Category: Manila

Everyone in the compound seemed awakened by the loud voice from the entrance. Even a nocturnal guy like me, who spends the wee hours of the morning watching tacky movies like Bruno and Borat, was moved out of bed by a man’s jovial yet familiar voice.

I was not mistaken.  It was ‘Kuyang Rey” (elder brother Rey), the buddy of my father-in-law, whose loquacious nature had made the people in the “barangay” think that he was good for nothing except for gossiping.

At first, what he was saying was confusing, but everything became clear when I heard the whole conversation between him and two of my uncles.

“We already have a ‘poso‘ (manual water pump), and it was courtesy of ‘Kumpareng Andong’ (“kumpare” is loosely translated as “peer”).”

“Also, just to inform you, since my ‘kumpare‘ is running for the seat of barangay captain, everything that we request from him will be granted.”

“Mind you, people, this is our opportunity.”

Once called  ‘barrio’, a barangay is the smallest administrative unit in the Philippines, headed by a ‘kapitan‘ (captain or chairman) and several ‘kagawads‘ (assistants).

All this news elicited excitement from the faces of my aunts and uncles. Some of them inquired if the candidate would be willing to donate a truckload of gravel and sand, hollow blocks, or even an entire roof for the house!

One even asked if, on the day before the election, Andong would seal his victory by giving every voter of Barangay Burgos five hundred pesos (about US$10).

Amidst the bewilderment, my cousin boasted that the other candidate could provide what this aspiring ‘barangay captain‘ could give.

‘Manong Tolome’ (the elder Tolome) can double what you’ve been receiving from your Andong,” Untoy (my cousin’s nickname) said with pride and a look that seemed to challenge Kuyang Rey.

“I heard that Manong Tolome shouldered the electric bill of the Tolentinos, provided all the bottles of beer during the birthday of Sidro, and this is the real kicker–he’s been giving a thousand pesos (US$20) to every single voter of Purok 2 (district #2) in our barangay.”

The statement caused quite a stir as well as excitement among my relatives. As for me, I was half happy to hear that Kuyang Rey’s family does not have to go to the neighbor to fetch pails of water to flush out their shit since they already have their ‘poso‘.

Although it was a big deal for them, I was sadder than happy.  Ah, I almost forgot that barangay elections would again take place in a couple of weeks.

The pomp and all too sudden generosity we only witnessed from the mayoral and congressional wannabes had already seeped into the barangay level.  It is just amazing, fucking amazing to witness how some kagawad and barangay chairman candidates could provide a poso or visit a birthday celebrant’s party and shower them with a variety of gifts.  They attend the funeral rites of a friend of a friend, meet and greet the elders, have pictures of them taken carrying a child or kissing a filthy old man, and whatever.

They visit you, shake your hands, and beg for your vote. Together with their so-called supporters, they roam the streets riding an ‘owner jeepney‘ equipped with loudspeakers playing a song by Inigo Pascual with modified lyrics to promote their advocacies—same old stupid scene.

What are their advocacies? It varies from very personal to general, but regardless of their advocacies, what they would do remains blurry and puzzling.

And let us not forget the one-liners of these “prominent” candidates. Their print ads read “Maaasahan mo” (Someone you can lean on), “Ipaglalaban ka” (I would fight for you), “Ang Tatay ng Barangay” (The patriarch of the barangay), “Kay Dodong, Panalo Tayo” (With Dodong, we are the winners), “Una Ka Kay Manang Tasya” (You are the priority of Elder Tasya), and other fascinating promises.

No matter how sweet and promising their one-liners are, they do not seem to meet or even exceed the standards of good governance.

A perfect example would be the one who campaigned on the slogan that he is “someone you can lean on”.  Leaning on, in the context of public service, is neither the ‘kagawad‘ who would provide the cases of beer during the birthday party of a barangay member nor the barangay chairman himself who would shoulder the sacks of cement for house construction.

“Someone to lean on” is a leader who organizes scholarship funds and livelihood programs. To ensure that the jobless are encouraged to join a business cooperative.  Every barangay member is taught garbage segregation and proper disposal.  That no one is seen consuming alcohol or smoking in public places, or even simply to espouse cleanliness and discipline, is to say that the barangay chairman is genuinely someone you can lean on.

