Dear PLDT, there’s a metal box hanging precariously from an ugly bunch of wires on an unnamed street in Sambag 1 where I live. The box is yours; it says so at the bottom. If you’re interested, I’ll send you pictures.
Dear Governor Pam, the death of a mother and her unborn child under the circumstances narrated in news stories is heartbreaking. But you’re right, let’s not be quick to assign blame. An investigation is necessary.
No investigation, no matter how thorough, can bring the victims back to life, however. We can, of course, reason that apart from finding guilt, wherever it may lie, and meting out just punishment to them who deserve it, the real purpose of the investigation is to make sure a similar tragedy does not happen again. But good luck telling that to the grieving family members.
Nobody’s blaming you, far from it. You have barely warmed your seat and, as you have pointed out in one social media post, your administration did not have the benefit of a smooth transition.
The natural reaction, and I saw it in the comments on your Facebook post, is to blame the previous administration. And there’s a basis for that, too. Health care has not been Gwendolyn Garcia’s strongest suit. That’s one of the main reasons the people voted her out, I think.
So please don’t drop the ball. Keep your promise. Make us grateful that you are THE governor. That mother and her child would still have probably been alive if they had been brought directly to a private hospital in the city. Make sure to avoid this comment from being said when you’re settled in at the Capitol.
Dear Sir Johnny, you would not like this. You hated being fussed over. I remember your discomfiture when Cardinal Vidal asked you to make a book of your columns because you’re a good writer. How could I forget? When he noticed that I was around, a slightly embarrassed Cardinal Vidal was forced to tell me: “And
also you.”
I was not the least embarrassed. In my book, you were the champion, Mr. Juan Mercado. We were the also-ran. You towered over us, literally and figuratively.
Now, there’s no longer anyone I can ask “social or not social?” when invited to meet for coffee. In the next life, perhaps, where hotels have coffee shops and parking spaces, and where the phones work perfectly.
Until then, Sir Johnny.