Flex Like Carrie

For this Halloween, I'd like to celebrate how I became a writer. It was mid-2001, and I was a 13-year-old high school freshman. Unknowingly suffering from depression from near-constant school bullying since age 5, art was my release. But besides drawing for leisure, I was in love with reading. I was also a budding writer at the time. I didn't know it back then because I didn't know that it was actually difficult for some people to express themselves in writing when, in my mind, all I really have to do is use proper grammar, mind my spelling, and use slang with care, and adopt minimal profanity. I was an avid reader, and I might have read most literary classics if it weren't for my depression draining me of energy and enthusiasm for doing the things that I love.

This makes me extremely thankful for a friend of mine for recommending Carrie by Stephen King to me. I was unfamiliar with Stephen King at the time, and until Carrie, the only novels I've read were the Harry Potter books. So, Carrie was a refreshing read for me. The false document style of the novel was ingenious work, quite an achievement for somebody's first novel. Most importantly, as someone who was made to be a social outcast at school, Carrie White was my hero. Reading about how she destroyed the prom and almost everyone there gave me the most satisfying feeling. The prom scene from the 1976 adaptation starring Sissy Spacek did not quite do it justice. 37 years of technological advancement in filmmaking did the trick. When I watched the 2013 adaptation starring Chloe Moretz (who also looked like Carrie from the book), the experience was exactly how I read the book.



Watching this brings me back to that day in the library when I read this scene from the book and just felt so exhilarated that I had to write my "version." Instead, I got a better idea: I wrote an entirely different novel around the idea of a bullied schoolgirl with a supernatural ability. I will not disclose any more details about my novel. The point is that Stephen King's Carrie introduced me to a genre that I love. Beyond just horror, he adopts a degree of magical realism and combines horror elements with prolific storytelling inspired from Alfred Hitchcock and film adaptations of Edgar Allan Poe's works. Stephen King's novels and adaptations of his works don't need many Jump Scares, if any at all. Carrie and The Shining are two of the most effective horror movies where the scare is entirely in the storytelling.

I might not be able to move objects with my mind, but I can write stories well. And perhaps, like Stephen King, I can inspire others, too.

An Artist's Lament: Reacting to Gab Valenciano's Facebook Post

Earlier today, I had a very interesting and insightful chat with a Filipino Uber driver and he said something that stuck...
Posted by Gabriel Valenciano on Sunday, September 13, 2015

I just realized I hadn't Liked or Shared this post until now, because I was so awestruck at Gab Valenciano's message that I read it, contemplated on it for a few moments, and went back to work. (I might have been subtitling an urgent Jimmy Fallon episode at the time.) What struck me about this post is that it gave me an overwhelming relief that I'm not alone, that even the handsome and talented son of an equally handsome and talented singer/actor/dancer feels marginalized in the industry where his own father is being celebrated in nearly three decades now. He's right: It's difficult to be an artist in the Philippines. Specific fields are given especial importance, but individuals aren't typically encouraged to pursue any of them, because we are brought up from childhood to pursue corporate work. When I was a child, everybody's dream job was to work "in an office," like you see on TV, where people work in cubicles and wear slacks and dress shirts and neckties. At the time, my parents were an Air Force pilot and a nurse, which were considerably more active than working "in an office." What on earth do you actually do in an office anyway? While I didn't see anything particularly wrong with that, I didn't see myself in that kind of environment. Even when I began to show signs of artistic talent in both visual art and writing, it didn't occur to me until college that I could pursue art as a career. Neither society nor the educational system encourages the idea. They don't present us with steps to take that path, either. Anyone who expresses the desire to do so is typically discouraged because art in any form is ultimately economically impractical and does not contribute to society whatsoever.

While I am lucky enough to have parents who were happy to let me study Literature in college, it's after graduation that I felt the brunt of the fact that, particularly in this country, art is not a career opportunity. When I search for "writing jobs," all I get are outsourcing companies trying to snag frustrated artists by slapping the word "creative" in their job advertisements. This is why art isn't encouraged. It has little to no value for corporations, who need expendable skilled workers to work for them and pay for their time. There are no such companies actively seeking an artist. Artists have to look for their own ways to earn income; and while the educational system does encourage creativity, it doesn't teach artists how to earn without relegating their art into a useless hobby.

Some might say I bear the mark of my generation, the one that isn't satisfied with having just any little job just to earn some money. But I believe that work isn't just a means to earn money; it is self-fulfillment, and nothing fulfills me more than art. Henceforth, I became determined to find a job where my skills for perfect my art can be exercised. After nearly two years as an article writer in an overworking-but-low-paying SEO reseller, I felt that I was part of a machine rather than a human being creating organic art.

