Chapter 2: The Syndicate Moves

The story I’m about to tell you may or may not be true. After all, I am just a girl babbling under water.


 

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A plan was laid out. He had to revise any time and he knows this. He sat back and for a minute, allowed himself a moment of silence.

Self-confidence is important. You can not undertake a giant task without believeing you could do it. Armani is considered new to this ‘practice’. There were ‘hitmans’
larger and far more experienced than he is but most of them were made to lie low under the new scrutinizing eyes of the SEC. They’re getting tighter now, the taipans are aware, and so they need a relatively new face that can be overlooked.

Arthur started buying shares the next day, very slowly about once or twice a week, carefully not moving the price. He never declared this, ofcourse. It was through different accounts that weren’t named after him.

The process took time, this was the only way they can creep in undetected. After a while, Armani joined the buying but liquidity was forcing an issue.

A stock like this is usually asleep and in tight consolidation for a long time. Do we have sellers? Will they sell enough within the limits of the stock price movement
we need?

Carefully, Armani and Arturo kept buying.


 

One afternoon, Armani picked up the phone and decided it was time he started calling his friends. As days went by, he called in more, and those he called, called in
more of their own.

The process is very selective and the information spread like thick paint on concrete. Only those tight-lipped and patient can get a call, the two most important criteria. Unless they’ve decided to make noise, will the noise appear.

Everything about it is control. Shares must be bought, word must be kept, a foundation must be set for market manipulation. Every one he called had to be invested enough in the situation for them to stay loyal throughout the process because Armani, above all, must remain in command. He must be able to whip the prices up without the original core of buyers abandoning their shares.

A month or two after, Armani made another call.

 

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He needed more help gaining control of the large portion of public shares. They had their first run of parabolic and now the public is jumping ship. It was almost year end. A lot of things had happened, the market turned sour. Every one sold every thing for no good reason, every expert in the field predicted doom. There was no comfort anywhere and no safe haven for even the conservative investors. Armani has not even met the minimum amount of how much Arthur and him had agreed upon so in a desperate attempt, he decided to act.

This was the first time he was going to make dealings with this particular syndicate. He’s heard about them before and was aware of their existence but he didn’t exactly understood what motivated them to stick to one another. He heavily relied on that fact that in the stock market, at the most basic of levels, money talks.

His unfamiliarity with them by itself is a risk, but Armani has a job to be done and for whatever it was worth, it may be worth the try.


 

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Philip and Richard are two self-respecting men in their 30s who grew up quite well. They enjoyed the privileged life sheepishly, a little apologetic but at the same time, unashamed. They were born into it. Ilustrado.

This didn’t make them self-entitled, although at the back of their head, they’re sure of what they could do with their influence if they decided on it.

Philip was a bachelor and Richard was the kind of family man dedicated to his new life. They didn’t live life noisily, they did their own thing. If I were to conclude on how their syndicate was formed, it was because they were in a place where everybody knew everybody and their culture dictated protecting each other.

The Syndicate, for our convenience, we would rather call The Maskara Camorra. I named them this way for personal reasons I’d rather not divulge. They usually move in a group although individual trades are not unheard of, their big fish take-homes are still from a result of their syndicated attacks.

The Maskara Camorra is pretty much a known group. I would be sure that you’ve heard of them atleast once. The people actually in it, though, remains a mystery. The group contains a very tightly-packed highly-selected individuals of about 10 people. Each and every one of them brought something to the table. Either with connections, money, or power. Every person commanded their own following and influence.

These 10 people represented the core of a large movement. Once they’ve decided, they cascade it down to their own number of traders who followed their every word and
advice. The hierarchy inside was clear though, and some of them are more prone into exposing themseves intentionally. This was their play. One or two were the master
strategists (obviously the fulltime traders), a few of them have a slight background on fundamentals, a half of them were the dedicated hypemen (those who have a large
following) but each and everyone were chartists. Their indicators vary from one another, but they all bow down to what their strategists say. I suppose, in the event
of group trading, their individual TA skills are more useful in planning their own exit.

The most important part of it all, however, is how loyal they are to each other and that’s how the syndicate remained solid.


 

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Richard was at the cafe called Benni’s having a cuppa in the middle of the trading day when he got the call. He’s seen Armani around, he’s been in this trade long enough to have met him once or twice in a passing moment. He never really dug into him deeper than that. Only a few nods of acknowledgement and both men moved on.

