This story from The New York Times struck a chord somewhere, not because I have a similar story, but because the pain indirectly expressed here is universal. Pain just comes in different degrees and forms.

“What is true? The note I wrote on a slip of paper and put in the drawer of my bedside table after we broke it off that final time: ‘Long after you are gone, my stones will hold your warmth.'”

Awww, journalists are really masochists. Why is she doing this to herself?

Nope, don’t try to answer. I already answered my own question.

And I really love how people are responding to this. 😂

These past few weeks were very challenging for Philippine media, with the revocation of Rappler’s registration statement at the SEC, the red tagging of the National Union of Journalists of the Philippines and Bulatlat.com (where my first investigative piece about juvenile justice was published). This Marcos administration 2.0 is hell-bent on shutting free media down.

Anything that publishes the truth is being persecuted by this government.

My fellow journalists are now having drinks in Cubao X and as much as I want to join them, I can’t because 1) I don’t have a car; 2) I feel like staying in bed more; and 3) my doctor hasn’t given me the clearance to have alcohol. The last time I was with them, I had to exercise great self-control because beer was free-flowing and Johnnie Walker was table-hopping.

I just sent them a bottle of wine via Grab as a goodwill gesture and in solidarity. We all had tough weeks. Will probably join them next time.