Fast forward to 2015, I am back to working "in an office" - albeit a casual wear office - but it's still an 8-hour job. And while I love my job very much (Who wouldn't want to get paid watching random movies and TV show episodes?), this still isn't what I wanted for myself. I want to be writing the movies and TV series instead of transcribing them. I sought to become a TV writer and revolutionize Philippine TV. However, the steps I have taken did not lead me there. The options available to me could lead me only to corporate work, and only corporate work could give me a stable income. But it would never be fulfilling.

Having read the younger Valenciano's sad post, I realize that I probably couldn't have changed anything even if I did make it into a broadcasting network. While my screenwriting mentor has taught my classmates and me about the value of creative integrity, writers have little control over what happens to their scripts when directors interpret them on the set. At the end of the day, all studios care about is the money they get for giving their target audience what they want instead of what they need. They want modern fairy tales even though they need thought-provoking narratives of multiple genres. It's like giving a child chips and candy when they're clearly in need of vegetables and lean meat. But the television and film industry isn't about to let me give my audience a healthy diet of substance. Jerrold Tarog might have been lucky that his Heneral Luna was met with high regard, but I'm seriously afraid that such beautiful filmmaking won't extend to other genres any time soon because the media is much too engrossed in following silly trends instead of setting them with meaningful stories.

I don't know what's going to happen to me if I do what Gab Valenciano did and go to the US to pursue art. But I do hope that when I do, I'll not only write, but also draw and paint again.

On Heneral Luna

This isn’t going to be a review but merely a reaction.  It is true what people have been saying online about the movie, in the last few weeks.  Filipinos deserve more movies like that--not necessarily socially relevant historical films but rather films that take extra care with aesthetics, context, semiotics, and substance to make us think as much as we feel.

Heneral Luna is a unique historical narrative in that examines the ills of Philippine society and how we’re as awful at handling power and politics as the Philippines under Aguinaldo had been.  It is a retrospective sort of commentary on the fact that, despite everything that our national heroes have done for us, they are a fraction of a greater whole--and the majority, just as they are now, are selfish, undiscerning people with no integrity. It is a lamentation of the fact that people like Antonio Luna is in short supply.  Despite the impact he had made in the Philippine-American War, we weren’t unable to stay independent, largely because we were either incapable of it, or that the powers that be thought we were.

A lot of people in social media seem to get caught in the delusion that we all feel like Antonio Luna.  “Akala mo ba, ikaw lang ang nagmamahal sa Pilipinas?  Mahal ko rin ang Pilipinas!” Buencamino says to him at one point.  The fact that a lot of us are hypocrites like Buencamino; indecisive like Mabini; or, stubborn like Aguinaldo--is a big pill to swallow.  Even for me, the love for country is but an abstract thought.  We can’t all be shooting at the enemy on horseback.  We can’t all be yelling at the President and his council about integrity.  This was exactly the point of the movie.

Lapu-Lapu fought in Mactan; Spain still conquered the Philippines.  They stayed for 300 years despite several rebellions through all that time.  Antonio Luna strove to maintain the independence that Aguinaldo declared in June 12, 1898; the Americans still came to the islands and stayed for the next 40 years.  We needed help from America to drive the Japanese away.

We aren’t like Leonidas and the 300, who held off the Persians and inspired Greece to fight.  We aren’t like Vlad Dracula, who literally scared off the Ottomans by impaling both enemy soldiers and common criminals with tall spikes.  The difference is that both Lapu-Lapu and Luna had their own leaders to answer to, and their bosses didn’t share their sentiments.  Whereas Leonidas and Dracula were kings of their lands and therefore had the power to preserve the sovereignty of their dominion.

I felt the chill of helplessness as the credits rolled and I walked out of the theater.  Everyone including me was inspired by the story we just witnessed.  But I looked around me in the inside of the mall.  Everything I saw was the sign of defeat.  Text and signs in English; pale models in advertisements; foreign brands; local brands modeled after them.  While I personally acknowledge the good parts of foreign influence on Philippine culture, I can’t help but wonder what could have been.  What would the Philippines be like if our ancient kings weren’t diplomatic to a fault?  What if more people shared the fierceness or integrity of Lapu-Lapu, Bonifacio, Luna, or Silang?  What if more people were authentic?  What if Filipinos lived up to their ideals?

Well, if Filipinos value integrity as much as much as we think we do, I would be living in a peaceful and self-sufficient Philippines instead of writing a story around my daydreams of one.

A Woman's Action Movie (Mad Max: Fury Road Review)

I had never watched the original Mad Max movies starring Mel Gibson because I was either not born yet or too young to have watched action movies when the genre was at its heyday in the 80s. It was not until I’ve watched Live Free or Die Hard and The Expendables that my fascination for the genre was awakened. Those movies brought to me the nostalgia of watching my father watch his classic action movies as I momentarily glimpsed the cool action sequences that my father and grandfather and uncles have loved so much.

