You love but you are less loved.
Nothing is wrong with that until it hurts.
You love but you are less loved.
Nothing is wrong with that until it hurts.
It’s unbelievable how some of us reduce this coming out to sex. Ok, maybe the word reduced is not appropriate because sex is such a beautiful word and it deserves to be experienced beautifully, at the right moment, regardless of who you are or who you want to have it with–straight, gay, small, big, sick, well, brown, yellow, whatever.
But while the admission of stage actress and Miss Saigon’s Kim Monique Wilson that she’s gay has elicited many positive reactions, some could not help but go a little far than their bigotry could bring them: explore, albeit imaginatively, what’s under her skirt and what she puts in her mouth when she’s in bed–penis or vagina.
Reading through this story on Yahoo! OMG!, some readers went mental and self-righteous about gays being sinful who deserve the wrath of a god who, according to them, is merciless toward people like Ms Wilson. But what is more appalling are these comments that show our penchant to reduce a person’s worth to her or his sexual preference.
One reader left this comment: “it means she been kissing other girls’ pekpeks. charming.” One said: “it’s ok to be gay as long as you don’t eat the same grass.”
“The Vagina Monologue star is a Vagina Hunter as well ^_^,” said one.
And this one went over the top: “Matulog ka lang isang gabi sa tabi ko, pababalikin ko pagkababae mo (Sleep with me even for just a night and you will be a woman again–translation supplied by the blogger).” Confident.
Makes me think–so what if Kim is wetting over Mimi’s vagina than the penis of Chris? So what if she prefers cunt rather than balls? What’s wrong with eating a vagina? What’s sick with having your own vagina eaten? As if these guys do not eat their girls vaginas. Or these girls do not give their own boyfriends–or maybe some random boys–oral.
Hating Ms Wilson because she, too, eats vagina exposes one’s insecurity–a deadly insecurity in the guise of protruding biceps and triceps and washboard abs that are as lonely as one’s 4-inch penis. But it is not difficult to understand this insecurity. Ms Wilson is intelligent, beautiful, successful and has seen the world. She could get any 4-incher’s girlfriend effortlessly, even without her flashing her credentials.
Those who look at Ms Wilson with dirty eyes because she is a vagina hunter, a vagina licker, must be ashamed of themselves. As if they have never been in between their women’s legs.
For me, the vagina is one the greatest inventions in this world. If I were straight, or given the chance to be straight, I would prefer to be a woman and my vagina would be one of my strongest weapons. I would kill a man through my vagina. I will make another woman fall in love with me through my vagina. I will have the world, the whole world–thanks to my vagina.
But I would also prefer to become a man. I would love to be overpowered by a woman. To be controlled. If I am a 4-incher, I will pleasure my woman by eating her vagina. And she will reward me with love. I will never have problems with my face being always cornered in between her soft legs even if I were an 8-incher. Yes, and she will reward me more with love. And we will be happy.
And still, I would prefer to become a gay woman. Like Ms Wilson. And I will not consider myself dirty. That I, too, love a vagina. That I, too, adore other women like me.
And I would be proud.
Nenen Momay Castillo has moved on. She’s healed. She speaks without any hint of anger but an apparent air of optimism that someday, perhaps tomorrow, will be the end of the world for the alleged murderers of her father, Reynaldo Momay.
Prayers helped her. Her children and family, too.
Her father, Reynaldo, was the last to be included in the list of victims in the most horrendous government-backed massacre maybe in all of Philippine history. He is the 58th.
Castillo says she hopes that the other families of the victims will also heal and unstrap themselves of pain. Grieving is natural. Nothing wrong with it. But it’s time, she says, to let go of the darkness of the massacre. Acceptance, she says. From there, the fight would be not very exacting. The massacre has already taken a lot from them–their family, their freedom to live without fear, opportunities. It has taken away from them life.
As the world commemorates the Ampatuan Massacre of Novermber 23, 2011, Castillo hopes that it will be the beginning of something good. That the day after today or the next November 23 will already be filled with happiness, with laughter. No more grieving. Just celebration.
