Diary 32

it out, she couldn't convince me.

"Mario is not homosexual!" my voice was forceful, indignant, revolting.

"You stupid animal!" she snapped. Feistily. "What do you expect from every homosexual? Manicure your nails and cut your hair? Of all people... you're supposed to be the best judge of them. You've slept with them", she insinuated,like reminding of my hustling days.

"You don't have to be defensive."

"Defensive? Am I defensive? Do you expect me to be honored by your accusations? Bullshit Robert, after all these days, after what we've done, you still think of me as a whore, that's why."

Wasn't it so?

She dropped her sheet and slumped on the chair baring her nakedness. Getting conscious of my gaze, she picked it back and spread it on her lap, she avoided my questioning eyes. She steered her gaze toward the window blinds. She tried to suppress her crying.

I softened my voice. There was no point arguing over this stupid thing.

"Want coffee?" I asked.

She shook her head and thumbed the cigarette in the ashtray atop the lamp table. Then, she burst into open weeping.

"Hey, I'm sorry. Im just asking, that's all."

"Don't you fucking give me that bullshit. You don't know what's going on." She went on her tirades and rattling cuss words. "Yes, I admit I love that creep but he never loved me. All he cared for are his stupid sports. He is a pig who cared for nothing but to deflower me. When he got what he wanted, he turned back to his gang, not even caring to look at me again."

I looked at her, puzzled for my indifference to her pain. I was concerned about my jealousy, not her pain. Her body, shaking in despair, looked inanimate to me, like a sculpture, and I began hating myself for seeing her this way.

Her weeping grew to wailing, I became afraid the neighbors might hear. What will they think of us, a couple who after banging the walls and wrecking havoc on the bed ends in wailing?





The following day, we acted like nothing happened the previous night.

But problems kept mounting in Manila. The rallies and boycotts escalated into riots. People woke up to the truth about the Marcoses: Filipinos left their homes, barracks, schools, work and marched on the streets joining in a conundrum of voices that shook and rattled the whole country, the whole world.

I resented everything. I lost my job. Frank was dead. Modeling and fashion shows were withheld indefinitely. I lost income. The snap election, the agonizing COMELEC count, the coup d'etat, the people power chased away all the wealthy people with their money and lifestyles. Why couldn't Filipinos settle conflicts without anarchy?

The poor celebrated. They looted and displayed their debased existence in front of cameras. The reign of terror commenced. I was stopped and walked at a knife point. Old women cried and bowed in prayer inside buses, even those who callously refused to offer seats became restless, they peered through the windows. Green-uniformed men lined the streets carrying M-16 rifles, sometimes they released bullets toward the sky. Fear spread further. Television and radio channels were shut off. And then, the voice of the Cardinal replaced the buzz, only then did calm return, the Cardinal's voice was quiet, peaceful and gentle.

God, I was starving.

The voice reached the elite people, they rushed and joined millions of poverty-stricken Filipinos until their voices formed one, a voice that was heard all over the world on the night of February 25, 1986. It was Beautiful. Nice to see Tia and the others joined the crowd of nameless, faceless and forsaken people. People of squatters embraced by White Plains residents, heart wrenching Central Market poor face to face with Forbes rich.

I remained in the sidelines.

My days were not getting any brighter. My prospects were nil.

The day following People Power, offices and schools were reopened. Exhaustion mixed with exhilaration. People walked in the streets intoxicated by the magic of the day before. Virtually a Mardi gras. Watching with nostalgia the damages and debris of the revolution - flattened tires, yellow flags. The morning headlines relived the hasty departures of the Marcoses from the Malacanang palace. I came to school wondering what to do next.

For everything had changed - the security of the city had been vanquished by the risk takers, the coup plotters, Muslims, old politicians, old oligarches sidelined by Marcoses as a new unknown force emerged.

The first person I searched for in school was Mikael Sarmiento. When I found him, he appeared just as lost as I was.

"Consider how beautiful it was. Look. The world is marveling at how we Filipinos pulled up something as grandly as People Power." I said.

I never saw Mikael Sarmiento during the trying times, during the whole event. Both of us did not participate in the People Power. To him it all meant nothing. He did not say a word.

"Can I borrow a hundred pesos?" I asked, ashamed in some way. I had to swallow my pride. I've been penniless for two days.

He looked at me quizzically. He blushed and bowed his head. I wondered who was more ashamed in this situation - me or him. I didn't care to know. He was the only friend I could borrow money from, the one I could trust. I tried hard to make it sound as unimportant, as noncommital, coincidental as could be. Something like, You know, I am out of cash at this moment and I need to buy someone a present. I'll go to the bank later to withdraw.

Truth was not easily hidden from best friends. Intimacy usually led to a psychic bond, where one could read the other's thoughts and fears. In reading mine, Mikael got flustered, not because of my unexpected revelation but because I confirmed his fears. He started becoming fidgety, as if his feet were standing on red hot coals. My friend, he seemed to say, don't drag me to this, don't pull me down. It's all a joke right?

I was serious.

Look at me boy, the other portrait behind people power. The real victim. Did they really think they've accomplished something? They've instead unleashed the evil forces just waiting, lurking in the dark - the extremists, the criminals, the crook politicians, the ambitious military, the corrupt businessmen - confirming their prophecies of doom, stamping their agendas. The people power was wrong to assume the wall separating the rich and poor finally broke. All it did was reverse the tide. Tell me, who really won in this revolution?

Completely reading my thoughts Mikael said, "The People Power was not the answer to all our problems. It was a hoax."

