My Country is a Sad Place

I have always been envious of people who live in more well-off countries like the United States or Japan. Though not everybody can possibly claim to be rich there, they always seem to be: owning decent houses, driving decent cars and having decent money enough to buy grocery twice a week or plane tickets for a break in another country. Yes, I am envious because they are rich and because they can afford to stay rich.

When you go down that economic ladder of countries, you find those that are not often (if not at all) mentioned in movies or in the news, though they do grace the headlines once in a while. One such country is the one I sometimes consider a misfortune to call mine. Our government is a consistent entry in the Top Ten Most Corrupt in the World; our people who leave to work in other countries are not the doctors or the lawyers, they are the housemaids and the janitors; and the rest who stay are either dying to leave or clinging to what little is left of the dying concept of nationalism. Yes, my country is the Philippines. And my country is a sad place. A sad, sad place.

I could write about the string of governments that was the iceberg to our could-be-Titanic of a country. I could write about the series of administrations that had beautiful plans which later proved to be profligate endeavors. I could write about the succession of presidents that boasted of growth and development that we were not able to benefit from. I could write about the decades and decades of corruption, the billions of stolen money that taxpayers had worked hard for, the scandals of road projects and extravagant presidential dining expenses. I could write about all these, exhaust myself and still find no words adequate to give this whole barrage of facts justice. Our government is an inveterate failure of sorts, always promising to progress the sad present situation and ends up making it worse. I’ve no mind to defend it.

You would think that having a succession of weak inefficient governments for decades will somehow agitate our people into action. Indeed, it has. So much in fact that the lot of us packed our bags and moved out the country to look for more decent jobs. “There is no money here”, I would often hear from people who take up Nursing simply because they think this is the surest way to work abroad. Even rich people coerce their kids to study Nursing. Sure, you could bitchslap these people for being so materialistic but once you get into the details, you’ll find that there’s very little you can pinpoint on them. Karl Marx had said that material conditions determine consciousness and once again, he is right. Our people who work abroad are confined to the reality of their situation. Poverty written all over it. It is that reality, that thought of having no means of supporting your family that compels these people to allow themselves to be enslaved, or worse, maltreated by foreigners.

They are the ones who leave and then there are those who stay. Those who stay might be categorized in two: those who are dying to leave, waiting for the approval of their thrice-rejected visa and those who esteem themselves to be one of the few and very endangered species of nationalists left in the country. The former are those you find working in call centers, teaching temporarily or staying idly at home. They are the ones whose lives are uncertain, the ones who are always wondering if they will ever get something out of themselves. Then, there are the nationalistic ones. These are the people you find carrying placards and burning pictures and lighting candles and shouting on the streets. These are the people who fight for good governance, who rally for the betterment of the system, who march for justice. Students, church leaders, laborers and other sectors remain in this country to forward the change the rest of us are too scared to even begin. Amid that overpowering hegemony of music, movies, fashion and even philosophy and language, they are there to remind us that we have our own culture to like and subscribe to. They keep that dying flame of nationalism alive. If the rest of us stay as we are, passive and indifferent, then surely our country will lose its identity and we will all be what we are slowly becoming: bland and unoriginal.

I have not yet mentioned the most important sector in our country, the legs on which we stand on: the masses. There is a reason why I have not said anything about them. This is because I find myself inadequate, hypocritical even, to write about something I have no knowledge about. I cannot claim to have consciousness of what it’s like to beg on the streets, to sleep with your family on a trashy cardboard box, or to live in a cramped up hut feeling sorry for my children because I have nothing to feed them. I will not dare to write about having to sell myself on the streets, or having to steal that old lady’s necklace on the jeepney. I will not write about the ugly forms of poverty that I see, hear, and read everyday. No, that is beyond my ability to summon words. Poverty is beyond poetry or art. Nothing can make it beautiful; not a clever turn of phrase, not colors on a palette, not even that stoic smile people always attribute to themselves. Everything goes back to the government. If that part of the system is not remedied, then there can be no hope for the rest of us.
It is rather obvious that I have used only “Philippines” once and have not used “Filipino” at all. That is because I find it difficult to type the words and not feel broken-hearted at the same time. It is very hard to identify yourself with something that does not define you anymore. The word “Filipino” used to mean a person with principles, someone who is worth dying for. Now, it only means “domestic helper” or “prostitute”. The Philippines used to be a place of retreat, a green haven of unity, heroism, and love. Now, it is just a place of a worldwide hostage scandal, a country other countries are vigilant about. The Philippines is now the home of thieves, prostitutes and murderers. Yes, I am a Filipino. Occasionally, when I hear news about our country giving the world reason to think that we are stupid and foolish, I am ashamed to be called that way. Think me cynical, pessimistic or loathsome but I will not deny myself the freedom of declaring my disappointment in this country I have proudly called my home for twenty years.