After seeing positive feedback for Mad Max: Fury Road in BuzzFeed, College Humor, Cracked, and 9GAG, I was compelled to check it out myself. Besides, the impressive cast, including Tom Hardy and Charlize Theron, and younger thespians Nicholas Hoult and Zoe Kravitz, has won me over. But that wasn’t all. Mad Max: Fury Road turned out to be exactly as good as those popular humor websites have claimed.

The action-packed, post-apocalyptic dystopian epic is fun to watch. It has a stunning atmosphere reminiscent of Waterworld, except that the setting is a desert rather than an ocean. The influential but menacing villain and his noisy mooks distinctively reminded me of the Smokers who were constantly after the Mariner and the tattooed little girl in Waterworld. In addition, the costumes and makeup, and the props are impressive. Coupled with the atmospheric camerawork, thrilling score, and breathtaking performances, Mad Max: Fury Road is an awe-inspiring saga of survival and political intrigue.

According to my best friend, Waterworld was actually inspired from the original Mad Max series. This makes me look forward to watching the original series starring Mel Gibson in the title role. I would like to see how much of the original series inspired Waterworld and Mad Max: Fury Road visually and atmospherically.

Furthermore, what’s really refreshing about Mad Max: Fury Road is the refreshingly high number of women who are well-rounded characters in their own right. For the first time, I was watching an action movie made just for me. It’s not at all like other action movies where the female lead is designed to titillate the male target audience, like the Underworld series, the Tomb Raider movies; or worse, Sucker Punch and Lucy. Here, even if Max (Tom Hardy) is clearly the main character, Imperator Furiosa (Charlize Theron) establishes her own story and sustains it throughout the movie. Immediately after the introductory sequences, we are introduced to five beautiful maidens, played by Zoe Kravitz (X-Men: First Class, Divergent), Riley Keough (the villainous romantic lead in Justin Timberlake’s “TKO” music video), Rosie Huntington-Whiteley (the romantic lead in Transformers: Dark of the Moon), and models Abbey Lee and Courtney Eaton. While the five are not as prominent as Furiosa, they are clearly distinguishable characters even though, collectively, they are all the main villain’s brides/sex slaves. Although Furiosa takes it upon herself to protect them, the five brides put up a good fight against anyone who threatens them.

While the brides are literally sex objects in the movie, they are, more importantly, people who want to be anything other than dolls to play with; whereas with action heroines like Selene or Baby Doll, it’s the other way around. Selene, especially, is an fighter whose status as Michael Corvin’s lover doesn’t necessarily define her, but dressing her in a corset and a form-fitting catsuit and then giving her slow-motion shots to emphasize her curves lets you know that, ironically, she is still designed to be a sex object for the audience. The same is true for Baby Doll and her scantily clad posse. Furiosa and her young wards might be nice to look at, but the narrative presents them as much, much more than that by avoiding putting emphasis on their bodies. We get a good look at them when they are first introduced, but any chance of objectification is quickly dashed by using their thin physiques and grimy white dresses to show that they have suffered for it and want to escape, especially the pregnant one with ritual scars on her face.

Like the male characters Max, Nux, and even the villains, they are people letting their claws out to fight for survival in the harsh wasteland. Having Imperator Furiosa, a gang leader who works for the villain, ultimately betray her boss to rescue his young brides from him sets off the familiar feminist narrative. However, it does not play upon the usual gender conflict dynamic as blatantly as Sucker Punch does; instead, our heroines enforce their rights not just as women but as people seeking freedom from oppression, just like our hero Max. When he proves his worth to Furiosa and her wards, they accept his aid and he becomes their protector alongside Furiosa for the rest of the film. They become partners seeking common goals: dignity and freedom from oppression.

Feminism and Fiction

Betwixt my body image issues and the pervasive debates about feminism online, I realize how and why it's so difficult to portray women in fiction. Game of Thrones and Frozen are two of the works most highly praised for portraying women as complex characters in their own right as opposed to being a love interest (or worse, a one-dimensional villain) for a hero. Frozen and Game of Thrones also came out only a few years ago. This shows that, despite the successes of feminism in making the world a better place for women, the mass media still perpetuate stereotypes about women, even if they try to make a “strong and independent heroine.”

What Frozen and Game of Thrones got right about female characters is that, regardless of alignment, they have multifaceted personalities. They have more to offer than to be something pretty for a male hero to gain as a prize in the end. Being a complex female character doesn’t always require her to forgo traditional feminine traits either. This is somehow revolutionary in the realm of fiction, especially in mainstream pop culture. It’s just sad that this also shows what feminism tends to get wrong about femininity.

