A “carinderia” (a small, affordable eatery or food stall) concealed by tall buildings and countless food establishments eateries caught my attention as we tried to find food to appease a rumbling of stomachs.

The familiar display of the noodle soup dish triggered a memory of how I missed being a child. We hastily entered the eatery and a familiar savory scent brought me back to my small town where life wasn’t complicated.

As we sat and waited,  the feeling of anticipation to taste the thin, stripped noodles swimming in a savory broth that warmed and satisfied our hunger.

Living in a small town meant we would know which ‘pancitan’ served the abra miki, and the earlier we were able to get there would ensure us a better seat, and as the delectable dish was served, I was became a thrilled kid again.

The aroma alone was like a time machine, the steam curling upwards, bringing back warm, vivid memories. As I slurped the first spoonful, the taste exploded inside my mouth. It was exactly as I remembered—the salty broth, the chewy noodles, the crisp-fried garlic, everything was a burst of flavor. I couldn’t help but close my eyes and feel everything all at once.

The sound of our laughter rushed in, sitting with my friends, surrounding a worn wooden table while jostling for space, our spoons clanging against the bowls. It reminded me of the simple joys of being a kid; friendships were built from the comfort of this familiar flavor.

But each bite brought a bittersweet pang inside my heart, a reminder of what’s lost and that time marches on.

The people I once knew aren’t the same people anymore; we all got caught up chasing our dreams that most of us barely remember that we were once those carefree kids. The flavors were familiar but somehow distant, touched with the sadness of absence. I ate slowly, savoring everything as I tried to hold onto the remaining memories of my childhood. Although life was fleeting, it was my desperate attempt to recapture the warmth and love of what once was.

Maybe, just maybe, with each slurp, I can keep the memory of home alive, burning bright within me, fueled by the simple, comforting taste of Abra Miki. Ella Amor Ocaoi 

The post A taste of childhood appeared first on North Luzon Monitor.

 This is a phrase often thrown out in the streets, social media platforms, and dating apps directed against feminine-presenting queers.

A phrase used to express disgust and dislike over gays who show their gender expression by having their faces dolled up with makeup, their bottoms covered with skirts, and their feet tiptoed by three-inch heels.

Unfortunately, this remark comes from people who also identify as part of the LGBTQIA+ community. While this type of microaggression is not an unfamiliar battleground for effeminate gays, individuals who are part of a community that is supposed to serve as a safe space should not be perpetuating this.

Femmephobia, or the devaluation of femininity and seeing it as a “less than” of masculinity, is a problem femme-presenting queers face in the gay community, particularly in the dating scene. It can take many different forms, ranging from uttering statements like “masc for masc only” and “no to Barbies” to blatantly criticizing feminine behaviors like wearing makeup and sporting clothes typically classified as “for women.”

In the case of the Philippines, one form of this microaggression manifests through the remark “pass sa halata,” which expresses distaste for individuals who are obviously gay because of a public display of femininity. It is also displayed by associating “malambot” and “malamya” with negative connotations such as weak and unattractive.

Journal of Asian Pacific Communication’s study about othering within the gay community backs this as the findings show being effeminate is construed as being weak in the Filipino context. Additionally, presenting a feminine identity is seen as inferior and undesirable compared to the straight-acting and masculine gay man. This leads to femme-presenting gays to curate their identities by packaging themselves as masculine and discreet gays.

 Internalized femmephobia among gay men also leads to perpetuating patriarchal norms that limit inclusivity within LGBTQIA+ spaces leading to effeminate queers feeling excluded. When this happens, femme-presenting gays are pushed to conform to societal norms and suppress their feminine traits.

A study by Sex Roles Journal supports this idea as it states that internalized discrimination within the LGBTQIA+ community results in effeminate gays rejecting their femininity as a survival strategy to avoid discrimination.

