Barrio Tales and Other Stories

Barrio

A Place Called Strength



The Man Standing On the Side

Where Do We Go From Here?

I was young then and I stood on the side as the march passed by Sampaloc and Recto. I thought it strange and felt it dangerous to hold a march as bold as this one...surely Marcos won't tolerate this...I was sitting in the jeepney and suddenly, men in plain clothes pointed guns at the passengers, old women trembled, even men made the sign of the cross...I saw military men prowling the regular streets...

People were at their most hungry decade, the Negros kid is staring at you from newspapers...the country was at its poorest state.

And I was alone watching it unfold - I was never part of the group though I stood on the side. When the Marcoses fled, I entered the grounds of Malacanang, I listened to the crew from Spain reporting about this particular day in Malacanang and all the guys beside me started jumping in front of the Spanish camera shouting Viva Espana, I awkwardly made the sign of Laban and changed it to V sign and wished the reporter would ask me a question... oh I was a silly boy then... I remember the large throng of people in front of Post Office and I saw Nestor de Villa.

I saw transvestites offering their "bodies" (jokingly, I guess) to the passersby...I heard Peter Paul and Mary singing...

I don't know anymore what year, or what specific place or what specific event the reference was to each of these images that I remember. I know these were part of the People Power, the event that made every Filipino proud - at a time he could read about himself and about his country in all the major newspapers and magazines in the world.

It was the season to be proud. I was proud. I felt something beautiful inside me. I felt hopeful of my future. It may be all past to you now...but it remains fresh in my mind.

Where did I go from there?

I don't know how to tell it to you, but I left and vowed to return in five years. Ten years have passed and I'm still here, unable to return because there is no future for me in our country. This is not something I will blame my country for. This is not something I will blame my people for. This is not something I will blame my leaders for. This is not something I will blame my God for.

I'm too far to do that. Too busy to do that. Too pressured to do that. Too old to do that. The remains of my Philippine life are all gathered now in this little website - and if I cry while writing this - it's because I miss it so much.

There are certain things I've accepted in life - one of them is the fact that I'd never be able to live another Philippine life once this life is over. Another is, I can still re-live my Philippine life even in the realm of my mind. Another is, though I've taken this road less traveled by (going abroad), I still can help Pinoys pave a better road for those left behind.

Sometimes I get too harsh in criticizing ourselves -- but criticisms as wake-up calls are necessary for every nation. I will not write criticisms just to spite and out of hate because in doing so, I'm taking the risk of steep downfall.

As Christian I cannot hate but as animal I can. My wish is for Filipinos to reduce the animal nature in them and embrace their Christian nature. There is so much in the Philippines to hate - that's a given. You wake up in the morning forced to wade through flood, you stand in a corner to wait hours for a stupid ride. People slam the door to your face; there is so much political bickering; there is so much incompetence and graft and corruption...and there is always subtle discrimination by foreigners towards Filipinos in the Filipino land itself - every Filipino has to deal with these in one form or another. Everyday. And it's not a pleasant experience. I've been there. And I won't blame people 'losing' their tempers...

But where do we go from here?

It is good to talk and debate and discuss using heavy words to prove each others points. It is good to be angry and to scream and to call for some changes in our nation. Yeah, that's good - but where do we go after uttering those lofty words? We will still be driving through the potholes and heavy traffic and poisonous smog enveloping our city, we will still close our eyes to the ugliness of our streets on our way to our homes.

It is good to blame and condemn and point dirty fingers at everybody except us - but lets face it - we may all unknowingly be condemning our incompetent government for not cleaning the dirt we might have thrown in ourselves. We rely on others too much. We depend on others too much. We attribute every failing in our country to others too much.



A Place Called Strength



My cousin Deo wakes up in the morning, drinks coffee and sits in the balcony of his house. He says he is imprisoned in the balcony of his house because there is no job available for him in this god-forsaken country. He repeats his monologue about how corrupt and graft-ridden the government is - every time he renews this topic, he spits and lights a new cigarette amidst his fits of coughing. He says he is sick of the environment and throws his peel of banana outside his window. He says he hates floods yet a few months ago, when he was still making tons of money, he cut the trees in his backyard -beautiful, old, older than him narra trees to give way for his balcony.