 In the past year, feminism has garnered significant backlash from a considerable faction of women in the Internet. The hashtag #womenagainstfeminism gained popularity in social media with quite a bit of help from BuzzFeed. This was in retaliation against misandristic attitudes from women who identify as feminists. Most active in Thought Catalog, BuzzFeed and Tumblr pages, these misandrists promote negative stereotypes about men, such as their penchant for abuse, rape, and violence in general. To them, men are incapable of affection and gentleness; and any woman who enters a relationship with one is either a traitor to feminism or doomed to an unhappy life of betrayal and domestic abuse.

Misandry means “hatred against men,” and there are many feminists who perpetuate this destructive attitude as an aid to promote women’s rights. But many women, especially those who are happy to be in conventional family life, vehemently disagree, with good reasons. They declare, “If advocating my right for respect for my life choices and equal treatment in business and politics means that I have to make jokes about violence against men; make hateful comments about their sex; and assume superiority over men, I don’t want to be a feminist.”

The same problems crop up in various degrees of subtlety in fiction. Emilie Autumn’s Fight Like aGirl album, based on her book The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls, has turned a tragic tale of abuse in the mental health institution into an allegory of radical feminism, to the disgust of female fans that are happy with their men. In a twist of irony, the Underworld series, Sucker Punch and, at a lesser extent, Taylor Swift’s music video for “Bad Blood” adopt the “girls with guns” trope as women empowerment despite the fact when it began as, essentially, action porn for men. If feminism demands respect for women, adopting girls with guns as women empowerment undermines this goal, as objectification of women is a major element in the genre.

There is also the faction of fictionists who take a different route. Apparently inspired by Xena: Warrior Princess, there are action heroines like Selene from Underworld and Katniss from The Hunger Games, who challenge the damsels-in-distress stereotype by wielding weapons and holding their own against powerful villains. Both heroines are not only fierce fighters; they are stoic and sarcastic. Besides their physical strength, their behaviors also defy the notion of the emotional woman.

I have a serious problem with that. While I understand that it’s clearly a reaction to the stereotype of a woman character manipulating others with her tears and acting upon her feelings, depicting an emotionless woman seems extreme. Not every woman wears her heart in her sleeve, but it doesn’t mean that a reserved action heroine ought to be perpetually stern or even borderline sociopathic. At least Selene gradually grows out of it when she experiences the joy of love and the fear and grief of losing Michael in the sequels.

Clearly written as a response to Bella Swan of the Twilight books, Katniss Everdeen is her exact opposite. Whereas Bella is gorgeous but doesn’t see herself that way, Katniss is severely malnourished and reasonably unattractive. Making her look acceptable for TV takes considerable effort from her stylists. Whereas Bella Swan is transparent with her feelings, Katniss is largely emotionless. Her first person narrative sounds like she is more of an (albeit spiteful) observer than a terrified teenager (unless she actually cries or becomes scared, which happens only a few times in the whole series). I commend Jennifer Lawrence for adding a layer of emotion to the character in the adaptation  (even though she doesn’t look the part at all). But I digress. Being excessively showy of emotion is merely a symptom of a usually bigger problem with a female character. But taking away emotion to enforce physical as well as mental strength for an action heroine seems rather shallow for me. It’s shallow because it doesn’t necessarily add to her character; it only reduces her femininity.

However, few people realize that about heroines like Katniss. Katniss has become the epitome of the “strong and independent female character” while female characters that still practice traditional gender roles are supposedly anti-feminist. Radical feminists criticize Molly Weasley for being a housewife to a man who works for the Ministry of Magic. They criticize Bella Swan for being “passive”; dependent to her men; and adopting traditional gender roles like keeping house and cooking for her father (more on this in an upcoming blog).

The problem with feminism is that it focuses more on combatting patriarchal oppression than celebrating femininity. It reinforces the idea that “women can be as good as men in everything,” so we must abandon traditional female roles and strive to gain success alongside men in business and politics, science and medicine, architecture and engineering, art and music and literature, and also in aviation and the armed forces.  there is nothing wrong with being a doting mother or a housewife as long as the stay-at-home mom is happy with it. Like all stay-at-home moms, Molly Weasley is constantly busy keeping house and raising children, including rambunctious twins Fred and George. In other words, it’s very hard work that must be appreciated and honored, especially by feminists.

Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing wrong with action heroines. Wonder Woman is a powerful super-heroine whose definitive trait is her compassion. But that doesn’t negate the fact that she will rightfully punish evildoers.

Beatrice “Tris” Prior from the Divergent series is a great action heroine not just because she can kick ass but also because she’s worked extremely hard to be able to do so. She’s special but she’s not the only one. The interesting thing about Tris is that, like Katniss, she is not particularly beautiful but that’s not relevant to the character. (This is one of the good things about Katniss as well.)

A heroine doesn’t need to be eye candy to be taken seriously, after all. Inversely, a heroine can still be beautiful but, like Wonder Woman, that’s not her most important trait.

