Dear Ate Charo,

I'm writing you a letter because I'm a subaltern. Yes, we subalterns don't speak, but we can write. You see, I strongly feel that I'm interpellated by societal forces (ideological state apparashits, you call them but the term's dated) to consumerist (or capitalist, again, dated) tendencies.

Anyhow, maybe my position can elucidate the problematique of my story. I am a single, male, queer (sexuality is fluid), Catholic, higher lower class individual working as a blogger (or writer, for orthodox journalists) in one of the offices at The Fort. You may say that the circles I'm in is not bad at all, since I'm in the center geographically (Manila), spiritually (Catholic), academically (UP).

But that's not the point. My apologies if this letter is full of digressions, Ate Charo, because my writing self is abnormally separated from my speaking self. Is this heteroglossia? Or perhaps a type of Jungian neurosis? I don't know Ate Charo, I think you're annoyed with the switches of my linguistic codes by now. Perhaps I'm just afraid of Grandma Orly's belatedness syndrome. Help me to write myself, Ate Charo, because I'm attempting to come up with an epistolary poem.