ASIDE from feeling hopeful for Cebuano films, I left last week’s Sine ug Katilingban at SM City enriched with lessons on how to avoid crying when watching a tearjerker movie. I unfortunately belong to the species that until now can’t accept the fact that it’s okay to cry in public. It’s a gender thing, this public display of tears. Until this macho myth that falsely defines the male ego is erased, I can use the tips the next time I found myself watching a Sharon Cuneta classic.

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I WASN’T SO EXCITED about last year’s edition of Pinoy Big Brother for the simple reason that everybody went gaga over it. You see, I tend to do the opposite of what everybody does. If you go straight, I step back. If you go left, I go right. If you go right, I go wrong. As a result, I missed the national experience of watching a peepshow in the comforts of the living room.

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THE most important contribution of the ZTE scandal to national development is that it sparked a discussion on the role of crying in ferreting out the, er, truth. Thanks to Rodolfo Lozada and Erwin Santos for continuing the noble cause Kris Aquino started in 2003. For eight years we waited for someone to cry on national television once again and tell us “I got gonorrhea from Joey Marquez” or something like that.

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