I Am Buraot

I grew up traveling, never staying in one place too long.

Being with parents whose work leads them from one place to the next, I practically grew up on the streets. And there’s only one way you can survive there.

You have to adapt. You have to learn the art of transforming yourself to different sets of pieces. Each mutating part easily retractable at will.

They say a kid should always have a home whose land he could grow his roots on. A solid ground that would become the foundation to make his bearings firm. And a kid who never had a permanent home or a place he could call one would always end up becoming a traveler all his life. Continue Reading…

I am traveling back to the outer edges of the Milky Way.

As ancient as I had been, the century-old warp speed is no longer working. The real Spock who had the audacity to create such have gone and came back to Vulcan.

And the parallel universe I have come to confused myself with is now on the verge of redefining itself as one.

Instead, with an outdated ion propeller I’m blazing leisurely at turtle speed. Every second in this new journey would come as months, and every day years. But I would rather do this than go light speed.

No, no wormholes today, thank you. Continue Reading…

I was driving on this road to nowhere. I was passing through more than just the places and faces of people I met, oftentimes I get lucky enough to know them, to be with them, be them.

I was born from the country. Small town, big family, rough life. You know the story, short in riches but big in dreams. It was typical.

As for me, I just dreamt of a road trip. I wished for the chance to steer my own life, using my own means, to wherever I intended it to go. I wanted my own life to lead.

Even at an early age, I sensed adventure… a life-long adventure. Continue Reading…

For seven years, I have kept my silence.

With disconcerting thoughts, I have injected my veins with apathy. I have infused my brain with reflections of a selfish new me. I have permeated my consciousness with the dismal concept of your non-existence. I busied myself with the customary schedule an apolitical being would rather adhere to.

For seven years, I gave you time to help yourself.

I gave you the chance to renew your ways. All those times, you had the option to forsake those phantoms that constantly hound you. You had the chance to renounce ill specters that wander all around you. You had the chance to restore your dignity, not just to the entire world, but much more, to yourself.

For seven years, I have kept my distance. Continue Reading…

As like the rest of millions of Filipinos outside the country, I was keenly awaiting news updates on the Maguindanao Massacre, on the Presidential Proclamation 1959 declaring Martial Law  in Maguindanao the ongoing debates in the joint session of congress.

They were supposed to revoke it, approve  or extend it.

I was watching the news on ANC when I saw Rep. Teddy Boy Locsin, Jr. and Rep. Dilangalen in a heated argument. I became a bit confused. It seems like Dilangalen was opposing the said proclamation but on the other side of the floor, Teddy Boy, from what I read from his mouth issued a sure “put#%$#mo!” obviously referring to Dilangalen.

I didn’t quite get it. Continue Reading…

I don’t want to be in an airport terminal. Except when I’m the one who’s flying, I never really liked the airport scene. The atmosphere is usually… well… frantic.

You could tell the Filipino travelers apart from the rest of the pack of thousands. They always have their balikbayan boxes for a luggage.

Inside their “luggage” you can find not just goodies but hopes and dreams that will eventually be shared to love ones anxiously waiting on the other side of the world. Continue Reading…

As a Filipino working on a distant land, I am very much biased when it comes to fellow OFWs. Some people in the country look at us with joy, pride and gratitude for our collective part in the national economy. Some people from the bourgeoisie and hard-line nationalists view us as traitors and arrogant for leaving the country behind.

But that’s another matter.

What made me revel in those lines of thoughts was the recent case of May Vecina, the Filipina domestic helper who killed a 7 year old child In Kuwait. I was not aware of the case until my friend notified me about it and showed me the Inquirer story. Continue Reading…