Slow boiling rather than microwave heat, Prof. Randy David ended his article succinctly. He was talking about the people’s outrage against misrule and why the church is not to be blamed with its less than explicit call for the people to once again mount another uprising in EDSA. I do not agree with him completely, but it will bore you if I attempt to give a critique on a socio-political theory. I have to admit that I am yet to have the mental faculties to expound on that subject. Instead, I will just borrow the professor’s analogy for another topic I love to discuss today: love.

Sociologists speak of people power fatigue, that the boiling point of the masses has increased with time; the noise of street protests and the heat of critical clamor will fail short in bringing the public into the, well, boiling point. It is also believed that a heart that has already experienced several tragedies would require a longer period of rest before it can love again. (Right?) Because the two EDSA revolts proved no reward other than another tyrant, the people has grown cynical about such political surgery; the removal of malignant rulers who eat the flesh and the bones of this country. Same thing can be observed with people who have loved again and again only to end up sorry, they grow cynical about the process of love, and they will never rush again. I don’t know. Such is not my case.

Last week, 12th of this month, marked the first month of my boyfriendhood. I confess, I have never been a boyfriend before. Not with any girls that came my way and shared my orbit. When it comes to romance, I was a conservative. I always demanded that friendship must first be a springboard to whatever depths the relationship wishes to delve into. Although it proved counter-effective, I am not utterly dismissing it. My girlfriend and I agreed not to hasten the ripening of our long-distance affair. With friendship as the prologue, we believe that our story of love promises to be a long, great read. Back to sociology. I do not believe in people power fatigue. I mean, I do not believe we should ever get tired of getting actively involved with such a democratic exercise that aims to remedy the ills of government. When we feel like taking a shit, we do not delay it until it boils inside; we dump it asap in abidance with natural orders. We do not think twice whether the last trips to the toilet made us objectively better. We delay justice, we deny it. By choosing to stay apathetic, we are only feeding the beasts that will devour us. And so with love, however drastic our history with falling in and out of it, we should never get tired and resign. Whenever it knocks, we shouldn’t think twice whether or not the last visitors to grace our hearts made us objectively better. This is not to say that rushing in is fine, a little calculation in everything is always better. I just warn against the cold cynicism that could prevent us from experiencing the magical feeling of love, a love that inspire us to live optimistically, to always change for the better.

Change is evident with me since Ann came. I feel taller. No, I am taller. Not that I gained several inches, but because the heaven feels so much closer now to my reach. How phenomenal it is to love and be loved. This, I guess, is the true people power. The capacity of people to oust the agonies that misgovern their hearts and to rally their spirits into chasing the sentinels of grief away so that they may wallow from the wellspring of love at last. And those who do not have the courage to stand against the evils of state and of the heart, deserve not the blessings of justice, and love.

Happy 2nd birthday to my nephew, Bonbon.

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