“I dream of one November 23 where we no longer think of how our loves ones were violated, tortured, murdered. I dream of that November 23 where we all gather around together in celebration–because justice has already been served.”
But there is no justice yet. Only fight.
But she’s correct. It’s time to heal. It’s time to move on. And it is not the right time to stop.
The recent assaults by Israel on Gaza did not only bring me face to face with the devastating feeling about how heartless some people, some governments can become against others. More devastating is this truth about many monstrosities around the world being consented. In the case of Israel, the hands of US–and the US media–are just apparent. These hands are dripping of Palestinian blood now.
Crushing are the images of weeping mothers over the lifeless, blood-stained bodies of their children. Crushing are the images of children crying over their lost mothers and fathers. Crushing are what are being hidden from us.
In this video, Rafeef Zadiah, a Palestinian, narrates how she was kicked in the gut by a guy, a Israeli, who told her: ”You deserve to be raped before you have your terrorist children.”
Listen to her speak to you. Beautiful. Intense. Explosive. Angry. Rightfully angry.
Rafeef Ziadah pours it all out here. Enough said.
Today, my body was a TV’d massacre.
Today, my body was a TV’d massacre that had to fit into sound-bites and word limits.
Today, my body was a TV’d massacre that had to fit into sound-bites and word limits filled enough with statistics to counter measured response.
And I perfected my English and I learned my UN resolutions.
But still, he asked me, Ms. Ziadah, don’t you think that everything would be resolved if you would just stop teaching so much hatred to your children?
I look inside of me for strength to be patient but patience is not at the tip of my tongue as the bombs drop over Gaza.
Patience has just escaped me.
We teach life, sir.
Rafeef, remember to smile.
We teach life, sir.
We Palestinians teach life after they have occupied the last sky.
We teach life after they have built their settlements and apartheid walls, after the last skies.
We teach life, sir.
But today, my body was a TV’d massacre made to fit into sound-bites and word limits.
And just give us a story, a human story.
You see, this is not political.
We just want to tell people about you and your people so give us a human story.
Don’t mention that word “apartheid” and “occupation”.
This is not political.
You have to help me as a journalist to help you tell your story which is not a political story.
Today, my body was a TV’d massacre.
How about you give us a story of a woman in Gaza who needs medication?
How about you?
Do you have enough bone-broken limbs to cover the sun?
Hand me over your dead and give me the list of their names in one thousand two hundred word limits.
Today, my body was a TV’d massacre that had to fit into sound-bites and word limits and move those that are desensitized to terrorist blood.
But they felt sorry.
They felt sorry for the cattle over Gaza.
So, I give them UN resolutions and statistics and we condemn and we deplore and we reject.
And these are not two equal sides: occupier and occupied.
And a hundred dead, two hundred dead, and a thousand dead.
And between that, war crime and massacre, I vent out words and smile “not exotic”, “not terrorist”.
And I recount, I recount a hundred dead, a thousand dead.
Is anyone out there?
Will anyone listen?
I wish I could wail over their bodies.
I wish I could just run barefoot in every refugee camp and hold every child, cover their ears so they wouldn’t have to hear the sound of bombing for the rest of their life the way I do.
Today, my body was a TV’d massacre
And let me just tell you, there’s nothing your UN resolutions have ever done about this.
And no sound-bite, no sound-bite I come up with, no matter how good my English gets, no sound-bite, no sound-bite, no sound-bite, no sound-bite will bring them back to life.
No sound-bite will fix this.
We teach life, sir.
We teach life, sir.
We Palestinians wake up every morning to teach the rest of the world life, sir.
I cannot get it. This is making me look like a layer. Why is this blog nominated to the Blogger of the Year category of the the First Davao Media Excellence Award? It is for real, ateehhh? You have to learned a lesson. Para di ka pamarisan by other train passengers. But congratulations to Jef Tupas for the nominations although this makes me look like ahlayer.
So? Amalayer? Answer me! Amalayer?
Anyway, congratulations again!