Tris has fierceness about her, but also gentleness. Unlike with Selene or Katniss, the two traits do not negate each other. Tris never had to “discover the hidden softness under her hard core” like Selene or Katniss had to do because even though compassion doesn’t come naturally for Tris, she is considerate, friendly, and polite. The two traits are within her all along, as it is for all women.

Therefore, I would like everyone to learn that women are complex and ought to be written that way in fiction. We are indeed strong, but that can mean more than physical strength and combat skill. Wearing dresses and makeup, taking upon domestic tasks, or settling down does not make a woman less “strong and independent.” An ideal heroine is someone who can be any woman. She may or may not be beautiful; she may or may not care for her appearance. She may or may not be a combatant. She may or may not be a good person, even. But she is a whole person, nonetheless. The ideal heroine is one who feels for the other characters and what happens to them and her. She has dreams and desires. She has flaws and nuances. Not everyone might like her, and that’s okay. But she won’t take kindly to being insult or discrimination.

Pop Culture Issues I Somehow Can't Ignore

I am now 26 years old and have long stopped paying attention to silly "headlines" like what this celebrity wore or whom that celebrity is dating. I don't even go to Yahoo.com anymore because 95% of the stories are about silly things about celebrities nobody should have to care about. If people read more about philosophy and psychology and sociology, maybe they won't have to listen to the babbling of some "influential" celebrities for validation, but I digress.

Anyway, I've stopped buying OK! and Cosmopolitan magazines for almost two years now, and I have stopped browsing Yahoo.com around the same time. This is roughly the period when I've also stopped paying attention to the personal details of celebrities, even of those I happen to like. While I don't enjoy being cynical, I can't help but become a tad jaded when I learned that there are such things as image consultants. Essentially, I learned that the "personal styles" or "fashion tastes" of some celebrities are created for them, rendering "headlines" about fashion hits and misses bogus. The same goes with their "message" and public statements.

Since the downward spiral of Lindsay Lohan following the peak of Mean Girls, I have long since learned that celebrities should be allowed to be imperfect human beings with inevitable psychological problems considering their typically dysfunctional backgrounds. However, at this rate, with irreverent celebrity gossip needed to support the imaginary status of mediocre talents, dreaming of responsible journalism seems far-fetched.

Instead, I'll give in just this once to express something about a few pop culture topics I feel especially strongly about. Feel free to show me where I might be wrong.

Meghan Trainor

When I first heard "All About That Bass," I was in the treadmill on my second day of going to the gym ever. It was the time when I'd finally taken the initiative to get fit after nearly 15 years of being overweight. When I first heard the song, it made me feel glad that there is a popular song that directly addresses the issue of body positivity.

Prior to engaging in boxing workout routines, I'd taken to maintaining a positive but realistic attitude regarding body image. While I've desired to be thinner for both aesthetic and health reasons, I'm determined to still feel beautiful and confident while my BMI hasn't gone down to the normal range yet. On the flip side, I also believe that while overweight and obese people don't deserve being shamed for their looks and eating habits, thin people mustn't get the same treatment for the sake of "body positivity."

So you can imagine my disappointment when I heard more and more flaws in "All About That Bass" each time I heard it on the radio. The biggest problem with the song is when "skinny bitches" are mercilessly slammed in a backhanded insult of a lyric. This leads to another problem with the song in that the bottom line of so-called body positivity as illustrated in the song is that it is sexually desirable apparently. Not because you'll be more content in the long run or that you have more relevant attributes like intelligence or compassion or you mustn't feel guilty about eating fast food from time to time; it's because "boys they like a little more booty to hold at night." While it's a legitimate point that everyone can understand quickly, it once again misses the one best lesson in body positivity that organizations like Dove tend to overlook: People mustn't depend their entire self-worth on their physical appearance alone.

One more point about the song that bothers me intensely are the lines "My momma, she told me don't worry about your size" and "I won't be no stick figure silicone Barbie doll." Let me tell you this: A mother who lets her fat daughter keep getting fat is a negligent parent who doesn't care about her child's well-being. My mother was the one who convinced me that I need to do something about my weight because she is concerned that my obesity might get worse and it was already affecting my psychological health. Since going to the gym, I've maintained a good mood and even improved my humor. I look forward to updating my wardrobe once my BMI reaches "normal."

Regarding the Barbie doll line, I honestly don't understand why Barbie is under so much scrutiny. Why must she have to have a "realistic" design when she is a doll designed to simulate the body of a grown lady? I had never heard of a girl who literally felt bad she can't look like Barbie. And why must her looks matter so much? Barbie as a fictional character is a great role model for girls because she has engaged in plenty of different careers without abandoning her "girliness." Who says the love for fashion and a successful career in business or public service are incompatible?

