Shattered

You have been dreading this day to come, but you knew all along that it was looming up ahead. No matter how much you’ve tried to avoid for you two to be in this situation, current circumstances had pushed you forward, unprepared. So, you approach her as she waits for you in your favorite bench, and gives you an unnerving smile; you shudder at the thought of what you are about to do.

You hold her hand and finally say: “I’m sorry to end this relationship, but I don’t want to hurt you in the long run.” You stop and wait for her to react violently; she blinks and stares back at you. And so you continued. “You will meet someone better than me.”

She sighs, taps your hand, and says, “I know.”

You don't have to burn books to destroy a culture

This week (24 Sept – 01 Oct) is Banned Books Week; it’s mission is to emphasize the freedom to choose or the freedom to express one's opinion even if that opinion might be considered unorthodox or unpopular and the importance of ensuring the availability of those unorthodox or unpopular viewpoints to all who wish to read them. Banned Books Week is observed during the last week of September every year since 1982, and was started by the American Library Association, the oldest and largest library organization in the world.

Most books featured during this week aren’t really “banned” but merely “challenged”. They were target for attempted bannings, but most of them were not banned, due to the efforts of librarians. Books are challenged with the intention to protect others – mostly children – from difficult ideas and information; these are the top three reasons for challenging materials are that they tend to be sexually explicit, contain offensive language, or unsuited to a certain age group.

Frequently challenged books includes:

1. Scary Stories (Series) by Alvin Schwartz
2. Daddy’s Roommate by Michael Willhoite
3. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
4. The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
5. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
6. Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
7. Harry Potter (Series) by J.K. Rowling
8. Forever by Judy Blume
9. Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson
10. Alice (Series) by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor
11. The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
12. The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
13. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
14. Lord of the Flies by William Golding
15. Carrie by Stephen King

Censorship ends in logical completeness when nobody is allowed to read any books except the books that nobody reads. – George Bernard Shaw

Tripping on a rock while walking down the memory lane

I had a huge smile on my face this morning after I opened an email from an old classmate; okay it wasn’t just a huge smile, I was practically crying from too much laughing. My good friend took the time to scan through an old slumbook (or autograph book), and picked-up the best definitions of what love is for a sixth grader (copied word-for-word).

Here’s my very own entry: "Love exist in our heart." I can’t believe that I am that clueless back then. Here are a few more, but I’m going to withhold their names. If you are an alumnus or alumna (just to be safe for those who object to masculine forms) of Divine Word College – San Jose, Occ Mindoro, you’d get to know who they are if you join our yahoo group and you will also be directed to our forum.

Aaa said:
"Love is surrounded by water, which no one can enter except your lover"

Jjj said:
"The measure of love is love without measure"

Rrr said:
"Love is part of your life"

Ddd said:
"Love is an imitating of two person, two heart enchange"

Vvv said:
"Love is like an hamburger that has everything on it"

Ooo said:
"Love is the way to be married and the hearts are tied together"

Ttt said:
"Love is a feeling when you eat a banana"

Now, don’t come to me asking why you didn’t felt anything anywhere near being in-love after eating a banana, because I will simply tell you that it all depends whether it’s a Filipina banana or a Filipino banana.

How I wish now that I had a slumbook of my own then, and asked my classmates to write on it, too. That piece of ragtag notebook could be priceless today! One thing I do remember is that my favorite motto was “What is beauty if the brain is empty?”

Now come to think of it, isn’t that a maxim of a nerdy girl who isn’t pretty?

Blowing butterfly kisses to the wind

My little son, Josh, would accompany me every morning of a workday to the bus stop near our condominium. I would normally give him a kiss on his chubby cheeks before I go, but yesterday morning he did something he has never done before. He tugged my hand and told me, “Mommy, kiss.” So I obliged by hunching forward to his level and let him give a kiss on my cheek. I melted into a puddle of goo. Not that he hasn’t kissed me before, but it was because that’s the first time he initiated one in public.

I’ll still have, probably, two years of those unabashed kisses, then it’ll be, “Not here, Mom!” or “I’m a big boy now.”

On second note, international posters of the latest Harry Potter film are out now and they look awesome!

And suddenly one cow, out of so many, received the gift of immortality

“I want love, Diary. I want to feel my heart melt, want to see my stalactites shatter and plunge into a river of passion and beauty.”



