siya sa mala-hotel na liwanag ng mga maliliit na unit. Sa bawat bintana sa condo, may taong naniniwala sa pekeng balita, may keyboard warrior na nagpapakalat ng kasinungalingan, at may pulitikong bumibili ng imahe niya sa social media.

Hinatid si Ken papasok ng Pineda at sa kahabaan ng F. Banaag, nakita nila ang elementary school kung saan sila naging magkaklase. Nakangising ipinarada ni Iko ang sasakyan sa tabi ng main gate at ini-hazard. Bumaba ang dalawa, pumunta sa harap ng gate ng eskwelahan at nagselfie. 

“Memories!!! Grabe, pinaalala mo na naman kung saan ako galing! Eh hindi na ako yung payatot na nakilala mo.” 

Tinapik ni Ken ang balikat ni Iko, “Hahaha, oo naman! Proud kaya ako sa iyo! Ang galing mo nga eh, hindi ka sumuko. Namamayagpag ka sa larangang tinapos mo! “

“Salamat par. Nakaangat-angat na rin. Pero nakukulangan pa ako, hehe.” 

Sumakay silang muli at tinuloy ang biyahe papunta sa compound na inuupahan ni Ken. 

Pagkapark ni Iko sa harap ng bahay ni Ken, inihazard nya muli ito at nahihiyang nagpaalam. “Pwede makiihi? Nalimutan kong mag-CR sa Tipsy, hindi na ako makakaabot kung magda-drive pa ako.”

Natawa si Ken at sumagot, “Sige lang.”

May tingin nang pagmamadali si Iko nang binuksan ni Ken ang bahay. Sinindihan ang switch ng Omni-led light na nagpaliwanag sa buong bahay. 

Hinayaan nyang pumasok si Iko sa CR at umihi nang bukas ang pinto. Habang pinaparaos ang ihing-ihing pantog, dinadaldal nito ang excitement sa paparating na perang makukuha sa playbook. Habang ume-echo ang sabik, mahigpit ang hawak ni Ken sa .45 kalibreng baril, malamig na bakal na nakasandal sa kanyang palad. Bigla siyang pumasok sa banyo. Pinisil niya ang gatilyo. Bumuntong-hininga ang silencer—isang mahina, nakamamatay na ubo, parang hanging ninakaw ng gabi. Isang pinalulupaypay na tunog ang sumunod nang bumaon ang bala sa dibdib ni Iko, ang kanyang katawan pumalag saglit bago bumagsak sa sahig. 

“Par, sorry. The only way to stop the release of algorithm is to kill its creator.”

Binuksan niya ang gripo sa lababo, ang marahang tulo ng tubig ay sumasabay sa dumadaloy na pulang likido sa sahig ng banyo. Biglang napuno ng dagundong ang utak ni Ken. Nasa loob pa rin ng tenga niya ang alingawngaw ng sagutan at pagsabog ng galit. Napahawak sya sa sariling ulo, pilit inaalis ang tunog ng sariling hininga na parang nakakulob sa loob ng maliit na banyo. Makalipas ang sansaglit, hinugot niya ang lumang phone na nasa kanang bulsa ni Iko. Gumuhit ng letrang L at nag-unlock. Binuksan ang folder at tanaw ang mala-papel na icon ng app. Ni-lock nyang muli ang phone saka ibinulsa sa sariling pantalon. Pumunta sa kanyang cabinet at naglabas ng mga damit, at isinalpak ito nang isang bagsak sa kanyang gym bag bago sya tuluyang lumabas ng bahay. Sinigurado nyang nakalock ang apartment at ang malaking gate bago sya lumabas ng compound, gamit mismo ang sasakyang nakahazard sa tapat ng bahay niya.

Muli, nakatanaw ang matandang balete habang nagdrive palayo si Ken, dinerecho ang F. Banaag. Ang puno kasama ng abandonadong police outpost ay mga naging bantay sa mga kwentong ginagabayan ng malamlam na LED Postlight. Sa pagitan ng katahimikan, ang gabing saksi sa krimen ay nanatiling walang imik. 

Hormonal Whaling

14 January 2026. 4:30 AM. Pasig City.

Waning Nights and Luteal Phases: these are some of the aggravators of the loneliness resurfacing from the depths of my mind.

Symptoms started upon him ghosting. Cold turkey. I sincerly disclosed my huge mortgage and its debt servicing until 2037, together with most of my siblings out of the country. I also told him about my generational trauma and opting to be childfree. In this hour, my mind was shouting,

“I’m too broken to be fixed, too expensive to be compensated.”

Too big to brag, or even drag along. Too cute to be a friend. Too innocent to be a girlfriend. A perfect BEBU: bembang buddy.

Funny.

But to keep that in your head throughout the commute from the family home is really taxing. When I was supposed to summon the conscious mind and focus on the next task of putting away these newly-cleaned clothes, the hindsight was internalizing Bon Jovi’s I’LL-BE-THERE-FOR-YOU-THESE-FIVE-WORDS-I-SWEAR-TO-YOU blasting inside kuya grab’s Vios, battling the sleepiness hours before the dawn.

