Far From Neutral Notions - Philippine politics, culture and stuff

A preview on the Mano-a-Mano fight between Manny Pacquiao and Oscar Larios at the historic Araneta Coliseum in Quezon City, Philippines, Sunday, July 2, 2006.

You are Manny “Pac-Man” Pacquiao. The Destroyer. You are on the top of the world. And with good reason.

Since the day you turned pro, you’ve gone up a whopping seven weight classes, and dominated.

In a career-defining victory, you brought Mexican legend and one of the all time greatest boxers, Marco Antonio Barrera, to his knees. At his prime.

You came back for more, laying the smack down on Juan Miguel Marquez in the early rounds in your controversial fight that ended in a draw. You lost to the other third of the dreaded Mexican triumvirate, Eric Morales, but came back with a vengeance last January, stopping him in ten rounds. You are the first fighter to do that.

In a weight class owned by Latino fighters, you have left your own indelible mark, ensuring that your legacy won’t be a mere footnote.

You are among the best pound-for-pound fighters in the world. Only Floyd Mayweather Jr. is arguably better, and he’s over 20 pounds heavier.

You are an inspiration to millions of your countrymen. Your words carry more weight than the President. The women want you. The men want to be like you. You are Michael Jordan part deux.

You are Manny Pacquiao. And you just might be getting too cocky.

Too many distractions

From a comical attempt at a singing career, to an embarassing “autobiogrphical” movie, to cockfighting, Paquiao may just have fallen to the Oscar dela Hoya curse of trying to do too many things at the same time, spreading himself thin. Add to that the pressure of in-fighting in his camp and what would have been minor things my prove to be too distracting. And it’s showing, sparring poorly with Rustam Nugaev.

It’s axiomtic in basketball: let your main thing be your main thing, or things won’t work out. Case in point the Detroit Pistons. Their main thing was defense, but under Flip Saunders they became a motion-offense running team, and failed to go back to the Finals. It’s the same in boxing. Winky Wright is so good because he never forgets what his main things are: jabs and defense. Pacquiao, in trying to live up to the Everyman image he’s been forced to assume, may just be letting go of his main thing, and it might just be the kind of opening Larios needs to win.

Being a former champion himself, Larios is not someone you want to fight when there are other things in your mind. He has, on several occasions, given Morales all his fellow Mexican could handle.

Paquiao is still the better fighter, with superior handspeed, technique and power. Both are as tough as nails, but Larios has the better training mentality: by all accounts the guy never stops. Larios is a teriffic in-fighter, easily able to throw a thousand punches in the course of a match, but often the shots go wild and don’t pack much strength. Is Manny ripe for an upset? Or is he going to open up a can of whoop-ass on Larios?

I’d like to predict, but I don’t have a clear picture on this one. If - and it’s a very big if mind you - the rumors about Manny’s drinking and management issues are false, he should be able to take Larios down easily. If not, Larios is tenacious enough to know how to exploit an opening when he sees one.

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A preview on the Mano-a-Mano fight between Manny Pacquiao and Oscar Larios at the historic Araneta Coliseum in Quezon City, Philippines, Sunday, July 2, 2006.

Oscar “Chololo” Larios

Tall and lanky, with brutal power in both hands, former WBC super bantamweight champion Oscar Larios now faces the daunting task of taking on Manny Pacquiao, the one boxer even the Mexican big three of Morales, Marquez and Barrera have to respect. Or respetc. Booyakasha.

What makes a man hungry? To want something so bad he can almost taste it, hold it, feel it.

Try losing a championship match because of a controversial decision in 2001 to Willie Jorrin in Sacramento.

Try a 3rd round loss because of a cut to your nemesis, Israel Vasquez, last December. Remember him? It wasn’t a decade ago, when you were 20-0, and this same guy floored you in the first round, and you were unable to continue the fight. Also because of a cut.

Try being mentioned as one of the top ten best fighters from Mexico - but never being mentioned in the same breath as the top three, Morales, Marquez and Barrera. But a Filipino is. The same Filipino who just happens to be your next opponent. And it’s for a title.

Will that make you hungry? Angry?

