Gilded Truth

Chapter Six

The crunch crumpling of paper disrupts the silence inside my room as I try to write new stories to tell. I am already starting to feel impatient and frustrated after being stuck with no progress for hours. I never felt this way before. I have been wracking my brains till I'm out of wits, till I exhaust all the words I could muster but no stories appeal to me still, neither do the people who I want to reach. I can finally understand how my father feels when he shuts himself inside his office, or when I see piles of books beside his office desk or the crumpled papers inside his office.

I tend to pick those crumpled papers and read them out loud. As vivid as if it was just yesterday, I can still get a mirage of how my father would give me a faint smile to tell me that it was not enough to just tell, you always have to paint the picture. One should appeal to the audience and stories should always tell the stories of people who you'd like to represent. He always told me that a story is not just fictitious, it is a story of another person in another corner of the world or even of yourself; that as a writer, your job is to give them justice for their experiences. That is why I am wracking my brain so hard on what story to tell. I have been too focused on telling the story of how corrupt the rulers of the country are, but I forget that there are people who are living as commoners, living in the belief that the bare minimum this country gives them is the best of it. I want to tell their stories of how they are not the demons here, but the victims.

Every one of us is a victim of oppression, and while the oppressors enjoy themselves by gazing out of the kingdom built from the blood, sweat, and tears of the working class, people outside the elite circle are given just enough to buy a few pieces of bread that would last you a day, or just enough to entertain themselves by paying a dime for a little cock fight fiasco, and just for them to fulfill their means of living. While those who live in the high society enjoy themselves with money they can burn at night when they are cold, or enough for them to bet all-in on a horseback riding race.

These are the knowledge that can be considered a blessing and curse on my part. I am well aware of the corruption, nepotism, and all sorts of societal problems that start from the elites. I can pinpoint who is behind the scheme along with their accomplices with my eyes closed.

With this curse, it has become a sin to turn a blind eye to everything that goes wrong. Before, I could live without talking about these things, I could have whatever I wanted without worrying about how I would live the next morning. I would wake up with food served on my plate, with clothes enough to keep me warm the whole winter season. But when our family decided to take the leap of faith, everything crumbled. From living in a highrise building in the heart of the capital, I turned to be someone living in this abandoned building overlooking the bright horizon. From someone who could splurge on every money I had, this challenging life taught me how to value every dime. And when I lost my family, I found another that I swore to protect.

I want to tell the story of every renegade with us. I want to tell the story of how their lives and families are taken away from them, but I cannot put everything into words without living a bitter taste behind every word. I want the world to be reminded of people like them, like us, who are forgotten just because we are insignificant to them when we are not. I want them to realize how much of a laughingstock they look like as they applaud every lie that comes out of Admiral Adira's mouth. How his speeches are nothing but lies and faux promises of his plan that will never be fulfilled. I want them to remember that they are the kings and queens here, not a slave of a joker who dressed himself in a cape with faux fur and crowns bejeweled with stones that can feed thousands of families.

Hilda and Admiral Adira . . . they are the people I despise the most, not just of personal vendetta but because they are the reason why children in our camps are out of school, some of them born without their dear fathers; and the likes of us who should be enjoying our youth and finding partners we are willing to spend the rest of our lives with. This country is not moving forward, it is regressing to the state where it will be beyond redeemable.

I can still remember the time when Admiral Adira rose in congress. He was an admirable man, he started as a humble naval officer climbing the ranks slowly with his amazing wits and capabilities. He was awarded a medal of honors for his contributions to his country. But even from the start, one would realize that behind the facade of a humble man lies a demon with an unquenchable thirst for power. A man who would seize opportunities to be a bigger fish in the sea of already admirable talents. When he was conferred as admiral, he then joined the congress. It's nauseating whenever I remember that I used to be swayed by his flowery words and the praises every person sang for him. But I am still lucky that my upbringing and my father are there to correct every disinformation and misinformation. As a propagandist, I know that our family will always be under fire in the eyes of people in power.

We are not new to it; we eat death threats daily, and we use glares of people as surveillance. As an established propagandist, my father would always choose to not filter his words. He would not forget his original goal: to tell the truth. His mahogany table in his office used to have engraved words of veritas lux mea, the same tattoo I have on my arm in memory of him. But till the end, he remained to his true self, fearlessly telling what he knew by the start of this abusive system. He was a whistleblower in papers, until police authorities, who should be protecting us, barged into our apartment, arrested my father and mother, and brought me to a concentration camp.

The stench of grime, sweat, and blood is the first memory I can remember of the time that I was kept in prison in that godforsaken place, with no lights passing by through its tall walls. Men captives were forced to labor, and women taken away from their families were regarded as comfort women for the authorities in the camp, or they were sold as prostitutes or maids to those politicians as equally as disgusting as Adira. Up until now, I owe my life to those people who were left inside that camp. And even without a withheld faith in gods and deities, I have always prayed that they can come out of that place alive.

I escaped that place through a hole in the wall that the men inside the camp secretly hammered through, not for themselves, but for the women and children trapped inside—with hopes that even with them being left out in that place, the women and children they saved would continue to live their lives free from the tall walls of that concentration camp. The only evidence that I have from suffering inside was a large scar on my back due to whippings when I talked back to the guards. Yet instead of cowering to fear, I always remember the look on my father's face when they were taken away. That day we knew that it might be our last and I was right.

I never had the chance to see them nor know where they were thrown out, probably to an unmarked grave deep in the mountains. I never dared to go back to the capital, because I knew that once they realized that I was gone in the camp, they would probably look for me in our apartment. I lived by the streets and the slums till I met Ivo who, just like me, escaped death. We have the same hatred towards Admiral Adira. And just like me, he lost everything because of the monster who seized power from its rightful owner.

That hatred is what drives and unites us. We are not renegades because we are against the government, but because we are against an oppressive leadership that does nothing but enjoy their lavish lifestyle using the money of the people while letting them die out of hunger. We battle against lies that cloud and blind these vulnerable people who are nothing but victims at the end of the day. It may look like we have not done so much, but we are there, moving one step at a time towards our goal: to bring back democracy and give the people the rights that are rightfully theirs.