Individuals part of the LGBTQIA+ community who dislike femme-presenting queers, however, state it is not a display of femmephobia but just an imposition of their preference. Yet, this microaggression should not be looked at as a preference for it is rooted in patriarchal beliefs perpetuating discrimination.

Someone part of the gay community who devalues the traits and existence of the same individuals who are part of the supposed safe space they are in just because they are effeminate should locate where their dislike of femininity is rooted. While it is not wrong for people to have a preference; this same preference should not mean excluding others and causing them to limit the way they express their identity.

After all, there is already a lot of discrimination against the gay community from society at large—gay people themselves adding to this is the last thing the LGBTQIA+ community needs. Psalm Gerard Jay Maquidato

The post Hierarchy of Pride appeared first on North Luzon Monitor.

“Sa mga tax galing yung pondo para sa’min [mga iskolar ng bayan]? Pagkukumpirma ko.

“Oo, mula sa lahat ng mga nagbabayad ng buwis,” sagot ng aking ina.

“Edi lahat ng nakakasalubong ko, nagpapaaral sa akin,” 

Bukod sa aking ina, kasama rin ang bawat taxpayers sa Pilipinas sa mga nagpapaaaral sa akin. Bilang isang estudyante sa University of the Philippines, ako ay nakakapag-aral nang libre. Sa ilalim ng RA 10931 o Universal Access to Quality Tertiary Education Act na naglalayong makapagbigay ng libreng matrikula at ibang bayarin sa lahat ng pampublikong  unibersidad o state university sa bansa kagaya ng UP.

Ang batas na ito ay nilagdaan noong Agosto 3, 2017 ni dating Pangulong Rodrigo Duterte sa pamamagitan ng pagsusulong nina dating Senator Bam Aquino, Sonny Angara, at Ralph Recto. Ang mga pangunahing pinagmumulan ng pondo ay nanggagaling sa General Appropriations Act (GAA) o ang taunang badyet na inilalaan ng kongreso para sa iba’t ibang programa ng gobyerno. Kasama rin ang mga buwis na kinokolekta ng Bureau of Internal Revenue (BIR) at of Bureau of Customs, tulad ng income tax at value-added tax (VAT) na nagmumula sa lahat ng mga mamamayang nakakasalubong ko. 

Mula noon hanggang ngayon, tanging ina ko lang ang nagpapaaral sa akin bilang siya ay isang single mom. Pagdating sa aking pangangailangan pang pinansyal, ang aking ina lang ang nagbibigay sa akin. Kaya nang ako ay nakapasa sa UP noong 2023, ito ay malaking ginhawa sa amin lalo na at ako ay makakapag-aral sa kolehiyo nang libre. Sa tulong ng pondo mula sa gobyerno at mga taxpayers, maraming estudyante na gaya ko ang nakakapag-aral nang libre. 

Bagamat ang pagpapaaral ng isang ina sa kaniyang anak ay isang tungkulin na para sa aking ina ay isang responsibilidad, ito ay isang talento para sa akin. Sa tuwing nakikita ko ang bawat diskarte niya, ako ay namamangha dahil hindi nagiging hadlang ang pagiging single mom niya para ibigay sa akin ang mga pangangailan ko. Sa kabilang banda, hindi man 100% na nanggagaling sa mga taxpayers ang pondo para sa libreng matrikula, malaking tulong pa rin ito para sa akin, dahil kung wala sila, hindi mabubuo ang pondong inilalaan para sa aming mga iskolar ng bayan. Ang simpleng pagbili ng bawat mamamayan sa mga fast food chain, restaurant, at grocery store ay may kalakip na buwis na napupunta sa pondo para sa libreng matrikula. Kaya para sa akin, malaki ang aking utang na loob sa lahat ng mga taxpayers at masasabi kong sila ay may malaking papel sa aking pag-aaral sa kolehiyo.