One Hundred Strokes of the Brush Before Bed (Cento Colpi di Spazzola Prima di Andare a Dormire) by Melissa P. was originally published anonymously in 2003 and became a bestseller in Italy; the translated version in English by Lawrence Venuti was first published in 2004. This diary of a Sicilian teenager in search for love and experienced a series of promiscuous sexual adventures was assumed to be the work of an older writer, because of the sophistication and eroticism of its prose. And when an 18-year old Melissa Panarello came out of the shadows to reveal herself to the Catholic-filled Italy, everyone was in shock as well as the late Pope John Paul II.

For a beauty such as her, love may be hard to find, but sex awaits at every turn, and to this Melissa hardly ever says no. In this book spanning two years of her life from the age of fourteen to sixteen, the reader goes through her state of virginity to her introduction to self sex, oral sex, sex with older men, sex with women, sadomasochistic sex and group sex.

"He said he would do it with me only if nothing came of it, if there'd be nothing between us but sex."

The erotica in this book isn’t as titillating as what it promised to be, for the writer does not dwell on sexual descriptions. Or could it be that callowness in style was lost in the translation – for the genital euphemisms: “my fireplace”, “his lance”? For a girl as young as her who cannot possibly understand the depths of what she was doing is trite. I could sympathize in some moments when her nebulous sexual relations leave her feeling used and humiliated, but then again the thought that there are instances wherein she could have said no but didn’t; for sex to her is some kind of an addiction, even if she doesn’t admit to it. She was basically a teenage whore who got screwed but wasn’t paid – generally a convenient orifice, a fulfillment for men’s Lolita-fantasies, a dress-up doll to play with, or a dominatrix to obey.

"I search for excitement born from humiliation. I search for annihilation."

This is a touching tale of a girl who went inside the forest of uncertainty in search of something deep, defining love, but found ogres who debased her humanity and later discovered that the sensibility of it all is buried deep within her. I like the reckless confidence, isolated angst, pretentious convictions of the youth pictured in this book.

"I entered the bathroom, looked at myself in the mirror, and no longer saw the image of that girl who took such delight in examining herself..."

So if you like reading diaries and interested to get into the psyche of the modern teenage girl, pick this up and spend probably two or three hours of your time reading this on a lazy Sunday afternoon.


Just a tidbit:
Melissa left the manuscript of this book carelessly one day and was discovered by her parents; they were in shock, of course, to learn of their daughter’s secret life from its pages. They didn’t even want it to be published, but Melissa told them that it was just a work of her imaginative mind, so they relented. They later on learned the truth when Melissa finally came out in the open and admitted that everything in the book happened to her. She said, "All of the experiences are mine. I experienced all of these things. In the book, I described it all in a more dramatic way, but I didn't make anything up."


Further comments by the author from interviews:

"I showed the hypocrisy of Italian society, things like adult men having sex with young girls, and the illusions of internet sex."

"I was always aware of what I was doing and this awareness gave these actions dignity. I did it in a dignified way because I was aware of what I was doing. It doesn't make any difference that I was just fifteen. You can have self-awareness at any age. A young girl of the age that I was doesn't usually go looking for adventures, but for real experiences. For me, it wasn't just having sex to pass the time, as older women do. I was searching for a true experience."

"It's very easy to hide things like this. Married women have affairs and they can hide it without a problem. I was also able to hide things."

"No one else knew anything. In the morning, I went to school like every other girl and in the evening I met men. Sometimes I would stay out until six in the morning and I had to be in school by seven thirty."

Let the tournament begin!

If you’re in the US, you have probably seen this footage that’s being aired on TV. Yes, it’s another Goblet of Fire commercial. But what the heck! I’ll flood you with all the Harry Potter goodness until it’s November 18.

If you haven’t been to the cinemas since May, you might have missed the teaser, which was great and the international teaser was even greater and far longer; shorter than the full trailer, of course.

Thunder is impressive; but it is lightning that does the work

Michael Jackson’s Essential album, saved in my iPod, is booming loudly in ears; the sky is awfully dark compared to last night’s; the busy streets is suddenly filled with the clapping of thunder as it ripped through across the sky and my path is brightened by the lightning that flashed from the dreary skies.

