The student council election was just days away, and two Grade Six pupils were wrapping up their campaign to become the next council president.
One was a classmate. She was the president of our section. While the other, also a class president, was from a rival section, a room next to ours. Both had track record of being class presidents since Grade Two. There's no doubt, teachers saw their leadership qualities.
And so they made them run.
I remember during our Homeroom class, our adviser made a personal plea.
"Tomorrow will be your student council elections." She said. "And as a show of support, I urge you to vote for LJ." LJ was our class president.
Most said "opo" while others merely nodded their heads.
The next day, a special time period was set aside for the pupils to cast their vote. The teachers were there to guide the "electorate" but since my adviser had already showed her bias, I'm certain her guidance had vested interest. As I look back at our class president, I did my best to recall how she was to me:
She was a aloof - a little difficult to approach. I once caught her smirking while a group of boys bullied me in class. She made me feel that I don't exist and I'm not worthy of her time.
And these indifference weighted heavily while casting my vote.
Meanwhile, the other candidate was a class president when I was in Grade Three. Though I can't remember her legacy, (was she the one who broke my wooden ruler when she used it to hit the blackboard to order everyone to keep quiet?) but at least she remembered that I used to be her classmate. She even smiled at me, at times, when we saw each other at the corridor. And even though she had no idea yet that she's being groomed for the council leadership, I felt her sincerity.
Two decades later, I'd still remember her name.
Cristina Buendia.
And so without anyone looking, I checked the box next to her name, folded the piece of paper and then dropped it inside the ballot box. Heaven knows I voted out of conscience.
When everyone had cast their votes, the ballots were taken out to be counted by none other than our teacher. Of the 40 pupils who belonged to our section, two kids ignored the teacher's plea and voted for Miss Buendia.
It was a big slap in our teacher's face - who was there tallying the votes. But she managed to give a nervous smile. You know, the charade you put up when you feel a tinge of embarrassment but tries to hide it.
Fingers began pointing almost immediately and the usual suspects were the pain-in-the-ass classmates of ours. They denied the accusation of course, fearing for their grades I guess. But the damage has been done and the rival candidate won by a huge margin. She too turned aloof after becoming the council president.
LJ's failure to win the presidency wouldn't be her lost in the long run. Half a year later, she would sashay on the stage to receive a medal for being the batch's valedictorian.
As for me, nobody found out I was one of the two who voted for the rival candidate. I guess the other classmate also had gripes with the president. Maybe he's one of the outcast too, like me. But the seeds of my defiance would grow roots and branches and would bear fruits when I started playing politics later in life.
I would become a student political party member, a class president during my junior and senior year, and even the secretary general of the same political party I served throughout college. To top it off, I would always keep abreast of current events, even spewing my opinions especially on matters of governance. Simply because my major required us to think - critically and with an open mind.
And it shows on my Twitter account from time to time.
The snippet of memory came across while reading the Philippine Daily Inquirer one weekend afternoon. Lying flat on my stomach, I turned a page of the newspaper, and set my eyes on Randy David's column. Finishing the sociologist's last paragraph - his arguments as to why the impeachment trial is actually good for our Democracy - I remembered that elections in Grade Six, my decision to think for myself, and realized that it was the first of the many stirrings that would shape me to become.
A political man in my time.
The next day, a special time period was set aside for the pupils to cast their vote. The teachers were there to guide the "electorate" but since my adviser had already showed her bias, I'm certain her guidance had vested interest. As I look back at our class president, I did my best to recall how she was to me:
She was a aloof - a little difficult to approach. I once caught her smirking while a group of boys bullied me in class. She made me feel that I don't exist and I'm not worthy of her time.
And these indifference weighted heavily while casting my vote.
Meanwhile, the other candidate was a class president when I was in Grade Three. Though I can't remember her legacy, (was she the one who broke my wooden ruler when she used it to hit the blackboard to order everyone to keep quiet?) but at least she remembered that I used to be her classmate. She even smiled at me, at times, when we saw each other at the corridor. And even though she had no idea yet that she's being groomed for the council leadership, I felt her sincerity.
Two decades later, I'd still remember her name.
Cristina Buendia.
And so without anyone looking, I checked the box next to her name, folded the piece of paper and then dropped it inside the ballot box. Heaven knows I voted out of conscience.
When everyone had cast their votes, the ballots were taken out to be counted by none other than our teacher. Of the 40 pupils who belonged to our section, two kids ignored the teacher's plea and voted for Miss Buendia.
It was a big slap in our teacher's face - who was there tallying the votes. But she managed to give a nervous smile. You know, the charade you put up when you feel a tinge of embarrassment but tries to hide it.
Fingers began pointing almost immediately and the usual suspects were the pain-in-the-ass classmates of ours. They denied the accusation of course, fearing for their grades I guess. But the damage has been done and the rival candidate won by a huge margin. She too turned aloof after becoming the council president.
LJ's failure to win the presidency wouldn't be her lost in the long run. Half a year later, she would sashay on the stage to receive a medal for being the batch's valedictorian.
As for me, nobody found out I was one of the two who voted for the rival candidate. I guess the other classmate also had gripes with the president. Maybe he's one of the outcast too, like me. But the seeds of my defiance would grow roots and branches and would bear fruits when I started playing politics later in life.
I would become a student political party member, a class president during my junior and senior year, and even the secretary general of the same political party I served throughout college. To top it off, I would always keep abreast of current events, even spewing my opinions especially on matters of governance. Simply because my major required us to think - critically and with an open mind.
And it shows on my Twitter account from time to time.
The snippet of memory came across while reading the Philippine Daily Inquirer one weekend afternoon. Lying flat on my stomach, I turned a page of the newspaper, and set my eyes on Randy David's column. Finishing the sociologist's last paragraph - his arguments as to why the impeachment trial is actually good for our Democracy - I remembered that elections in Grade Six, my decision to think for myself, and realized that it was the first of the many stirrings that would shape me to become.
A political man in my time.