Para sa aking ina at sa lahat ng mga taxpayers, ako ay lubos na nagpapasalamat sa inyo. Kasama kayo sa mga dahilan kung bakit ako nakakapag-aral nang libre sa kolehiyo. At sa gobyernong nag panukala at nagpasa ng RA 10931, maraming maraming salamat po

The post Source of Educational Fund: Mother and Taxpayers appeared first on North Luzon Monitor.

Dito ako itinadhanang magsimula: sa gitna.

Isa akong middle child; pangalawa sa tatlong magkakapatid. Puro kami mga lalaki: panganay si Kuya JC, 24, pangalawa naman ako, 21, at ang bunso naming si Friday, Fry kung tawagin, ay 15 taong gulang na.

Kung ilalarawan ko ang relasyon naming tatlo habang lumalaki, masasabi ko namang normal ito, kumbaga walang sobrang espesyal. Siguro dahil puro kami mga lalaki, normal na hindi gaanong malapit ang mga loob namin sa isa’t isa. Ngunit kung tutuusin ay isa nga itong kabalintunaan lalo’t madalas mas nakakahanap ng pare-parehas na mga interes ang mga magkakapatid kung parehas silang mga lalaki o babae.

Maliban sa lawak at ganda, may kainaman din dito sa gitna. Bilang panggitnang anak, hindi ko kailanman naisip na sisihin sina Nanay at Tatay, at mas lalo na ang sarili ko, sa mga pagkukulang o puwang na nararamdaman ko. Bilang isang anak kasi, mahalaga sa akin ang umintindi at ang intindihin. Marahil ay pinalaki akong sanay umunawa at babad na sa usaping kompromiso.

Katulad ng maraming anak, hindi ako nasanay na humihingi ng higit sa alam kong kayang ibigay ng aking mga magulang. Kung ano ang mayroon, maluwag sa dibdib kong tinatanggap. Ito marahil ang isa sa mga katotohanan sa mga tulad kong maagang namulat sa

hirap ng buhay. Bilang pangalawang anak, halos wala akong mga bagong gamit, halos lahat ay napaglumaan ni Kuya JC. Sa mas magaang salita, pamana niya kumbaga.

Wala akong problema sa luma. Sabi ko nga, sapat na sa aking, kahit papaano, ay mayroon. Habang lumalaki ako, natutuhan kong hindi man bago ang laruan, may kuwento pa rin naman itong dala. Hindi man bago ang damit, may init itong galing sa sakripisyo. Ramdam ko ang hirap nila sa bawat bagay na ibinibigay nila sa akin, at sa kabila ng kakulangan, naramdaman ko rin ang pagmamahal–hindi naman ito kailanman nawala. Sa gitna ng lahat, natutuhan kong pahalagahan ang maliit na mayroon, dahil para sa kanila, sapat na iyon upang iparamdam na mahal nila ako.

Pero minsan, hindi ko rin kasi maiwasang tanungin kung bakit parang laging may kailangang makompromiso at ipagpaliban? At bakit laging ako?

Sa aking mga magulang at kapatid, hindi ko sinasabing mayroon pang kulang; at mas lalong hindi ko sinasabing nakaramdam ako ng galit o inggit. Ang pagtatapat na ito ay pagpapalaya sa mga kaisipan at panloob na tunggaling nabihag magmula nang makilala ko ang tunay na anyo ng mundo. Dahil sa inyo, natutuhan kong ang tunay na pag-alala sa nakaraan ay wala sa mga nakalimbag na litrato, bagkus nasa diwa ng kagustuhan kong gunitain ang masaya at musmos na mga karanasan ko bilang isang bata, kapatid, at anak.

At sa mga tulad kong mga middle child, hindi tayo pare-parehas ng mga karanasan, ngunit sa maraming aspeto, nagtutugma ang ating nararamdaman. Bagaman mayroong mga bagay ang kinailangan nating ipagpaliban, hindi maranasan, at kalimutan na lamang, kahit papaano’y maganda rin naman dito sa gitna. Maaga tayong natuto sa maraming bagay na huli nang natutuhan ng ibang tao sa buhay. Nalaman nating maliban pa sa pribilehiyo ng pag-intindi mula sa ibang tao, higit na mahalagang mayroon tayong kakayahang intindihin ang sitwasyon at katotohanan ng buhay. Ang pagiging gitnang anak natin ay hindi kailanman pagkukulang kundi isang biyayang nagtuturo sa atin kung paano magpatawad, umunawa, at magmahal—hindi lamang sa iba kundi, higit sa lahat, sa ating sarili.