You’ve had your share of the glory and gold, to be sure. You’ve proven yourself a worthy boxer, and a fighting champion. Your fans are legion, and you know what victory tastes like. You remember it like it was your mother’s milk: it fed you, it made you strong. It made you want for more. You more than made up for the loss to Jorrin by beating him up and knocking him out in single round to win the WBC crown outright, no more doubters. Up until losing your title to Vasquez last December, you went undefeated through 17 fights. You even went on HBO for Oscar dela Hoya’s Boxeo de Oro series in 2003. You gutted out a broken jaw to win a 12-round decision against Shigeru Nakazato to defend your title that same year. You undercarded the Marco Antonio Barrera - Eric Morales fight in 2004, defending your title against highly favored Nedal Hussein.

Oscar Larios
Sex: Male
Nationality: Mexican
Alias: Chololo
Global ID: 014030
Federal ID: CA014482
Hometown: Guadalajara, JA, Mexico
Birthplace: Zapopán, JA, Mexico
Rated at: Super Bantamweight
World Rank: 2 / 734
Date of Birth: 1976-11-01
Age: 29
Reach: 67″
Stance: Orthodox
Height: 5′ 8″
Trainer: Edison Reynoso
Manager: José Reynoso
56 (36 ko’s) - 4 - 1 (Total 61)

But you were the undercard. You’ve never been in a high-profile bout. You fought as well as anybody, and you won. But taking back seat to two of the three best fighters of Mexico has got to sting. Because the third one isn’t you. Marquez, the third on that top-three list (in no particular order), fought your next opponent, Manny Pacquiao, to a draw - even after being knocked down three times in the opening rounds. Many say you aren’t even close to Marquez. Pacquiao is using you as a tune-up fight for his real match against Marquez. As good as you are, as hard as you work, they don’t see you in the same level. You don’t get no respect. They don’t fear you. On July 2, you’re not even the undercard. You’re the warm up.

Hungry enough? Angry enough? Focused enough to win your sixth fight in nine tries against reigning or former world champions? Determined enough to put your “Road Warrior” street-cred to the ultimate test, battling a consensus top-three pound-for-pound fighter in his home court?

It’s your shot at immortality, and your fight to lose. You’d better be hungry.

Observations

Going up in weight may not be the best idea for Larios, with his swarm punching style, because of his lack of power. He doesn’t throw many power punches, but rather tries to overwhelm his opponent with volume punching. He usually is able to pull it off and maintain the intensity because Larios is always in good shape and trains well. Pacquiao’s conditioning and defense has improved since his early years, and has faced off against stronger opponents and won. Also, Larios likes to brawl too much, which plays in Pacquiao’s favor, because no one goes toe-to-toe with Manny and walks away intact. The quick and easy solution for Larios would be to box with Pacquiao; Manny’s had problems with counter punchers in the past, although he did beat Morales earlier this January.

Background

Coming tomorrow: Profile on Manny Pacquiao

technorati tags:Boxing, Paquiao, Larios, Sports

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Let me tell you how this is going to end: I will walk away from here, and leave you curled up like a ball, desperately trying to keep your innards from spilling over.”

“Is that a fact, now?”

“A premonition, actually. It’s a gift, you know.”

One week ago

Kyuden Toketsu is by no means an inviting place - the Crab stronghold was designed for protection and intimidation, with very little else saved for aesthetics or comfort. The thick walls lined with Jade serve as a reminder as to exactly where you are: deep in Crab territory, the first - and most Crab believe the last - line of Rokugani defense against the horrors of the Shadowlands. And while being inside the walls means that you are probably in the safest place against the Shadowlands as you can possibly be in all of Rokugan, it also means that you will be in one of the very first places that the Oni will strike at.

A disturbing fact that Togashi Raizen - youngest son of a tainted Mirumoto and brother of a Topaz Magistrate - has never fully learned to live with. Even now, years after that fateful day when Miya Shohei, the erstwhile leader of the Topaz Magistrates, came to him with news of his brother’s fall, Raizen still feels the dread whenever alarms are raised. Even after apprenticing himself to the Kuni Witch Hunters and training his mind and body to resist the call of the Dark Lord, Raizen cannot help but know fear - for it is whispered among many that the warriors of the Topaz, to a one, were either claimed by the taint, or slain by their comrades who were. And Mirumoto Kitano, his brother, was among the accursed First Three to succumb to the taint. And while Shohei has long since expunged his shame for the ill fated band of Samurai he created, Raizen must live with his burden - until the day he can die to correct it.

