I haven't seen that video featuring Maria Aragon, the ten-year-old girl who did a cover of Lady Gaga's Born This Way. Well, to be precise, I haven't seen the whole thing. I've only seen a clip off the evening news, of her singing to the camera while playing her keyboard. I only know that Lady Gaga herself saw the video, linked to it on her Twitter account, and sent her fans in a tizzy. I also know that she managed to talk to the girl on the phone, in a radio interview, I think. Maybe there were a few other appearances after that. And I'm pretty sure Maria was given an invitation to perform in one of Lady Gaga's concerts.

And you do know Maria's Filipino, right?

Filipino-Canadian, to be exact. When that fact got out, as fast as the video did, a light bulb lit up across our collective consciousness. Another Filipino making waves abroad. I should be proud of her! Nothing wrong with that - there are many Filipinos who have made their names outside their homeland. We love the glittery world of show business, which is why we find the idea of Charice appearing on Glee, or apl.de.ap sampling Asin in a Black Eyed Peas song, really, really cool. (Then again, half the people I know hated the first idea.) So having this little kid attract the attention of one of pop music's most provocative figures would make the patriot in us swell, right? Nothing wrong with that.

And then the news got to our reporters, who promptly blew the story up on the evening news. "Batang Pinay, umani ng parangal mula kay... Lady! Ga! Ga!" They'd cite it as another example of why we rock as a nation, and gush over the fact that someone so awesome could have Filipino blood. There'd be an online campaign to get her on Ellen, and they'd spin the story and make it about us taking over the world. I can imagine the subtext. "Justin Bieber is old news! We want Maria Aragon!" (This is an actual headline.) That was enough to make me cynical. So suddenly we're all gushing over this girl, who probably spent her entire life in Canada, and doesn't have any idea who we are, nor give a damn about us?

Maybe it is just me, but I hate the way we try to make a big deal over the slightest Filipino connection. I'm not talking about Manny Pacquiao breaking records in the boxing ring. I'm not talking about Cristeta Comerford cooking for the (last I checked) most powerful man in the world. I'm talking about how we all made a big deal of Darren Criss being part-Filipino - not even half; I don't think he thought about it until we freaked out at the idea that there's more than one Filipino on Glee. I'm talking about how we all made a big deal of Hailee Steinfeld, who was earning praise for her performance in True Grit, having Filipino blood, when it's her mother who had a Filipino parent. I'm talking about how we all made a big deal of Harry Shum Jr. having a Filipina girlfriend. A half-Filipina girlfriend.

Yes, I'm sounding really cynical here. Heck, I probably sound envious. That's what my parents would always say. They'd say I should stop complaining about this sort of thing, that I should just shut up and accept the fact that they're famous and I'm not - and they'd go as far as saying that I will never prove anything unlike them. And sure, maybe there's a part of me that goes like that, but I never dreamed of being a big name in another part of the world; I perfectly know that it's beyond my capabilities.

I just hate the fact that we, as Filipinos, tend to latch on to certain people to define ourselves, that we look at the flimsiest of connections to claim someone as our own, and call it a success for our race. Nothing wrong with that? Sure, but it seems to be the only thing we're doing. Most Filipinos who have seen success outside the Philippines - or at least most of those who gain lots of attention in those pretentious newspaper sections - tend to just be a fraction of us. A sixteenth Filipino, a hodge-podge of ethnic lineages, and absolutely no idea what the Philippines is, and we claim him as our own. Is that all that we could do?

And before you start complaining about it, no, I'm not saying that Filipinos are losers. I'm not saying that the only Filipinos capable of success have to be half-something - I did mention Manny Pacquiao, after all. But admit it, we tend to look out rather than look in. A success story within the country gets some mileage, but not as much as "batang Pinay, umani ng parangal mula kay... Lady! Ga! Ga!" because it lacks the sparkle of being outside the country. Or it becomes a victim of the usual crab mentality. It's an easier victim.

For the longest time, we've been looking for the one thing that will spark patriotism within us. Tall order, yes - we've never been more split - but to start with, we've been looking at the wrong places. We can say that this person is awesome and all, but we can't claim him as our own, for despite the lineage he doesn't have an idea who we are and what we're going through. Political strife? I'd rather score MDMAs. You get the idea.

