Please, Please, Please, Don’t Prove I’m Gone

Love, your Digital Hub

By Jo Maline Mamangun and Kristian Timothy Bautista

“Para sa batang ako, ‘dyan ka na lang, hindi na masigla rito,” are words that I endlessly repeat in my mind while I try to fill the blinding white light and ceiling above me with joyful memories. Lying here in a thin, pale-blue gown, I irk at the relentless ticks of my heart rate monitor and baffle at the sight of the needle piercing my veins. Needless to say, I’m one whiff away from dying if it weren’t for the nurses and doctors who regularly monitor my state.

Gone were the days when I was a lively Digi Hub. Citizens would approach me to rant about their terror professors, confess their crush, and vent out their struggles in life. They talked about everything from important community issues to lighthearted and silly musings. Each confession made me feel significant — like I had a vital role in representing them. Now, I yearn for good days of purpose and connection with them.

On the patient’s record

I can barely remember anything now. It has been four years, three months, eight weeks, twenty-two days, fifteen hours, thirty minutes, and twelve seconds since I last heard stories from my kababayan from our cherished town of UPeM. It feels like a distant memory now — children boasting about who’s cooler, teenagers from other towns sneaking in just to confront their exes who ghosted them, and gossip spreading like rumors about our “hot” former SK chairman having a secret affair. Ohhh, how I’ve missed juicy gossip!

“Doctor, per the medical record, the patient’s life was full of lively discussions and open emotions, growing up in an environment where people freely exchanged thoughts and feelings, both openly and anonymously,” the nurse reported. Woah, I didn’t know that you could find that information in a medical record. But indeed, I did grow up in a community where discourse was served on the table from breakfast until midnight snack time. As the self-appointed facilitator of many such discussions, I take pride in fostering meaningful conversations that mold perspectives and experiences.

Once upon a time, I was a Disney Princess hub of information (often gossip), critiques, and rallying cries. I was once the heartbeat of the citizens. But now, here I am, gasping for air, much like the chaotic politics in my hometown.

It’s giving vertigo

While checking my vitals, I overheard the doctors, one time, discussing that some severe vertigo sufferers are bedridden, like me. They said it’s a sensation where your surroundings spin in circles. That hit home because it feels a lot like what’s happening in my community. Participation in our town’s discussions and activities has dropped so much that there’s almost nothing left to facilitate, which is why I am in this state right now. And in my absence, community involvement and engagement keep decreasing.

It’s a vicious cycle, much like the spinning circles of vertigo, where one problem perpetuates another.

Then there’s our local government and the disheartening state of citizen representation. Remember when I said that the politics in my hometown was chaotic? Well, chaos still persists, but now, apathy is a significant factor — only a few citizens (three, to be exact) are willing to step up and run for positions. People seem disinterested or disillusioned with the whole process and its responsibilities. And when someone does dare to run, few bother to vote, exacerbating the sense of disconnection and indifference.

Our community is trapped in a cycle of neglecting its own future, where each missed opportunity for engagement further deepens disengagement and silences voices.

Plenty of reasons, I can think, why this is happening. Sometimes, it’s because administration policies don’t reflect people’s interests, leaving us feeling disconnected. Other times, there’s simply not enough space for meaningful dialogue. Political divisions also distract us from what truly matters. Moreover, without visible projects that improve lives, it’s easy to lose hope in effecting change.

And then there’s me, lying here, waiting for the light to fetch my soul, rather than proving that making a difference is still within reach. (After all I’ve said, I think I’m experiencing vertigo now. Nurse!!!)

Doctor’s prescription

In the twilight of my last few breaths, I lie down and slowly start to see the light. Could this be the end? Or is it just the ceiling light? Seems like the latter.

As I lie here, I realize my sickness mirrors my community’s decline. It’s not just me who is immobilized; UPeM is also dull, quiet, and inactive. I’ve long yearned for a quick recovery, but how can I do that when my current state reflects my community’s state as well? Darn it, our interconnection’s starting to feel like a curse now!

Thanks to my unpaid hospital bill, the nurses are motivated to say that my community is no lost cause. “We can finally discharge you as long as you follow your treatment plan! The doctor said you have to count on UPeM folks so you can get better sooner,” one of them said.

To break this curse, the prescription says that my kababayan and I should exercise proactiveness 3x a day — umaga, tanghali, gabi or until the office hours ended. We should practice basic civic duties of engaging in the happenings around the community.

In the morning, I should ensure the proactiveness of my parents in taking care of me. Speaking of, I think it’s time to have new foster parents — citizens from the newer UPeM generation who’ll breathe life into me. The doctor said people won’t stick around with me if I’m just stuck here in bed, so my new parents should keep me active and fit by buzzing relatable and exciting content.

After lunch, I need to connect with the various publications and independent orgs that make UPeM thrive. These groups are key to my recovery since they can help introduce me to the youth who don’t know my name (and legacy) yet. Plus, they can include me in their events (for clout) to boost citizen participation and get me back on my feet.

All in all, consistency is key to getting me back to my own shape. At first, the doctor’s prescriptions sounded pretty out there and way too idealistic, but I remember our community’s motto — Honor, Excellence, and Service. Then, I realized their suggestions should be second nature for UPeM folks. Besides, everybody knows in this neighborhood I have a big impact on getting the people involved and engaged.

Hence, for my younger self, I take back what I said. You can’t just stay there; you must move forward and keep going. They need our help.

To my dear parents, hear my plea; the community is counting on me. Breathe life into me once more, restore the vitality needed to reignite the cultural flame that has dimmed over the years. With your touch, I can be a catalyst for change, an inspiration to those awaiting resurgence. Revive me once again, pass the torch, if necessary, and I shall become a powerful tool to resurrect this forgotten land — a community of dreamers, scholars, and leaders committed to standing up and serving, a sight that may have faded but is not lost.