Lost in his kata, Raizen pays no heed to the soft footfalls approaching. “An interesting stance, little brother,” a voice said, in a slight mocking tone. “Perhaps someday you’ll find the monsters beyond the wall willing to stand still for the three heartbeats it took you to complete your attack.”

Unmindful, Raizen makes a motion to parry. “I suppose…”
Step. “… you would not be a Crab…”
Slide. “… nor a Unicorn…”
Thrust. “… if you had a taste for subtlety.” Finishing with a single smooth motion, Raizen brings both blades to bear around Moto Gon’s neck.

Nudging the blades away, Gon gives a smirk. “I knew subtlety once. I bashed his head in with my tetsubo.”

Laughing, Raizen sheathes his daisho and wipes his slightly perspiring forehead. “I see Moto Sore hasn’t blunted your sense of humor one bit. What brings the prodigal Crab back to his old hunting grounds?”

Wryly, Gon smiles. “Would you believe, a social call?”

“Clad in full armor?”

“Yes, well, I’m not your typical diplomat.”

Raizen takes stock of his old friend. It has been years since he last saw the muscular Samurai. Since just after the wedding, in fact. Hida Gon - as he was then known - was married off to Moto Sore as a political act to soothe the Crab-Unicorn relations. Both participants were none too happy with the arrangement, but complied for the benefit of both clans. Since then, Moto Gon has been serving as the unlikeliest of magistrates: one that could actually take care of himself. As such, he is often assigned to missions where hostile force is not only possible, but expected. Whatever business he has back in Crab lands, it is bound to leave more than a few bones broken.

“In any case, I am glad you took the time to pass by. My current sensei, Kuni Nagayaki-sama, says I’m almost ready. I was planning to leave in a few days.”

Uncharacteristically, Gon fidgets, seemingly at a loss for words. “Ah yes. About that…”

Instantly curious, Raizen raises his eyebrows. “Yes?”

Grimacing, Gon moves closer and wraps his massive arms around his friend’s neck. “Later, Raizen! Do you know of the piss they pass off as sake at the Khol Wall? The Unicorns can be such barbarians sometimes. Come! Join me!”

An hour later

Pale, looking as though seeing his friend for the first time, Raizen stared at Gon, aghast. “You’re not serious?!”

taking a sip from his sake, Gon shrugs. “I’m afraid so. Togashi Satsu himself came to me and gave me the news when I was in Kyuden Togashi: the Phoenix made a mistake.”

Caught between outrage and incredulity, Raizen struggled to control himself. “All these years…? All this time I was preparing…”

Refilling his cup, Gon takes one more sip and looks Raizen in the eye. “All this time you were training for something that will never happen: your brother, Mirumoto Kitano, was never tainted. He fell fighting against the Topaz Magistrates. Ten years ago.”

“How can this be? Why just now? What did they find out?”

Gon stoops to pick up something in his travelling pack, and brings up a wrapped bundle, around 3 feet in length, and places it on the table in front of Raizen. “This is his wakizashi - some peasants found it while hunting near the woods of Morikage Toshi. The Isawa, Tamori and Kitsuki have been all over it, and they confirm: Kitano’s spirit lives within, at peace and pure.”

Mouth slightly gaping, Raizen nervously fumbles to open the knots wrapping the blade. He gingerly runs his fingers over the rusted blade - time and moisture have done their damage, it will never be a weapon again. But if what Gon said was true, then perhaps…?

“He is here. I can feel it. It’s… strange.”

Gon leans forward and whispers. “None of us were sure how you’d take it, my friend. I for one am glad that your brother is at peace. But do not think that the last ten years have been a waste…”

Before Gon could finish, Raizen starts to shake and convulse, a primal, guttural laughter coming from his throat. “Not a waste?!”

Abruptly standing, Raizen makes a sweeping motion with the wakizashi. “NOT A WASTE?!?”

Mindful of the hostile stares coming from the other patrons of the inn, Gon moves to placate his friend. “Raizen, you must get a hold of yourself - Lord Satsu himself has reinstated your family name! You can go back! You can…”

Slamming his fists against the table with uncharacteristic fury, Raizen screams. “I was cast out, Gon! My sisters were sent off to some minor clan daimyo’s kitchen as slaves! My heritage was denied! All because of some stupid! Phoenix! Mistake!”