That was a scary. I wasn’t a person who is easily rattled by thunder and lightning, but I was freakin’ walking in Paya Lebar and in Singapore; I don’t want to end-up in the news: “A woman died after struck by lightning near Paya Lebar MRT station”. This place is the capital of lighting deaths!

The lightning risk in Singapore is high and it’s highest in Paya Lebar; this could probably be because Singapore is somewhere in the equator and Paya Lebar sits smack on top of it. I do know one thing for sure is that our condo building has a Lightning Protection System; that is why I was pretty much anxious to get home and the construction site that I have to pass through didn’t helped much in my freaked-out state. This is a place where you could be struck by lightning on any given rainy day – even while training for a football game.

I got home fine; otherwise I wouldn’t be able to post this.

You go, girl!

Happy Birthday, Hermione Jane Granger!

She should be 26 now. I do hope she lives past the seventh book. Cheers to Harry's champion! Hope she gets back to her old-self in the last installment.

Why must we be painted this way?

Due to the gruesome crime committed by a Filipina to another Filipina here in Singapore less than two weeks ago, Singaporeans were again re-introduced to the women from the Philippines. The Filipino woman, as pictured by the press, though attractive with her easy laughter and affectionate ways, is no different from any woman from any other poverty-stricken Third World country – in search of a pot of gold, a better life and a man to share her dreams and make them all come true.

Majority of Filipinos working here may have been made up of domestic workers but why must they forget about the professionals like me? Here’s the picture they painted of the Filipino woman: she leaves her family at home to give them a better life, and due to the incessant demands of money from back home, she had to find a man who would be willing enough to help her solve her problems – a relationship of convenience. Nope, not all domestic helpers are like than but most of them you’ll find on Sundays filling the discos in Orchard Towers for a tea dance (more like day disco) and rubbing elbows and butts with Singaporeans, expat Caucasians and many from the subcontinent (lonely bachelors or men bored with their marriages).

These clubs don’t run-out of Filipino women, as the sun goes down and the domestic helpers troop out to go back to their regular work, the professional women take over, with slinkier dresses. These are the women who, most often than not, come into the country as a tourist with a two-week visa and aren’t suppose to work. They were there to cajole men to buy $15 worth bottle of beer and they get to keep $5 of it. I’d blame the budget airlines for the onslaught of these types of women here. I could even hear Tagalog conversations now at Geylang (the red-light district here), a place that was once lorded by Thai and Mainland Chinese girls.

No wonder professionals like me get in this kind of situation:

Filipina programmer boards a taxi on a weekday: Uncle, Tampines Central.
Driver: You Filipina?
Filipina: Yes (in a condescending manner)
Driver: You’re lucky your boss lets you out of the house on a weekday.
Filipina: I’m not a maid, Uncle! (flabbergasted that she was mistaken for a maid)
Driver: Oh, yeah, you don’t look like one. (after looking at the woman from the rearview mirror) At which bar/club do you work here?
Filipina: I don’t work in a club either; I work in a bank. (now more irate than ever)
Driver: Oh, so married a Singaporean, then.

The Filipina paid her fare, alights outside a bank’s building, and mutters to herself, “Deep shit!”

Movie to look forward to

I haven’t been to the theaters lately for there isn’t any movie worth seeing. Maybe the end-of-year films would make-up for it considering there are Peter Jackson’s King Kong and the latest Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire schedule to be released.

The HP community was in a state of frenzy as, finally, the full trailers were already released two days ago. You can view through the links provided below.

UK version

US international version

This is my most favourite Harry Potter book, for it has all the essential elements: adventure, eminent danger, school fun, teen romance, deceit, and most of all He Who Must Not Be Named. Did enjoy the Quidditch matches from the first three films? You’re going to enjoy the match on this one, though Harry isn’t playing on it; it’s the Quidditch World Cup for Pete’s sake! And Harry’s going to fight off a dragon, dive into the icy lake and meet the mermaids and not to mention the maze; this is the Triwizard Tournament and Harry at his best form.

I can’t wait for November 18 to come.

Rojak Pot

I so totally love this podcasting feature in iTunes; I can now listen to muggles sleuthing about the latest Harry Potter book on my way to work. Yes, yes, yes. I know; too much Harry Potter in my mind; can’t help it, I’m delusional. iPod Nano was released last weekend and is now available at the nearest Best store.