Exactly. "You're so good in reading my mind, Mikael."

"Of course. I was thinking . . . we could have done it better."

"What do you mean better?"

"Don't you see, the anarchists won?"

"What is an anarchist?"

"Anyone who encourages social distress and disorder. Anyone who stands to benefit the most from chaos is an anarchist."



THE ANARCHIST ACCORDING TO MIKAEL



"The anarchists take advantage of the gullible Filipinos; make full use of their fiesta spirit and mass hysteria.

"In the meantime, who suffers?

"Watch their moves, Roberto, expect more political destabilisation which will weaken the government and frighten investors in this country. It's all part of their game plan. When there's no more money and food left, the poor will sell everything they've got, pawn jewelries, sell mortgages and properties, even rights, children will be sold, parents will sell their bodies and souls, and death, death will decimate the population. The anarchists will make their sneaky moves then - grab everything while cheap. In the years to come, they will instigate, albeit secretly, more chaos. Mark my words Antonio. Expect more chaos to occur in prime lots - in Makati, in Manila Hotel, airports, EDSA. These are primary targets. The cheaper these properties get, the more they buy. The result is the same: the rich will get richer, the poor, poorer.

"There's nothing wrong with People Power, I still believe it's for real. I detest the Marcoses and I'm the first to punish them for what they've done to us as people. But our sight is so limited! There's a group in the country, an elite group intending to control not politics but wealth. I know, capitalism isn't immune from this tiny minority. These anarchists are economy manipulators. I do not resent their existence. Capitalist countries need such people. But the ones we have are so cruel and greedy that they are willing to disrupt normal lives, lie, and use the psychosis of people to their own ends. They are willing to see people die and starve and lose hope so long as they make profits.

"So you see why I don't participate? Our People Power is not pure. It is led by anarchists. The real People Power is one that comes from the heart.

"Mikael, how can you tell an anarchist in a crowd?" I asked, interrupting him.

"Like a switch, he jumps into any bandwagon for profit and safety. He may wear a devil's cloak, but he can also have the wings of an angel - quietly instigating, encouraging, prodding discontented people to make money. He got wealthy under Marcos and will also get wealthy under Aquino. Because this country is made just for the likes of him.

"Yes, we were fooled. What have we fought for? What have we died for? We propelled the communists to the ruling elite, we drove away millions of capitals and began our own self destruction of coup plotting, encouraging our own people to enslave themselves in other countries so we could eat. Leadership just changed hands. It's the same old voice with same intentions, same elites. What did we gain?

"Observe these elites, they are the anarchists, the beasts, the true experts of hypocrisy, the masters of Filipino psyche. First they propped up Marcos and got rich under his protection, were silent amidst people dying and starving and then, when the Strongman weakened, they were the first to leave the country. When Marcos was toppled and sanity came back in this land, they returned in droves, bringing all the money they stashed, bought all the depreciated properties. All in the name of capitalism. Make no mistake they are shrewd and intelligent businessmen.

"There's nothing wrong with what they did. They aren't required to be socially conscious. It is our ignorance of these that I worry about. That's why I am so frustrated after these three days of hysteria.

"How many children were orphaned, how many parents lost jobs, how many of us prostituted in foreign lands because of this anarchy ?

"Someday, our people will wake up to find that the best way to beat anarchists is by being selfish. The best way to build this country is by individual reconstruction. We were fed for a long time by ideologists, colonialists, and anarchists. We swam with the flow of a tide that did not flow- it spawned waves that clashed against one another, formed whirlpools, each sucked us into its center, all of us disappearing into the deep ocean. If each of us will just let go, relax, drop burdens for a while, until becoming light, we may float again."

"Forget society, think of yourself Antonio. In improving your lot, you will improve the world."



THE USER



My poverty did not escape the attention of Tia who rarely came to my apartment nowadays. She seemed to return to her previous bitchy self after the People Power. She began wearing her old fashionable dresses in the company of old acquaintances. There was a difference though; the press sought her more now, after her pictures were beamed across the nation carrying DOWN WITH MARCOS placard. She turned noble and regained her position as darling of fashion. They wove a new story around her: accordingly, she left a lucrative career to sympathize with people, a lot of young Filipinos identified with her.

I confessed to her my life's poverty. I told her everything Mikael had told me. Her response had nothing to do with my tale.

"I'm pregnant," she informed me.

My already low moral was crushed. This was the last blow to my life, like a knife stabbing my heart, the last nail that sealed my coffin.

"Since when?" I mumbled, fidgeting, my teeth gnashing. The misfortune I initially thought bearable vanished in the air, a child that bears my flesh and blood took over the horizon, its face, like a doll smiled to me, the gums, the sweet breath, the dependent hands resting upon mine. A child? My God.

She turned her head away from me. "Two months", she said. Her tears swept me. The mother and the child expected my empty self for succor, what could I offer with the twenty pesos left in my pocket? I would take a job, bring them to the barrio with my mother, to the farmlands - was I crazy? Tia in Pangasinan?

I held her hand, my pulse jumping, my ears whizzing to the deafening sound of my heartbeats. "Everything will be fine."I lied. I was not comforted by those blank words. Neither did she, I could tell.

"What shall we do?" she asked, I smelled her fresh breath, her soft long black hair rubbing so gently against my arms, her eyes questioning.

My thoughts ran wildly, where did we go wrong? I used protection, I was sure of that, but then, I trembled at remembering my negligence, the moments when in the heat of the night, I

Alex Maskara