“Ipaglalaban ka” does not mean that when a person is the cause of a brawl, all he has to do is to ask for the help of kagawad, and his wrongdoings would be tolerated and that he would be defended no matter how wrong he is.

When a candidate pledges that “he would fight for you,” he will defend what is morally right even if the deed is deemed unpopular.  Fighting for someone is fighting for the rights of the oppressed, whether he is your associate or not.

When someone claims that “he is the patriarch of the barangay,” he should see that his words and actions are acceptable.  He should take concrete steps to maintain the health and well-being of every barangay member by integrating medical missions –just like a father who wants all his children to be healthy.

He should not take sides during barangay hearings; instead, he should punish the wrongdoer.  The punishment should be like this: it comes from a concerned father who does not want his son to become the bane of the barangay.  The world has too many assholes already.

While the candidates enjoy the perception that the people appreciate them for their advocacies and promises, they appear to be ignorant of the long-term needs of their constituents.  They usually offer short-term and patchwork solutions to the same old problems that have been haunting and destroying Filipino values for centuries.

This is where I pity Kuyang Rey and most Filipino people. While the concept of self-reliance and the value of hard work.

A lack of money is no excuse for working-class Filipinos to rely on others, especially politicians. By giving Kuyang Rey’s family the poso, the candidate did not help him. It only made Kuyang Rey even worse.

After all, it is not the barangay chairman’s task to provide a family with a deep-well pumping machine; it is the job of the “padre de familia” (head of the family) to invest in all the essential things his family needs. It’s not the church, DSWD (Department of Social Welfare and Development), PCSO (Philippine Charity Sweepstakes Office), or other charitable organization responsible for one’s needs, but the person himself.

Instead of the poso, a well-meaning politician would rather coordinate with the water company so that everyone in the barangay would benefit, not only a few families.

Instead of construction materials, why not gradually help the person find a decent job to build his house from sweat?

Instead of movie passes to get the teen votes, a resource speaker can be invited to the barangay hall to give English proficiency classes.

‘Poso’ is suitable for only one family, but an efficient water distribution system benefits the entire community.

A hundred-fifty hollow block is good only for Aling Bebang’s comfort room, but a job opportunity would enable every father in the barangay to build a house of his dreams.

A movie pass or two would be a temporary escape from the harsh realities of life, but an English proficiency class could equip them with confidence in finding a job.

Ah, to hell with the shallow minds of these politicians. Politics is as dirty as a charcoaled rug.

As I wrote this, my drinking buddy texted me that Andong would come to our compound tomorrow to shower us with paper bills.  Lots of one depicts the face of a brilliant senator assassinated at Manila’s main airport in the early ’80s — the five-hundred peso bill.

Maybe the money is enough to buy me a pair of jeans, a cellphone ‘load‘ good for a month, or even wax and tire black for my dying jeep. After all, the entire barangay won’t even know if I sold my soul.

Nah, I’ll sleep all day tomorrow, and Kuyang Rey will never be able to wake me up, even with a megaphone.

He used to come often to our store/house in Baclaran (a ‘barangay‘ -smallest administrative unit of the government- in the then, town -now, city- of Paranaque, which is a mere 2.5 miles south of Manila) to visit his younger brother (my father) as well as to acquaint us with his latest interest — which was quite diverse.

Those years were in the 1970s and 1980s, when I was old enough to understand the things he discussed with my parents. It was also in those days that I was able to glean that he, not only was my uncle but also was my grandfather by co-sanguinity — his wife (whom we fondly called “Lola Paring“) being the aunt of my mother.

Most of the time that he was with us in Baclaran (and if I also happen to be at home), there was always a discussion -over cups of instant coffee- that centered on his vast array of interests: honey bees, silk culture, alfalfa, grapes, pigeon-breeding, vitamins, mushrooms, asparagus sprouts, oranges, and many other agri-related topics.

His interests and how he explained them to all of us were presented with such enthusiasm and persuasiveness that he was also able to convince my mother to sell the pure honey contained in ‘patis‘ (fish sauce) bottles in our store.

