Kikiam never dies
Memory is cruel, Alan. You could cure cancer on Monday, land on Mars Tuesday and, if Wednesday’s breakfast looks funny, that’s your obituary.
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Memory is cruel, Alan. You could cure cancer on Monday, land on Mars Tuesday and, if Wednesday’s breakfast looks funny, that’s your obituary.
Poor Alan Peter.
Very unlucky. In a country drowning in scandals — flood control, confidential funds, election cheating --- the NBI reopened the 2019 SEAGames probe and, immediately, the country smelled kikiam.
Very random. Very cruel.
Alan may ask, “Why now?”
Alan, it’s the government. Slow. You invented slow. We’re still waiting for the P10K.
“P10K for every Pamilyang Pilipino.”
Then suddenly: “It’s just a proposal.” Needs Congress.
During the campaign, it sounded like cash. The promise did not need Congress.
By the way, “Not kikiam.” Fine, Alan, chicken longganisa.
That’s not the defense we want. The defense should be, “Our athletes ate like champions.” Or, “We walked through the dining hall crying, ‘Eat! Take another one! You’re representing the country!’”
Because happy athletes win. But once the country decides it’s kikiam, you’re Boy Kikiam forever. Memory is cruel, Alan. You could cure cancer on Monday, land on Mars Tuesday and, if Wednesday’s breakfast looks funny, that’s your obituary.
These athletes. They train before sunrise. Sacrifice everything. And what would the Thais, the Malaysians, the Singaporeans think?
Imagine Olympics commentators: “Hidilyn got off to a very low-energy start. Looks like she’s still digesting the kikiam.”
Alan! Your wife cooks. We’ve seen the reels. Beautiful food. Very nutritious. You mean to tell us no one in that committee called Lani? “Hey, Lani, quick question. We’re feeding the best of SEA. Any ideas?”
Sinigang, kare-kare, adobo, sisig.
The Games you chaired gave us a P50-million cauldron. We thought maybe they’re cooking something magnificent. For P50 million that’s definitely not kikiam. Maybe wagyu. Lobster. The world’s greatest athletes’ meal.
What does it do? You said, “Art.” Everything is art when the price is frightening. You buy a chair for P500, it’s a chair. You buy it for P50 million, and suddenly it represents the Filipino spirit.
We looked at the cauldron. Then we looked at the price. Then we looked at the cauldron again. We thought maybe the other P49 million was shy.
We kept waiting for the part where this little guy opens up, and the real P50-million monster comes out. The little cauldron would shake, and the orchestra start. The smoke, the fireworks. Boom! Giant golden cauldron. But no. That’s the one. Fifty million. Everybody go home.
We don’t mind spending money, Alan. Spend big. We like big. The Philippines isn’t a small country. Filipinos aren’t small people. We dream big. Think big. The people still pay taxes because we believe the government might someday build something larger than our suffering.
So, if you’re spending P50 million in our name, make us say, “Wow.”
Spend P100 million. Spend P500 million. Just give us something our grandchildren can point to and say, “That’s us.” Something tourists will cross oceans to photograph.
Build something that makes an old Filipino cry. Not because of the price. But for pride. That’s what a national monument is supposed to do.
Instead, you gave us a P50-million kaldero and then expected us to clap because somebody else’s was more expensive.
That’s not how this works.
Nobody remembers what the Sydney Opera House cost. Over budget. Big controversy. Nobody cares anymore. It’s iconic. They remember how it made them feel.
The Statue of Liberty. Taj Mahal. Marina Bay Sands. People look at them. And they get it.
That’s the standard.
Alan keeps explaining the cauldron. Very bad sign. For P50 million, the kaldero should defend Alan.
