Fun and games And just like that, he was gone.

After years of whispers of imminent arrest warrants and snide insinuations about Interpol cooperation, it finally happened. The strongman president who blustered and boasted from an impregnable fortress of power, who belittled and insulted investigators and human rights lawyers, a man whom we thought was miraculously protected by capricious and incomprehensible gods despite the multitudes of criminal accusations leveled against him, was unceremoniously dumped on a plane and then whisked off to another country, there to face murder charges.

What grand drama it was. What nutritious fodder for influencer vids and viral memes. Armchair analysts came yapping to the fore, and everyone was suddenly an expert. All the old media statements and press conferences were suddenly dug out and reposted, and sure enough, we were reminded of the brash promises of Senators Bato and Padilla that they would be the first to hie off to The Hague if their big boss was arrested.

Many important questions were asked and answered. But really now, we’re losing so much more vital minutiae in the general hubbub. My inner gossip was left unsatisfied by the dry reporting from the news outlets, all pretending to be dispassionate about the whole messy conflagration.

For example, who owns that private jet that swooped in and spirited Duterte away? Why was it late? Shouldn’t it have been ready in the morning, even before Duterte’s flight from Hong Kong arrived? Why was it only at night that it took off, managing to bequeath us a few hours of primetime footage of pizza deliveries and cellphone head-banging drama? That jet owner should be berated for almost-breach of contract!

Who were the pilots that flew Duterte to the Netherlands? Did they realize how important the cargo they were smuggling out was? Should we give them medals for not crashing the plane in the Middle East? Do they know they stand accused of kidnapping by the Duterte forces? Are they good-looking?

Who were the Filipinos chanting for Duterte’s return outside the Netherlands prison? Do they all have valid migration papers? Should they be investigated for complicity with the accused? Are they against humanity? Why are they all recording themselves beside Sara and Harry Roque?

What’s the next move from the Sara camp? I mean, aside from the legal jargon she’s been spouting. Those sound mighty impressive, true, but girl, they have no direct relevance to the case of papa. Sovereignty? Due process? Good Bar questions for those studying Law these days. If the examiner frames her question right, she will be able to tell if the Bar examinees were really reading the assigned caseload, or whether they got mesmerized by the Duterte legal theory smorgasbord.

What does Sara Duterte have left in her arsenal? She’s already broken ranks with the Marcos family. She’s already threatened Prez BBM with assassination. What else is left in her playbook? People Power? Aside from sporadic indignation rallies and noisy motorcades that just annoy other residents, she may not muster enough people power to save the day.

What will Sara do in the Netherlands? Decide strategy? Hire firepower criminal lawyers who can defend her father and who desperately need the money or notoriety that they won’t mind being pilloried by the international human rights community for defending a mass murderer?

Perhaps she should just have stayed back home, and given elder sister advice to her younger siblings. At least, they could have avoided being ridiculed for nose jobs and baking their brains in public. Advice like: it doesn’t matter how good the crap is, it’s still crap. So shut up.

But what a letdown to find out that the next hearing is still in September. What will we do for entertainment while the months tick by? Shall we apply for Schengen visas? Shall we suddenly develop intense desires to visit The Netherlands? Shall we investigate who is rumored to have played Judas amongst Duterte’s inner circle, and convinced him to return to a waiting arrest warrant?

Such fun in the Philippines. Words that maybe we shouldn’t broadcast too loudly over by the cells at The Hague.