“Raizen, you have to understand! Morikage Toshi was in ruins and your brother was last seen in the company of the traitorous magistrates! It was a reasonable assum–”

“You! Of all people! Call upon reason!? The Hida Gon I knew would kill first and not even bother to ask questions! Have your balls shrunk so much beneath the tender cares of Moto Sore?!”

The inn grows deathly quiet at the last outburst by Togashi Raizen; everybody can see the deathly expression in Gon’s face, the dark cloud of barely contained fury that is the hallmark of the Berserkers. And the Damned Bushi. “And the Togashi Raizen I know would not allow himself these fits of childish rage. Have a care, my friend. I may be Moto Gon now, but ramming my tetsubo down your throat is a skill I have not forgotten.”

Crumpling to a heap in his stool, Raizen stares fiercely at his friend. In a coarse whisper, he says: “I. Will. NOT! Have a care.”

Silence.

“I will have sake.”

6 Hours Ago

Togashi Raizen gazes up, along the length of Kyuden Toketsu’s massive walls. With a start, he realizes he will miss this place. Having said goodbye to his Kuni teachers the day before, Raizen thought he would actually be happy to leave. The Kuni Witch Hunters are easily the most brutal of taskmasters he has ever trained under, but their grudging acceptance meant more to him than he realized. Having had minimal social contacts and even fewer personal belongings, he was ready to go days ago, but Gon could not be persuaded to hurry. The Moto diplomat would always be a Crab at heart, it seems.

The burly Crab walks up to Raizen, still in high spirits after the feasting the night before. “Are you ready to leave, my friend?”

Taking a last wistful look, Raizen shakes his head. “No. But I will never be, i suppose. Much has happened, and I am no longer the man I once was.”

Mounting his enormous Utaku steed, Gon gives a grunt of encouragement. “Well, you have a whole new life ahead of you. Lord Satsu even restored your holdings, and you have no binding duties. Perhaps you might find your way back here again.”

Adjusting his riding knots, Raizen gets up on his own horse - a smaller Rokugani one - and whispers. “Perhaps.”

1 Hour Ago

Riding along the Imperial roads, the two oddly-paired companions trudge along in silence, both lost in thought. Then, as if to break the monotony, Raizen speaks. “I wanted to be a farmer, once.”

Grunting, Gon gives Raizen a look of disbelief. “You? Ha. That’ll be the day. Planting rice is never fun, you know.”

Defensively, Raizen shrugs his shoulders. “Or a courtier. You know, away from all the fighting.”

Gon smuggly leans back on his saddle. “You’d make a pretty bad courtier, I’d think. Battle calls to you my friend, same as it does to me. As I recall, you were kicked out of Kitsuki school for punching out one of your fellow students.”

Scoffing, Raizen raises his hand in mock annoyance. “Lies, lies, lies. Never happened. I was just more vocal…”

Cutting his friend off, Moto Gon abruptly jerks at the reins, bringing his horse to a sudden halt. Leaping towards Raizen, he tackles his friend and they crash down behind their horses, landing on soft grass.

Perplexed and somewhat angry, Raizen pushes against Gon. “Alright so I beat up one! No need to get viol…”

Pushing him back down, Gon whispers in Raizen’s ear and points north. “Shut up, and look.”

Clearing his wits, Raizen focuses his senses and scans the area Gon indicated. Slowly he sees several man-shapes in the underbrush. On one he could clearly make out the outline of a bow.

Scrambling for cover, the two Samurai begin to take stock of their foes. “Emma-O take me for a fool. I count six with swords and two with bows. There’s one I’m not certain of. It’s a good thing you spotted them, Gon.”

Gon grins as he takes out his tetsubo. “Ever tried to negotiate a trade with the Scorpion? These bandits are no match for those masked devils at hiding things. I count about the same. What do you want to do?”

Raizen does a quick calculation and takes out his short bow, notching a fleshcutter arrow. “Around twelve paces. If you haven’t slown down by much in your old age, I figure I can give you enough cover against those archers until you can reach those bushi.”

Grunting as a reply, Moto Gon moves into position behind a nearby tree. Almost simultaneously, Raizen stands up and lets an arrow loose, hitting the most exposed bowman square in the chest. Not bothering to duck for cover, Raizen notches another arrow and lets it fly, though this time it strikes nothing. The ruse, however, worked: as Raizen was raining arrows on the ambushers, Gon charged at them, holding his tetsubo low.