And finally, there's Meghan Trainor herself. I understand this might be a ploy perpetuated by her record executives, but I'm not falling for her trick in passing off as a new Adele. First of all, she isn't fat. Even Beyoncé Knowles and Jennifer Lawrence are noticeably chunkier than Trainor. Trainor merely has a square, androgynous face she covers up with doll-like makeup to look more feminine. Besides, Adele might be fat, but that's not entirely why she's famous; like Aretha Franklin, Adele makes up for her unconventional figure by having great vocal talent.

Ariana Grande

Ariana Grande is one of those celebrities that are ubiquitous. No matter how hard I try not to pay attention, she is on TV, on the radio, and all over the Internet being talked about by her fans and haters alike. I fall in the latter category, and I believe everyone else has probably pointed out what I'm about to say. Her first few hits were Mariah Carey copycats and, in those songs where she is most like herself, her otherwise impressive range doesn't conceal that her voice is somewhat annoying.

And then there's her Lolita image. It's like she can't decide whether she wants to be sexy and seductive or sweet and unattainable. I'm not impressed either way and I just get angry when she unnecessarily bats her fake eyelashes at me through the screen. I'm just waiting when she finally ditches the dresses and appears nude in a magazine cover or something.

Soul-Craving

I am 26 years old. In a little more than a month, I'll be 27. By then, I will have spent all 27 years of my life single.

In the last two days, I've been feeling this ache in my chest. It's a familiar sensation, but it's more intense now than ever before. I feel it somewhere in my diaphragm and radiating to my womb. The pain of hollowness.

I don't enjoy being single very much. No matter how hard I try to convince myself that it's better that I'm still trying to figure my self out; that I probably should achieve self-realization rather than be like Bella Swan and never feel whole without a partner; I can never fight off this terrifyingly physical pain or the thoughts that come with it—not permanently. I always feel the twinge of envy when I see couples shamelessly sharing affection in public; or when people tell their friends about their significant other.

Alas, I have never felt a man's lips against my skin; nor his hand upon my waist or shoulder. I have never had a man gaze upon me with desire. I have never been someone to make a man feel whole and at peace.

The pain rises to my throat now, closing it up until I can barely breathe. It squeezes tears from my eyes. I wish this were some exaggerated imagery from a nu rock song from my adolescent years. But no, there's no way I could be imagining it. Twice now, I have caught myself moaning in agony; and crying out in one occasion. It was the same noise I made when I was suffering from the swollen gall bladder threatening to spill its toxic contents into my abdominal cavity. But that pain was made bearable by doctors who can fix it, which they did.

No one can fix the pain I'm having now. I tried, but my efforts have made it worse somehow.

I've been afraid to put this online because there will be feminists and misandrists who will invalidate my anguish by saying I don't need a man to fulfill my needs; that it's somehow wrong to feel this way, to yearn for a man; or worse, that the pursuit for romance isn't worth the effort because any and all relationships have a potential for heartbreak. They will say that I ought to be adequately satisfied with having a great career, which I do. If that were the case, I shouldn't be feeling this pain.

Yungian psychologist and gender studies expert Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Ph.D has a word for it: soul-craving. Something real and intangible at the same time, soul-craving can be described as an intense and deep longing that you can practically feel in your bones that you gotta have whatever it is.

When I was a little girl, I would watch TV romances depicting a teenage boy visiting a house, asking his potential partner's parents' permission to court her. My parents have met that way. And so did many of their peers. So, I imagined a boy coming for me and we would enjoy a wondrous courtship of at least two years and decide to get married.

In today's social climate, I understand how traditional courtship isn't as universal as it once was. Even young men have to pursue self-actualization.

Nowadays, courtship is something only teenage boys do anymore because they're the ones with more time and money to spend it on. When I eventually became involved with my career, I entertained the notion of meeting someone by chance and hitting it off right away. Even as I commute every day because I'm too short to reach the car pedals, it hasn't happened yet. And I'm beginning to fear that it never will.

I don't understand why it hasn't happened for me yet. I had told myself that I would be ready for a boyfriend by 16; 10 years later, boyfriends have come and gone for most people my age and the closest thing I got was a pervert taxi driver who doesn't take no for an answer. Many of my peers have even married and had children. I had thought I would do the same by 25.

I know I shouldn't be treating life like a race; I have read enough pseudo-feminist articles to get it through me. But the ache of longing and loneliness is still there, chewing me from the inside out.

Many single people comfort themselves in having broken up with the "wrong person" so they would eventually meet the right one. They have experienced love and loss and treat it as a learning experience, so they know what to do and what not to do with a new partner. I have no idea what that's even like. I've even become afraid of eventually entering a relationship. At my age and what I'm feeling now, I would be less likely to be willing to break up with somebody, so what if I do experience heartbreak? Would I know what to do afterwards?

