I am an assistant professor at a university somewhere in U-Belt in Manila. And because I live in the province of Bulacan, each time I make my way to work very early in the morning for a 7:30 a.m. class, I pass through four major roads in the Metro—Quirino Highway, Commonwealth Avenue, Quezon Avenue and España Boulevard.
I leave the house no later than 5:15 a.m. in order to spare myself from nerve-wracking traffic jams augmented by major road constructions along the way. But in that long and exhausting trip, there are things that I feel fortunate and privileged to experience. These are the strapping sights and sounds of hard work of the Filipino people, those who wake up before daybreak to get themselves a living.
From the gate of our subdivision I can hear the tricycle driver shout, asking me to take a ride when in fact all I ever want to do is walk as my personal form of exercise. But that makes me wonder: Am I his first passenger of the day or the last passenger of his night-shift? And when I get to Quirino Highway, I bump into a dispatcher yelling “Cubao!” in the loading area, by his appearance hours into his routine.
As I get on board the jeepney and relax my neck on the back of the seat, I hear the rush of people jumping onto jam-packed buses, particularly those without air-conditioning (and therefore with cheaper fare). I thus contemplate the theory that the majority of people working in Metro Manila come from the suburbs. Along the way, I see vendors staking their claim on the sides of the street to display their goods to good advantage in front of this famous wet market, and a taho vendor and a takatak boy roaming the same street.
Worse is when I see a sleep-deprived mother emerging from the market and stepping into the jeepney, in her arms a sack filled with bananas and vegetables — cabbage, squash, onions, tomatoes — probably to cook for her carinderia and banana-cue business. I can hear her sigh heavily as she finally gets herself seated. And before I reach this famous mall as a stopover, I see the long lines of commuters, with their faces looking so tired so early in the day.
When I myself have difficulty looking for an FX to Morayta during my cutting trip (sometimes I take a cab, by the way, but only if I have extra money), I take another jeepney to Philcoa where I can eavesdrop on a couple of women talking about how they would start a small business as a sideline so as to generate more money for their “sakto lang” income. I also hear the snore of a middle-aged man who is probably a construction worker judging from his clothes, his burned skin, and the bruises on his arms.
And as I shift my gaze to the driver’s seat, I hear the driver complaining to the passenger sitting beside him about the fluctuation of the price of diesel, the repetitive construction work on this particular road that happens all year, and the newly built bridge that is not yet passable because a few houses are blocking it, not having been cleared prior to its construction.
When I arrive on España and call for a pedicab to finally get to work, I see a pandesal in the pedicab driver’s hand. I can tell that he is having his breakfast at work.
All of these, warts and all, make up the pulse of the masses, the reflection and representation of Filipino industry. To me, this is no joke. I can just imagine them doing the same things every day, for the rest of their lives. But this is also a wonder for me, a wonder why a country like ours is left far behind in terms of progress when in fact it consists of streetwise and persevering citizens.
I don’t know when the Philippines will ever get a shot at becoming one of the progressive countries in the world. But I know for sure that so long as its people carry on that power of labor and hard work, we will get there, regardless of the anomalies and controversies going on in the government. It may not be today or tomorrow, but we will be there. Because nothing compares to the resiliency of the Filipino.
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Teresa May B. Bandiola, 27, is a pharmacist, a pharmacy journalist, and a graduate student at the University of Santo Tomas.
This post was originally published in Philippine Daily Inquirer (http://opinion.inquirer.net/105193/a-day-in-the-life)
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