There’s this case I ran into the other day that left a weird taste in my mouth. Was it even the killing that got to me? Not really. It was watching how extreme love can be just as unsettling as extreme violence.
Most people felt they understood why the father swapped places with his
daughter and staged the crime as his own. Kasi diba, sinong ama ang hindi
handang maging halimaw para lang protektahan ang kaisa-isa niyang anak? Most
were quick to praise him, saying anyone else would have just saved
their own skin. But he didn’t. Some were like, you can’t really know… not until
it’s your kid in the fire, and you can’t just look away.
Kapag nakita mong nasusunog ang anak mo (literal o figurative), hindi
magse-set up ng Excel sheet ang utak mo para i-calculate lang ang pros and
cons. Bago pa makapag-isip ang logic mo, nakatalon ka na sa apoy.
While most were busy romanticizing the sacrifice, a few kept questioning why a
murder cover-up was being hyped as heroic. Honestly, I noticed myself wanting
to admire the father. But I didn’t. I’m neither the dad nor part of the crowd.
All I did was watch what the story brought up in people.
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