A rom-com gets lauded for being relatable and I feel like a child being taught what being on the moon feels like. I might be able to imagine it, but I wouldn't know it for myself. And for almost 27 years, imagining was all I've ever done.

I have written many stories about finding love that lasts. I base them not from experience but from learning online what a healthy relationship should be like. I'm starting to think that's really pathetic. I write of people kissing and making love; I've never even had a man look at me with desire and ask for my name. What's even more pathetic is that my more experienced friend tells me I make an accurate depiction of romance.

If I know eros so well, mustn't I have had my turn by now? I like to believe that God has reserved that one special person for me; the one who would fit just right; the one He Himself would present to me, when the time comes. If he's out there, is he so far away that I can't reach him where I am? Is he looking for me? Does he hurt and cry like I do?

If we were to come across each other, would we know it? Would either of us stop and say hi? Would we finally experience comfort in each other's presence? Would we still fall into the common shortcomings of relationships like unfounded jealousy? Would we rise above that and be happy?

I'm probably looking too far into a relationship that doesn't exist. I haven't even seen his face.

A Prayer for the Victims of Terrorism

Almighty and Ever-Merciful Lord, I praise You for providing mankind with a beautiful home and the capacity to make it a better place than before. I praise You for giving us faculties for reason and religion; and with them, the pursuit for truth and justice. It is with great sorrow, that this wonderful world and its prosperous people have been corrupted with evil. As it was at the birth of Your Church, Lord, those who do not know of Your love are persecuting those whom You have called to your service. Innocent Christians of all ages are having their bodies desecrated in the name of power, disguised as religious motivation. Innocent, peaceful Muslims are also being attacked by heartbroken Christians who lack the wisdom to discern that Muslim extremists are people corrupted by sin, not motivated by faith.

Lord, please, welcome into Your House the people who have died at the hands of so-called jihadists. As you have done for St. Sebastian, St. Agnes, St. Ignatius of Antioch, St. Stephen, St. Lorenzo Ruiz, St. Pedro Calungsod, and the newly canonized martyrs of Korea, please, welcome the fallen victims of terrorism into your arms and let them sing of Your glory with your angels and saints forever. Let them enjoy Your everlasting grace in Your presence where there is no more pain or hunger or sickness or hatred; where they only cry for joy.

For us who seek peace in the land of the living, let us be governed by Your wisdom and love. Let us not be swayed by vengeful anger but be driven by the pursuit of justice and mercy.

And for those who continue to challenge You by slaying Christians, Lord, it is clear that in creating them in their mothers’ wombs, You have kindled in them the burning desire for worship. The Evil One has replaced their fire with the poisonous smoke of violence. Touch them, O Lord. Do not forsake them. Save them from the fires of Hell. Born from the seed of Ishmael whom You have delivered from the desert, deliver them from the Evil One that pollutes their hearts. Born of Ishmael who was born from Abraham, they are Your children, Lord.

Restore us into unity. We are united in You. Let us all be an instrument of Your peace. Amen.

A Glimpse of Pope Francis

When the Lipa City Chapter of the Brotherhood of Christian Businessmen and Professionals announced earlier this week that they would volunteer in the SM Mall of Asia to be a level of the human barricade along the path of the Papal motorcade, my family immediately jumped at the chance. My parents and older sister are members of the steadily growing community of businessmen and professionals who strive to “change the face of business” by putting God in the center of their career and use their hard-earned wealth to help the less fortunate. Until this announcement, we had been discussing where we might see the Pope best.

Pope Francis’ acts of humility and words of wisdom are reminiscent of Pope John Paul II’s similarly radical actions. Just as Saint John Paul II encouraged interreligious dialogue and the Second Vatican Council opened the doors of the Church to the laity and women and the youth, Pope Francis’ gestures of love and openness has inspired us all that as he is human like all of us, we are all invited to follow in his footsteps. Just as Jesus Himself washed the feet of his disciples, we are all invited to lead by service.

To see Pope Francis and hear him speak while he is in the country is something I was not about to miss. Volunteering to be part of the human barricade was an opportunity. We would be up front, just behind the policemen and the army appointed to stand along the SM Mall of Asia to keep the crowd from getting overexcited and getting hurt. The BCBP was to serve on SM Mall of Asia prior to the Pope’s Meeting with Families in the MOA Arena.

My family met with the other BCBP volunteers at 4:30 A.M. outside the Blue Sapphire Hotel where the West Lipa Chapter held their Saturday breakfast meetings. We boarded our rental bus and traveled to the empty lot along Seaside Boulevard, about three blocks away from the mall. When we arrived, the police from the Pasay City and Makati City Police Departments were already in uniform and having their breakfast out of Styrofoam containers. A small group of young cops were even musing to themselves, “Yeah, this is how cops have breakfast: On the floor!” They were sitting on the floor with their backs against a tall metallic electrical tower. Even at 7:30 in the morning, I could feel the joy bubbling in the air. The cops were undoubtedly exhausted from doing the same job the night before, but they cheerfully babbled among themselves and warmly welcomed us civilian volunteers as they gave us a rundown of our tasks and theirs and how we may call them for help should we need it.

