Equality Philippines

Just 2 days ago, I was so stressed out as my parents, after 31 years of marriage, made the decision to (finally) part ways. This was not easy in the eyes of a 31-year-old only child, but I let it be as I am too old to be taking sides. I maintained a neutral stand on the matter but promised my Mom that I'd support whatever decision she would make TO THE LAST LETTER. Moving back, Friday before this incident happened, I had my usual Skype chat with my niece, who happens to be my only 101% confidant. I don't know what grimness wrapped us both that day and I cannot anymore remember why, of all topics, we discussed my father's physical abuse on me when I was a kid. I was teary-eyed while chatting, as I related to my niece my most unforgettable beat-up day: It was a rainy afternoon. Merienda was ready -- purefoods hotdogs, tasty bread, and Anchor butter. That was summer after finishing 3rd grade (I was 9). That afternoon, no water was running from the faucet so we were skimping on...

Yesterday was my first class of Basic Spanish at the Instituto Cervantes Manila. A long time ago I made a pact with a friend that every year, as part of a conscious self-improvement program, we'd make sure to learn a new skill or do something outside of our comfort zones, something new or adventurous that will surely enrich us as persons. This is why last year I purposely studied Japanese and took and passed the Japanese Language Proficiency Test Level 3 the same year. Although I plan to continue studying Japanese in the future, this year I'm setting my eyes on learning this supposedly third most widely-spoken language in the world, next to Mandarin, Hindi or English, depending on who's doing the counting. My first experience with Spanish was with my very strict and stern but loving grandfather on my mother's side who passed away a little less than a decade ago. His name was Restituto Magistrado. But to us kids, we all lovingly called him Apay , a filial term for grandf...

Growing up in a small town, I realized early on that it was easy to be marked as different and to be made to suffer for it. I was in grade school when I first heard of June (not his real name). He lived in my neighborhood and everybody knew him. Actually, people whispered about him behind his back. His popularity or infamy, depending on which side of the fence you were, was primarily because June was a very loud, flamboyant and effeminate 16 year-old. The first time I bumped into June in the street, I think, was when I was seven years old. I was stepping out of the gate early morning on my way to school when he suddenly appeared from nowhere in his high school uniform. Our eyes locked, he looked directly into mine, smiled and said in our dialect "Pretty!" I was terrified, speechless. I didn't know what to say. I think I ran to school that day. At home, relatives were already making comments about how "soft" I was. Once during a big family reunion, an adult famil...