Ah, Senator Cynthia Villar, the woman so immune to the heat that she might as well be part-reptile.
When asked about the class suspensions due to the soaring heat index, she nonchalantly remarked that she doesn’t feel the heat. Of course, she doesn’t—wrapped in the loving embrace of air-conditioned luxury, from her mansion to her chauffeured car to her plush Senate office.
But perhaps it’s not just the physical heat she’s failing to notice. Could it be that she also doesn’t feel the simmering frustration of students, teachers, and workers roasting under tin roofs and enduring long commutes in the sweltering sun? Maybe she’s too insulated—both by cold air and political privilege—to sense the real struggles of ordinary Filipinos.
If she’s this out of touch now, imagine if we keep voting her family into power. The heat of public outrage might be the only thing left to wake them up.
The Philippine House of Representatives, in its noble crusade against fake news, has taken on the Herculean task of summoning social media influencers and bloggers suspected of peddling misinformation. Because, of course, the biggest threats to truth and democracy are basement-dwelling keyboard warriors and not, say, politicians who confidently rewrite history and spin tall tales during election season.
But wait—shouldn’t our lawmakers also be investigating Artificial Intelligence? AI can now make it snow in Baguio, launch jumbo jets from ship decks, and turn Senator Bato de la Rosa into a superhero! Who will hold this digital sorcery accountable? Will Congress summon ChatGPT to a hearing, grill it under oath, and demand it reveal its sources? Perhaps they’ll draft a bill banning AI-generated lies—unless, of course, it’s used for campaign propaganda.
In the end, this spectacle might be just another exercise in futility—after all, fighting fake news in the Philippines is like fighting fire with gasoline.
In the days leading up to September 21, the Maisug movement confidently declared a “storm” of people power headed straight for Malacañang, forecasting gale-force protests that would topple Marcos Jr. just like his father. The metaphorical “typhoon” was expected to sweep the palace clean, with wind gusts of righteousness and torrential downpours of justice.
But as September 21 came and went, the only storm brewing was in teacups. No flooding of protests, no winds of change, not even a political drizzle. The roads to Malacañang remained clear, and the only trees standing were metaphors waiting to fall.
Apparently, the forecast was just as reliable as your local weatherman—predicting rain on a cloudless day. Marcos Jr., it seems, has a political umbrella big enough to withstand even the fiercest imaginary storms. Maybe next time, the Maisug movement should check the Doppler radar before announcing another weather disturbance.
The Adobo Chronicles 
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