Diary 22

MANILA



On June 197-, I arrived in Manila at exactly noontime. I never expected the city to be as dirty as the way I see it now. Manila residents are perplexing. When asked for directions, their quick replies are "Over there."

"Cross this road."

"Turn right."

"Turn left."

Everyone seems to have forgotten street names.



I couldn't blame them because the Parliament seemed incapable of any worthwhile legislation except passing bills direct from Marcos himself and replacing old street names with those of Marcos' Family, cronies and friends names. At least today, I learned the difference between Recto and Avenida. Following Avenida, according to my directions, would lead me to Recto. Midway Recto was a small street that led to Central Market. Behind the market was the Reyes building where I would stay. I located it. I climbed its stairs. It was too high for an old dilapidated building. On the third floor, at room 321, I joined three other boarders and all of them came from my province.

I was a little bit worried. My decision to study in Manila did not register well with my mother. She did not want me to go to the big city. My father was coughing more often now and was getting easily tired. My parents have no means to supplement my scholarship. My free tuition and monthly stipend weren't enough in the city of Manila. I guess I was too ambitious. I assured her that I would stretch my stipends to the limits even if I had to get a night job, not to worry, the scholarship would shoulder everything. In my own thoughts, I'd rather be poor in Manila than live as a prisoner in my town.

She said, "It is your obligation to tend to our needs in our old age." That was too selfish of her to say. At the least they aren't even old.

There was a heavy downpour during my last night in Pangasinan. "A bad omen of the future to come," she warned. I ignored her, I felt total harmony and serenity with the gentle rains over shiny green blades of coconut leaves, not even omens could stop me. Nothing. I imagined the city of Manila where the green leaves would be replaced by neon lights, beaming from streets and buildings, the city that never slept, where people danced every day to the tune of running jeepneys, cars and buses. "I will succeed there," I promised her.

Walking along the canals leading to my boarding house, my heart was sinking. The city was ugly. I had the sudeen urge to turn back and take the next bus back to the province. But I must fight these thoughts. I pulled out my telegram from my pocket and carefully read what was written. It must have been the hundredth time I've read it.

"Congratulations. You passed the National Scholarship Award." That was enough to push me forward. There was something out there for me. At the least, the Department of Education believed so. There was nothing sweeter than that. I was truly apart from Sual. The madness of my family would now be buried forever.

The Reyes building was full of assorted tenants. Most tenants claimed to be students but you rarely see them carry books. Mostly, they were young families. Kids in the building played with anything that could pass up for toys and at the far end, young mothers were lined up, carrying pails to collect water. They were yelling all the time at their sickly kids, all the tenants did manual laundry everywhere, spilling from the common laundry room to the hallways; they were hanging clothes in every direction. This was a building about to be condemned, but a Chinese businessman, seeing its potential as a cheap boarding house, converted it into small partitions he called apartments and advertised it as college dormitory. Initially, it was occupied by students studying in nearby universities, until they got their girlfriends pregnant and added more people to the condemned building.

The dust on the floor had hardened into a dark film of wax, dried and smelly. Ashes from cigarettes and their filters were scattered which no one bothered to pick or clean up. On the same floor, there were broken fragments of glasses and bottles, babies have been known to die chewing them. There were few windows to allow ventilation. The smell of the floor mingled with the stale milk, diapers and human voidings.

In my first week, I discovered more horror. There was meager water and it was rationed throughout Manila. I had to fall in line in the early mornings to bathe, always exposed every day! I won't talk about the toilet. It is too disgusting to talk about it. At nights, my sleep was disturbed by crying babies and dismaying cockroaches crawling over my body. I felt a rat once. The other mice would visit my drawers, contaminate my meals and the pestering mosquitoes would not let go. Worse, the temperature was enough to roast me. I would find another place as soon as possible . . .

Though tempted to cover my nose to avoid the stench especially when I passed by its canal, I refused, thinking that if there was one waste passing through, it was probably mine. I was careful not to offend the Provinciano (being one myself), especially in this boarding house of drunkards, I didn't come to the city to live a good life, that could wait, I came here to finish college.

I heard a girl singing a tune. It was Girl From Ipanema, with different words.

"Tall and tan and young and handsome, the boy from Panga passes by . . . " I turned toward the singer, she was stroking her breast, sticking out her tongue to me, I blushed and hurried away. I asked myself: Is it me? Am I hallucinating?

When I was alone in the apartment, I heared women talk on the hallway. "Why is he living here? With his looks he can go places."

One day, a man of rugged looks blocked my way, I smelled liquor in his breath. He whispered, "Make love to me faggot." That was scary and surprisingly exciting to me. After that, I refused to even have eye contacts with my neighbors, I kept my head bowed down and I walked as fast as I could when I passed by them.