“I need your help.”, Armani’s voice rang at the end of the line. What help? Richard wondered. “This is highly classified ofcourse.”

But it was a rule, that in such proposals, no one brought up the possible implications. They trusted each other to know what hot water they’re entering if a deal was agreed upon. No one wandered on that area. It was simply… implied. Business is business.

By the end of the phone call, Richard was already in the middle of messaging Philip. In a matter of minutes, the whole Maskara Camorra was notified. The offer was both very attractive and very risky. The only time they’ve ever participated in a jockey play was with one of Camorra’s close associate who owned his own brokerage.

This time is different. Armani is a man they barely knew the background of and he was remains largely untested. He was asking for millions of their own money and
trust. In exchange, a lucrative return of atleast 10,000%.

He took another sip of his coffee, now cold and un-appealing. He barely noticed it. Absorbed with his thoughts, he wondered with grim thoughts, why he never really
took more notice of Armani before.

 

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Armani played it cool. He told Richard as factual as he could with little details of the execution. And as much as he needed help, the last thing he wanted in this art
of negotiation, was making it look like the plan would not work without them.

He knew, however, how much help it would be if he got the Camorra to work with him.


 

Dao likened himself as the underdog of the Camorra. He was relatively new to trading but he became instantly fanatic. He never seemed to slow down ever since. He has the energy of a jack rabbit.

He was a small, slight man who was painfully shy in person and around girls. In trading, however, he was a different person. Confident, loud, and slightly cocky. What
every one in Maskara Camorra understood though, is how Dao is their most skilled hypeman. Constantly, they’ve seen him charm market veterans into teaching and taking
him in, and he’s started a following of his own men with much larger portfolio size than him.

The moment the offer was made, Dao was ready to jump the gun. He was always that way. It was almost like the trading gods treated him differently with whatever bad luck he had from the women he pursued. Well, he thought, he’d rather be rich now.

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The girls will come. Eventually.

 

The equilibrium was disrupted. The whole Maskara Camorra started giving their inputs on the chart. Every one was 50-50. Who was Armani and how good is he with his word? Dao didn’t care. His eyes were on the price. If 10,000% was the price, then that’s what he wanted. He was the first to place his bid.

Next was Richard and then, finally, Philip. In the end, the whole Maskara Camorra have some bit of shares.


 

“My brokers are House 43, House 44, House 45.” Richard messaged Armani.

At the end of the day, they were top buyers, and the stock remained a lovely green on the massacre of red.

“Good”, Armani said. “We’re only just beginning.”


Hello, every one! I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did writing it! I have to write in-between trading and working. I have to pace myself with this though because the next chapter is called Celeste Gets Involved.

I hope you’re all trading well. 3rd liners are flying as we speak, and heh. Between you and me, that’s our favourite, isn’t it?
See you around. 🙂

Forever yours,
Celeste

Something different now but pretty good nonetheless:

Chapter 1: A Deal is Made

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The story I’m about to tell you may or may not be true. After all, I am just a girl babbling under water.

But from here, I see.

Oh do I see.

Every one wants to be a part of a jockey play, an insider tip, or a syndicate moving as a group to reign. Not every one has the privilege to witness it firsthand.

I have.


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Have you ever noticed how quiet it is right before an earthquake? And then suddenly, the world shifts.

A man, unapologetically nondescript, probably in his 40s left his morning table that day. He knew it was going to be a big day.

He kissed his wife and kissed his kids. “I’ll be back late tonight.”, he said.
A typical family man with graying hair.

Outside, under the scrutiny of the public, he was always in his suit. He had an image to follow and a position to maintain. Even if he did look quite forgettable, he knew this to be his advantage.

Market makers do not want to stand out and be remembered.


 

It all begins with a decision. The decision from the biggest man in the corporation and the necessity to have things done.

Did they just say dreaming is free? Only by the dreamers. The people who ever took action knew the price to pay for dreaming. Sweat, blood, tears, grit, and sacrifice.

And a dozen of prayers whispered in between nervous faith.

According to his contacts, this was the man to talk to. The stock market is one of the best ways to raise funds for his company, and his company was expanding rapidly. He wanted to tell the man this, in between his growing anxiety, as he patiently awaits his arrival.

He looks young for a CEO, but that only partly concealed that he was not. When he dipped his head to think, his age reveals himself, not with how he looked. But the lines appear, years after years of facing intricacies only a very small group of elites could understand. After all, he wasn’t known by his friends to relax.


