What Losing Means

June 27, 2022 Opinion

For the first time, during the election period, I allowed myself to openly campaign for my chosen candidate, after not much pondering, I went for the choice closest to my heart.

I am a certified Kakampink, joining the bandwagon which I thought would tide me over victory, envisioning Leni Robredo for president and Kiko Pangilinan as vice president become my happy place for the months before the election.

I joined local groups with likeminded people with whom I become friends with eventually. We organized campaign sorties, went to the market to drumbeat our candidates, we marched the streets in support of our platform and yes, wore pink every chance we get to show the world.

I believed our team could win, especially after the Baguio rally which gathered the biggest crowd for a campaign rally in history. We lost. Painfully. With the 31 million thinking another was more qualified. Early into the night after the casting of votes, I knew there was not a fighting chance left for my candidate.

I fell silent, and busied myself with the wins of my candidates in the local elections, I was thankful my bets made it at least, masking my disappointment over the Leni-Kiko defeat. A few of my friends gloated, as their choice won top seat. I kept silent, allowing them the excuse of victory to become vile.

I have a high tolerance for conflicting choices, especially in politics and religion, I caution myself in sparking debates or arguments when these topics come up as I know the calibre of my friends and am left with no choice but to honor their choices. I did not have illusions of converting them to choose my candidates, I left them alone, to campaign for theirs and thankfully, they have done the same for me.

There is a solitude in defeat and after the massacre that was the elections, I found myself wanting to be alone and just chit chat with my daughter, who is also a Kakampink and campaigned heavily for the tandem of our choice.

Elie, the daughter of mine, is 19, a first time voter, who meticulously vetted her choices and made a tick-list. She campaigned house to house and had coffee meetings with friends she wanted to sway.

Needless to say, we both invested heavily into the campaign. We were both sad, shedding quiet tears amidst a slew of friends and relatives proud to be winners. We felt like losers.

At one point, she asked me how I could tolerate my friends who have different choices, referring to my sometimes loud kinships on social media. I said I just respect their choices, and as difficult as it sounds, it rings true. We argued a bit but as mothers and daughter usually do, we stood our ground and made our peace.

The loss of any election is always personal as choices made are close to the gut, making the defeat of your candidate a tinge more painful. But one cannot wallow for long, as life continues and we Kakampinks trudge on, keeping the loss near our hearts and trying to conjure a world without our envisioned leaders. So we won’t feel like losers.