Hidilyn Diaz saluting the Philippine flag after her win at the 2020 Olympics makes me sob uncontrollably
A Summer Olympics dispatch.
It was pretty weird watching the opening ceremony of the 2020 Olympics in 2021 from a Youtube livestream in the middle of July. Weird to see the 68,000 empty seats possess no other function than texture. Just details that line the walls of a steel dome that should have been the symbol of something. Something I can't name without it feeling trite and even untrue. An angry op-ed called the opening ceremony a dress rehearsal. I remembered my theater teacher, rubbing her temples, frustrated by anything less than perfect. In theater, you must exaggerate everything. "You are performing for the person seated at the farthest part of the venue," she scolds. "Make sure that even they can tell that you're smiling."
I read an article about how 8 out of 10 Japanese people opposed the Olympics. Heard they even organized into a bunch of well-mannered rioters who protested outside the Olympic Stadium in Shinjuku, that their chants could be heard in the silence. Not like I could hear any of it, their shouting. No chance at dead air over the banter of the hosts and their attempts at excitement. I waited for the Philippines to come out in their red suits. I watched our small party of athletes briefly wave the Philippine flag before the camera panned to the next party of hopeful athletes. I closed my laptop.
I decided not to care about this superspreader event. Funny how two years ago you could say superspreader and it wouldn't mean anything. Even now my spellcheck underlines it in dotted red: a word that doesn't exist. No patches yet for the pandemic lexicon, for the words that mutated overnight. Words with new meanings like surge, asymptomatic, and viral. Nobody should ever use the word viral anymore. Vaccines were for measles and rubella but now they're only for white people who have a choice. "Why do you think everyone here wears masks?" I ask Sofi while we waited for our train in Seoul last 2019. "I heard it has something to do with pollution."
Hidilyn Diaz took home the gold for the Women's Weightlifting 55kg division on July 26, 2021. You could forget it was also President Duterte's last State of the Nation Address. Forget about another speech he didn't bother to read. Ignore the invisible strings that hold up his corpse. In a pandemic, you'd rather forget. Save your mind's real estate for something. Something I can't name without despair. Something I can't name without longing.
Hidilyn won gold, Gisella messages. our first OLYMPIC GOLD??? I reply
I wonder when Hidilyn knew. There is always a point when a lifter knows they've made it. Was it on her first ascent after the clean, past her sticking point? Or was it after the jerk, two steps forward from her lunge to steady herself? Knees locked in place for a full second. A lift she knew was hers, a joyful sob already at her lips.
Her front and side referees unanimous. Three white lights at 127 kg. No red means it was the perfect lift. No room for doubt or protest. She drops the bar and clasps her hands close to her heart. Then to her lips like a prayer. She turns to her team at the back and lets out a scream. There it is, your Olympic champion. Denies China the gold and it goes to the Philippines. Enjoy this moment.
Hidilyn Diaz saluting the Philippine flag after her win at the 2020 Olympics makes me sob uncontrollably. The way her hand flies to her right brow at the drum roll of our national anthem in the perfect soldier's salute. A fact about her that I learned afterward when I wondered why she didn't place her hand over her heart like we were taught. The way we would back when we could still watch movies in theaters. I wonder if malls still hire someone to clean them, these red seats that serve no other function than texture. Gray matter in the real estate of our shopping malls.
I thought she was crying until I realized she was singing. You couldn't hear it, not from the illegal Twitter streams that first broke the news. You couldn't see it either from behind her black mask. You could only hear the anthem, the Philippine anthem. A song that called the Philippines the cradle of the brave. No other greater pleasure and honor is there than to die, for your sake. This is the first time in my life I have cried to Lupang Hinirang.
It's August now and there will be no closing ceremony for the Olympics. Athletes are required to leave Tokyo within 48 of completing their event. Just today new COVID cases in the Philippines surged to 11,021. All my life I have never cared this much about numbers. My parents cannot come home to the Philippines without quarantining for ten days. You cannot get an accurate PCR test until after five days of exposure. We are on lockdown for two weeks. The Philippines has four medals: one gold, two silver, and one bronze, the most we’ve ever had since 1932. Hidilyn Diaz won against her opponent Liao Qiuyun by one kilogram. She is 30 years old—my age. Our first Olympic gold medalist is a woman. Enjoy this moment, whatever it means. Who really knows when we'll feel it next.