 

The sky was the good kind of cloudy that day and there was the kind of breeze that made you want to walk around the Central Business District. In fact, he almost didn’t mind if it rained a bit. As much as he was nervous, he couldn’t help but feel quite excited as well. Business is business, and he’s been doing this for years.

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The jazz playing from the surround speakers provided their usual soothing relief. The coffee shop, even during lunch hour, had a controlled environment to it. Precisely why he chose it.

A man with grayish hair walked in the establishment. He scanned the surroundings a bit and stopped right when he saw him.

It was not hard for him to locate the man they call Thunder. He was lean, smart-looking, and was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit.

“Arthur”, He said. As he walked across the room to greet him.
Arthur stood up to shake his hand stretched in anticipation. “Senyor Armani.”

He had a firm handshake.

An hour and 2 cups of coffee later, and the deal was sealed.


 

Armani liked the gentleman. He reminded him of himself on a different light. They both rose up from struggles that could have only been overcome by courage.

“I want you to jack up my stock.”

Armani knew what he was there for but he still needed to hear it.

The first thing he wanted to know was whether or not the plan have something sustainable in it. Armani knew that if you watched closely the DNA of superstocks, the big movements happened before an announcement was made. Again, technical analysis started a Question, and the fundamental analysis supplied the answer.

But first a question must be asked.

“Yes”, Arthur said. “A lot factors are in it. In a few months, speculations will help you pump it up. History knows how my company’s stock can perform during this… ‘special’ phase in our country.”

He nodded in understanding. He’s been around the market long enough to understand what the man meant.

“Anything else?”

Arthur smiled. “Well,” He said enigmatically. “It doesn’t rain very much but we have big friends in  Asia.”


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The market makers, in my limited knowledge of this, do not usually lurk social media. Only a very few number does. This man, however, is well-positioned to do what he does. I’d rather not talk about where he could be found, as the people who need him already know how to. If you don’t, then you have no use for him.

He understood TA and FA as if it was his dayjob. Maybe it is? (Hmmm.) He’s been strategically chosen to execute this and he has been doing it for a while now- A hired gun. And we all thought hired guns were brutish and gun-wielding.

In the information age, the market maker’s weapon is his knowledge, his position, and his charisma.

That day, Armani went home to prepare. It’s going to be a long time from now, but patience, after all, is a part of his job.

The wheels have been set in motion.

His wife asked him how his day went, and he told her that we could use a little rain.


 

I hope you all enjoyed reading this first part, I have to write this in parts as I have recently found out that it’s a long riveting story with many pieces.

 

The next chapter is called The Syndicate Moves.

 

 

Forever yours,
Celeste

12 ways the stock market has changed me

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One way or another, the stock market is life-changing. If it had not made you in for a rude awakening,then you’re not in it too deep.

I haven’t made the transition into full-time trading but ever since I’ve met Miss Market, life just isn’t the same. 🙂

So here, I’ve listed down 12 things that Miss Market changed for better or for worse.

1. I’ve decided I hate the weekday holidays.

First of all, we have SO much. Why does it have to be this much? That’s too much! The last time I ever benefited from this was when I was still at the university. My job is immune from holidays or typhoons. It doesn’t help that I’m an OFW too.

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What do you mean… l-long holiday?

What about the gaaame? We only get 5/7 in a week already, how could they deprive us of more! It’s turning my sleeper plays into Princess Aurora. Enough already!

What about making money? ;_;

 

2. What in the world is sunlight?

It must be mysterious to be outside during the day. Traders are either trading during the day, and studying for their next during the night. By the time it’s off hours, the sun is setting. Facebook, 9gag, reddit, youtube makes it so much worse.

The sun, we hatez it

I have a severe case of Vitamin D deficiency that my doctor prescribed supplementation.

And just in case, you’re wondering, it tastes exactly like hard liquor. Woohoo all you hedonistic party animals! Now we can pretend we have a night life too!

3. Cents never meant so much until now.

Paying for 90 cents difference in real life at its best is simply meh. It just doesn’t matter! That’s why all clothing apparels are piced at xx.99 php because we don’t mind the darn little cents.

Bought at 9.1, every one else is at 9.60ish

In the stock market, however, the difference is so crucial that buying at 2.05 and buying at 2.96 is almost like trasversing from Laguna to Katipunan. There’s the universe squeezed in between their spaces, or atleast, that’s how it feels.

