Bad taste begins when we stop caring: when grief becomes inconvenient, when attention starts to wander, when moving on feels easier than sitting still.
I tell people close to me that there is no raging against machines. Everybody just pretends to do so until they eventually become part of one. A friend recently admonished me — bluntly, but kindly — for my cynicism. I took a sip of black coffee and a small bite of humble pie.
Outside the national noise, Cebu has been on its own whirlwind of heartbreak. An earthquake displaced communities in the north. A storm followed, bringing massive flooding and loss of life. These were not abstract events. They unsettled homes, families and routines.
Nature took its course. Moving on, however, is a choice. Survivors bury their loved ones. Others, meanwhile, busy themselves with hyping new issues, hoping memories will be short and focus will shift elsewhere — not because the pain has ended, but because sitting with it has become uncomfortable.
In a few days, the calendar will turn. When the clock strikes midnight, do we neatly put a bow on 2025 and hand it over as history’s problem to deal with? This is the illusion of time. There is no rule against lighting fireworks in February — you would simply look out of place.
Cebuanos have been through a lot. Period. The harder question is what follows.
Bad taste is not always loud. More often, it is quiet. It is impatience. It is the rush to move on before anything has truly been reckoned with. Rage burns fast and leaves little behind. Judgment lasts longer. It stays.
There is an end to everything, yes — but not all endings are marked by dates. Some things end only when we choose to do something new.