This is kinda late, it happened three days ago. But do indulge me. I can't get it out of my head. I need to say something about this.

Last Sunday, our family went to Dencio's (now named Fort Grill) to celebrate mine and my sister's birthday. Our birthdays are the same, August 6. She was born on my 2nd birthday. Since we couldn't go home this weekend because we have to attend to some things at school, our family went to The Fort for a pleasant family meal as an advance happy-birthday treat.

While I was in heaven eating my favorite seafood kare-kare, this guy approached my dad and shook his hand. He was old but had a certain air of nobility and intelligence. He commanded respect. He and my dad exchanged pleasantries. After a few minutes, the guy went back to his family and his sisig. I recognized him. Roilo Golez. Yes, the National Security Adviser. Mr. Here's-what-we-do-about-the-US-Iraq-thing himself.

Marjorie Barretto and husband Dennis Padilla, Sunday showbiz shows' current main target because of that entire Barretto clan brouhaha, were also at Dencio's. But it was really Mr. Golez who caught my attention. I couldn't stop looking at the guy. I was thinking, "This man shapes government policy. His decisions affect hundreds of lives!"

Encounters like this Roilo Golez thing happen a lot to me because of my dad. VIPs approach my dad all the time. They'd talk, I'd recognize the VIP, sometimes my dad would introduce me, and they'd leave. Leave me thinking.

My dad introduced me to Edgardo Angara in a hotel lobby once.

I was inside my dad's office at the Asian Institute of Management when finance guru Roberto "Bobby" De Ocampo peeked inside.

In these little catching-up sessions, I'd get introduced. But all I could do is give them a smile and my name. I don't really have the power to say anything. First, it'd be rude to interrupt them. These old men are very exclusive when it comes to their conversations. They hardly listen to teenagers thinking that all we think about are fashion and MTV. Secondly, these VIPs come and go fast. Right about the time I overcome my being 'starstruck,' they'd have already left. Duh, they're VIPs! They sure don't have time for a casual banter with people they don't know.

I find these VIP instances passed-up opportunities. I really have a lot to say to them. I have a load of questions for Mr. Golez. I want to debate with him the merits and demerits of the Philippines supporting the United States in this bloodshed that hurts humanity. I would have wanted to get inside Angara's head pre-election time to see what his intentions for supporting FPJ are. Get it first-hand. I want to know just how hellish it is to prepare the budget for a country that has so many concerns and not enough money from the man who does it-Mr. De Ocampo. I wonder if he gets sleep. Or if he dreams of numbers.

I wasn't able to do what I wanted to do and ask what I wanted to ask. And I regret it big time.

But I can still see a glimmer of hope. There's still some chance. There always is. My dad, as a man of power placed in a strategic position, has access to such kinds of people. If I am able to achieve what he has achieved and get to his status, perhaps I'd have enough opportunity to finally say the things that I want to say.

Here's the picture inside my head: VIPs would approach me. We'll do beso-beso. Then I'd say, "Hey (insert name), I want to tell you something." And they would sit there and listen. They would actually listen.

Trackback: Following this, my friend Blooey wrote about being StarStruck