What? Just like that? Thank you?! That’s how you say thank you? If I say ‘thank yoy, Ate!’–tanggap mo yon?
You really shut it up!
Jon Joaquin and Roger Balanza and Jef Tupas, ateeehhh!!! May pinag-aralang mga tao yan! I’m just return the feyver!
***Come down. Come down.
No. No. Shiiiiiiiii!!!
See you in November 23! Sa Royal Mandaya Hotel. I will award you, ateeeehhh!!!
Thank you very much for giving me so much of your time. I’m touched that a number of your Facebook posts were about me, dedicated to me, and against me. I thank you, sincerely, despite my capacity to accommodate only enough flattery. I hope I’m not in your dreams, though. I can think of nothing but nightmares.
I could only imagine how difficult it is for you to be constantly confronted with thoughts of me: the color of my skin, my scent, my laughter, my face, my nerve. I think I was invented to annoy you, to tease you, tickle you, to fire you up that you even wrote something about me in your column when you could have written something else, something more interesting and familiar to many because it’s close to being the greatest fiction ever told—this is the story about a city mayor who became pregnant and that you incessantly link this pregnancy to her decision to say goodbye to politics, as if pregnancy makes a woman a lesser able person to lead a city.
That you devoted a column to disparage me recently offered no reason for me to wonder. Many years ago, when I was still your cub reporter, you wrote something about how copies of young journalists turn out perfect on paper, pointing out the disconnected process of learning in between the writing and the editing, the reporter and the editor. Thank you, computers. Gone are the days, you said, of typewriter journalism where editors batter copies with edits in red ink, crumpling them and slam dunking them into gaping trash cans because the composition and grammar sucked.
But your whole point, really, was not hard to get. It was about how stupid young journalists are—my time–and how godlike editors are—your time.
I felt so low then. I did not know—until only now—that there was a term for that—bullying. Your favourite word. Recently you have been accusing me of bullying your reporter. I will no longer offer explanations but my sincerest apology. I am sorry for having been a bully myself. I am so sorry for becoming you.
I want to help you forget me but what must I really do? Must really be something that I did to you, maybe somewhere in time—in another life. But more than that, I want to help myself.
And so whatever this is between us two is something that I want to forget now. I am 34. You are how old? I think we are too old for this. This is something for the kids. And I honestly think you are too old to be writing about me, someone you cannot even name for the reason that I am supposed to be a non-matter. Write about something else. Okay, write about pregnancy. I will not laugh, promise.
This is a peace offering although I honestly don’t wish to be friends with you no matter how amusing you are to me. I am appealing for ceasefire because name calling and your Sa Dako Pa Roon apparently do not help us promote world peace.
And the world might crumble tomorrow. What a shame to die being hated by you.
Almost after three years, the Department of Justice finally recognized Reynaldo Geneblaza Momay as the 58th victim in the Ampatuan Massacre–the massacre that did not only shock the world but also caused the downfall of one of Mindanao’s most feared clans–most feared because of their power, influence, and apparently insatiable appetite for blood.
Momay’s daughter, Nenen, who is now outside of the country, said she was both happy and sad upon learning about the DOJ decision. I reached Nenen through Facebook. Below is the full text of her statement.
Officially including my father in the Ampatuan Massacre’s roster of victims is a win. I call this ‘the second victory.”
The fight for this case has been ongoing for almost three (3) years and I marked my first victory when my father was enlisted as 58th victim though not yet officially recognized that time.
I am so happy that the resolution finally came out in favor of our side. I almost entertained the thought of being abandoned when the prosecutor resigned and information about the resolution is zilch.
When I read about the news item tagged by Rupert, I was teary-eyed. I was so elated knowing that our fight has never been in vain. The hardships & waiting have finally paid off.
I am grateful to Atty. Harry, Atty. Gilbert Andres and all the lawyers of Roque-Butuyan Law Firm for keeping me inspired to pursue the case. They have never left my side though their services are pro bono.
Now, 58 victims (including my father) are still waiting for that ‘final victory’, for the guilty to be charged, for justice to prevail.
