An Ode in Prose to the One and Only Iron Lady of Asia

At this moment, all I wish is for that stupid essay to miraculously turn up so I can share with the world how much you meant to me as a lost, struggling new student in a high school full of ridiculously stereotyped cliques. I'd say it's one of the most daring pieces I'd written as a junior high school student, and I had the nerve to actually send it to a national essay-writing contest. It didn't win though, but I didn't care.

I can't really remember all the stuff I mentioned in that essay, but I remember my third year English teacher saying that it was too technical and highfalutin and that maybe you're the only one who could possibly understand it. In retrospect, I wish I sent it to you instead.

It seems like a long time ago now, the first (and last) time we met. It was at your book signing in National Bookstore, Glorietta. I'm not sure if you remembered me though, given that the bookstore was practically exploding with all the people there wanting to show their support. One man almost got kicked out of the store for repeatedly shouting that you're his president. I would've too if it weren't for the ridiculous lump in my throat that I can't push down. That was nine years after I wrote that essay, the day I finally got a glimpse of the woman I wrote it for—the Iron Lady of Asia.

It took all my physical strength not to lose my shit when I went up that makeshift stage to get a photo op with you. I was hoping for a close-up selfie but there were too many people to accommodate, so the organizer figured they'd do five people at a time regardless of whether they know one another or not. I was too fucking excited to whine about the arrangement that I practically wedged myself in between my two dearest friends and smiled like an idiot behind you. I would've launched into a full-on ode to you if it weren't for everyone shoving everyone off the stage for the next set of people's turn. "Madam, we love you po! More power!" was all I could manage to tell you while that bigass bodyguard almost hurled me off the stage for shoving myself too close. You said thank you and smiled. I was high for a couple of days.

DREAM. COME. TRUE.

I guess I'm not alone in saying that this country, all of us, had been immensely blessed to have you in our government. You are intelligence, justice, fortitude, humor, and wit incarnate. You had fought for us while making us laugh in the process and served as an inspiration to every soul you had touched with your life's journey to an erudite spirit.

As your number 1 fan, thank you for being my soul mother when life's practically telling me that I'm nobody. You and your story shaped me into the tough, sarcastic, hotheaded, know-it-all bookworm I am today, which you also taught me not to apologize for. Thank you for making me understand that all great things take great determination, effort, and resilience. Most of all, thank you for your burning passion that ignited the inner fire of God knows how many, myself included.

As much as the nation is saddened by the news of your passing, we find comfort in the knowledge that you are no longer surrounded by mouth-breathing morons who can only blink at the quick strike of your unearthly legal prowess. Not another day spent in a room full of incompetent, conniving bastards who only serve their own interests. No more death threats with such fractured grammar for breakfast. And best of all, no more pain.

As much as many of us would love to watch you bleed those sorry excuse for politicians dry with nothing but your will to give this country a better future, we would love for you to finally find peace—the eternal freedom from mortal frailty a true warrior deserves.

We love you, Senator Miriam.

And we will remember.

Until we meet again.

#RIPSenMiriam
from wattafox.com