I just read another series of articles about the Guen and Jane affair (aka the Filipina Grisly murder). Husbands of both women just couldn’t believe that their wives fought over the love of a “very tall and handsome” (quoting that from the papers) Singaporean taxi driver. Not to disappoint families of overseas workers at home, but this thing isn’t quite surprising to me. You’d see most of these domestic workers on Sundays (on their day-off) milling around Orchard Road with Indians or Pakistanis dogging them, or they’re just lounging the grassy patches at the Gulong-gulong (Rolling) Park which is just a few paces from the Orchard MRT station where the bag containing the head was found.

Enough of the gory stories; I still can’t get into the Filipino tele-serye psyche. Ikaw Ang Lahat Sa Akin is just too weepy; Kampanerang Kuba is riddled with idiots; Mga Angel Na Walang Langit is better as it tackles tribulations of the Filipino youth, though sometimes they tend to lean on being too melodramatic. Pinoy Big Brother is different; it kinds of showing what the real Filipinos are right now: gone are the naiveté of young women, guys do cry over broken relationships, and there is such a thing as metro-sexual men; but some things still remain the same: the ugly people would have a hard time getting good-looking partners, dogs will hump at any moving object and Filipinos love to sing.

In the name of love

The saga that is gripping Singaporeans and more especially Filipinos in Singapore started when I got an SMS from my husband sometime around four in the afternoon saying that he heard some news that there was a decapitated head discovered inside a bag, which was left a little outside Orchard MRT station. When I got home later that night, I learned that inside that bag were all the other appendages (arms and legs) as well of a young Asian woman. The torso was later found inside a luggage trolley that was left on a pathway in MacRichie Reservoir.

The Filipino community was even more surprised to learn the following morning that a Filipina domestic worker was apprehended for the gruesome death of the younger Filipina maid. Yes, Virginia, the chop-chop lady was another Filipina. This case had a certain tinge of Flor and Delia. Filipinos are familiar with that story, for who could forget the movie starring La Aunor? Flor was only charged of asphyxiation while Guen (the suspect) did something more grisly by mutilating the dead body.

Even before it hit the stands speculations that the crime was done all because of a boyfriend is spreading. Well, it could only either be over money or over the love of some man. What’s even more surprising was that these two women are married and have kids back at home. The question now that boggles some of us was how could she have done it? From the point of killing the other woman, to chopping off the body parts, to disposing of the bags, and what led the police to the accused. I know no forensic science, I’ve just been watching too much CSI, but what the accused di was plain stupidity. Maybe she panicked and was overwhelmed by the terror she just committed and simply borrowed what the Singaporean guy did to his Chinese girlfriend three months ago; that case however is reminiscent of the Chop-chop lady we had in the Philippines way back in 1990s; that story was made into a movie as well where Lorna Tolentino played the lead; I think Kris even made a version of that movie (thank heavens if I am wrong!).

Singlish… is as stupid does

I’m not here to be sanctimonious nor am I saying that I’m the greatest grammarian on the face of this earth. I do make my own mistakes, but there are things that simply boggle one’s mind. Singlish or Singaporean English is not that far from the colloquial Taglish; we, however, butcher the American version while they mangle the Queen’s language.

Here’s one example of a conversation I had with a former boss back when I just got here.

Me: Sorry, I can’t.
Boss: So when can you start?
Me: I said I can’t.
Boss: Yeah can.
Me: No, I said CAN’T.
Boss: Oh, you mean CAN NOT.

There’s one more thing that irks me that Singaporeans do, that is whenever they try to get your attention to get out of their way. You should be hearing the words “Excuse me” but nope that’s not their way; what you’d hear is: “’Alo, ‘alo, ‘alo…” (that is, if the speaker has somekind og Kapangpangan inclinations.) I’d at times felt like giving in to temptations of giving a cheeky answer: “Yes, hello. Who would you like to speak with? May I know who’s on the line, please?”

I went to the market today and saw Filipina bananas for sale. I wonder now if there are Filipino bananas on sale, too; that would be outright pimping.

