This piece was first published on on February 18, 2012.


As the endorphin fades from our post-Valentine daze, think for a moment of the broken-hearted. In Zagreb, Croatia they can go to the Museum of Broken Relationships and find consolation in familiar objects, various artifacts of regret. A torn wedding dress perhaps, a broken ceramic hurled at a moment of bitter reproach, or discarded gifts that once held the promise of indelible affection.

Or they can come see me. Woohoo! Have I got some artifacts of heartache right here myself.

The San Francisco branch of the hacker underground ANONYMOUS turned over to yours truly some very intimate online love letters, private emails, that it purloined on V-Day. Consequently, these touching messages never reached their intended recipients. The sentiments they express must, therefore, remain unrequited. Before I send them to that museum of losers in Zagreb or to Inquirer agony aunt Emily Marcelo, let me share them with you:


Forgive me, precious Lady Justice. It’s not me. It’s you. It’s you they want to strip of your chaste blindfold of impartiality, and me they want to emasculate like a love-besotted Samson who stands naked before vengeful inquisitors. Though they flay me with their presumption of guilt I remain unbowed, sustained by my dedication to the separation of powers, especially at this time, and to the system of checks and balances. For a man is poor of character if his checkbook remains unbalanced. For you and the independence of the judiciary I am ready to become a martyr, to give up everything—my penthouse, my undeclared properties, even my UST doctorate. I will fight for you, my beloved Lady Justice, to the last digit of my peso accounts.—Your CJ Corona


My dearest rose of the defense counsel, Karen Jimeno. We really must stop meeting like this, arguing over nuances where none exists, doubting each other’s causes of action. Look at the two of us, strangers in many ways. My tender regard for you has been estopped, denied of even your interlocutory affection. My angel, what do you see in a man like him, who is so full of secrets and surrounded by intrigue, false honorifics and mysterious wealth? Yet he has the best of everything—the best legal mind of the Iglesia Ni Cristo, and you, a beauteous maiden of Harvard pedigree, who can beguile the television-viewing public with fleeting a smile and a coldhearted rebuttal. Why must you be the one to defend him? Why can’t you be on our side, with our more deserving cause? Why? Why? There must be no God! If only I can tempt you to take a bite of the fruit of the poisonous tree. You can habeas my corpus anytime, just send the affidavit. O how I long to depose your most intimate thoughts so that I may learn to suborn Cupid in bringing you to my—our–side.–Your secret admirer on the prosecution panel


Hello, Coro. Dearest, it’s not you. It’s me. The torment you now endure is really meant for me. Your suffering and crucifixion ultimately will be mine, give or take three months. Thank you for diverting the inquisitive world’s glare from your suffering friend, even for just a moment.  Please know that I don’t regret the appointment we made that midnight. It cast suspicion on the nature of our relationship, but I did it from the very bottom line of my heart. Mikey’s, too. Since that fateful hour, you’ve been my rock, my knight in shining armor. Alas, despite your chivalry, I could not elope in time, and am now a common prisoner of powers that be. Sadly, I don’t have hair long enough to weave and throw down to you so you could clamber up and rescue me from my lonely tower. Nor is my neck strong enough for the endeavor. So remain strong. You’re a man of no ordinary means. You’re another stone in my edifice. You the man, dude.–Glow


Sweetness, honey, I am unfortunately, uh, unable to, I’m not prepared to present evidence of my deep love at this time. Please pardon this awed and tongue-tied suitor. Love, may I request an adjournment of this assignation until such time that I am able to prepare a proper elaboration of said emotion? – Rep. Niel Tupas Jr.


And where did you learn romance, my dear bumbling prosecutors, from Mills & Boon University? I give you a 3—pasang-awa. How many times will I be forced to show that I am better than all of you? If I die right here it’s not because patay na patay ako sa iyo—it’s because YOU ARE STUPID. I’m falling head over heels due to my blood pressure–300/150 as a result of your INCOMPETENT COURTSHIP and your INEPT PLEADINGS. “Court”ship, “pleadings” get it? Here’s another one:  Why is President PNoy’s heart like a Swiss bank? Because he’s saving all his love, and it remains a secret– ALL OF OUR BANKS SHOULD BE LIKE THAT for the sake of capital formation, MORONS! I’m going to see my doctor now, linte, nagaistar na ako sa clinic.–Sen. Miriam Santiago


My beloved Senators, as a go-between, in the undying spirit of that romantic hero Cyrano de Bergerac, I serve as the voice of my colleagues in the prosecution, entreating you to look kindly on our sincere efforts to be worthy of your expectations. We truly believe that the CCTV tape we will show you is a genuine token of our conviction and has not been tampered with in any way. A videotape may not show everything that needs to be shown, but it can provide a graphic, raw, and penetrating depiction of what truly transpired. Believe me, I speak from experience.—Rep. Rodolfo Farinas


My darling, my Small Lady, what happened? Wherefore art thou? You were supposed to show up in the CCTV meeting me in flagrante delicto, handing me your precious missive. But you were nowhere to be seen. Have you changed your mind? Are you just a figment of my imagination? Please don’t break my heart. This hit song of Anita Bryant is D-D-K8d 2 U:

“I realize the way your height deceived me

With legal tenderness Xeroxed at the start

So take away the bank slips that you gave me

And send the ones we told the Senate of

Paper records, paper records

Oh how real those records seemed to be

But are they truly, real bank papers

Or just imitation logs for me?” – Still hoping, Rep. Reynaldo Umali


O august body of our fevered desire. We beg your forgiveness for we did not mean to cast doubt on your virginal purity. Never did we mean to imply that your love could be bought for P100 million (each) by the President. O please, we implore you. Our hearts will break if you hold us, your most avid suitors, in contempt. Para niyo nang awa.The Defense Panel


P.S. Dear Lady Justice, I also meant to say “to the last cent of my dollar account,” it just slipped my mind that I had one. Sorry. And, I also didn’t mention my time deposit CDs because I withdrew them already. Anyway, love you just the same, okay?—Your CJ