“You were more than nine pounds when you went out of my womb. You almost broke my pelvic bones. But I have exhausted myself during the delivery for you to experience the world. And I don’t ask anything in return,” my mom said [in non-verbatim] during one of our rare talks.
Every day, we are challenged by rhetorical questions: who can sleep at night after listening to stories of a widow who just want to end her life due to poverty, or an internally displaced person who lost his mom due to their unlivable situation after the Marawi siege, while the President spits insults to divert the attention of the listeners to his language and charismatic leadership?
Right now, what’s left in Marawi are just the ruins. But the greatest ruins can only be found inside their minds — deep-seated invisible scars — seeking for healing, not insults and disregard from our government.
In this political climate, when we our senses have become accustomed to killings, constant slurs and curses by the President, and thinning lines between the truth telling and acts of disinformation, it becomes more convenient for people to internalize aggression and hate if these are perpetually normalized.
As citizens of one nation who are direct recipients of our government’s lapses and misguided decisions, we should never be contended with trusting our government. Trust, without criticizing the wrong ways of achieving and sustaining it, is mere idolatry.