Due to the approaching typhoon, the weather in Metro Manila was unusually chilly and windy. The sky was partly cloudy. The sun peeked through the clouds from time to time, but it didn’t roast us too long. Even if it did, our spirits were never dampened. We waited at our spot near the main entrance of the mall where the Pope was to pass, on his way to the Arena. We waited for ten hours. During which, the screen outside the Arena showed a live broadcast of the Pope’s activities: From his Welcome Address in Malacañang Palace to his Papal Mass in the Manila Cathedral in Intramuros.

Because the Manila Cathedral was mainly attended with the clergy, Pope Francis’ Homily was primarily an appeal to the local clergy to serve their respective congregations with love and service and humility. He encouraged the clergy to practice what they preach.

Somehow, that stirred something in me. It got me wondering what God was trying to tell me. How can I be a better member of the Catholic Church than by just singing in the church choir every Sunday? God was asking something more of me, and I wondered what is it about me that I have to change. God was making me look inward and reflect upon my weaknesses and know how many there are. These reflections continued as I waited five more hours after the Papal Mass.

As soon as the Mass was over, the people began to gather toward the steel barricades separating the walkway from the driveway. The police took their positions outside the barricade and the army took theirs on the other side of the barricade. We in the BCBP stood behind them. My father was worried that the crowd will push forward and squeeze us against the army guys and hurt all of us. I wasn’t afraid. The people who frequent the SM Mall of Asia were typically upper-middle and high class people who were educated and don’t need to be told what to do twice.

With two rows of people in front of me, I would still be too short to see the Pope clearly when his ride drives by, so the army guys offered to let me squeeze between them. Meanwhile, a policeman asked my younger sister to record a video of the Pope with his Samsung Galaxy because their orders were to face the crowd in case anybody does something stupid like climb over the barricade. Touched by the cop’s dedication for his job, my sister gladly obliged.

The crowd became thicker and we at the barricade were forced to stay on our feet for five hours lest we lose our spot. The energy went high up when the last hour passed and we eagerly waited for the screen to show the Pope coming our way. People began to scream with glee as the Pope’s entourage passed along the Nagtahan Bridge, then Taft Avenue, and finally EDSA. We watched him keep standing on his open-air Popemobile, fearless and joyful as he waved to the crowd.

The army and police officers were just as excited as we were. They weren’t fazed by fatigue. “Once I see him, it would be as if the sleepless nights were nothing,” they said.

The screaming became louder as the motorcade reached the end of EDSA and circled the rotunda to turn south toward the MOA Arena. “Hurry!” the army guys called to me and made room for me at the barricade. I wanted to scream along, but I was overwhelmed. He was coming. And soon, the white Ford truck with the simple fiberglass shield passed, carrying the Pope, clad in white, smiling and waving at us. He was in front of my eyes for exactly one second.

It was the most amazing experience. That one second was worth the ten hours of waiting outside the Mall of Asia. It didn’t even matter that I wasn’t able to attend the Meeting with the Families in the MOA Arena because tickets weren’t readily available to volunteers. What really mattered was that I got to see the Pope, and he was only ten feet away from me.

In the days that followed, I was left wondering what God was trying to tell me through Pope Francis. The Sunday Mass coincided perfectly with the Feast of the Santo Niño; the Gospel retold the narrative of Jesus rebuking his disciples for trying to send the children away. “Let the children come to me,” He said, “and do not prevent them. The Kingdom of God belongs to such as these.”

The Command Chaplain Father Rene told us about how he went with his family to Villamor Air Base to see the Pope as he traveled from the airport to the Papal Nunciature. “I went there neither in my military uniform nor in my clerical garments but as a civilian,” he said. “And just as I experienced my hairs standing on end when I saw Pope John Paul II in 1995 when I was a seminarian, I experienced the same with Pope Francis.” I was stunned when Father Rene mused about how, upon seeing Pope Francis, he’d wondered how he can change for the better.

As I pondered upon the Papal Visit’s slogan “We are all God’s children,” it came to me: I must cast aside the hardness in my heart and be less judgmental. I must come to God like a child and look upon my neighbor with trust and and not let my pride get in the way of my capacity for mercy and compassion. More importantly, I must refrain from my classist attitude. It’s making me a hypocrite and a slacktivist.

I’m not going to enumerate any more of my shortcomings; those are mine to identify and correct. But certainly, the Papal Visit has left a mark upon my heart. I hope the same is true for all.