Politics is My Favourite Subject

I didn’t major in political science because I studied languages. But my university was steeped in politics, as if the school administration were running a miniature republic where conspiracy, betrayal, scheming, and corruption rivaled the intensity of any historical Chinese drama. Politics loomed inside department offices, conspicuously and unrelenting, shaping the atmosphere like a shadow cast over the academia. 

For a long time, I remained a silent observer, watching the machinations unfold with quiet disbelief. But everything changed when I became a casualty of the very system I had tried to avoid. My unjust expulsion marked a turning point, and it was one that left me deeply traumatized. The aftermath was long and punishing. I underwent nearly three decades of depression, physical decline, and a lingering sense of injustice that refused to fade.

It was only later, with painful clarity, that I understood how deeply embedded political toxicity is in the Philippines—not just in government, but in schools, institutions, organizations, and even religious circles. It can be ruthless, terrifying, and unforgiving. To engage with it, even passively, is to risk being consumed. Courage alone is not enough. One must be prepared to face consequences, sometimes disproportionate and cruel. This, I believe, is one of the core reasons why genuine progress in this country remains elusive. Politics, in its most corrosive form, obstructs growth and stifles possibility.

I’ve already shared why I write about politics. I have no intention to persuade or provoke, but simply to express. It’s a personal exercise, a way to keep my memory sharp and resilient as I navigate the slow encroachment of cognitive decline. Writing is my anchor, and my quiet rebellion against forgetting.

And politics, whether I like it or not, is always center stage. In the Philippines, it permeates every layer of society. Even the most marginalized speak of it with urgency and insight. Showbusiness, once the dominant spectacle, has been eclipsed by the daily parade of political scandal and controversy. It’s impossible not to form interpretations, not to respond with words when the noise is so loud and the stakes so personal.

I have no desire to be an influencer, no ambition to make my opinions viral. I find peace in my invisibility, and in the absence of engagement metrics. What I seek is the freedom to write, to read my own thoughts, and to remember. That act of remembering is sacred to me. It assures me that I still have more to say, and that I still have the mental strength to say it, even if my subject will always be about politics.