As for Maria Aragon, well, she's good, but I won't call her awesome. Your hyperbole is putting things out of perspective, and as much as you call out her blood, you'll get nothing.

When I was young, I had the impression that Ferdinand Marcos was an evil man. It was too simple a thought, really. He declared martial law in 1972 to get back against his enemies and entrench himself in position. Thus, the moment he was finally kicked out of power in 1986 - thanks to a swarm of people gathering in EDSA to protect military officers who broke away from the status quo - was defined as a classic good-conquers-evil scenario.

My grandfather, however, wasn't having any of that. He's a Marcos loyalist, judging from the Marcos/Tolentino campaign sticker I found in the walls of a room in his house. Or, maybe he wasn't a Marcos loyalist. Maybe it's because both of them hailed from Ilocos Norte. You know how fierce your allegiance to your home town can be. Anyway, he argued - and note, I was probably a nine-year-old smartass back then - that during his tenure, Marcos had built a lot of infrastructure, all with the vision of a progressive Philippines. He'd invoke that the very highway we use to get to his house was Marcos' brilliant idea - and true, what we now call the South Luzon Expressway was built under his watch, to link the southern provinces to Manila.

Of course, I wasn't having any of it, especially when my grandfather claimed that it was Cory Aquino - the meek housewife who was brought to power by that popular uprising twenty-five years ago - who was the bad one.

I'm not saying Cory is a bad person now. Her contributions to the restoration of democracy in this country cannot be denied. While her administration was beset with problems, mostly stemming from the fact that we were impatient enough for the change her coming into power signified, she was the person we needed to steer us through a particularly turbulent time in our history.

And I'm not saying that Marcos is a bad person. Sure, he and his family lived a lavish lifestyle, and there are allegations of human rights violations aimed at him, but he assumed power - at least initially - because he wanted to make our country better. There were his ideas, the ones my grandfather invoked. And there was his brilliance, the thing that catapulted him to the highest office in the land at such a young age.

I'm pretty sure that is too simple an assessment, but I'm no longer nine. I'm twenty-two, and I've studied my history, more or less, and while I wasn't alive when all of this was happening, I sure am feeling the effects now.

Back in college, during history class, my professor offered a theory as to why martial law seemed to be a good thing back then. Days after Proclamation 1081 was issued, he says, the unrest surrounding the country - all those immoralities, all those concerns - went poof. He thinks it's because Marcos was behind it in the first place: once he declared military rule, purportedly to "save the Republic" from, among others, the threat of communist rebels, he flicked the off-switch on all those shenanigans and the world was fine again. It was a plausible theory, but it seemed too fantastic for me to believe.

So, maybe, there was a clampdown, and he took on a harder stance so the country could progress. And some may say that his concept of a New Society - Bagong Lipunan, our coins then said - was just wallpaper put up to cover the problems our country was in, but to an extent something good came out of it. But, of course, there were the clamps on our rights. Ariel Ureta was put to jail for kidding about bicycles, for one.

But now I can't call Marcos sheer evil. I'm sure, in his head, he's thinking, what I'm doing is necessary. It's what we called the lesser evil, although what it really was is a different discussion altogether. It's the reason why studying ethics in school is such a headache: there are no absolute right answers. What makes one thing the right thing or the wrong thing is a matter of perspective.

It's the same reason why some will say now that Cory's administration was a relative failure. Land reform didn't take off everywhere, especially in her family's land. There was unrest from the military. There were allegations of nepotism and corruption. Or maybe it's because we had our freedoms back, and we could complain about anything and everything without fear of reprisal, until it all became about the complaining and not about the improvements. We all got carried away.

Krizzie and I had a discussion along these lines during the elections, when Cory's son Noynoy still a candidate. He, of course, ran on the back of popular support: his mother had died, there was no good alternative, and we wanted to get over the corruption that marred the Arroyo administration. Or so they all thought. We both didn't want him to win: we both thought he was incapable of running the daily affairs of the state. Sure, he has good intentions, but how can he back it up? Krizzie went as far as waxing sentimental over the Marcos years, of a brilliant mind with brilliant ideas and terrible implementation - she wasn't alive back then, but I trust she knows more than I do, since she's in the Student Council (or what used to be it) and I just wrote about it.