Reaching the first bandit, Gon swings his massive studded club, almost separating the villain’s head from his neck as he did so. At that instant, Raizen scores another hit against the remaining bowman, hitting him in the arm. Judging the enemy incapacitated, Raizen drops his bow and runs toward Gon, bringing to bear his Twin Sister Blades, the sacred weapon of the Mirumoto Bushi School. By this time another bandit has fallen to Gon’s merciless attack, his head caved in by the massive tetsubo. The other four began to circle Gon when Raizen, face impassive and cold, arrives to break the standoff.

Fidgeting, the bandits amateurishly take a formation surrounding the two friends. Merely nodding, Raizen signals the attack. The time for words is past, and witty banter is not the domain of true warriors. What they will do in the next few seconds is neither glorious nor beautiful, certainly not a laughing matter. Both friends know that the bandits will die, and in the most gruesome manner possible - if there ever was a truism that the bushi of the Dragon and Crab held in common, it was that: strike to kill, not for show.

In a rage that even oni fear to behold, Moto Gon lunges at his attacker. His tetsubo, now slick and wet with blood, leaves behind a trail of crimson in the air as it completes its arc towards the bandit, who desperately tries to parry. The attack smashes through the bandit’s cheap sword and pushes straight through with such a force that separates the bandit’s face from his jaw, leaving behind a horrid crater of blood and pink flesh where the head should be.

In that same instant, Raizen’s flurry of blows is a direct contrast to Gon’s attack. The short, sharp strikes come seemingly from everywhere and nowhere, leaving no room to realistically guard against them. The attack penetrates the first bandit’s defenses to slice the villain’s throat, leaving him to drown in his own blood. In the same fluid motion, Raizen brings his wakizashi to bear on the next opponent, stabbing the opportunistic bandit between the eyes. In the span of that same heartbeat, Raizen twists at the last possible instant as the final bandit comes barrelling through in a wild, frenzied attack. With a flick of his wrist, Raizen cuts the bandit’s legs from under him, slicing the man’s calves and ankles.

Standing over their fallen enemies, the two friends share a congratulatory smile for the briefest of seconds when, abruptly, a searing fire strikes Moto Gon and brings him low. Fighting to put out the flames, Raizen has only a second to scan for their latest attacker: in the distance, where the bowmen were, stood a man now clad in fire, laughing softly.

“It’s a curious custom among you ‘Samurai’,” the figure spat out the word, “that you always leave the unarmed man for last. Shouldn’t I command the most respect? After all, I am unarmed in the company of armed men… surely I must be special! Don’t you think?”

Still smouldering, Moto Gon answers back, his face scarred with third-degree burns. “Keep laughing, fool! We won’t make that same mistake, and soon, you will be a dead man!”

The figure laughs harder, and with a motion of his hands, rips the ground asunder, the crack heading towards the pair. With a start, Raizen slams his palms down on the ground, halting the crater just a few inches from them.

Taken aback, the figure stops advancing. “An interesting trick, Dragon. Perhaps I’ll take the time to study it later.”

Struggling to get up, Gon looks at his friend in disbelief. “How did you do that? I didn’t know you were a shugenja!”

Taking a moment to grin at the Crab, Raizen answers. “Not all of the kata I’ve learned are with the blade. In this case, it’s an interesting Kuni trick that I combined with one of the Mirumoto techniques. But I’m afraid that a trick is all that it is. I won’t be able to stop him again.”

Motioning to Raizen, the figure speaks. “I have no quarrel with you Dragon. You can walk away alive and unharmed from this, and no one will know your shame. My business is with Gon.”

Using up most of his strength, Gon rises up and shouts: “He’s not going anywhere until we’ve destroyed you, mad one! Do you hear?! Your ash is mine!”

Turning to his companion exasperately, Raizen barks: “Will you shut up and let me make up my own mind!?”

“Wha… you’re actually going to leave me here?!”

“Well, even if I stay, you could barely stand. From the looks of you, i’d say one more shot and you’re, well, toast.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this!”

The figure laughs heartily, enjoying the argument. “Believe it Gon! It seems you have crossed one path too many!”

Without looking at the fiery figure, Gon makes a gesture in his direction. “You stay out of this!” Turning to his erstwhile friend, Gon looks on, searchingly. “Raizen…!”

Slowly, Raizen speaks. “Let me tell you how this is going to end: I will walk away from here, and leave you curled up like a ball, desperately trying to keep your innards from spilling over.”

