Soliloquy in D flat major
An invitation: Rain or shine, flood waters be damned, come to the Manila International Book Fair (Sept. 9-13, 2026) at the SMX Convention Center in Pasay City. “How I Became a Writer 2” (Vibal Publishing, aisle K to L), edited by Cecilia Manguerra Brainard, will be launched on Sept. 12, Saturday, at 5 p.m. I am one of the 25 contributing writers and my book signing time is at 4 p.m. I have titles at the University of the Philippines Press and the Ateneo de Manila Press booths as well.
Even while a “junglegate” tempest is currently brewing in literary circles, we, journalists who do not belong in that ivory league, continue to write from the trenches. But we must stand with the hurt and the hurting, literary brilliance on the part of the suspects with their proclivities notwithstanding.
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This is fiction inspired by recent events.
Are they coming, are they coming for me, at last? Whoa! A warrant of arrest for me? Hahahaaa! Let the bells toll, sound the alarm, gather the masses, and make them troop to where I am headed. What? Where? To the court to post bail? For grave threats? For my intent to kill? But I do not want to post bail.
Bring in the cameras, as many as you could. Call the media. I want to be seen being handcuffed. I want to be seen being clamped in jail, thrown behind bars, clutching those cold iron grills, you know, making himas himas the malamig na rehas. What a great banner photo it would be, um, for the Inquirer, great footage for the evening news and social media.
Attorney, didn’t I say I did not want to post bail but you insisted. I want to march to the court to present myself with the taong bayan behind me. Gather the taong bayan. Nasaan sila? They won’t fit on the premises and not be allowed to accompany me? Then bring in a dozen or so. Find Aling Winggay, the weeping lady. She will know what to do. She is a veteran. So let’s go, go, go!
Where is everybody? Winggay, Winggay! There she is, let her run to my arms weeping, with her cell phone recording. That’s it, that’s it. Ay, Winggay, salamat, nandito ka. Yakap lang, iyak lang.
Kayong mga pulis, here are my wrists. Where are the handcuffs? You do not want to put me in handcuffs? Why? Even for a moment? I am posting bail, as my lawyers insisted I should, but could you get me handcuffed even for a moment? Sige na, please. Then I will go with you upstairs to post bail. But before we go up, who will assure me that I will not be killed in the elevator? How many can fit in the elevator? Seven? No, no, no. Someone will kill me in the elevator!
We will take the stairs then? Who will walk in front of me, beside me, and behind me? You, attorney? I do not want to wear a bulletproof vest. Mabaho. Ouch, my feet hurt. I better take off my shoes. Here, attorney, please hold my shoes. Sh***t! Don’t give me those rubber slippers. Whose are those? I might get athlete’s foot. I’d rather go barefoot.
Okay, I will follow now. But where are the taong bayan? I want them behind me. They’re out there in the rain? I now raise high my arms in surrender. Ready, cameras? See my raised hands? Ugh, five flights of stairs. Who knows, I could get shot while going up the stairs? Wasn’t Ninoy Aquino killed while on the stairs of the airplane?
Who just said, “You’ll be all right, Ma’am?” Who, who, who? I am not all right. I will be killed tonight. Sino ang mananagot? Kayo? I do not trust any of you. I do not trust the justice system in this country. In a low voice: Ooops, mali yata ang sinabi ko, me and my big mouth. Didn’t I say before that the justice system in this country works? No need to be brought to a foreign court? Yikes! Ay mali.
I feel like Jesus Christ about to face Pontius Pilate. My father called God stupid. So stupid din ako? Why am I here?
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At the bottom of the stairwell, someone plays the opening of Carl Orff’s famous cantata “Carmina Burana,” crashing like a devastating wave from an angry ocean.
O Fortuna/ velut luna/ statu variabilis/ semper crescis…
O fortune, like the moon, you are ever-changing, ever waxing, and waning. Hateful life, first oppresses…
Fate—monstrous and empty, fate, you whirling wheel, you are malevolent…
What a fitting soundtrack for that imagined episode about a paranoid pathocrat-in-the-making.
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