After he cut the trees, he lost his job - I think the anitos that thrived on those trees made him pay by taking away his job.

There is no way for him to work again, he insists, because of the padrino system that dominates this land, so he sits smoking in his balcony accumulating cholesterol in his blood, hardening his arteries, increasing his risk for heart disease. He won't find work, he won't create work. Most of all, he won't move because he's too busy talking about the miserable state of his neighborhood, town, province and country.

Until the day he suffers a massive heart attack. The doctor tells him to chill out, to let things be for a while and to start becoming active. He is told to quit smoking. Etcetera....

He has no choice but to walk everyday, this he must do to reduce the risk of another heart attack. He makes a daily schedule for his walk and to make it less boring and more interesting, he includes visits to places he'd been before but never been back, because, well, he was too busy chatting about the sad state of this country. For example, he includes a visit to his old elementary school, which, upon visiting it, he realizes how small it is - when he was a pupil in this school, it looked so daunting, so big, even the teachers, they appeared gigantic to him.

Upon meeting with his old Mathematics teacher, Mr. Segundano Makabilang - (the teacher he feared the most in his childhood) - he notes how dwarf-ish Mr. Makabilang turned out to be, like a crumpled raisin. Mr. Makabilang, who used to hold his class with iron fists is now the one bowing to my big, bulky and tall brother.

It made my brother feel better about himself. He begins looking forward to his daily walks.

And in doing so he sees his village more clearly, he discovers the pond where he used to swim as a child; he re-discovers the mountains of the north, and is surprised to see them bald; the fishponds are shallow and the thick canopy of palm trees that used to thrive here are virtually gone. The children he sees playing now make do with what is left after the wiping-out of what used to be a bountiful nature he used to enjoy as a child. He feels a tinge of guilt because he sees he is part of this destruction.

Because he did nothing but talk about it.

He says to himself, "If for every condemnation I uttered I planted a tree, for every complaint I said I cleaned a pond, surely, I could have made this village beautiful for myself and these children."

He starts carrying seeds and every time he takes a walk, whether on parcels of empty lands, or on the surfaces of bald mountains, he spreads the seeds. Then he returns carrying a bucket and looks for water to water them. It is the hardest work he'd ever done but the most fulfilling.

For this country is the refuge of nature, it is meant to nurture nature. In its destruction, the people are destroyed.

He says, "There is no way for this country to progress if what surrounds its people is ugliness. The Filipino, when he looks deep inside him, will find he is a child of nature. In every heart of Pinoy, you'll see a small hut in the center of a village, a tree beside it, a haystack, a carabao passing by, a cart, and quietness that is punctuated by voices of birds and other animals. He is raised inside thick jungles and learned the tricks of life by the teachings of its inhabitants and tribes.

"Once that is destroyed, the Filipino will find himself stripped, empty, lonely and unable to maximize his potential. He will always dwell in his past rather than foresee his future. His past will always appear more beautiful that his present. His vision is blurred by an environment that is strange to him. An environment that is borrowed. An environment that is synthetic."

So my brother keeps on planting seeds and watering them and nurturing them in his daily walks. The seeds start sprouting and growing and rendering the whole village green. Now the plants are tall and magnificent and oh so beautiful - the children start playing in this emerging jungle, and slowly slowly, the animals that were once thought vanished return.

The children begin to explore the new forest and learn the basic survival skills of animals, skills they harness into their lives inside and outside the village.

It is said our village has the most successful citizens in the world. Its children the strongest and the smartest. Even when they leave for other lands, they are the least to consult a shrink. They face the world squarely and when life is unbearable, they leave their homes and sit in parks, whether in Europe or Asia or Americas or Africa or Australia. And beside trees - any tree - they close their eyes and remember...

There is still a home waiting for them, there is still a village waiting for them, there is still a forest waiting for them. Whether they succeed or not, a place is waiting for their returns.

It is called STRENGTH.

Alex Maskara

Barrio Tales