Let us be honest for a moment. Are people truly preoccupied with the impeachment moves against Vice President Sara Duterte-Carpio? Do you believe their world stopped after legislators found probable cause to impeach the former Davao City mayor?
For affluent die-hard supporters, they are likely suffering. But for the general public, it is a matter of striving to survive day by day. Of course, this is a big assumption on my part since I lack numbers or data to support my premise. Yet, the numbers we do have tell a compelling story: while a recent OCTA survey shows that 87 percent of Filipinos are aware of the impeachment, the "Ulat ng Bayan" reports remind us that nearly 60 percent of the population still ranks inflation as their most urgent concern. To the average person, a political trial is a spectacle, but the price of rice is a crisis.
I am fairly confident that the public is going about their lives with hardly a thought regarding the UniTeam "divorce proceedings" that have become personal and downright ugly. Under current circumstances, we should set aside politics and politicking while we navigate the twists and turns of this "whitewater" economic and energy crisis. At this point, it is safe to say that many are barely keeping their heads above water, or they are so used to clinging to the proverbial lifeline that one disaster is indistinguishable from another. To them, or should I say to us, it is all the same. And no, it is not because we are that "R" word.
Do not make me write it down. People throw that word around to describe our race as if it were a badge of honor. As a result, we have become a cliché.
Do not get me wrong; I do not mean to belittle the efforts of millions of people who get up every day to toil, only to barely survive, having to do the same thing over again the next day, and the day after that, with no end in sight. No. I doff my hat to them. They have my respect and my admiration. I really wish I were as strong as they are.
I learned early in life to compartmentalize my problems. Honestly, I think it is the only reason I am still here. Whenever I am faced with a dilemma, and trust me, I am embarrassed to admit that people with actual problems might find my dilemmas trifling, I shut down and go into automatic mode. To those familiar with Star Trek: The Next Generation, it is like having a favorite program in the holodeck that you play when the going gets tough.
Then again, maybe I do not have a monopoly on compartmentalization. Just look at some of our politicians. They pretend to stand for the good of the people while they stuff their pockets with the people's money. Do you not ever wonder why even a small-time politico would spend millions to win an election? Of course, this is a generalization, but I am just putting out there what many are afraid to say: how many truly believe that people enter politics to become servants of the masses? How many servants do you know who commute in luxury vehicles with bodyguards in tow, or live in mansions?
Before I continue this tirade, let me offer a disclaimer. Not all politicians have become caricatures of themselves. The rare exceptions probably agree with me. It is hard to deny what is out there: elected officials who have become so accustomed to the trappings of their titles that they expect them the moment they take power. It is another form of entitlement.
I know this column is not what you might expect from me. As much as possible, I avoid serious and depressing topics, but there are times when the disconnect is too much for me to bear. I feel this country needs to focus on real problems, the ones facing us right now as a result of the ongoing conflict in the Middle East, which we and the rest of the Global South have no power to stop.
With that said, a young colleague at work recently invited a bunch of us for dinner at his house for his birthday. I did not think twice about going because I knew his father was famous for his humba and pato tim. His father was outside when I arrived. When he saw me, he said, "Maayong gabii diha, Kuya!"
I looked around, wondering who he was talking to. Then it dawned on me: he was talking to me. To say that I was caught off guard would be the understatement of the month. Part of me thought I would drop dead right then and there. I could only muster a nod in his direction.
I later asked my colleague how old his father was. "49," he said.
I was immediately transported to the year 1985, drinking beer with my classmates from Brent at Manang's along Makati Ave., while Tears for Fears' "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" blared in the background.