Alam kong biktima lang din naman tayo ng malupit na pagkakataon, at ng mga nagbabagong desisyon, katayuan, at pananaw sa buhay. Ngunit madaya naman yatang tayo na nga ang biktima, tayo pa ang mabibilanggo sa gitna. Kaya’t ang pagtatapat na ito ay pag-aasam na rin–isang panawagan para sa ating mga sarili na huwag sana tayong malimita ng nararamdaman nating kakulangan. Bahagi tayo ng isang mas malawak na kwento, at hindi lamang nabuo upang magsilbing tahimik na tagamasid sa mundo.

Ang pagiging gitnang anak ay isa ring mahalagang tungkulin, isang makabuluhang espasyo. Narito ang tagpuan ng malawak na mga pananaw at katotohanan; ang magandang balanse ng sobra at kulang; at tulad ng dapit-hapon na pumapagitna sa umaga at gabi, ang mainam na punto kung saan nagtatagpo ang dalawang dulo.

Bagama’t tila tayo, bilang mga anak, ay nakatadhanang manatili sa gitna, hindi ito nangangahulugang dito na magtatapos ang lahat. Maaari pa tayong umatras, maaari din namang

umabante pa. Ngunit alam nating sa huli, magpapatuloy pa rin tayo—palayo sa gitna, papunta sa sarili nating simula.

The post Sa gitna ako nagsimula appeared first on North Luzon Monitor.

It was an unusual Christmas Eve in 2020, back when the world was still struck by the horrors of the COVID-19 pandemic. Along with the external chaos brought by the health crisis, I found myself faced with turmoil confounding within as I began to slowly confirm and accept that there was something different, not wrong, with me.

It was right after our noche buena. I lay down on my bed, hugged my favorite pillow, faced the open windows of my room, gazed at the bright, twinkling stars, closed my eyes, and wished. “Sana matanggap nila ako,” I whispered with a heavy sigh.

The moment felt like a movie scene — the cool blows of air drifted in through my windows, chancing upon me as I lay wrapped in the warmth of my bed, on a silent Christmas Eve. It was a holiday filled with contemplation than celebration, a night that made me feel both my strongest and my most vulnerable. And despite not knowing what the future had in store for me, in that simple yet cinematic sequence, I was hopeful.

Growing up, I realized that there is more to Christmas than merely celebrating the birth of Christ and the spirit of giving. It was also a time when our wishes and hopes, both for ourselves and others, were made and, sometimes, blessed. Perhaps it was during this season that our desires felt most recognized and heard.

But unlike the usual Moose Gear clothes and combat toys that once filled my childhood Christmas wish lists, the wish I had in 2020 was not for something I could wear or play with.

Instead, I pleaded for a home that would wrap me in security and allow me to play freely as I navigate my identity.

Wishes grow with us. As I held my prayer of acceptance, I also carried with me the narratives of the entire LGBTQIA+ community. This silent plea alluded to my resounding yearning for a kinder and safer place for queers, because apparently, the Philippines is not yet ready to wholeheartedly open its arms for people like us.

The country may have taken immense pride in ranking second as the most gay-friendly country in the Asia-Pacific. Yet, this achievement alone does not bury the truth that Filipinos remain tolerant rather than accepting of the queer community. And with the Philippine parliament’s struggle to pass Senate Bill No. 689 — an act striving to dismantle Sexual Orientation, Gender Identity, and Expression or SOGIE-based discrimination — the widening fractures in our barely paved way towards gender equity grow even more conspicuous.

