Thursday, December 11, 2008

Bordado as peace champion.

I didn’t even notice him when he descended the stairs of the Cotabato hotel. Maybe that was part of the lackluster foray he would have to embark in being a peace champion for Mindanao. An Inquirer writer questioned the cherubic adjective I used. Well, not really question as in the sense of validity because if it were I would automatically submit to him my rash choice of word. I said I wrote for the drama. Which is really true, I wanted to write at least for this one an article that is not newsy-turgid I wouldn’t even have the stomach to read it. But really, Robin Padilla did well and I didn’t expect him to be that down-to-earth and accommodating.

Visiting peace and development communities (PDCs) in South Cotabato, Sultan Kudarat and Maguindanao for the past weeks has been grueling but satisfying. Some of these stories are really inspiring I wonder they don’t make it in the news. Wait, I shouldn’t really wonder, because this is the perfect antithesis to whatever is published about Mindanao. But then hey, we’re right on track and I think we’re getting there.

Robin Padilla as ambassador for Peace in Mindanao.

Robin Padilla story-tells to elementary pupils of Broce Elementary School of Peace in Datu Odin Sinsuat, Shariff Kabunsuan.

2 comments:

Visual Velocity said...

I heard that Robin is extremely charismatic; he's a people person. If he runs for politics, I think he'll win.

jayclops said...

I think I heard him say he's not really into politics much less running. But we'll never know. I just hope he sustains this advocacy. With the right message, he's really effective in drawing crowds.

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

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