Since yesterday, whenever I see a trailer of Russell Crowe’s latest movie, Cinderella Man, being shown on TV, I can’t help myself but snigger. I guess I should blame it to one account I’ve read at the newspaper about a writer’s adventure watching this film. Is there something funny about the film? Nope only the viewers. Well, the writer was quite surprised when he entered the movie hall filled with Moms tugging along their little girls dressed in pink gowns and pink bows and ribbons. Some people thought that this film is another version of the fairy tale! I’d even be horrified if they thought that it was Russell Crowe who’d be playing Cinderella; Renée Zellweger could. Don’t they even watch movie trailers? Or have they seen the movie posters? This film is a boxing movie, not something for little girls in pink dresses.

This isn’t rant of a pompous fellow, but a poke at some funny things one sometimes stumbles upon. Filipinos have murdered the English language a lot; I don’t know to you (Ewan ko sa iyo).

The highest ecstasy is the attention at its fullest

I’m still reeling – more like swellheaded, actually – from the compliment I got from one lurker on this site. He thinks my place is cool because of two brilliant things in pop culture these times: Harry Potter and Rob Thomas. Okay, I’m a little bit obsessed with all things that concern that boy wizard and I think Matchbox 20 is pretty cool.

Enough of that; now onto weird things I chanced upon today. I found it odd this morning, as I took a sit in the train on my way to work, to find not one, not two but three police officers decked with their bats, guns, radios, PDAs, and handphones going up and down the aisle looking like they’re checking up on suspicious faces. All right, it might not look odd or weird given the terrorist attacks in other countries, but this is Singapore! Oh, do I sound like a local now? Maybe because there are news spreading around that this little first-world country is now next in line of countries to be bombed, that is why they are so ever vigilant. These young men looked like they couldn’t hit a fly much more accost a suspicious looking individual; they haven’t got the look of scruffy guys who would walk away unscathed from a scuffle; that’s where their high-tech guns and PDAs probably come in.

In a place where a lot of people have earphones stuck on their ears connected to their iPods or Creative Muovos, it was weird to see a young girl carrying a CD Radio Cassette Recorder or Boombox and that she had earphones connected to it. It was like seeing the initial release of the cellular phone – with bags a big as a notebook.

Dreary life of a programmer

Mundane life can be irksome sometimes. Today was like any ordinary day for a poor analyst programmer like me: log-on to the network; do some programming; test whatever you have done; check emails over the internet; another round of testing; and finish up with documentations. The one glitch I had had been on the testing part. My changes should communicate with another application and boy! am I in for a good testing of patience. Our application can’t seem to communicate and get any response from the other application, not only that I just felt that my connection to the server appeared to be sluggish.

Well, I did what I would normally do: close all applications running on my PC and re-boot. Wow! I never thought I was in for a big surprise. After the re-boot, not only was I unable to connect to the email server, but I was also unable to connect to the AS400 server. Gee! When things are really conking up on you, they really do break down together. I think that was part of Murphy’s Law.

So here I am with nothing to do except use word or excel; there’s nothing much I can do either, for I can’t do documentation because I need to get to the network to finish that up. So creating an entry to my blog looked like the most plausible thing to do. But wait! I can’t connect to the network, which means that I don’t have Internet connection. Oh, darn! This had to wait until I get home then.

Rose-colored Glasses

I have loved you for years – years when my young heart knew nothing of what it was like to love. I worshipped the ground you walked on; waited on passages you daily trod upon. I knew all about you and anything that you would be interested in.

Not that you don’t know me, for I am your best friend’s sister – yes, the younger one. You know how much I adore you – hell! everybody knows. Yet here I am, unabashed, still longing and pining for you. Three years after you saw me ran after the train you boarded, you still see me as that little girl. I am of age – of age to be asked to the dance, yet you chose to be slammed and rejected by another beautiful girl. I was there, waiting, hoping for you to look my way and take me up as some consolation; however, you didn’t. My over-protective brother even suggested that you take me, but still you didn’t. Was it because I am like a child – always at a lost for words – whenever you are near?

A year has passed since then, and I have changed. I am no longer the bumbling, tongue-tied little girl. I changed, which I hoped for the better, simply to let you go; to be who I really am, and maybe then and only then could you finally see me. I’ve dated other guys, talked whenever you were around – even hollered at you for being a prat – and tried to be the best in whatever field I joined in; but still there you were drooling over some other pretty girl and I was left still hoping.

