Highway to Happy

Cars are hustling and bustling outside, and I ask myself, why do I write?

I write because I love to read. I’m thrilled when I read a perfectly written sentence- the sort that I would never be able to create, myself. I love how books remind me of the simplest truths in life I tend to oversee; how writers can twist my mind and haunt me with words that would stain my heart forever. I write, usually after I read- when I am deeply touched or troubled- because that’s when I feel most exposed.

I write because I am sensitive. I’m easily moved and affected. And unlike others who use art and music as outlets, a pen is my weapon of choice. I shed emotions over a clean sheet of paper, transforming it into a tiny representation of myself, which, every so often, surprises me of who I had been for a time.

I write because there are moments I wouldn’t want to forget. Not merely the faces and still objects captured by photographs in a split second, but more of the sentiments. Writing it down and re-reading the words allow me to savor and drink in the feeling over and over.

I write when there’s a big lump in my throat that I cannot speak and I write when I pretend like there’s a big lump in my throat so I won’t hurt anyone. I write when emotions overpower me and spoken words fail me- because papers and blog entries can easily be trashed and deleted, unlike uttered ones that leave a permanent mark.

I write after staring at something too long. I write after a couple of deep sighs and taps of my fingers on the table. I write because I contemplate too much that my memory couldn’t catch up, anymore.

I write because it’s the only way I can tame the rumbling voices inside my head. I write because it’s a choice between that and being hit by a bus when I cross the street. I write because I’m contented, I’m sad, I’m hurt and I’m overjoyed. I write because I write a whole lot better than I can sing- which is not so much to say. I write because I cannot see flying angels and dancing stars, but then again, I can write about flying angels and dancing stars. I write, because this is when I feel most connected to the universe.

Cars are hustling and busting outside, and I’m writing- for all the reasons I could think of and all else I could not.

There is this one girl I admire. I see myself in her, only much better. She is always there, up high, soaring. And she makes me ask why normal people can’t fly.

I admire her natural ability to influence people through words and making sense of words.

I admire her poise, her being so regal; the way she swiftly moves across the floor with her trademark laughter.

I admire her unfair gift of being able to do just about everything, and actually be good in doing them.

I admire that she doesn’t really mind people admiring her. She’s unaffected by woes and praises. A smile is her usual response to compliments and nothing more.

I admire her. I admired her... used to admire her. I want to try pinpointing what brought about the change, do my best to reverse it and bring her back to “that girl”. She no longer engraves beautiful words. She’s no longer graceful and sophisticated. She’s no longer profound. Perhaps she’s happy that way. Perhaps not. She’s still a “star” in her own right, having more people to admire her now than before, because, in all fairness, she still has that magic, the touch of glamour, the kind of light that blinds people into searching for superficial happiness. But I’m no longer one of them. I’m not her “fan”, anymore. In my eyes, she lost the radiance that brought her above everyone else.

There was this one girl I admired. I used to see myself in her. She had been there, up high, soaring.

There are many reasons why I will vote for Noynoy this coming election, but first and foremost is that he is the son of the man who once carried the torch that lit up the entire nation, and the woman who, though hesitantly, courageously carried the torch when the desperate nation passed it to her.

There may be countless other more convincing reasons, but him being the son of Ninoy and Cory is enough for me.

Hear me out before you call me shallow.

At this point, when the government rests its feet on a poor moral foundation, we need someone who is willing to restore it to how it should be. We need someone who sees doing the right thing as a habit, as part of his persona, rather than a sacrifice. The best person to lead us is someone who was raised to be unselfish, someone who possesses the basic values of integrity, simplicity and decency. Although many might argue that it’s only by genetic accident that Noynoy is the son of the country’s most-loved couple, it is also unarguable that our parents are our greatest influences. He might not inherit his father’s eloquence nor his mother’s charisma, but I am sure, his parents handed down to him the same values that reminded us of what greatness truly means.

Throughout PGMA’s term, she had been using economic growth as a shield. She boasts of doing difficult decisions for economic advancement. But where have all those decisions brought us? The way I see it, we must first heal diversity and restore the people’s trust in a government that is truly for them, before we can advance as a nation. Thus, we need a leader like Noynoy.

I am only 20 years old, so what I think might not matter. But I am 20 years old, and so, this coming election, I will vote, and that matters.