The art of suffering quietly in the PH
I used to think the most dangerous thing in the Philippines was violence. I thought it was the gunshots echoing...
The public market was my childhood playground
My childhood playground was the public market of Pavia, Iloilo. It had no swings or slides, only bulanteros’ (ambulant vendors’)...
What ‘sisig’ taught me about inflation
There is a carinderia in the Mendiola area that, over time, became something I count on. It sits along a...
To teach is to bleed
I woke up choking on blood. I barely made it out of bed; a thick, watery clump just poured out...
Sanctuary on fractured floors
My teachers told us we were the “pag-asa ng bayan” (hope of the country) before we even knew how to...
Patriotism is inconvenient
It is early Monday morning. Everyone is rushing—to school, to work, to somewhere they cannot afford to be late. I...
The fuel that runs us
My phone rang at 5:30 a.m.—the same sound cutting through a morning that never really feels new. My eyes were...
Between dream and duty
When I was a child, I carried a ready-made answer to a question adults loved to ask. “What do you...
Crystal clear glass ceiling
Last week, I attended an annual forum organized to celebrate National Women’s Month. Empowered women leaders from various sectors shared...
Young fish in a tank of dirty water
On my fourth day working in a government agency, my superior told me: “Ayusin mo ang records mo dahil baka...