Another year and my time had come; it has to be, for I could feel it in the air, I could see it in your glances and invites. You finally had taken notice of me, but why must it be at the most inappropriate time – at a time when I am spoken for? Heavens be damned! Why must this happen to me?

I saw you clenched your jaw when you chanced upon us kissing at a deserted hallway, and you didn’t know how I felt for your pain. The fates have been playing with us, but then again they’re still on our side, for a few months later I broke up with him. No, you didn’t rush to my side to sweep me off my feet right away; you are a man of honour anyway. You took your time; you gave me space and the time needed to heal – short as it may be, yet you gave me time.

I can still recall every minute details of what happened that momentous day – that day when you finally kissed me amidst the cheers of people we love. A single moment locked in memory that lasted for like a thousand sunny days, like springtime in November, or snowflakes in summer. Each minute, hour, day or week spent with you had been the joyous moments in my life. And then it had to end.

The saddest day for us all had been the most heart-wrenching day for me. You have to go on a journey – a passage, which you think I can’t face and I agreed. Why must you say that the weeks we had together felt like a life that wasn’t yours? I was saddened to hear that, but then maybe you were right. You were happy for once, yet removed from it all. I thought I am the one who could bring forth a sudden change in your life. Maybe you didn’t need any change. You said your goodbye, forlorn, and resolved at facing the danger up ahead.

So here I am bidding you my farewell. I will wait but I can’t promise you forever.

Polygamy: An endeavor to get more out of life that there is in it

I was reading the newspaper yesterday and was appalled that Singaporeans were even suggesting that polygamy should be allowed to curb the rise of divorce rate in this country. Muslims can multi-marry (ain’t that grand?), provided that their wives would agree to it and that the guy is rich enough to raise a bigger family. What surprised me the most was that two women sent in letters agreeing to such a proposal.

One pointed out that extra-marital affairs will surely stop – and men visiting brothels as well – once it is legitimized. It would likewise result in more births and resolve the woes of the singletons. More births, all right! Do they even stop and think why guys take the road of having extra-marital affairs or visit the brothels? There is such as thing called non-committal relationships. Men who would rather have a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am moment than take home another woman to provide for until the end of their days.

The singles’ woes, which I knew nothing about, are way beyond my comprehension. Aren’t there enough singles to pick on the future guy to bring home to momma? If these singletons think that only the married ones are worthy of marriage, then I’m probably in a whacked out world. They believe that successful, wealthy men deserve to have more than one wife. Ugh! Wouldn’t it be lovely, if all the wives to out together to do some shopping?

Not that we are living in a chauvinistic world, it was even suggested that this should be extended to women, as well. If it is to solve the problem of men whose needs are not met by just one wife; it should also solve the problem of women whose needs are not met by just one husband. Hah!

People here in Singapore are already given so much leeway with divorce. They can declare their independence once they feel like they want out of the relationship. Divorce, for a woman, is also one way out of an abusive marriage. Just telling the wife that there are other girls worthy of her husband’s affection is abusive enough, much more if the husband brings home another girl.

In every marriage more than a week old, there are grounds for divorce. The trick is to find, and continue to find, grounds for marriage. – Robert Anderson

Anybody who wants the presidency so much that he'll spend two years organizing and campaigning for it is not to be trusted with the office

So, do you want to know what’s life like in Singapore? Let me see if I could keep you abreast of what’s going in this little first-world country. Their president, S. R. Nathan, had just sworn in for a second term of office a couple of days ago.

He was re-elected for another six years and I haven’t seen any elections nor any campaign. Strange, isn’t it? Well, because on the Nomination Day (yes they have that) last August 17, there isn’t any qualified candidate but him. I wonder what kind of qualifications do they look for in a candidate?

Can’t Philippines do the same thing? Weed out the bad eggs before they start campaigning and slugging rotten issues against each other. If we have stringent requirements, will there ever be a candidate who’s fit to lead our country?

Anyway, in my five years of staying in this country, I haven’t heard the Singapore’s president speak of anything more than a couple of sentences. For me, he is just some figure head with a ready smile and waving to the people during the National Day Parade, receiving the huge cheque during the President’s Charity Show, and someone who stays at the Istana (more like their Malacañang here).