I have renewed respect for this, and I’ve realized how much tiny things can mean so big at a proper perspective… Or volume. 😉

4. I stopped seeing normal bar and line charts the same way again.

My eyes used to glaze over charts, take in the necessary information, and leave. It’s no longer this way. I forget to even look at the elements and start looking for higher highs, lower lows, or some sort of divergence! It’s almost second nature.

I knew it, bearish divergence on Ber months for muffinland

I see a chart, I suddenly get alert and feel compelled to inspect. That’s okay, I guess, my trading profits will fund my psychiatrist’s appointments.

5. Sudden awareness of companies’ existence.

Before all of this, I understood companies in a very layman way. They’re those with tiny logos attached to their products and there’s probably about 5 people who are very rich because of that. Oh, their factory must be somewhere down south! With lots of steels and workers wear white jumpsuits and face masks. It’s funny now that I think about it.

Now, every where I look, I can almost identify which corporation runs an establishment. I automatically inspect their business and critic it if I see their store empty as if I was ever trained to have the right to do so!

“Ah, masarap itong bagong chichirya ng URC ah.”

 

Which inevitably leads us to…

6. Patronage of the stock’s business

I remember how a seminar I’ve attended served Jollibee meals. I was a fundamentalist back then, and I was extremely happy with the the choice. “This is definitely going to help JFC, kailangan lumipad sya sa Monday!”. How cute and innocent. :p

Speaking about newbie thingimajigs, one of the funniest things you’d ever feel was a little bit of self-entitlement.

7. Sudden urge to walk in on a store and say “Hi I’m actually a shareholder of this company”

I wanted to do that when I was new, while ofcourse, patronizing the business. I wanted to waltz in FamilyMart, order their tuna onigiri, and whisper, “May shares ako dito sa employer mo” wink wink.

I could have gotten dirty shady looks but well! All is bliss in the beginning!

8. You adapt to the culture

I think the biggest culture shock I’ve ever experienced isn’t even about living in another country, it’s actually engaging with the stock market. After all, this is the 1% of filipinos educated enough to venture into the stock market and the old cows in it who are supposedly Ilustrados.

Imagine my surprise when I got to see the real thing. Men of “refined” breed engaging on their new roles as keyboard warriors. Intelligent men asking equally new stock market traders for advice. And old-timer, wealthy, traders consummated by greed.

I should’ve known they were all dead by now

It’s like walking in a gentleman’s club thinking the place is filled with high tea and biscuits of old London, only to find the establishment was just a certain kind of entertainment where gentlemen can stop being gentle and receive lap dances. Welcome to America!

However, you need to hit the ground running. It’s eat or be eaten. You can’t face a hungry panther in front of you and tell him it’s your first day in the jungle. After surviving with scratches and burns, eventually you begin speaking their language.

9. The language

I don’t know who made these language up or if they deserved to be thanked. I don’t even understand why we have to start talking like the very same kalye people who smashes car windows during traffic and then grabs your bag while threatening you with their pointy objects bathed with tetanus. “Getz?” Why, suddenly, are people placing too much letter H in their verbs?

If they have it their way, she would be Lhizah Sobheranoh

This is why we can’t leave the baby with Daddy all day. Men tend to make things work, in a crude way, and the invention of lace and tassels were probably brought upon by enough disapproving looks of someone’s wife or mother.

Anyway, men still act good enough around women’s presence even over social media (save for the very few who think it makes them cool not to– like highschool), in the end though, they hold much more sway and I can tell you right now what lambat, bakat, and ejak means along with a lot of other things. Not that it makes me proud.

Additional note to men: You’re all still cute in your little befuddled way, like when my father has to call my mother at her work because he can’t find the butter at the fridge (it was right in front of him).

10. The sudden urgency to repent for your financial mistakes

The moment I started reading about financial literacy and how Elite Daily was creating a culture of working our ass off our entire life for a few weeks or items of luxury, I never saw the world the same way again.

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you don’t say?

 

I was haunted by my nights of romanticizing living paycheck-to-paycheck thinking I was truuuly living it in my 20s when I stagger home in the wee hours of the morning after shopping and going out with my friends. Though I do admit it was really fun, and I wouldn’t have wished to live a life that didn’t go through tasting it like that. Reading financial books that make money through constant tough love of gloom and doom plus a whole life of chains and unhappiness, I couldn’t help but feel bad over the times I thought I “needed” a frappe or one more cute leather jacket “for that one special occasion”. (Edit: It never came.)