Coming out realities

As early as fourth grade, I already knew how hard it was to come out and be proudly queer in this country. Currently, seven out of ten queers around my circle of influence are still closeted, with six of them forced to act “straight” in their own households. Disheartening as it is, six of them do not consider their families as safe spaces for coming out. If we are to zoom out from this scale, the presented data represents only a diminutive fraction of the entire Filipino queer population who prefers to remain hidden in their own closets.

I was lucky enough to have been blessed with a family who did way more than tolerate me. This fact alone was enough to grant my Christmas wish, and now fuels me to hope untiringly that more queers, too, may experience all these and more.

If I were to describe the younger version of myself, I would say I radiated an aura of purity and innocence. You would usually find me — a skinny, timid, pale-skinned boy — sitting in a corner, either alone or with a family member, silently observing the world rush by. As an introverted child, I found solace in my own world more than getting along with other kids. And if you were to assess me based solely on the societal norms we have in this country, you would easily conclude that I was different from the boys my age.

It was not a difference imposed by others, though, for it was something I discovered and accepted on my own.

My family would also proudly tell their colleagues how obedient of a kid I was, not to mention the fact the “Most Obedient” awards I had earned during recognition ceremonies. Looking back, the principle that I had constantly obeyed — something I kept with me even up to this day — is one my mother instilled in me: to always be true to myself.

This command seemed like an easy task at first. However, as years went by, I slowly began to realize that it was easier said than done, especially that the world around us has a lot to say about our truths. And for much of my life, these voices got into me, forcing me to disobey this philosophy for a long time.

There were a lot of moments when I had to act straight so my parents would not notice; forced myself to watch National Basketball Association (NBA) leagues, even though my interests aligned more with Asia’s Next Top Model cycles; and declared dark blue as my favorite color, when in fact, it was baby blue.

Growing up, I was teased a lot by relatives, schoolmates, and teachers. They would call me names and make fun of me for being a “soft” boy. This teasing started as early as five years old, but it was actually in fourth grade that I truly began to sense something different. My main basis for feeling this divergence was that, unlike my male classmates, who mostly befriended other boys, I found immense comfort with the girls. My interests as a kid intersected with theirs, and I felt my truest self spending time together with them.

On a random October night this year, I went to my mother, Mama Emy, 62, with questions about my queerness. She was sitting in her favorite spot in our living room, playing Block Blast, and facing the main windows of our home. This was the same spot where she made me pom-poms out of newspapers back in fifth grade, fulfilling my cheerleading fantasy, not minding that these were mainly used by female cheerleaders.

“Hinihintay ko lang na sabihin mo na ‘Ma, ganito ako’ pero wala eh,” reminiscently, Mama Emy said with a soft smile on her face. “Nalaman ko na lang nung third year [high school] ka na, nung nagdadala ka na ng makeup. Sabi ko ‘Ay… cheboray cheboray ang anak ko!’”

I remember the times when I had to borrow makeup products from my mother during my junior high school years. It was not for me to wear, but to express my artistry in glamorizing my female friends for role plays, class performances, and school pageants. Similar to my mother’s observations, my father, Papa Peks, 61, was also late in recognizing my differences as I was growing up.

“Wala naman, hindi ko napansin nung lumalaki ka,” Papa Peks said nonchalantly.

“Napansin ko na lang nung high school ka na.”

These late observations may stem from the fact that my parents were not the ones hands-on in raising me. It was actually my sister, Ate Lala, 37, who was always there for me, accompanying me to school every day and helping me with my homeworks every night. For a year or two, I even thought she was my real mother — people would correct me for calling her “mommy” instead of “ate.” No wonder she was the first to recognize my uniqueness.

“Mga five years old, kumekendeng kendeng ka na noon,” Ate Lala said, teasingly as she looked back to the moments we had back then. “Hindi tulad ng iba na since birth, ikaw parang alanganin lang. Akala ko na-baby lang kita noon… tapos parang siguro feminine ka lang dahil ako ‘yung lagi mong kasama, nakukulit.”

