Mrs. Thompson

Sana all ang uban wife gina spoil ug Bvlgari ako tawn ani, Ukay² lang sa kay pit os😅

🥺

Dear PRRD,

𝗜𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝘃𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘀𝗲 𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗱𝗮𝘆𝘀. 𝗡𝗼𝘁 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝘀𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲𝘀, 𝘃𝗶𝗼𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗴𝗻𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗳𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗮𝗿 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗿𝘆, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗮 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗹.

First, we lost a young pride of Mindanao, now a pride of the entire nation. He is remembered not only for what he had already achieved in his young life, but for everything he still could have become. He was supposed to rise higher, go farther, and carry the Philippine flag with him into the future. But his life was cut short too soon. Too cruelly. Too young. His name is Rene Clert Baterbonia. Bobet to those who loved him.

Mayor, if you were the one sitting in Malacañang today, we know exactly what you would have done. You would have formed a task force without delay. You would have demanded answers. You would have called out every institution, every official, every coward hiding behind silence and bureaucracy while families cry for truth and justice. You would have been furious at those more concerned with protecting reputations than uncovering the truth behind the deaths of young lives with so much promise.

And then came another horror. In a high school in your home province of Leyte, two teenage students opened fire. One of them was so adept at handling a firearm that he was able to change magazines twice. Forty empty shells. Four young lives lost. More than twenty injured. Hundreds of students, teachers, and families traumatized in ways they may never fully recover from. Crimes committed by minors are no longer isolated incidents. They are becoming disturbingly frequent, and there seems to be a pattern no one in power wants to confront with urgency and honesty.

We remember, Sir, that as early as 2006, you had already been sounding the alarm about the loopholes in the Juvenile Justice and Welfare Act. You saw then what others refused to see – that a law crafted in the name of protection could also be exploited if left unchecked, and that children in conflict with the law needed not only compassion, but intervention, discipline, and a system capable of stopping them from being swallowed whole by criminality.

Yet there are those who are quick to blame all of this on you. On your leadership. On the firmness of your methods. They say the violence we see now is your legacy. They call it the aftereffect of Duterte. But these are the same people who have long hated you, who seize every tragedy as an opportunity to pin this nation’s decay on your name. They do not care for truth. They care only for narrative.

They even dredged up your 1972 shooting incident, stripped it of context, and weaponized it to malign not just you, but your family, your children, your surname. They want your name dragged through every evil that befalls this country. But we are not blind, and many Filipinos are not blind. We know who among our leaders genuinely cared for children in conflict with the law not only in speeches, but in action.

𝗘𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗶𝗻 𝗿𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁, 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗽𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝗰𝘆, 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗶𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺. 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝘃𝗶𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗕𝗮𝗵𝗮𝘆 𝗣𝗮𝗴-𝗮𝘀𝗮 𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗹𝗳𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗖𝗜𝗖𝗟𝘀. 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗕𝗼𝘆𝘀 𝗧𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗶𝗻 𝗗𝗮𝘃𝗮𝗼. 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗴, 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺, 𝗴𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝘄𝗶𝘀𝗱𝗼𝗺, 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗮𝗹 𝗴𝗶𝗳𝘁𝘀, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲. 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘆𝗲𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝘆𝗼𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴. 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗹𝘀𝗼 𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆. 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘀𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗽𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗶𝗺 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗼𝘆𝘀 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗳𝘂𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗲𝗹𝘀𝗲’𝘀.

But others would rather bury these truths. They would rather erase the image of the man who showed up for the neglected and the broken, because it does not fit the monster they have spent years constructing. So every crime, every act of violence, every social breakdown is laid at your feet, while the people truly responsible for this nation’s unraveling hide behind press statements, moral posturing, and selective outrage.

Today is especially gloomy as we bury our young Mindanaoan hero, Bobet. His mother cries for justice and clarity. And somewhere else, another mother cries the same cry – that of Chris Lorenz Fabian, the young boy who used his own body as a shield to protect his classmates from two active shooters who were firing at anyone in sight. Lorenz, by all accounts, was a gentle son, a kind classmate, a boy who looked after those smaller and weaker than himself. He died in the way only the bravest do: thinking first of others.

Vice President Sara flew to Tacloban this morning after learning that Chris Lorenz’s mother wanted to speak to her. Your Inday, our Vice President, understood what had to be done. She grew up seeing your good example. She knew that when a grieving mother asks for someone in government to listen, the proper response is not delay, not protocol, not a carefully worded statement. It is presence. It is compassion. It is showing up.

Again and again, these past days have been filled with the sight of mothers wailing for justice.

And in moments like these, we remember you. We remember how you would go to the wakes, how you would stand before the coffins, how you would console the bereaved not as a distant official but as a father, as a human being who understood grief. We remember you kissing coffins, embracing mothers hollowed out by loss, and carrying with you the weight of their sorrow as if it were your own.

Then we look at the government we have now. A government bereft of genuine empathy, hollowed out of compassion, and consumed instead by ambition, power, and the endless obsession with political control. We see a Philippines that feels increasingly hopeless, ruled by people who seem more interested in securing their position than securing the lives of their people.

We look at our institutions, our mainstream media, our systems, many of them rotten to the core, corroded by propaganda, opportunism, and moral cowardice. Ordinary Filipinos like us are left to battle disinformation every day, forced to defend truth against a machinery designed to paint you as black-hearted, sinful, violent, and evil, no matter how much evidence exists of your compassion, your sincerity, and your relentless concern for the ordinary Filipino.

And now, as another weather disturbance enters PAR, as the rains come down and the streets begin to flood, as fragile homes are swept away and families once again brace for another calamity, it feels as though every ounce of hope we have left is being washed away with the tears that have not stopped flowing since June 8 – through every funeral, every headline, every breaking news report that seems to announce yet another chapter in our country’s disintegration and moral decay.

And yet, Sir, if there is one good thing we can still hold on to, it is this: we were once governed by a real leader. We know what it looks like when a president truly cares. We know what it feels like to be led by someone who was not perfect, but who was present, decisive, and willing to bear the burden of leadership with courage.

Until this land is blessed once more with a leader of your kind, may we remain strong, ready, unbowed, and unshaken just as you have remained, and just as the daughter you raised has remained: resolute, steadfast, and forged in the same fire.

As the bodies of slain children in Tacloban remain freshly mourned, may this wounded nation still find hope in knowing that leaders like Vice President Sara Duterte still exist. That all is not yet lost, that this country has not completely gone to the dogs, and that somewhere amid the wreckage, there are still people willing to stand beside the grieving and speak for the voiceless.

We pray for the day we see you again, Sir. For the day we once more hear your midnight talks, your musings, your unvarnished truths, and the voice that, for many of us, made us feel that someone in power still understood the pain of the ordinary Filipino.

Until then, we remember. We endure. And we wait.