This year has been a horrible recording year. I wrote rarely, if at all; and from the looks of it, I was bruised from work from January (Pope Francis) to December (30th anniversary book, LJM). This year had very little breathing room, truth be told.
Anyway. Best effort to recall everything in this haphazard round-up that I am putting together on the eve of my birthday (of course.)
Letty Jimenez Magsanoc – LJM, as she was fondly called in the newsroom – died on Christmas eve. She was an icon of democracy and press freedom, the Inquirer’s editor-in-chief for 24 years, and my boss for ten.
Come let me love you And then color me in Come let me love you Come let me take this through the end [x]
As I always like to say, love found me on a strange September morning, when days were gray and nights were long, and we were all too young, nicotined and caffeinated.
It feels like so long ago, persons ago, but really, if anybody had asked me that same morning, when I woke in a different bed to a different girl making breakfast, if I could see the two of us, say, eight years on, still waking, still here – I would have said yes.
In a heartbeat, yes.
Drea and I are 8 years today. Ika pa nga, kung bata ‘to, sumasali na sa MTAP haha. I love you love, here’s to 8,888 more years.
Still timely to remember, though we collated these accounts on the occasion of National Heroes’ Day: Here’s a round-up of stories of young lives interrupted by Martial Law from Bantayog ng mga Bayani’s archives.