And sure enough, Noynoy won. "Kayo ang boss ko," he said during his inaugural speech. And he said that again today, in ceremonies marking twenty-five years since his mother assumed power. Or, as we'd all like to call it, the moment that defined us Filipinos - the moment when we were really united towards one goal. Before that we can't even get our acts together, possibly cowering in fear. After that, we couldn't get our acts together. Just one moment. And lots of faux sentimentality.

Noynoy is a product of the revolution, and in his speech, he spewed out his usual clueless rhetoric. Maybe attacked Bongbong Marcos for saying that we could be like Singapore if his father, the dictator Marcos, wasn't thrown out of office. I didn't listen to the speech. I don't like their president. He doesn't say anything relevant anyway, although he did point out that our foreign debt ballooned under Marcos' watch, something that we're still paying to this day. And then he goes to talk about the legacy that moment left behind, about the things we aspire for now, as we try to get back.

A product of the revolution, where all we do is prop ourselves up as the savior while kicking the asses of everyone who disagree with us. A product of the revolution, with hope that for once, we can get a break and get back in the game. Or maybe both. It's all a matter of perspective. Exactly why ethics is a headache.

I've never been to a prom. No, really.

The closest thing to a prom I had was the so-called "turnover ceremony" back in elementary school. The graduating batch turns the baton over to the ones immediately after them. It was sterile and it taught me the wrong lyrics to the Eraserheads' With A Smile, but on the upside, it led to me being given some sort of "Star of the Night" award, on the only time I attended; the previous year I either fell sick or didn't feel like it.

I didn't survive regular high school long enough. I did go through high school, but there was an unspoken policy of living your own life - it's just my classmates being stubborn - and our class (of ten) only had three girls. One was taken (hello, Aie), one was a bit distant (hello, Robyn) and one was just, well... hello, Chiaki.

And college, well, it did not look feasible. High school is the last time a school can organize an event and compel, or perhaps force, everyone to come. College, on the other hand, is when you're supposed to be independent. And you had lots of choice, too: every organization, especially those with wads of money (hello, Cobs) always staged a "must-go" party at one of the city's hottest nightspots. It crammed everything in: a fashion show, a couple of performances, and a lot of drinks, all to appease the sponsors, the organization, and the school, who'd somehow find a way to direct the profits to some pet cause.

I remember my time at the batch assembly, when Reena, who was then batch president, had the idea of organizing a ball for the batch. I never really knew how it happened: the next thing I knew the event, which was branded as a final get-together for the batch before we graduated, was to be held at some fancy hotel, and cost a thousand bucks to enter. Now, the intentions were noble, but a thousand bucks to enter? Never went down our throats well, especially since we had to go since we'll be organizing the thing. I disagreed, along with a few others, and the higher-ups sort of buckled and ended up redirecting the money to the One La Salle scholarship fund, because it was too late to back out. I don't know what happened after.

I never really despaired over the fact that I didn't get to experience going to the prom. Before I graduated from high school I was starting to feel a little disillusioned by love, or at least mustering the courage to ask someone to go to the prom with you. (The blog's early readers will know where I'm going. No, I won't go there.) By the time the silent revolution rolled in, I was already jaded. By the time I graduated, I'm a hopeless case.

It's safe to say that this is the first time my family's going through the experience of preparing for the prom. Sure, my sister has been there, but my mom's a pretty stylish woman, so she had outfits to pass down. My brother, on the other hand, has to go shopping, partly because my dad's neckties and suits - the ones I borrowed when I had to go to something formal - don't fit him, and partly because he doesn't have anything formal in his wardrobe. Can't blame him: he's a believe in the "dress to impress" adage.

To make things more interesting, he has a girlfriend. I would say "I don't know how he did it" but I shouldn't be surprised, really. I'm painfully insecure, and he's more or less popular in high school. I may disagree with how he does things, but he made it work. That makes the experience easier for him: he doesn't have to ask someone to go with him to the prom, because it's very much a given.