Next month, Genesis Ambason and wife Almira will be having their first baby, a year after they got married. But the 23-year old would-be father, an anti-large scale mining Banwahon activist in Barangay Balit, would no longer be able be to see his baby. Ambason was slain on September 13 at km 39 in Barangay Binikalan, Sa Luiz town in Agusan del sur allegedly by soldiers belonging to the 26th Infantry Battalion. His body, which was found just a few meters away from a military detachment sustained several gunshot wounds, his face bore torture marks—his teeth all missing.
The killing of Ambason was just a few days before Justice Secretary Leila de Lima talked before human rights groups in Washington, DC and made the world believe that the Aquino administration has been on its foot in solving the human rights abuses in the country.
I was able to reach the victim’s aunt through phone, days after the victim was buried. Virginia Saguitan Tugay said the murder of her nephew showed how heartless the killers were.
“Mas maayo pa ang manok kay sabutan pa una ihawon. Ang tawo, patyon lang dayon sa walay pagduha-duha (People first decide mutually whether to butcher a chicken or not. But not in killing another human being).”
She believes the murderers were soldiers and members of the paramilitary group Citizens Armed Forces Geographical Unit (Cafgu) under the 26th Infantry Battalion. The body of the victim, beaten and had gunshot wounds, was found a few meters from a military detachment.
And Tugay had their names. There is a one Sammy Sinatao and his son, Jonas Sinatao, Simama Mampinsahan, Bigot Rosero, Maki Lonsayan and Artemio Subledan. Two regular soldiers were also manning the said detachment.
“Sa kasaysayan sa panggamhanan sa Pilipinas, gikan pa kay Marcos hangtod karon, ingon ani kanunay ang kahimtang…ingon ani kanunay ang sitwasyon. Asa naman ang demokrasya (In the history of the Philippines, since the time of Marcos and until today, it has always been like this),”Tugay said.
The Rural Missionaries of the Philippines, quoting factsheets from Karapatan in Caraga region, reported that at the time of his death, Ambason was supposed to go to Sitio Tambo in Barangay Binikilan to pan and buy gold. The village is a gold-rich area. Ambason was with four relatives. They proceeded to the village onboard a motorcycle that broke along the way.
“The group then decided to just hike up to Sitio Tambo and allowed the motorcycle to return to Brgy. Balit. It was already dark when Ambason’s group arrived at about 200 meters away from Sitio Tambo, they decided to rest from their hike. Their resting spot was at a visible range from the 26th Infantry Battalion military detachment,” the RMP said in a paper.
While the group was resting, they reportedly hear footsteps coming to their way which was followed by a blow of gunfire.
Ambason was hit but his companions were able to flee. Tugay believes her nephew was still alive after the initial blow of fire. “His killers were apparently scared or too angry to him that they had to do what they did to him. He was tortured. He was beaten,” she said.
The victim sustained gunshot wounds on his side, back and chest. Before his death, Ambason was the secretary general of the people’s organization Tagdumahan, an alliance of various lumad Banwaon organizations. The organizations has been historically known to oppose “oppressive” forms of developments in areas that are within the ancestral domain territories of the indigenous peoples (IP) in Agusan del Sur. Ambason and his group are against the entry of the Malampay Mining, Tambuli Mining and the Makilala Mining companies in their ancestral domain areas. RMP said Ambason led the campaign for the release of five IPs who were charged by authorities with rebellion on June 22. The five were members of Tagdumahan are were all from Sitio Nakadayas, Mahagsay in San Luis town. Ambason, on the one hand, has been at the frontline, fighting for the right of the IPs to manage their own natural resources. He is against the entry of large-scale mining companies in the area.
Tugay described him as someone “who will always speak out and fight for what is right and correct.”
“They can accuse him of being anything. In the past, they have tagged him as an NPA. But that does not give them the license to kill him. He was not even carrying a knife or a bolo at that time. He is a civilian,” Tugay said.