I just wanted a company until I am older and retired from the Corporate ladder. I wish to message him again. Tell him, “Hey. It’s okay that you won’t pick me. I get it. But I still want to be a friend.”

I still crave for a single man as a friend. A man who will make me feel safe, even though his english sounds like a cut and paste from Chatgpt.

And yet, the luteal phase still wins. Justin Bieber’s “I’d settle for the ghost of you” reverberates this posporo condo, its annual association dues recently settled, bearing a smaller amount to pay the remaining balance of my Taiwan travel and hike.

On good days, we are the art. On bad days, we create the art.

-Alan Navarra, Falling Apart by Design

Huh. Perhaps a small win in this agonizing season is this diary entry. A little life (update) of sorts. I cannot wait for the day of my period where all of these will be washed away. But for now, I grieve.

18 January 2026. 5:00AM. UP Los Baños.

Second day of period today.

Not exactly a mental health break, but yesterday was a great detox from the busy city life. Expensive though. To go to the Aliw falls, we have to pay 300 per person, drove around Caliraya and Cavinti and Luisiana towns and witness a natural resource being gentrified. Hello, there’s a helicopter and a pyramid on top of a hill! NUGAGAWEN?! Sigh. Para talaga sa mga jejemon eh.

Charles and I caught up on things: his Think Tank and Teaching gigs, the co-parenting and its exit strategy out of Pinas for an NZ citizenship, his “Persondi” the law student 6 years his junior; In exchange, my reliving travel moments with dok as a potato princess, my sentiments in the Bible “as the only good book”, Cognitive Behavior Therapy, and the fucken Peranakan who ghosted me and costed me a hormonal breakdown.

Told him the same, “I’m too broken to be fixed, too expensive to be compensated, Charles.” He suddenly answered—

“And you are! And yet, you are thriving!”

Ang layo na sa sinabi niya noong, “Nai-insecure ako sa achievements mo!” in our big quarrel (which was a reason for breakup, btw). That must have altered my brain chemistry.

Siguro at this point, I just want to take everything with grace and not assume things. I do crave those organic encounters, not gonna lie. Hopeful pa rin ako sa marriage. I just wanted a life partner who is okay with me being childfree, and who accepts me for all that I am. Super bonus points na yung exuding effeminate energy and hindi forever golden source ang self-help sa pagbabasa.

Speaking of reading, I was too comfortable with Charles driving me around and too tired from puyat, I took a nap upon checking in SEARCA Hotel (inside UPLB). Good thing this guy has reserved a room for me. The hotel amenities are very much comfortable. Clean toilet and hot shower! I am amazed that this was built from the 70s and still being used for conferences. Pwede na ito for team building or writing workshop activities!!!

I must dedicate some morning moments to at least read. Buti na lang masarap yung tirang adobong itik from Las Cadias Wellness Resort. A bit expensive though.

Oh this can choke!

Putting this screenshot so that I will not forget. Entering relationships should not diminish the respect— to yourself and to your significant other.

Kahit alam nating mahirap mahalin ang Pilipinas, hindi dapat mahirap mahalin ang ating mga sarili at ang ating mga nagiging atin.

Thanks for the power of screenshot. Just like writing, this should never be out of the system.

Happy birthday, Mr. C!

Dear Charlie, 

Happy birthday! How does it feel to be a 39-year-old-high-functioning adult? Me? I am barely getting by without shedding a tear every day.

Pagkagising ko, yung nanay ko kino-call out yung laki ng katawan ko. Perhaps out of concern, but I felt like it was out of spite. At her timeline reaching 39, she was pregnant to my youngest brother (to which I became a co-parent of), and papa was punishing her by handwashing a king-sized bedsheet, without any help from her kids. She almost had miscarriage with JB. She was so thin, kind of a trauma response to the survival mode. And I believe she felt alone at that phase of her life. 

At 39, I feel like I was living mama’s alternate reality: Literally living alone, yet thriving in the Corporate career she aspires — just received a good news of huge promotion, forging and / or fortifying communities from her interests and hobbies, saving up for travels and retirement, essentially “winging adulting”. And yet, when I sat down in my home office, I feel the heavy weight of her feisty reminder,

“Magpa-check ka na ng katawan mo at ang laki mo na!”

This afternoon, albeit relatively felt okay, I was suddenly thrusted into a anxious spiral of body dysmorphia and the seething sentiment of:

I am still not enough. 

That daydream goes back as my totem and my solace. If only I was that wife, I will be definitely out of this timeline. Lord, sana maumpog na siya and he would woo me! Susubukan ko magpakipot, kahit alam ng mundo na marupok ako. 

Sorry Charlie, oversharing. Kindly ignore those long sentences. What I really wanted to say was I wish you a moment of peace and a feeling of abundance. 

You are enough.

Thank you for being a friend.