Of course, one cannot ignore the fact that the bribing didn't just involve with measly hundred peso bills, but thousands amounting to 200, 000 to 500, 000. And one cannot discount the fact that the bribe did not just involve with one or two persons (as in the case of ZTE) but 190 congressmen present and other mayors and governors all over the country. That makes the figure even more staggering to compute. Php 500, 000 to, let's say, 200 personas? You do the math!

Moreover, one cannot ignore even where this being done, as I pointed earlier, but in the Malacanan palace in broad daylight. Lastly (I hope), you cannot ignore among the 200 or so people who were given those (as shown in TV), only three stood out and admitted they had, in fact, the bags containing those figures.  

Again, you really can stare in amazement and absolute disgust how our officials can lie through their very teeth.

The trail of absurdity and disgust do not end there. Look at how GMA reacted to all these through her ever reliable puppet in the person of Sec Ignacio Bunye. She, GMA, was aghast (daw) and ordered immediately for the investigation. How dramatic.

 But the faking and the drama are all over. Who would want to believe her should need eye and ear check ups. Neil Cruz, a PDI columnist, was right in his column Only Arroyo has power to order Palace payoff. Only one person has the power and authority to release so much cash without a paper trail, the column reasons, and that is Arroyo. She has her almost unlimited discretionary and intelligence funds to draw from.

But given that she really did not know of any payoff, that is doubly damning. Cruz asks: the president doesn't know what is going around her?

We have the president and 190 congressmen doing this, heaven help us. We don't just have thieves in our government seats, we have liars. And you still wonder why we can't move forward, or why we rank first as the most corrupt?

Time now to storm the streets.  

Before, I used to be preoccupied with reading materials, so preoccupied I even read while riding a jeepney, listening inside a class, talking to a friend, and eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Before, I used to hoard assorted titles and devour them whatever and however their genre are. I used to scurry books with fellow bookworms at a downtown's book shop where the cheapest books are on display much to our delight.   

Now, I rarely get to be near with books, except maybe the ones displayed in the Engineering library. And believe me, they aren't the dream books of any bookworms; instead they're poisons for the geeks. My heartfelt apologies to my sister and her kind. Hahaha. Now, I have eight unread and unfinished books lying in wait in my book shelf. They're bought by me, or loaned from my friends in desperate hope that I can go back with my old hobby. Alas, it didn't. I keep on procastinating. 

Now, I am worried. Knowledge is a constant process, after all. Everyone is learning new things. And I don't want to be left alone while the rest of the world is fast learning and discovering new things while I'm still stuck on my primitive knowledge.

I hate being sick, but there are times I wish to be one. Talk about irony.

Shall I expound to that? First, I wish to be sick because there are moments this terribly insecure person pipes up and desperately needs attention. And because I'm generally a disgustingly healthy person I get little care from the people around me. Hahaha. Second, I wish to be sick because busy buddy that I am, I need a good rest. And I couldn't get to the bed without my mom yelling me why I'm not doing anything productive. When I'm sick she will let me lie down the bed so long as I want. When I'm sick she won't yell at me, instead she'd turn into the most sweetest mother in the world, willing to give me anything even the moon and the stars just so I will be well.

Well, now I'm sick, and how I wish I weren't.

Although I now have all the priveleges in the world to lie down the bed and get the most attention from people, there's little things to enjoy. I feel comatose I couldn't do things the way I want to do. Most of all, this sore throat, and storm for a nose suck dry all the good things left in me. 

Gawd, I hate to be sick!

To some people, it's a culprit of the night. One that snatches life as fast and ferocious as wolves feasting on  a helpless deer. It's a death that happens one least expected it to, and always, always leaves those who bereaves a question "why?" thundering forth to heavens for answers.

To others, it's a welcome repose;  an indulgence, after  years of suffering  of this  so-called life.  It's a sweet escape of those who suffer incurable diseases, and those who face and endure their twilight years. Truly there is no great remedy to a person who suffers than to step on to the next life after enduring the present for years.

My lola has the latter. She's 88, and with only oxygen pumping on her body the past few days, she finally heaved her last breath this early morning. Truly, she was a strong woman.

To some, she was an iron lady. But to her family, she remains an epitome of a woman who is strong-willed as she is principled. And far more than that, she was a mother whose care to her children could never be measured with all the days of her life. She will always be remembered.

But I digress.There are also deaths that don't happen in physical form. These deaths happen to people inside them, and the relationships they have with others. It's a death of love and spirit of friendship. No, it's not war, or rage, or anger. Anger, as what the author says, is not the opposite of love it's indifference. It happens several times to me. It's either who'd die, or a friend. And you can always feel it around you with coldness. Just like in tomb.

Death. It's a bittersweet thing.

Change is memory you get from old quizzes, informal themes, and love letters stocked inside a long-ago box. It is your old home, the one you no longer live, but still remember every inch of its space - the wooded floor, the dilapidated kitchen ware, the number of gaping holes in your former room. It is your old beloved pair of leather shoes you wore in your JS Prom, the one you no longer wear, but remember how it felt when your feet were still inside of it.

I remember my last day in high school, we were passing folders where we could write farewell letters to each and everyone. One female classmate wrote me a long one with a last note that says: Don't you dare forget me. Love lots, J.

We met again four years past inside a cab. We were exchanging glances, wondering if we're going to greet or pretend we didn't know each other. I had forgotten her name. I moved out of the cab not greeting her. That was the last time I saw her.

I wonder if the faces I constantly meet today I'd forget their names in the future. Because things change, people change.

This weekend I'm crossing my fingers and hoping that fate and my mates will take me to the island of Bohol. Yes, Bohol. The destination I've been salivating over since the word adventure places a special part of my life's goal.

I remember two years ago, me and my officemates carefully planned out our two-day adventure in the island. And you know what they say about adventures, the more you planned it out, the more it won't ever happen. Following this jinx, it never did. A lot of things happened and our original plan just went into thin air. 

I remember also how my friends went to Bohol without me, all because I was in Cagayan de Oro at that time. Apparently they planned the whole thing in spur-of-the-moment fashion.

And lastly I remember how I was giddy with excitement the start of this semester in school. I was about to travel Bohol (at long last) because of our thesis. Our study was supposed to be conducted at the Divine Word College, when, out of the blue, the university president disapproved of the whole thing.

So there. I'd been to Manila, Baguio, Tagaytay, Subic, Siquijor, and Negros this year, but that piece of island always escapes me.

This weekend, my friend Jordan will be tying the knot, and he expects us to be there. But I'm moolah-less. As always. 

Bohol, bohol when will I have you? Would the fate be kinder this time to let me have you?

Why the bother? I dunno. All I know I love to write. Whether it's on paper, blog, or sand, I will still write no matter what.