Honeylet just got banned from the ICC; she cannot visit Rody Duterte.

That’s obstruction of love!

They let all kinds of people into The Hague: lawyers, dictators, Harry Roque. But they banned the girlfriend, not the alleged “mass criminal.”

But that’s what we’re doing now. She stood by Duterte through drug wars, diarrhea, elections, erections. But the court found her feelings inadmissible.

I would’ve let her in. Absolutely. No questions. I’d say, “Honeylet, come in, sit on my lap, tell us everything.” That woman carried this man’s secrets in her Birkin.

This is why Filipinos hate international courts. Too many rules. No sex appeal.

Nobody’s been treated worse than Honeylet. Except the Filipino taxpayer. Turns out “‘til death do us part” has a loophole: international law.

They never married? So what! Even Jesus never married. And look how many people followed him. Doesn’t mean Honeylet is not committed.

Honeylet, here’s what I’d do. I’d break into that court. Dramatic. Maybe cry one single beautiful tear. The classy kind. Like KathNiel. Like it’s the end. Because people say it’s over.

According to Pulong, Rody wants her to move on. Ouch. We cried reading that.

Rody reportedly wants Honeylet and the rest of his unofficial harem to go find new boyfriends. Preferably with higher credit limits.

What a beautiful line. Like the girls needn’t wait for the verdict. They had already heard his sentence: “Find someone richer.”

We never really knew Honeylet. She’s the mother of Kitty, yes. She’s the longtime partner. The nurse. The meat businesswoman.

She wasn’t First Lady like we know it. Didn’t save the children or perhaps give interviews. Didn’t wave from the balcony or redecorate Malacañang. Didn’t need the palace. Need better taste in men.

And then, bam! Out of nowhere: Hammerlet Avanceña. We didn’t know much until that phone made contact.

The one rare, unguarded glimpse of Honeylet, no longer the polite, camera-shy partner, doing what any truly committed woman would do. She turned her phone into a hammer and bopped a police officer in the head. That’s love. If I had a woman hit a cop for me, I’d marry her.

That’s the rare, beautiful kind of loyalty we like to see in politics.

But this is what happens when you give power to international courts. They don’t care about loyalty. They don’t care if it was really Bongbong. Honeylet may be the last Duterte loyalist, but loyalty looks cute in court until it’s used as evidence.

And now? Honeylet is gone again. Quiet. Private. Maybe back in Davao. Somewhere, perhaps she can live without being referred to as an extension of someone else’s history. Probably texting someone new. Maybe buying a new phone.

She loved him the way quiet women often do — completely, invisibly, without ceremony. Stayed in the part of him that felt regret. Did she ask for a wedding? A title? A place in the shot?

You can’t replace a woman like Honeylet. You can try to find someone younger, louder, more curated. But they won’t remember your medication, or what you meant by that grunt, or how to stand beside you without standing in your way.