My mother and sister had no issues with this uniqueness I had. “Hindi ako magagalit, anak, suportado kita dahil ayokong ako ang sagabal sa kaligayahan ng anak ko” my mother said with a serious yet affirming tone. “Sino ba kami para tumanggi? Happy nga ako kasi nalalabas mo ‘yung tunay na ikaw, na hindi mo kailangan magpanggap,” my sister expressed proudly.

Unlike the two most important women in my life, my father wrestled with my reality at first. “Ay syempre nalungkot, lalaki ka eh,” Papa Peks expressed calmly. But in the long run, he said there was no choice for him but to learn to accept what would make his son happy. “Nahahalata ko na kasing masaya ka na doon, alangan namang pigilan ko pa. Kaysa baka mag-rebelde ka o kaya baka sabihin mong hindi katanggap-tanggap ‘yun, open-minded naman ako,” he added.

The fact that I figured out my uniqueness as early as fourth grade — based solely on my nonconformity to heteronormative stereotypes, without my parents noticing until I was in high school — speaks volumes about how queerness is perceived and valued in our family. They never relied on sudden, unsure hints. They took their time observing me. For them, my queerness was not only about being less masculine and more feminine, but about seeing and understanding me fully… beyond any labels, norms, or expectations.

My journey toward self-acceptance and discovery may have started from a simple, personal wish, but now that the universe has shown me the wonders it has brought to my life, I hope you can consider this wishlist I have for my fellow queers.

Wish No. 1: Compromise. I wish for Filipino families to lower their guards down, set aside their biases, and listen with sincerity when talking to queer members, especially when tackling identity formation. I hope for them to understand that as time passes, hegemonies are changed, beliefs are corrected, and conventions are challenged. It is through these compromises where families can cultivate more meaningful connections and transform their residences into safer places.

Wish No. 2: Safe Space. Spaces are way more than just the tangible and physical surfaces we occupy. They can also be found and felt in people. Thus, I wish for Filipino families to become safe spaces themselves, where their queer loved ones are allowed to express their truest selves, prance with all pride and glory, and receive the genuine love equitable to what they offer.

Wish No. 3: Unconditional Love. There would be no greater gift in life than a family that embraces its queer members with limitless, unconditional love. And from all the persisting hatred and judgment thrown towards queers outside the safety of their homes, unconditional love and intrinsic support from their families are what they rightfully deserve.

From pleading for these things alone, I now have an entire battalion behind me — my family, both biological and acquired — helping these wishes grow louder and stronger, until they resonate beyond our walls and ripple across.

For as many Christmases I am blessed to celebrate, I will hold onto the hope for more Filipino families to become sanctuaries of limitless and unconditional love… where queer members no longer have to untiringly pray for their own family’s acceptance, and sense it in every embrace, shared meal, and unspoken gesture of understanding.

A place where to love bold and true is a right more than a privilege and a space where queers truly feel home.

The post Wishing Filipino families could be for queers appeared first on North Luzon Monitor.

I remembered the time I encouraged my cousin to also study at UP because of its free tuition but his parents didn’t approve. Their reason? Money. The salary of my cousin’s parents is enough just for a dormitory. Food expenses, personal allowance, and cost of school supplies aren’t even included when they solve my cousin’s soon to be expenses if my cousin studied in UP. Thus, my cousin stayed in our province to study college there. The entry from the freedom wall and my cousin’s experience led me to think that despite UP being a school with free tuition, it is not enough.

I had flashbacks when I used to be a freshman where I also had to find a dorm since my home is 12 hours away from Baguio. I discovered UP Breha. My parents were happy to discover Breha, as it is near the school and the cost is affordable compared to other dormitories. But I am currently not in Breha because I was informed that you can’t cook and wash your clothes there. Studying in Baguio is expensive, everything is expensive; including food, I compared prices of food in our province to Baguio and the prices would skyrocket in Baguio. Even the meals at our cafeteria are not student-friendly, with a serving of rice and one dish priced at P70.

