I always thought that to be part of a group, I had to be there for the highs and lows (most especially the lows); to suffer as the rest and to rejoice at the triumphs every member achieves. To be part of the group, I had to be good at pakikisama.

But the past couple of months have taught me that I don’t have to suffer along with the Filipino middle class. I don’t have to jump up and down every time Manny wins or applaud as loudly as everyone else when Charice performs on an international stage. I don’t need the distorted and superficial Pinoy Pride that people seem to think I should have simply because I am from this country.

I have never been a fan of Manny and Charice, just because I don’t like boxing and Charice isn’t singing my kind of music. This doesn’t make me less of a Filipino, because my choice in music or sports doesn’t define my nationality.

I don’t even like being called Pinoy because it’s a racial slur (Pin – from Philippines, Oy – from unggoy). It was coined by American during the early 1940s to describe how they saw and thought about us, as brown monkeys. Call me Filipino, sure, but I am first and foremost a citizen of the planet Earth, and I would rather be called a human being.

The color of my skin, the language I speak and the country I was born into was merely accidental. My emotions and opinions, whether or not, they are shared by my family and friends, define me not only as a Filipino but as a person. It is the anger I feel towards people who continuously take advantage of our country and destroy our natural resources. It’s the compassion I feel towards the young who will grow up as ignorant as their parents, living the life that they think was destined to be theirs. It is the numerous complaints you will hear me say about anything and everything that is wrong with our country and the “Pinoys” who live in dream worlds. It’s the pride I feel when I see everyday heroes in action and the happiness when much needed laws are passed. The tears I cry when children die because of their parents’ stupidity.

Excuse me if I no longer want to suffer with the rest of the Filipinos. Excuse me if I can no longer sympathize with the lower class. Excuse me for calling the “masa” spoiled brats. Excuse me for all the complaints and comments you have had to hear from me about policemen, politicians, businessmen and street beggars. It’s just my Filipino blood boiling as I helplessly watch my countrymen ruin the Philippines.