The bag of the victim, that contains P18,000 which is supposed to be used to buy gold, has been missing. The companions of the victims are also hiding now for fear. Piya Macliing Malayao, spokesperson of the Kalipunan ng mga Katutubong Mamamayan ng Pilipinas (KAMP), said “the torture and slay of Genesis Ambason is infuriating.”
“It portrays State forces for exactly what they are—they do not serve and protect the people but are the guardian of businesses and the butchers of our people,” Malayao said.
There was an outright denial from the military that they were behind the death.
“I would like to deny that. The military has got nothing to do with the death of the anti-mining activist,” said Lt. Col. Eugene Osias, spokesperson of the 4th Infantry Division, the mother unit of the 26th IB. He, however, said that they are open to any investigation. He, too, challenged the family of Ambason and human rights groups who think it was the military that killed Ambason to file cases against the suspect.
“Let us not fight this issue in the media. Let us refrain from forum shopping, instead let us go to the correct forum,” he said.
“I cannot emphasize enough that the Aquino Administration does not sanction any policy of using violence, intimidation or threats to curtail the various rights and freedoms that humans enjoy.”
In the Philippines, gayspotting is as easy as breathing. I can, for one, tell if the person sitting next to me in some public transport is gay or straight. I can sense. I can feel. I can smell that special scent of gayness. It’s not about the way he looks or he dresses or that slight smear on his thickly-caked face. It’s not even the way he glances at me. Or the way he smirks at my glances.
Gayness is like an aura and it’s colored pink. Gay people know about this. Heterosexuals see this. You know one if you see one. It’s not about me being gay because the ability to spot a gay person is not exclusive to gays. Even some 4-year old brat in my third world community can tell that I am gay.
The same thing is true with lesbians, although I must admit that spotting lesbian lovers, unless one is a butch, is one big challenge.
In Malaysia, however, there are guidelines in gayspotting and this has caused uproar among LGBTIQ communities and activists. The Ministry of education has reportedly endorsed the list for parents to be guided on the “symptoms” of gayness in their children in the hope that parents can remedy this gayness at an early stage. I’m thinking prevention is better than cure.
The list was, according to reports, discussed in Penang, and presented by Malaysia’s Deputy Education Minister Mohd Puad Zarkashi.
Looking at the list had me laughing in disbelief.
Gays are those who have:
- Muscular body and a fondness for showing off the body by wearing clothing, such as by wearing V-necks and sleeveless tops
- A preference for tight and bright colored clothes
- An inclination to be attracted to men
- A tendency to carry big handbags, similar to the kinds used by women
Lesbians are those who are:
1. Showing attraction to women
2. Distancing themselves from women other than their girlfriends
3. Having preference for hanging out, sleeping and dining with women
4. Showing absence of feelings for men
Human rights group Freedom House called on the Malaysian government to retract what it called “dangerous document and affirm the human rights of the LGBT community.”
Homosexuals in Malaysia, a country where homosexuality is considered a federal offense, can be punished by caning or imprisonment to up to 20 years.
This came on the heels of the demands of LGBTIQ for the inclusion of Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity (Sogi) and LGBTIQ rights to the Asean Human Rights Declaration. Malaysia, along with Brunie, Burma and Cambodia, has been expected to strongly oppose this.
This issue is just one of those that make us question whether the building of an Asean community is really possible or just a product of the imaginative minds of those who decide what they think is best for the Asean people.
When there is too little tolerance and acceptance, if not nothing at all, of people for who they are, what they stand for, what and who they believe in, I personally think that an Asean community is as impossible as looking at gay men as those whose shirt necklines reach their chests or looking at lesbians as those who distance themselves from women other than their girlfriends.
I am afraid that all these vision about Asean-member countries being one community will all be reduced back to the perception that Asean is nothing but a golf club or a coffee shop. All talks.
While I do not have a muscular body, because what I have is a remnant of overeating in the past and I no longer have time to shake off the unnecessary fats because I spent most of my time writing, most of my shirts are v-necked.
Now my question is—is it safe to go to Malaysia?