We never really talk about her. Ideally I'm the older brother with words of advice, but I'm painfully insecure, and he's more or less popular in high school. I'll think of asking someone out, and back off anyway - a fact that is true up to this day. He's done it. Often. So I can't possible give him any advice. That, and he's a bit of an asshole, who doesn't want anyone from his family interfering with him. I doubt he'll ever introduce the girl to the family. Or that's me being a bit traditional. I can only hope he wooed her the traditional way, too.

We started looking for suits last week. I noticed that there was this kid, a boy the same age as my brother, who was doing the same thing. I presumed he was also going to the prom. He picked out one suit, fitted it, and chose another. That, or his dad was doing all the picking, because he was the one holding all the suits. Maybe it's just me and my jaded tendencies, but I saw a sad glimmer in the boy's eyes. Either he's sleepy, but I interpret things differently. Has he asked someone out to the prom? Does he have to ask someone out to the prom? Will he ask someone out to the prom? Oh, a high schooler and his romantic problems. They were big back then, big enough to spur me to write love notes on tissue paper during retreats. (I'm not going there.) They grow bigger when it stops being about your hormones and more about your emotions - and, at the same time, when you realize that you have to do something about it, else you fudge your chances forever.

I'm still jaded, but I'm pretty thankful I haven't been to a prom. It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience, you say, but so what? It's just booze and cheesy love songs, or so the American template says. If I had that template I probably would've committed suicide by now, languishing at the thought that I haven't asked, say, Jill out. You see everyone with someone, and you're very much alone, and people will tell you not to gloat one bit, because it's your fault you're painfully insecure. I'll say, in a presumed noogie-like fashion, such are the vagaries of love.

That said, I somehow wish my brother gets it right. He's more or less popular, but it doesn't mean he'll get it right. Sooner or later he'll have to ask my advice about something. But that'd entail him ceasing to think that I'm a social loser, which means I still have a long way to go. But whatever. it's just one day out of three hundred and sixty-five. And a fourth.

I think I could be forgiven for thinking it's another hoax being spread through text messages. But I turned on the television instead, and the news channels were on a frenzy.

Angelo Reyes was shot.

My dad's text message actually said he was killed by that gunshot wound - one to the chest - but the news channels were still waiting for verification. All that time I was watching the words fly on my television screen, and remembering what's been happening over the past few weeks, all I could say was "wow".

Angelo Reyes, of course, was the former chief of our armed forces. He was also former secretary of defense. And, later, the environment. And, later, energy. In the nine years Gloria Arroyo sat as president, Reyes occupied various positions, never mind that it didn't seem to fit his qualifications as a retired member of the military. It's what we'd call "pagtanaw ng utang na loob" - rewarding someone who's been loyal to you all these years through high-profile government positions.

Inevitably, that status meant Reyes became a controversial figure. I don't remember every bit he got tangled into over the past ten years, but I do remember his name floating around the past couple of weeks. Of course, nobody could escape that. When former AFP comptroller Carlos Garcia - who was accused of plundering military funds for personal gain - managed to get a plea bargain agreement and walk free, things inevitably snowballed. A Senate investigation (another one of those, yes) was called, and George Rabusa, a former budget officer for the armed forces, revealed the existence of a "pabaon" system within the military. High-ranking officials would get huge sums of money by means of welcoming them to the circle. Leave that circle, and you get money again. The source, allegedly, were numerous funds set up for other purposes, notably the long-delayed modernization of the Army. It ended up in some people's pockets.

Names floated. Yesterday we heard of military wives getting a cut. The past few days we heard of government auditors allegedly getting cuts, too, as Heidi Mendoza - she who looked into the AFP books and, upon seeing some discrepancies, was told to act as if it doesn't exist - released her frustrations. And then, of course, there was Rabusa, he who launched the first bombshell. The first name they floated was that of Reyes, who, according to him, received P50 million upon retiring from the military. The night after that revelation, he went to TV Patrol, denying everything. And then he filed libel cases.

But from where I am, his getting embroiled in this is no surprise. He's the guy who earned flak for running for a party list position, claiming to represent the transport sector, when people think he'll just be another Arroyo crony. It seems that everything he does is closely scrutinized, and considering what happened in the nine years Arroyo sat as president, well, he's become one of the bad guys.

