Confessions of A Patriot
Llewelyn Muriel Austria-del Rosario
July 05, 2006
First, I want to warn you that this article has more to do with my personal angst than anything else. I guess that still falls heavily within the realm of psychology—my own psychology. I think we’ve done a fair bit of analyzing other people, perspectives and proceedings. So humor me and read on.
I am depressed. I think I’ve been depressed for as long as I can remember. I cringe at the number of young girls and boys peddling themselves on the streets. My stomach churns when I watch the news—our socio-political landscape is in chaos, if not in ruins. I feel sharp stabbing pains in my gut every time I interact with street vendors, drivers of public utility vehicles, construction workers and the masses of people like them, knowing full well from first hand experience the kind of hopelessness and helplessness that poverty brings.
I take very personally the kind of shenanigans these people in the political arena are doing. I am personally hurt and offended with the possibility that GMA cheated in the elections. I am dismayed, appalled and forlorn that the Filipino masses may have indeed chosen FPJ to be president. I feel upset about the rumors of an EDSA 4 without respect for our constitution. I am even more upset that GMA of all people, have the gall to say that an EDSA 4 would be unconstitutional and having selective amnesia about how she came to power in the first place.
I get angry when people are overly concerned about the Davao Death Squad without bothering to ask themselves exactly why a necessary evil such as this has to exist in a democratic country with laws and courts. It’s not that I believe in summary killings per se, but I’m glad at least someone is trying to institute some form of justice.
Before you wave an accusatory finger, I challenge you to please volunteer with the Women and Child Protection Unit/Welcome Center, Womenet, or any urban poor community center and see for yourself the kind of abominable damage that drug induced crimes do to the lives of innocent victims. I know a lot of people think these kids are so young to warrant such an untimely death. Please take off your rose-colored glasses and acknowledge the extent of depravity these hardened criminals, young as they may be, have sunk into.
Look at some of our politicians and businessmen—most of them were never in want and yet they have no desire to live for the common good. Why should hungry, deprived, troubled youth care when everybody else doesn’t seem to?
For that matter, why should I care? I have lived my life with the desire to make a difference in this country—I pursued the crown and title of Mutya ng Dabaw knowing that it could be a platform for me to air my views. I donated most of the P50,000 cash prize. I went through hell and back in high school and college with my mom’s complaints about my involvement with the campus press, an organization that most people dub as militant but which I prefer to call progressive. I have been on the streets lobbying for change and protesting injustice. I deviated from modeling and hosting to pursue psychology and help alleviate the pain and suffering of our people. I opted not to live the easy life of a social butterfly in order to marry a man with just as much nationalistic fervor that my family has. My resume is littered with more work experience from unpaid community involvements. I have always felt ready to die for this country. I am one of those people who, when I sing the national anthem, I actually mean everything that I say. Until recently…
Last night, I did what would have been unthinkable for me several years ago. I applied for an on-line screening test for migration to some foreign country. If not for the depth of friendships that I have with my editor and publisher, I would have stopped writing this column as of today as well.
My husband was surprised. I’ve had the name and concept for this column five years ago and have dreamed of being a columnist since I was 13. Despite the fact writing is perhaps the only dream I’ve pursued that was my own and not my mom’s, I am at a point in my life where it almost doesn’t matter anymore.
There is no conclusion to this article. Like I said, this is an angst-ridden tirade questioning the very principles I have dedicated my relatively short 27 years of existence. What I’d like to do is throw the question back at you—Dear Reader, do you mean what you say when you sing the national anthem? What about this country is worth dying and more importantly, living for?
Please spare me a peso and text me.
I am depressed. I think I’ve been depressed for as long as I can remember. I cringe at the number of young girls and boys peddling themselves on the streets. My stomach churns when I watch the news—our socio-political landscape is in chaos, if not in ruins. I feel sharp stabbing pains in my gut every time I interact with street vendors, drivers of public utility vehicles, construction workers and the masses of people like them, knowing full well from first hand experience the kind of hopelessness and helplessness that poverty brings.
I take very personally the kind of shenanigans these people in the political arena are doing. I am personally hurt and offended with the possibility that GMA cheated in the elections. I am dismayed, appalled and forlorn that the Filipino masses may have indeed chosen FPJ to be president. I feel upset about the rumors of an EDSA 4 without respect for our constitution. I am even more upset that GMA of all people, have the gall to say that an EDSA 4 would be unconstitutional and having selective amnesia about how she came to power in the first place.
I get angry when people are overly concerned about the Davao Death Squad without bothering to ask themselves exactly why a necessary evil such as this has to exist in a democratic country with laws and courts. It’s not that I believe in summary killings per se, but I’m glad at least someone is trying to institute some form of justice.
Before you wave an accusatory finger, I challenge you to please volunteer with the Women and Child Protection Unit/Welcome Center, Womenet, or any urban poor community center and see for yourself the kind of abominable damage that drug induced crimes do to the lives of innocent victims. I know a lot of people think these kids are so young to warrant such an untimely death. Please take off your rose-colored glasses and acknowledge the extent of depravity these hardened criminals, young as they may be, have sunk into.
Look at some of our politicians and businessmen—most of them were never in want and yet they have no desire to live for the common good. Why should hungry, deprived, troubled youth care when everybody else doesn’t seem to?
For that matter, why should I care? I have lived my life with the desire to make a difference in this country—I pursued the crown and title of Mutya ng Dabaw knowing that it could be a platform for me to air my views. I donated most of the P50,000 cash prize. I went through hell and back in high school and college with my mom’s complaints about my involvement with the campus press, an organization that most people dub as militant but which I prefer to call progressive. I have been on the streets lobbying for change and protesting injustice. I deviated from modeling and hosting to pursue psychology and help alleviate the pain and suffering of our people. I opted not to live the easy life of a social butterfly in order to marry a man with just as much nationalistic fervor that my family has. My resume is littered with more work experience from unpaid community involvements. I have always felt ready to die for this country. I am one of those people who, when I sing the national anthem, I actually mean everything that I say. Until recently…
Last night, I did what would have been unthinkable for me several years ago. I applied for an on-line screening test for migration to some foreign country. If not for the depth of friendships that I have with my editor and publisher, I would have stopped writing this column as of today as well.
My husband was surprised. I’ve had the name and concept for this column five years ago and have dreamed of being a columnist since I was 13. Despite the fact writing is perhaps the only dream I’ve pursued that was my own and not my mom’s, I am at a point in my life where it almost doesn’t matter anymore.
There is no conclusion to this article. Like I said, this is an angst-ridden tirade questioning the very principles I have dedicated my relatively short 27 years of existence. What I’d like to do is throw the question back at you—Dear Reader, do you mean what you say when you sing the national anthem? What about this country is worth dying and more importantly, living for?
Please spare me a peso and text me.
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