Yes, my country is a sad place. But I have not let go of the hope that one day, I will take these words back and find something beautiful and happy to write about it again.

Full Moon

It was a full moon last night. We watched when it rose in the sky. It was sooo beautiful!







Photos from the Carolinian Jam. The Bands were good, the music was exhilarating but I was tired so I couldn't say I enjoyed it.

Things I Gained from the Fire

12 Midnight. Everybody was getting ready to sleep. I, myself, already was. That was when my roommate suddenly woke me up, almost screaming, anxiety-turning-panic in her face.

"Fire!"

I jumped from my bed immediately and rushed to the window to see for myself. Indeed, there it was. A mountain of black smoke rising from powerful fat flames. The fire was not significantly far so we immediately called the attention of our other boardmates. They all ran to the room and took a peek from our window with wide, worried eyes. We deliberated whether or not we should start packing ourselves. And the alarm decided for us.

Hurriedly, I grabbed everything I could set my eyes on. My laptop first, then my school uniform and some clothes. I even managed to snuck in my vitamins and my facial regimens. I stuffed everything in my bag in a huge lump of mess, wrapped myself in a jacket, forgetting to put on my bra and ran downstairs with everybody. We were not really in a state of severe panic, but thanks to the continuous ringing of the alarm, we were quite on our way there. I texted my mom and told her about it. She told me to do what I already had done. When we were finally outside, we saw five or more fire trucks lined up at the front of our dormitory. They were very huge so they couldn't fit in that small pathway that led to where the fire was. That had us more worried.

We watched as everybody else got up, clad in their sleeping garments and jackets, bringing several bags that must have contained what ours also did. I was feeling quite the journalist, even though I knew I'm not cut out to be one, so I took out my temperamental almost-ready-to-break-down camera and took a few shots of everybody.



Dimples (the girl crouching down covered in a blanket) and her landlady.






We were unharmed, thankfully.


The fire from our window.

We asked some of the firefighters but they couldn't tell us what caused the fire or how big it spread yet.

When we were assured that the fire was not going to reach our dormitory, we walked around and found ourselves directly in front of the boarding house that went ablaze. By then, the fire had already died down.

We were thankful we hadn't lost anything by that incident. In fact, I gained these very important realizations:

1. You can never know when terrible incidents like fires, flood and the like will happen. And when they do, you should be ready.

2. You can never get complacent. Even if the fire was a little far back from our dormitory, we couldn't brush it off and simply say "that will never reach us" . You can't be sure of anything.

3. Things are a little easier when you go through terrible things with friends. God forbid, if that fire had reached us, I'm sure I wouldn't be so bummed out losing all those shoes, clothes, etc.. than if I had lost all those mentioned things and not have someone go through the same experience. That sounds selfish but I'm sure we would find a way to laugh things off.

4. You should always be careful. Dimples, the girl whose room the fire started, woke up suddenly and found herself surrounded by flames. Survival insticnt told her to get out immediately so she wasn't able to bring anything with her except that blanket she was shivering in. Nobody knows yet what caused the fire but it was most likely caused by something that overheated.

5. Pray. It gives you a feeling that everything will turn out okay in the end.

Home

One of the best things in the world is waking up in the morning and finding yourself at home.

I've grown to love the city but I can never call it 'home' the way I always do with the province. This town might be boring and nothing ever happens here but I have always loved the silence, the solitude and the peace it brings to my soul. Being here is sort of like a detoxifying process. Living in Cebu clouds everything: my judgment, my common sense and sometimes, even the goodness that I was always capable of. When I am here, I feel cleansed, refreshed, like I've been reborn into the past and I have never grown up.

In here, I am always a child.

My mother is here and everything is free. I don't worry and I don't have problems and I can watch TV the whole day. I can sleep whenever I want and wake up whenever I want. I don't have to worry about silly things like money or looking good. I can eat fish and like the sun. I can hear the homely barks of my dogs, smell food cooking downstairs, see my mom coming and going from her room. Nothing can beat that. Not drinking sprees, not late night parties, not even shopping. I'd exchange all those for early breakfasts, star-gazing and staying at home all day.

I guess I'm not ready to let go of all these yet. And maybe I don't really have to. I've always been and will always be a probinsyana. :-D