Waiting on the world to change

My family did not, still doesn’t in fact, care much for politics. I was raised believing that my social responsibility ended in being a productive member of society: educated, gainfully employed, obedient to the law. I remember, in the 80s, I had an uncle on my mother’s side who got into activism. His choice to pursue this was generally ignored and/or frowned upon, attributed to his poor performance in academics.

In my small immediate family, my father could very well be the most political. He vigilantly keeps himself informed of the latest news, and he wastes no time expressing his opinions. I have imagined that, if familial duties did not prevent him from finishing his college degree, my father in his youth would’ve been an activist himself. My mother and I rarely engage him in discussions of this kind.

I wouldn’t dare call myself an activist. I like to keep abreast of current events, but I was never into attending protest rallies and marches. After college I got into AIDS work, just about the same time that I was starting to acknowledge my homosexuality. I worked and became friends with people who called themselves AIDS activists. Still I didn’t regard myself an AIDS activist (even if I’m still into AIDS work 15 years later). I consider myself more of an advocate. I am an advocate for health for everyone, regardless of social standing. I advocate for equality and equity for all, regardless of sex and sexual orientation.  Because AIDS is also a development issue, I took time to learn about development concepts and issues and let it inform my work and my life.

Still, you wouldn’t find me on the street, protesting. Sure, I’d get upset by the ineptitude of most government officials, at the continuous meddling of the church on state affairs, at the injustice that many people are subjected to but I remain silent. Each of us, I believe, are entitled to our own suffering.

When I settled here in Cambodia, I managed to insulate myself from the things that were happening in my home country. I arrived here in April 2004, not regretting at all that I wouldn’t be able to vote in the presidential elections that year. I completely immersed myself in work, in earning money, and making a life removed from the sheltered life I lived in Manila. It didn’t last long, though. Like my other countrymen, I discovered a strong sense of Being Filipino when I’d been away from my country. Homesickness or not, I couldn’t deny this feeling. 

So I tried to re-connect to my being Filipino by accessing information–reading on-line versions of Filipino newspapers, watching the news at TFC, by befriending other Filipinos here (in spite of mixed results), and by trying harder to keep abreast of what is happening in Manila. I am still resistant to joining the organization of Filipinos here, for reasons I will not disclose in this blog. I still believe in maintaining quality over quantity when it comes to becoming friends with other Filipinos. But I will not distance myself from the affairs that are happening in my country. Not anymore.

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