But my eyes continued to observe. Alebeit furtively. The so-called students played cards twenty-four hours a day. At nights, casual conversations often led to quarrels. I would hear beer bottles being hurled and breaking against the walls, followed by cusses, screams, and police sirens; the drunkards always end up being stabbed and killed.

I organized a college student routine. From class, I'd take lunch at the cafeteria nearby - my definition of cafeteria was a cheap sidewalk of food stalls. This was the most I could afford with my limited money. My food ranged from dried fish, vegetables, occasional meat and pork. Just like everybody else, I skipped breakfast. Lunch and dinner were enough. Months passed by; my parents had not written or visited me at all. I did not want to bother them, my father was diagnosed with tuberculosis.

My stipends often arrived late, as late as fifteen days, which rendered me hungry and penniless. This made me realize I needed to scheme better means of acquiring money.

August, 197-



Dear God,



I am in big trouble. I never knew what independence is all about. Right now, I am studying for my Physics exam and I can't think. I am hungry, where will I get money tomorrow? I hate the Department of Education and Culture. They're always late. I try to stretch my money to the limits but it is not enough.

MY ROOMMATES



I had three roommates who, upon seeing me the first time, recommended me to go to Luneta where, they said, I would make money out of the homosexuals. They said it jokingly but still, it alarmed me. My roommates never gave a damn about education, they adhered to the bahala na rule -Destiny will provide, just do it. In a city of no opportunity, they lived and lingered bereft of purpose and reason. No one could blame them in this city. There was nothing much to do anyway when you are poor in Manila. One of my roommates, Jose Felix, came to Manila with only three pesos, he was now being threatened by the landlord to be thrown out after failing to pay his rent for two months. Giorgio Martinez supported himself by working at MacDonald's, when the American outlet was new in the city. He just got his girlfriend pregnant, and was ready to move out. He maintained a high nose despite its flatness, believing that MacDonald's was the classiest place to work, even if its workers were paid lower than the city sweepers and garbage collectors. Another roommate, Ramon Marasigan, was even tempered, cool, smooth talker in earnest to find a possible link, a blood relation with the wealthy Marasigan clan. He seemed to be the only one in our group possessing sense. He was always loaded with money. His only problem was his gambling. This roommate breathed with a deck of cards.

The Feast of All Saints, 197-



Dear God,



Please find me a friend. Someone that can be here when I walk. A rich friend who can lend me some money when I am out. I try to toughen it out in this city. But I am running out of energy. I cannot walk all my life without food. Please save me.

There were so many things against me. I looked for an extra job such as working at MacDonald's, the manager, upon seeing me, said she liked my looks, but my provincial manners and slowness would not register well with their sophisticated customers. The Department of Education, upon learning my intent to work, threatened to retrieve my scholarship. My scholarship required full time academics. I thought of doing business underground but it required capital. The usurers lent money with exhorbitant interests. So I spent most of my time poring over books, nauseated and dizzy because of hunger. My roommates wouldn't bother, they were drunk at nights, except for Jose, I didn't know how they got money for drinks.

There was another person in the second floor who just irritated me every time I passed by. Miguel Cervantes was one of the gay hairdressers in the complex. His parlor was one of the hundreds of thousands of parlors and variety -buy-and-sell stores sprouting all over Manila. These were the cheapest businesses one could operate, not one made money. In Manila everyone seemed to sell, everyone seemed to have a degree in Haircutting or Selling Something.

"Rob", the hairdresser called me every time I passed by. "Please come down and I will give you a free haircut." Or: "Why don't you come over for a little drink?"

I would smile in passing. Over the last few days I was getting closer and closer to God. I made it a point to read the Bible and pray. Only God would save me from this hell. I believed that my prayers brought me to Manila. And those prayers, I was confident enough, would also bring my dreams to reality.

Many times, I was tempted to make money as a hustler down there in Cubao or Luneta. But I reprimanded myself. Hunger was not enough to loosen my grip to my Christian values. I just went on and waited for a miracle.

To forget my misery, I opened my books thinking that studies would make me forget. But the sound of my grumbling stomach would bother me. The hunger was unbearable. I'd take a walk.

I was failing. My scholarship was about to be terminated. Nothing would register in my hungry brain despite sleepless nights studying.

August 197-



Dear God,



I just failed my Algebra exam and I may not be able to keep my scholarship. What with my low score in General Sciences? Even if I stretch out the nights reviewing books and notes, nothing enters my stupid brain. But God, is it wrong to dream? Is it wrong to aspire for ambitious goals? Can't you in your infinite bounty provide this poor soul a chance? I chose this path because I dream of a good life. I don't want to go back to my province.

Alex Maskara