Back in December, on my way home when I was traversing the East Service Road from Sucat to Alabang, a jeepney suddenly turned left entering a gas station, without warning or clue.
I pushed my left handlebar to swerve away from the jeep, trying to avoid collision. The skill saved me. I needed to reduce speed to properly maneuver and return to my lane so I slowly squeezed the brake lever. My front wheel abruptly lost traction. And I kissed the concrete in a fashion so torrid not even a pornographer could think about. Continue reading
The decisions of our ancestors made way for our present predicaments.
My grandmother had probably voted for Marcos. My mother could have voted for Cory. My father voted for Erap. My mother voted for Gloria. My father voted for FPJ. My mother voted for Noynoy.
Who pays the price? A part by us, the rest by our children.
For that, I often criticize my mother. And by criticize I do not mean hate; I do not totally blame her though, for it is not her decision alone. It is the decision of the majority. The practical democracy is not about what is right but what is popular.
So in case you stumble upon this dark spot of the cyberspace, the post is not about a quarrel between a so-so son and his mother.