I am grateful that my parents can afford to let me live in a different dorm where I can wash my clothes and cook, which helps me lower the cost of my expenses. You can’t also ensure your stay in Breha as you need to check the dorm’s availability every semester. With those problems mentioned, I was shocked to learn that a private institution like Ateneo is more feasible for students who can’t afford other expenses besides tuition fees. I agree with the poster’s statement that “people make studying great,” because despite the problems that I face in UP, my college life is bearable because of my family and friends. Joana Marie V. Viray

The post Is free tuition enough? appeared first on North Luzon Monitor.

The Wright Park Pony Boys Handlers Association, Inc., better known as Pony Boys, remain hopeful a stability in their business is possible.

Noelmartin Alquizar, vice president of the Pony Boy’s Association said “Ngayon lang [nagkaroon ng insurance] kasi meron din ‘yong nahulog [na turista] noon [sa kabayo], halos pinapa-shoulder lahat ng gastos sa amin. Wala naman kaming pondo. Kaya ang advice naman ng city government, kumuha kami ng insurance. [Para] at least may tutulong.”

He said the new registration with Malayan Insurance, classified under personal accident insurance, serves as their business’ safety net if tourists experience accidents and injuries during horseback riding. Specifically, the insurance covers accidental deaths, total permanent disability, disablement or dismemberment, and medical reimbursement which ranges from Php 7,500 to Php 25,000 in financial aid. The insurance requires riders to register and pay an additional Php 20 before riding a horse.

“Hindi naman natin maiwasan ‘yang disgrasya. Kaya gumawa rin kami ng paraan para may tutulong sa amin kasi wala rin kaming pondo. At least merong mag-cocover sa financial, may mag-rerefund sa gastusin. Iyon naman ang malaking tulong ng insurance,” Alquizar added in a mix of English and Filipino.

There are an estimated 500 tourists who flock to Wright Park during peak days while on regular weekends there could be about 150 tourists.

Alquizar said that the pony boys are lucky enough if there are tourists wanting to ride in Wright Park during weekdays, especially during the rainy season.

“Pabago-bago rin ‘yong kita dito. Last year maganda ang September. Ngayong taon, pangit ang September. At least meron ‘yong mga nagpapautang ng pagkain ng kabayo,” Alquizar added.

Currently, there are 200 horses in Wright Park under the Pony Boys Association, making the group the biggest association of horse handlers in the city.

Sadly, Alquizar sees horseback riding as an irregular source of income.

“Sa ngayon, ang masasabi ko lang, medyo sa weekend lang sila [tourists] bumibisita pero ‘pag during school days talagang wala. ‘Pag holidays, ganyan, meron. Hindi kasi masabi kung ilan din ang [income na] pumapasok everyday, ” he said as the decreasing number of tourists who want to ride a horse is a reality.

“Hindi tulad noon na mura ang bilihin, kung lima sila, lima rin ang sasakay. Ngayon, lahat-lahat na [ay] medyo nagtitipid na rin. [Pero] at least meron pa ring sumasakay,” he added in Filipino.

Paris, a member of the pony boy’s association for 45 years, said Cordillerans used horses as their mode of transportation due to the mountainous terrain of Cordillera, however, due to modern changes horses have now become a part of tourism as a novelty, horseback riding.

Paris said Wright Park does not operate every day and is only dependent on the tourists that ride the horses during weekends, holidays, summer, December, and Panagbenga season.

Thus, the pony boys do not have a daily regular income, which is why the Php 150 to 200 that they spend every day on their horses’ maintenance comes from their own pockets.

Paris said that the biggest challenge that the pony boys have faced throughout the decades that they operated their business is the COVID-19 pandemic.

The horses got sick with equine infectious anemia (EIA) during the COVID-19 lockdowns which made it difficult for the pony boys to take care of their horses logging 27^th horse deaths in March 2021.

