I am so fucking frustrated and angry that I am now seeing the words SCHOOL SHOOTING being reported in MY OWN COUNTRY.
Putangina. Seriously.
Less than two months after Tacloban, we are now talking about another deadly school shooting, this time at Ateneo de Zamboanga University.
And I need to ask the same question again:
WHERE ARE THESE CHILDREN GETTING THE ACCESS AND THE CONFIDENCE TO DO THIS?
A Junior High School student reportedly managed to bring TWO firearms—a pistol and a rifle—into a school.
A CHILD.
How does a child get access to firearms like these? How does a child become familiar and confident enough to use them? How does a child manage to bring TWO guns inside a school?
I said this after Tacloban and I’ll say it again:
THERE WAS NEGLIGENCE SOMEWHERE.
Negligence in adult supervision.
Negligence in firearm custody and access.
Negligence in school security.
Negligence in recognizing warning signs.
Negligence in how we supervise what children consume online.
And possibly failures we haven’t uncovered yet.
INVESTIGATE IT.
Trace the firearms. Determine who owns them and how a minor accessed them. Determine whether they were properly secured. Determine how TWO firearms entered a school.
Because children do not manufacture guns in their bedrooms.
They ACCESS them.
And somewhere between the owner of that firearm and a child pulling the trigger, an adult safeguard failed.
But gun access is only part of this conversation.
Children today have almost unrestricted access to the internet. Violence becomes content. Graphic videos circulate like memes. Criminals become personalities. Algorithms can feed increasingly disturbing material to someone for hours.
And reports that this shooting may have been recorded or livestreamed make that conversation even more disturbing.
I’m NOT saying the internet alone creates school shooters. Human behavior is far more complicated than that.
I’m saying we would be incredibly irresponsible to pretend that children’s constant exposure to violence and sensationalism isn’t something worth examining.
And please, stop looking for ONE thing to blame.
We can address bullying AND demand responsible parenting.
We can improve mental-health support AND secure firearms.
We can strengthen school security AND examine children’s online environments.
These things are not mutually exclusive.
And for the love of God, STOP MAKING DEAD CHILDREN A POLITICAL SCOREBOARD.
I don’t care which administration or political color you support.
CHILDREN ARE DYING.
We had Tacloban.
Now we have Zamboanga.
I desperately do not want to watch the Philippines slowly normalize the phrase “school shooting.”
This should horrify us NOW—not after the fifth incident, not after the tenth, and certainly not when active-shooter drills become a normal part of Filipino childhood.
Parents need to parent.
Gun owners need to SECURE THEIR FUCKING FIREARMS.
Schools need to reassess security.
Government needs to examine whether our laws and enforcement around firearm custody, access by minors, school safety, and children���s online protection are actually enough.
And as a society, we need to stop giving children unrestricted access to adult spaces, adult content, adult violence and apparently, in some cases, adult weapons, then acting completely shocked when something goes horribly wrong.
There was negligence.
Find where it happened.
Find who was responsible.
Fix what failed.
Hold people accountable.
Because after Tacloban and now Zamboanga, “we never thought this could happen here” is no longer an acceptable excuse.
nah sorry, but being apolitical in this country at a time like this is the worst kind of shit.
either sobrang privileged kayo to care, o wala lang talaga kayong mga moralidad.
magulo ang politika kaya ayaw niyo maki-alam? sounds like a selfish take for me.
"My name's Raymond. I'm 73. I work the parking lot at St. Joseph's Hospital. Minimum wage, orange vest, a whistle I barely use. Most people don't even look at me. I'm just the old man waving cars into spaces.
But I see everything.
Like the black sedan that circled the lot every morning at 6 a.m. for three weeks. Young man driving, grandmother in the passenger seat. Chemotherapy, I figured. He'd drop her at the entrance, then spend 20 minutes hunting for parking, missing her appointments.
One morning, I stopped him. "What time tomorrow?"
"6:15," he said, confused.
"Space A-7 will be empty. I'll save it."
He blinked. "You... you can do that?"
"I can now," I said.
Next morning, I stood in A-7, holding my ground as cars circled angrily. When his sedan pulled up, I moved. He rolled down his window, speechless. "Why?"
"Because she needs you in there with her," I said. "Not out here stressing."
He cried. Right there in the parking lot.
Word spread quietly. A father with a sick baby asked if I could help. A woman visiting her dying husband. I started arriving at 5 a.m., notebook in hand, tracking who needed what. Saved spots became sacred. People stopped honking. They waited. Because they knew someone else was fighting something bigger than traffic.
But here's what changed everything, A businessman in a Mercedes screamed at me one morning. "I'm not sick! I need that spot for a meeting!"
"Then walk," I said calmly. "That space is for someone whose hands are shaking too hard to grip a steering wheel."
He sped off, furious. But a woman behind him got out of her car and hugged me. "My son has leukemia," she sobbed. "Thank you for seeing us."
The hospital tried to stop me. "Liability issues," they said. But then families started writing letters. Dozens. "Raymond made the worst days bearable." "He gave us one less thing to break over."
Last month, they made it official. "Reserved Parking for Families in Crisis." Ten spots, marked with blue signs. And they asked me to manage it.
But the best part? A man I'd helped two years ago, his mother survived, came back. He's a carpenter. Built a small wooden box, mounted it by the reserved spaces. Inside? Prayer cards, tissues, breath mints, and a note,
"Take what you need. You're not alone. -Raymond & Friends"
People leave things now. Granola bars. Phone chargers. Yesterday, someone left a hand-knitted blanket.
I'm 73. I direct traffic in a hospital parking lot. But I've learned this: Healing doesn't just happen in operating rooms. Sometimes it starts in a parking space. When someone says, "I see your crisis. Let me carry this one small piece."
So pay attention. At the grocery checkout, the coffee line, wherever you are. Someone's drowning in the little things while fighting the big ones.
Hold a door. Save a spot. Carry the weight no one else sees.
It's not glamorous. But it's everything."
Let this story reach more hearts....
Credit: Mary Nelson
Michael Guinto, a resident of Paknaan, Mandaue City, Cebu, is appealing for help, especially for food.
“Sana may mag-donate kahit relief goods lang, hindi namin kailangan ng pera sir,” he said. | via @Dennis_Datu
Hi, guys. We are not okay here in Cebu. Walang kuryente. Barely any signal.
Strong winds and heavy rains pa rin. Binabaha yung mga places na least namin inexpect na bahain.
Again, we’re not okay in Cebu and pls help us spread the word.
Ngl, adult friendships require grace. People are very busy. People are healing. People are growing. People are taking time for self care just like you. Less communication isn’t less love. Check in not out.
“Madali lang exam qs ngayon” —Ahh, this humbled me. Reminding myself that when I finally make it to the other side, to never, ever say something like this to an examinee. Hehe
You showed up. You gave it your all. That’s what matters.
Rest. Recharge. Regroup.
The last day deserves your best fight.
You got this. You still got this. 💪⚖️
Ano kaya feeling ng may mentor? Yung hindi ka lang basta sariling sikap sa firm or "sige pag may kulang sa *toot* na lang,"
Gusto ko din mag grow mam/ser.
The next best thing to do is move on and move forward. Today didn't change what God and destiny have reserved for you. But to get there, you must not give up.
You got this. You still got this.