“Is that a fact, now?”

“A premonition, actually. It’s a gift, you know.”

Dumbfounded, Gon could only lower his head. Raizen leans close, his hand clutching what remains of Gon’s still-smouldering hair. “There is one more kata that I have developed. It’s very subtle, you’ll like it very much I would think. I made it especially for Kitano, and it involves the darkness.”

With a start, Gon looks up at Raizen, wide-eyed. “No…”

Turning away from his friend, but moving towards the fiery figure, Raizen continues. “You see Gon, there are two ways to fight the darkness.”

In a fit of panic, the fires surrounding the figure start to flicker and fade. Sensing the kami leaving him, the shugenja shrieks. “No! What are you doing? Stay away!”

Too weak to stand, Gon slumps down into a heap, clutching his sides as the pain starts to overtake him. He stares as Raizen slowly moves towards the shugenja. “One is to shine a light. You’ve done that all your life, and, it seems, so has my brother.”

Seeming to weaken, the shugenja also falls down kneeling, with Raizen towering over him. “The other way… sometimes the only way…”

In all his years guarding the wall, and as a former Topaz Magistrate, Gon had seen horrors that few men would even have nightmares about. But upon seeing his friend standing over the now weeping shugenja suddenly burst into flames, for the briefest moment, Gon knew despair, and can only utter one word. “Maho…”

Now awash with flames, Raizen turns to look at Gon and smiles. “No, not maho. Blood magic, yes. But not maho. Combined with the Kuni’s knowledge and the Dragon’s techniques, I have learned much. And the results are… interesting.”

The shugenja at Raizen’s feet starts to shiver as parts of his skin flake away, droplets of blood floating in some impossible wind. “Listen to me, Gon. I said one way to dispell the darkness was to shine a light. But I found another way.”

“And that’s to draw the darkness in.”

With those words, and a blinding flash, Raizen and the dying shugenja disappeared, leaving behind a charred patch of grass where they were. Coughing, and with tears streaming down his badly burnt face, Gon leans against his tetsubo, pushing his massive body up.

Looking around, Gon takes in everything that happened in the last hour or so. It would be a while before he’d feel the emptiness, he knew. A friend died for him - needlessly, he thinks: surely with that much power he could have found another way? “Dammit Raizen, you damn fool,” Gon curses under his breath. “You scared away the horses.”

End

technorati tags:Fiction, L5R

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“Men love their country, not because it is great, but because it is their own.” — Seneca

Are we truly independent? Did the sacrifice of our forefathers get us anywhere? Are we free?

It’s a series of questions (and their variants) that’s been asked to death - from High School classrooms to beauty pageants - with the former setting sometimes providing geniuinely truthful insight, and the latter often providing further reason why it’s called a “beauty contest” and not a quiz bee.

It’s also a series of questions that aren’t relevant anymore. Nobody makes a claim for being independent with a straight face in this day and age. It doesn’t provoke the kind of fiery rhetoric that it should, that it did half a century ago. We are hostage to the IMF, the World Bank, the US, Japan, China, and whichever country has the cash to spare. Global trade hasn’t opened the world to our markets, it has opened ours to theirs. Our domestic courts are often interfered with. Our laws are often made to suit the needs of Unka Sam. The present administration even goes so far as to hire foreign lobbyists and advisers. We are not independent - and it often seems we never were.

The question we should be asking ourselves is: do we even want to be independent? We talk a great deal about independence, how it ought to be important, how proud we (sometimes) are about being Filipinos when Pacquiao slugs it out with some Mexican. What does it even mean to be independent, in this day and age when patriotism and nationalism aren’t words that are used to sing you praises but are taken to mean that you are backward-thinking and behind the times? What value has independence now, when “don’t rock the boat” is the national mantra? Why people have tuned out the cries for GMA to resign, pretending to be all sorts of deaf blind and dumb to the reality of her illegitimacy?

And so, more than a hundred years after the Aguinaldo declaration in Cavite-Viejo, we’re stuck wondering if this is really what we wanted. All of a sudden the whole “I’d rather have the country run like hell by Filipinos” bit by Quezon isn’t looking too appealing now that it is being run like hell by a Filipino.

Does it still mean anything to you, to be a Filipino? It does to me, but I can’t see myself as anything else. Somebody light a candle, I’m stuck cursing the darkness.

Popularity: 2% [?]