I'm not saying that he isn't, though, but definitely some people have. That explains the "wow" I said, over and over, while watching the news this morning. Someone must've followed him and, in frustration over his alleged corrupt practices - especially with corruption in the AFP dominating the headlines, like it should be - shot him in the chest, in front of his mother's grave, in a cemetery in Marikina. When I first tuned in, reports said that he was being revived at a nearby hospital. Minutes later, authorities have confirmed that he didn't make it. Minutes later, they're saying it's a suicide.

Angelo Reyes shot himself.

At least according to a witness, a caretaker to a nearby grave. He pulled out a gun, pointed it to his chest, and shot himself. One to the heart, and it's over.

"Nagpakamatay raw," I texted my dad.

"Sana sumunod na yung ibang magnanakaw," he replied. And then, another one. "Kapag lahat ng magnanakaw sa government nag-suicide gaya niya eh baka maubos sila. At least siya nakonsensiya."

"Kudos to him, then."

"Di rin. It was his easy way out. Tinakasan na niya. Mayaman pa rin pamilya niya. Sana yung asawa niya mag-testify na rin after."

"Ie-excuse niya, she's grieving. Makakalimutan rin after."

"Unfortunately ganun na nga mangyayari. Since namatayan na, hindi na siya kasama sa investigation. Yaman pa rin family niya."

"Eh wealth yun, eh. Sinong sira ang magpapakawala nun? Lalo na kung 'nagpakahirap' ka."

"It would have been great if he just testified and gave up his wealth. Unfortunately, yung family eh suwapang din."

"Runs in the family, kumbaga."

"Kinain na ng sistema."

I remember a conversation I had with Dinna a few weeks back. Another one of those online friends I met through Valerie and her love of David Cook, she was similarly frustrated at how prevalent corruption is. She's from Indonesia, which looks like it's recovering from my perspective - but she'll say it isn't. ("We have a hot case of tax corruption which turns out [involves] every government department. Those bastards.") I'm from the Philippines, and with these stories floating around every single day, well, who can't help but feel sad? Here you are, hoping for the best, and you have a bureaucracy that does what it says on the tin, and a president who vows to set things straight, but doesn't have an inkling of an idea what to do. Well, except lambasting past administrations and glorifying himself. You have revelations of military corruption - an open secret, because when you're "the son of a general", you get to drive a luxury car and feign recollection of buying it - and you have a president who says he isn't surprised, but doesn't suggest a way of doing anything about it, even if he's commander-in-chief.

"Guess it'll be the end of the world before everything gets better," she said.

"Or at least our lives," I said.

"Or at least our lives, indeed. Well, if not our generation then I hope our kids would be the one to beat it."

"That's a hard one. They follow by example. We may do something, but the rest won't, so it's all for naught."

"Ouch. You got a point. The problem is, the bad people outnumber the good ones so the system is in chaos."

Over the past couple of weeks - with the evening newscasts inundated with reports of carjackers and corrupt officials - I thought, man, the Philippines absolutely needs a reset. Start over, and by that, I mean start over. Our memories will be wiped and we'll start everything from scratch. We'll have people who are genuinely concerned for the country rather than for their return of investment in the elections. We'll have media who stop aiming for the gut (imagine a report on the chaos in Egypt emphasizing the lack of food rather than the political movement) and aim to enrich them. We'll have responsibility rather than obligations. We'll have vision rather than dreams.

And then you realize that, a hundred years into this, we're absolutely screwed. We have people with pockets like that of the Doctor's. We have a system that works for those who can fill up those pockets - it's dimensionally transcendental, thanks to Time Lord technology - rather than those who just need it. Angelo Reyes is just another example - him espousing corruption in the military, those are allegations, of course, but the Senate hearings have been suspended, and his next of kin have started blaming Rabusa's revelations for his suicide, in between grieving, but not worrying about his funeral, because they can afford it, and then some. All the time, to us watching on our televisions, his death is out of guilt - he categorically denies everything but we are not as dumb as the media wants us to be. And selfishness, for the same reasons.

To quote Dinna, "I've lost optimism toward my country way a long time ago." And never mind the people who think they can make a change. We have to start over, but we won't allow ourselves to do it.

