Anak, you need not wear a silly red cape or a bold spandex full-bodysuit to be recognized as a superhero. 

Sure, most people might argue that you’re a little too scrawny to save the world; a little inexperienced to be this critical; a little too young to brandish wisdom—but I beg to differ. They could list a million things to discredit your movement, but they can never waver your resolve. After all, you’ve always had it in you. 

I know you feel that overwhelming power coursing through your veins—brimming your heart with a lifetime of purpose. 

Believe me, anak: I see it grazing the harsh contours of your bony fingers while you grip your megaphone as if your life depended on it. 

I see it outlining the letters you painted in red across your glaring placards. I see it trickling down your forehead in globules while you march into Metro Manila’s scorching heat. 

I hear its desperation rasping in your voice, digging its way out of your vocal cords for everyone to hear. And it will be there: in the strained cracks of your outcries; in the quiver of distaste in your lips; in your burning zeal for radical change; in all that you have sacrificed for that unconditional love you extend to your countrymen.

The roots of your struggle, anak, are visceral. It was a calling until it became your ‘raison d'etre’ was what you always tell me.  

And I know I should be proud; I may have birthed you in a world so cruel—yet somehow, only compassion feeds rigidity to your bones. 

But how could I, anak?

You told me before how this country is just shorthand of heroes to save the day; to serve justice. And I remember marveling at you when you fearlessly stepped up to become one.

But anak, I have seen what this country does to its heroes—they don’t live long enough to witness their victories. Heroes here are crucified before they can be glorified.

I can’t lose you, anak.

Not now.

Not ever.

- Valerie Rose V. Ferido
(Illustration by Toni Miguela Ursua /FEU Advocate)