Repentance came harsh. There was no weaning off period. The moment I realized what I did, I acted hard and fast. Strict enough that I felt deprived even if all my needs were satisfied, because my wants were constantly satisfied before too– and now not a single one was met.

The problem with this is if your discipline has not really changed over night, it works the same way that crash diets do. In my case, I was able to carry it over, but had to fight off the huge amount of depression it caused me after all the sacrifices I made, I was still left with a big bill of loss.

Don’t overdo it, folks. Buy yourself the occasional lipstick.

11. Money gets less emotional.

Have you ever cut 200,000 pesos worth of money? For the seasoned ones, sure. For the newbies, we’d rather let the money rot in a dying stock for that sliver of hope that one day it makes a come back. “See the money isn’t really gone, it’s just temporarily unavailable.”.

I used to attribute every thing I made to my worth. This must be why I stretch myself on things I do, and never seem to get satisfied with my output. And though that pushes me to do great, there are things in life that we need to detach ourselves from.

Money in real life dictates your stature in it. Depending on how you look, the security guards at the mall would let you pass without a search. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth on what you have accomplished in life, somehow, because money enables… and consequently disables. We attribute our freedom to it and therefore become emotional.

I’ve never felt more stupid in my entire life

Money in the stock market is the same but we can not function that way. The only way you can trade efficiently is when you cut callously on misbehaving stocks and stop the mistake from disabling you. Like what I’ve been told, “You have to start thinking now that the money in your portfolio is just a way to keep score”. After all, if you let emotions rule you then maximizing gains and minimizing losses can not be done.

And finally, something highly personal.

12. Stock prices became the new standard of measurement of what I allow myself to buy.

I don’t know if any one’s been through this or if I’m part-crazy, part-hilarious. Back when I was an avid SSI believer, I couldn’t buy myself any expensive thing without computing how much shares I could’ve bought with the money (“Five hundred?! That’s a hundred shares!”).

I walked in on a nail salon and even if I’ve been there a hundred times before a new sense of annoyance grew when I realized 800 php for the luxurious mani-pedi would have costed me about 15-20 shares. Rip off!

So that’s it. I wonder if I’m alone on this one, hopefully not! Has the stock market changed you in any way that has– *gasp*– not touched me? Go ahead and send me a letter. 😉

Forever yours,
Celeste.

As always, my pleasure:

Ilustrado

I understand I’m an acquired taste. I am the red wine and cheese slices in your 20s and the sudden likelihood to choose a lounge sofa in beige. This is, however, a well-meaning letter that hopefully would be read by the lots of newblood in the stock market.

I do not condone wealth or wealthy people, because I am, for one, trying to be one– and we can not become what we hate. I applaud them. What I wish we could have a better understanding of, is that we must choose what path we need to model ourselves after, because like what they say, there are a million ways of becoming a millionaire.

And being born into it is one.

The Ilustrado.

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Disclaimer: This is highly directed to a specific type of people. I agree not every one is such, so please do not make an issue out of this.

The Ilustrado does not understand your struggles. Their problems are of a different set from yours, and I do not discount it because our pain levels are highly personal. In their world they are faced to believe that the utmost horrifying thing to do is to disappoint the standard their family name asks of them to bear. Every thing else is muted.

You worry about having enough to cover for dinner by Wednesday next week or if your children will be able to study medicine if they choose to. The rent is coming, the electric bill hiked, and every day, you commute to work. You sit with your body contorted and your butt cheeks half dangling in a crowded FX on the way to your job– and then somebody coughs. And coughs again. Alerted, you look at the offender, your graze sending daggers. You can NOT afford to get sick, you can NOT afford to rest, you can NOT afford to lose this job.

Your horrifying ordeal is hunger. Yours are inability to pay for education, inability to pay for hospitalization, inability to live your dreams, or even see Japan.

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Japan? They’ve probably been there last week. Europe about a month ago.

You see, they are blind to that. They find the idea funny of having to stick to your 100-pesos a day budget. This doesn’t seem to be a real, miserable undertaking to them… But for us who do, find the humor in it, but respect the grind that we all submit ourselves to.

They do not sweat like you do. They do not treat money like you do. Because they were born with it and if there was nothing they have produced, there was always more from their mother. their father. their lolo. their lola. Their uncle’s connections. Their auntie’s kumadre– oh she can get him in touch with the CEO so he can snag that internship or private meeting.

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But you… If YOU do not have anything, the pain lingers. Someone will have to get pinched. Someone’s sweat, someone’s sacrifice, just trying to make it work. If there is no someone, then you sit on that pain.

