Monthly Archives: November 2013

Saturday ∗ 30 Nov 2013


There was something powerful about Congresswoman Lucy Torres-Gomez having herself interviewed on television about the distribution of relief goods in her Ormoc, almost two weeks since it was hit by Typhoon Yolanda on November 8. Of course it has everything to do with her as pop culture icon, beautifully calm and quiet, rare to speak beyond limitations of privacy and decency, probinsyana through and through. Save for the tragic landslide of 1991, Torres-Gomez might also be the only name we… Continue reading »

Wednesday ∗ 20 Nov 2013

si Andres Bonifacio

a fantastic reminder for this time when we are allowed to imagine that the only way to go is to have America save us.

rage, still

via Andrea Macalino, November 19, “Raging After the Storm.” <…> what puzzles me more is the privileged anger of individual government employees on social media. Rage against misinformation, yes. Post links which clarify contested issues officially, of course. But this rudeness, this audacity to imply that every single person who wishes for more efficient relief, who questions the actions of the government—its strategies, and the speed at which it implements its relief operations—to suggest that every single person who has done this on Facebook,… Continue reading »

Sunday ∗ 17 Nov 2013

nothing else matters

because in times like these i tend to think that none of what we do actually means change. that all of it is just a matter of getting from one day to another, getting through one day at a time. no vision. no plan. just immediate hunger and need. just the urgencies that tragedy shines a light on, tragedies that have always been there, but which were ignored. now there is no ignoring hunger and need and poverty, because in… Continue reading »

Thursday ∗ 14 Nov 2013

#YolandaPH #reliefPH

i’ve been on this site. there are no words.

Monday ∗ 04 Nov 2013

on “I used to be able to talk to myself. Now we just argue.”

It was jarring to enter the individual space for Ronald Caringal’s recent exhibit, to find all but nine images that look like comic book illustrations. All in black and white, these are close-ups of faces, familiar but not exactly someone you’d know. They are all speaking, some more adamant, more frustrated, more incensed than others. Other faces have lips pursed, eyes looking out to the spectator, spoken for by the words emblazoned within the canvas. The story unfolds.

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