Upon the stage, their shadows grow,
A father’s wrath, his daughter’s show.
With words like fire, fierce and free,
They shape a nation’s history.
A king of steel, a ruthless tongue,
With fists he ruled, with death he sung.
The daughter watched, the daughter learned,
And soon her voice with fury burned.
Their sermons rang through crowded halls,
Each threat and curse met with applause.
Their faithful cheered, their critics fell,
As silence echoed prison cells.
No sins to own, no shame to bear,
They laughed at cries of deep despair.
The streets ran red, the night stood still,
While power bent to match their will.
Yet history’s hand will write its page,
Beyond the echoes of their rage.
And time will judge what men ignore—
The price of blood, the cost of war.
Senator Bato dela Rosa has once again made waves—literally—by declaring that he is willing to kill himself in the West Philippine Sea to prove he is not “pro-China.”
Now, hold on. Why does he need to take a deep dive into self-destruction when he can just prove his patriotism on solid ground? Unless, of course, what he meant was that he’s willing to get killed defending Philippine territory. Big difference.
This is a classic case of how grammar can be a matter of life and death. One minute, you’re a brave patriot; the next, you’re a confused kamikaze. If Bato isn’t careful, he might just end up as the first senator to drown in a misunderstanding.
Moral of the story? Choose your words wisely, or you might find yourself explaining to St. Peter why you voluntarily jumped into contested waters instead of simply holding your ground.
The Adobo Chronicles 
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