Ilustrados have a safety net and a foot in the door. Their resume do not have to battle it out with the mass, and their failures are considered “cute”. It does not mean they’ve spent their life-earnings from abroad and lost every thing.

They don’t have the same risk ratio like we do.
I can not blame them for their callousness with our losses. They do not understand our fight. They were not born that way, and so if someone tells them they have lost 300,000 over their recommendations, they shrug it off.

 

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“300,000! And..? What is he lumbering and blumbering about! Why that was just about how much we pay for leather luggages nowaday, don’t we! Hmp! Iyakin.

I can clearly remember the day an Ilustrado said, “Go, ask money from your OFW Auntie and buy this stock!” It was clear instructions. He said he was marginalized himself. The stock went downhill ever since. The price is trading a quarter of the price it was now.

 

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But there never was any apologies. No admission of mistake. But, rather, quick, angry, demands for continuous respect. RESPECT! Respect because he is an Ilustrado… and you are not.

You do not live in a big house, you do not own a fast car, you have not been sent to expensive schools. With this he demands for your ardent affection, an obvious cry of betrayal when you stopped. Old… and spoiled.

If you are not born with the advantages that he have, then why are you playing the game like he does? You do not have your own house yet, he probably has 5. When your money at the stock market drains, you feel it, and feel it well.

He does not.

But please. I beg you…
You do NOT need to listen to this Ilustrado, and he has no business telling you how to create wealth when he was born into one. Your struggles are unique from him!
Here’s an idea: Why not find someone who made it? There should be no problem at all. 80 to 86% of the millionaires are self-made.

One day, a dear friend of mine and my mentor was minding his own darn business and I was making some cake. All of a sudden, his peace was attacked by an Ilustrado losing his mind.

The Ilustrado tried to lord over with his threats, with his power. Oh, dear. I do not think he has really met the internet.

Let me help you with that, if you’re reading this… Threats do not work here. You can not just start name dropping every Tom, Dick, and Harry that you know of! And oh no, was that a case of libel waiting to be filed? How outrageously funny. I’m so sorry your right of birth has not been respected over the internet… Oops. Iyakin. 😉
I’m stepping down my foot on this one. I thought I would never write about you again, Ilustrado. Back then I called you the Orchestrator. But here we are and that’s just how it goes.

When the masked man was attacked, people rose up to defend him. I felt the protectiveness from The House. I wonder, how many are willing to do the same for the Ilustrado?

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And how many would mutter under their breaths ‘good riddance’ when he’s sick on his death bed?

The Ilustrado once again licks his wounds. All of a sudden, someone bested him in his game. Hard work beats his illusion of power. Miss Market made a wonderful equalizer. All his connections, all his power, could not outdo the hard work of someone born in a class he’s routinely looked down upon.

That’s when he started laughing again. Kusinero!, he said. As if this was the biggest insult he could chew and spit on.


 

Dear Ilustrado,

Have you seen Fight Club?

“Look, the people you are after are the people you depend on: we cook your meals, we haul your trash, we connect your calls, we drive your ambulances, we guard you while you sleep. Do not fuck with us.”

 

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To my dear readers,

Do not ask those who were born wealthy how to get rich because they do not know that. They know how it IS to be rich, but not how to become one from scratch. What will they teach you? Pure, random luck of birth? They were provided for. And though that is no flaw of theirs, they are poor mentors to follow.


 

And as this Ilustrado, who was so used to being above every one else, swimming with his privilege, tried to mock someone more than half his age, who built his OWN wealth from his humble beginnings– the joke is on you. After all your wealth and your education, what have you made for yourself? A man in his 20s, you say, a Kusinero you call him. Someone who lives so far away from your big city– HAVE BESTED YOU.

The joke is on you.
The world turns and the wheels of fate continue to roll. Even as we suffer, now presently, we know how to eat dirt and get up to survive. How about you? Can you do the same? If we were removed of the privileges of wealth, can you live another day like we do?


 

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A toast to us. The mass who were born to grind and suffer the weight of the iron rain when life sends out the storm, but with ambitions so big and so persistent our wings will grow and fly us out of here. The skies were never made just for the birds,

We will earn our wings and be free.

 


 

I’ve always enjoyed cooking anyway.

 

 

Forever yours,
Celeste

 

 

As always, my little treat. What I listened to while writing:

 

P.S. Write me a letter. <3

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