Alquizar said that the 1990 earthquake was even easier to handle because a few months after the earthquake, they were able to get back on track immediately. Meanwhile, the pandemic lockdowns lasted nationwide for 2 years which greatly stunted their business.

The Pony Boys survived the challenges that the pandemic had brought to their business by selling horse manure as compost, using herbal alternatives due to insufficient horse medicines, and harvesting grasses when they had no money to buy feeds.

In a small corner lies the livelihood and culture of pony boys where green spaces for horses are being cemented, roads are being built for modern cars, and the urbanization of Baguio continues to develop. In between their COVID-19 pandemic recovery and upcoming Baguio modernization projects, the pony boys never thought of giving up.

The post The Pony Boys after the pandemic appeared first on North Luzon Monitor.

Noong Hulyo 2024, bigla akong nainis nang marinig ko sa balitang hindi makakadalo si Guo sa panibagong pagdinig dahil sa takot na kaniyang nararamdaman. Ayon sa panayam kay Attorney Stephen David na abogado Guo, lagi siyang umiiyak at nagkaroon pa siya ng trauma dahil sa mga ipinakitang ugali ng mga senador sa mga nagdaang pagdinig. Dahil sa inis ko, nakapagsalita ako ng, “Dapat malakas ka pagdating sa mga ganiyang hearing, dapat ihiwalay yung emosyon. Ang arte naman niya.”

Pagdating ng Setyembre 2024, habang nanonood ako ng pagdinig matapos mahuli si Guo sa Indonesia nang hindi siya nagpakita sa publiko sa loob ng halos dalawang buwan, napansin kong mas naging agresibo ang mga senador at hindi na makapagpigil ng emosyon na nagresulta sa panduduro at paninigaw nila kay Guo. Bigla akong napaisip, kumusta kaya ang mental health ni Guo? Ayos pa ba siya? Sa patuloy kong panonood, ang mga senador ay magtatanong pero hindi sila naniniwala at paminsan-minsa’y pinangungunahan nila ang mga resource person at tatawagin nilang sinungaling ang mga ito. Para saan pa ang ginagawang pagdinig kung hindi naman sila nakikinig at naniniwala?

Nang magtanong si Senator Jinggoy Estrada tungkol sa kung may karelasyon ba si Guo, tila nalimutan niyang nasa pagdinig siya nang ilang beses niyang pinagpilitang may karelasyong pulitiko si Guo at bahagyang tatawa. Sa patuloy na pagsasagawa ng mga pagdinig, kapansin-pansin ang pagbabago sa emosyon ni Guo. Ang dating palangiting Alice Guo noon ay isa nang laging nakasimangot ngayon. Napapansin kaya ng mga senador ang epekto ng mga ikinikilos nila o patuloy silang magbubulag-bulagan? Marami na akong nakikitang mga komento sa Facebook tungkol sa mga ikinikilos ng mga senador, “Mga wala talagang puso ang mga yan,” , “Grabe magalit, kala mo naman walang kaso noon,” at “Bakit hindi nila tignan yung POGO sa Cavite,” ay ang mga nabasa ko. Nangingibabaw ang pagiging pakitang-tao ng mga senador para linisin at pabanguhin ang kanilang mga pangalan. 

Sa kabila ng magkakaibang opinyon ng publiko sa isyu ni Guo, namamayani pa rin ang pagtuklas ng katotohanan. Nainis man ako noon kay Guo ay patuloy kong sinusubaybayan ang bawat pagdinig at patuloy na naghihintay sa paglabas ng katotohanan. Ang tanong ng publiko, kailan nga ba lilitaw ang katotohanan? Magkakaiba man ang pananaw ng publiko ay iisa lamang ang minimithing layunin, ang matuklasan ang paglabas ng katotohanan at ang pagpapanagot sa tunay na may sala.   Sulat ni Alexis Aubrey P. Asalil

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