Every New Year’s Day, when he was still residing in Grace Park, Manila (part of what was then known as ‘Manuguit‘ or presently Jose Abad Santos Avenue in Manila’s Tondo district), our family made an annual trek to his house, as it was his birthday.

I used to recall those visits with great anticipation because they were one of those infrequent occasions when our store would be closed. Not only will we be free from store work for the entire day, but we will also always look forward to what Tata Fidel and his family will serve us that day with delight.

I especially loved the fried chicken, the “house special”, and the very delicious cakes and pastries they made.

I knew he was not a good cook, but it happened that one of their tenants in the mixed-apartment building they owned was a restaurant, and for a time, they also operated a small bakery in the same building. Hence, while there were plenty of good foods, “good talks” were also awash every New Year’s Day.

Growing up, he would badger me -as well as the rest of my siblings and cousins – to take up courses like orthodontics, X-ray technology, and baking, and constantly reminded me of the benefits of taking up short courses at trade schools like PCAT (the Philippine College of Arts and Trades, presently known as TUP, Technological University of the Philippines).

But what I remembered best about my Tata Fidel was his passion for exploring natural methods to stay fit, trim, and healthy.  It was a natural diversion for him, having been a successful businessman who operated a battery repair/re-manufacturing shop and then an auto parts supply store in Pasay City immediately after World War II ended.

He also ventured into other businesses, including a small bakery and a garment factory, after semi-retiring in the early 1970s. These were not long after he ensured that his family was financially secure by making some brilliant real estate investments during the years they still operated the auto parts shop.

He was so passionate about health and organic foods that he bought a parcel of land in Plaridel in Bulacan province (adjacent to the Tabang Toll Booth on the North Expressway), so that he could put his interests into practice.

There, he planted (or tried his best) grapes, mushrooms, and asparagus (these were not known to grow very well in the country’s tropical climate — much more, in very humid Metro-Manila at that) as well as a variety of crops common in the region.

The place was a proverbial gardener’s paradise, with a modest house—made of wood, bamboo, and concrete—surrounded by all the greenery. He even had a ‘mini-lab’ in the basement of that house, where he kept his collection of seeds and various plants, whose names I didn’t even know existed in the Philippines.

Those were the days I remembered my Tata Fidel best.  Except for a mild hearing loss that he remedied with the use of a hearing aid, he remained energetic, full of life, and still healthy, even in his early 80s. Still strong for his advanced age, he can still crush those bottle crowns with the force of his fingers, using only one hand, while I watched with awe. A feat I wasn’t able to accomplish at my relatively young age of around 30 back then.

The last time I had the chance to see him was in the late 1990s, a time when I was preparing to migrate to the U.S. I had the opportunity to accompany him to a drugstore to pick up some of his medications before he returned to Bulacan.

I did not bother to ask him what those medicines were for.  And, didn’t I notice any changes in his health? He was, for me, the same strong and health-conscious man, continually lecturing me on the benefits of natural foods and organic medicine.

This year, about the middle of February, he was gone. This led me to wonder, once more, about life’s real meaning—the whys and hows of creation and death, and why we, mere mortals, have to endure all these events that seem to have happened before—in a never-ending circle.

What are we living for?

I may not be able to come up with an intelligent answer over the course of my own personal odyssey…in my very own lifetime. But I’m sure of one thing: life’s memories, for as long as one lives, linger on.

And, I’m also sure that my Tata Fidel had truly accomplished what he was here on Earth for.

NOTES: The picture above is their family portrait with Tata Fidel on the extreme right (with dark glasses). From left to right: Tata Kiko (+ -this author’s father), Tata Amado, Nanang Terya (+), Tata Ambo (+), Lola Belang, the family matriarch (+), Nana Oliva (+), and Tata Fidel (+). Not pictured is Tata Mundo (+).

2016 Update: In late August 2012, the author’s father, Tata Kiko, also passed away at the age of almost 94.  He was born Oct. 12, 1918, in Hagonoy, Bulacan. 

2020 Update: Tata Amado passed away in Talavera, Nueva Ecija, Philippines, in 2017, while Nana Oliva died peacefully in her sleep — late July 2020 in Cerritos, California.