I'm trying to make the most of the time left before QTV transforms itself into an all-news channel. Not that I particularly like most of the programs there, but I find myself enjoying the old films - the really old films - airing on Sunday afternoons. It's a shame that'll go when the channel flips. There's something fascinating with the way films look in the 1950s: a no-frills title sequence, fairly rudimentary shots, and all those scratches that inevitably happen when films of national importance don't get treated the way they should. That, or I still have a hangover from studying films for three years.

A couple of weeks back, I tuned into Mga Kuwento ni Lola Basyang by chance. There wasn't much to do at my grandmother's house, and somehow I managed to convince both her and my mother to watch a movie from three generations ago. Apart from the familiar faces - Dolphy and Gloria Romero anchored their respective segments, and there was, as my mom pointed out, Paraluman of Ang Huling El Bimbo fame - everything seemed so new.

Not just to me, it turns out. The storytelling part of the film - the bit where Lola Basyang gathers the children round and tells her trademark stories - was set on Christmas eve. "Hindi kayo puwedeng matulog," she told some of the children. "Hindi pa ipinapanganak ang batang Hesus." It was a new concept to my mom, who wasn't born until the middle of the 1960s. And it was a new concept to my grandmother, who's in the middle of her 70s. We all know we're supposed to sleep the night before Christmas, and wake up just as midnight strikes, to celebrate both the birth of Christ and the time when we can finally open Santa's gifts. That, or we came from a totally different universe together.

What we all understood was the fact that kids nowadays don't care for stories told by their grandmothers. In the 1950s - or, at least, in the movies - we have kids who were willing to sit around for thirty minutes while listening to a totally fantastic story about a cowardly man who learns to stand up to his fate and his love. "Ngayon puro PSP na ang hawak," I bluntly said, an obvious allusion to my brother, who was quite bored I could imagine him doing just that. "Tapos, kung magbabasa man ng libro, either napipilitan lang sila, o ang pangit-pangit nung binabasa nila." Half that statement's another allusion to my brother, who once attempted to cheat his way through a book report by relying on Wikipedia. The other half's just me being snobbish - a misplaced attempt at that, since I'm not a big book reader. But I still read books. I enjoyed my David Copperfield book report, thank you very much.

I guess nobody cares about stories anymore. Okay, sure, maybe they do, but nobody's willing to dig deep into them lest they be tagged as nerds and lose out on certain social privileges forever. I'm sure The Vampire Diaries has something juicy to bite into, but really, all we care about is Ian Somerhalder, right?

I was at the bookstore earlier, trying to dig for that Doctor Who novel I told my sister about in the shelves clearly marked "for sale". Half an hour earlier my iPod mysteriously died: it claimed to have run out of power, when it's clearly still halfway there, although I know it's starting to feel jumpy after three years of service. Thus, while digging through outdated London travel guides, I heard this kid pester his aunt (or so I think, and I have a reason why I think so) about a book.

"No, it's too expensive," she explained.

The kid mumbled a few words, probably still trying to state his case. The aunt had a pretty good zinger. "This is the sort of thing you save money for. Let tita make ipon for this, okay?"

That's when I finally looked up from the bargain books, and see the aunt hold up a graphic novel. The kid wants to read a comic book. It's a good compromise, still, since he gets to read something. He's not budging, though. The aunt shows him a wrapped copy of Watchmen and tells him that he can borrow her copy. A better compromise - it's so good it could be a novel. The critics said so. And I read it myself, having borrowed my sister's copy.

Minutes later, I heard a baby cry. There's this little kid, being dragged out (I exaggerate here, but you get the point) by her mother, who was a bit furious. "No, you can't open the book," she said, perhaps in vain, as the boy just cried and cried.

At least he's interested in stories, and in reading those stories, and, I hope, in digging through them. Well, maybe until he discovers that these books get screen adaptations with pretty stars assuming their favorite characters, and things stop being about the characters and more about the people playing them. I mean, it's inevitable. We went from fairy tales to Ian Somerhalder, or in my case, Emilie de Ravin. They'll go from fairy tales to attacking anyone who vaguely disagrees with anything Justin Bieber-related. Or maybe they already have. Oh, yes, right, they already have.