THIS time, my fingers finally have the strength to crack open my own fortress of secrecy.
Out of bigoted spite and bitterness, I am forcefully shoved in a truck. I find myself gasping for air inside a cell; leaving me suffocated from the scent of fear and solitude.
Beyond bars, I could hear others—people who are forsaken like me. They shout words that feed my hope and I chant them back repeatedly; almost like a prayer.
We unite and march on the same road to end bigotry. Together, we hold our flag—the mark of our pride and identity—to raise it with no shame dragging by our tails.
However, struggling to come out is only one of many to defeat. I know now that the real battle lies within the streets against brutes who wield their power with savagery. Using only our voices and a few sign boards, we parade on the streets with barrels pointed at us.
We fought with all our strength to have a taste of liberty, only to be dragged by vicious hands caging us behind bars.
Even if they rain bullets and strike thunder upon our parade, they should fear the rainbow that will emerge even after violent rainstorms.
We fight so that we no longer have to gasp for air—for freedom. F PATRICK V. MIGUEL