This story originally appeared in the Philippine Daily Inquirer on March 9, 1999.
A dear friend, who has long wanted me to join him in the United States, asked me what’s keeping me here. Here’s what I wrote him: I’ve been translating children’s letters for the same nongovernment organization for the past eight years now. It’s amazing how kids describe to their foster families in the United States, Canada, Australia and Japan what life in this country is about: ”There’s nothing better than Jollibee.” ”Yes! There’s another typhoon. No classes again.” ”When I grow up I want to go to America.” ”My mother said we are poor because we are born poor.”
For these kids, school means cramped classrooms, limited books and overworked but underpaid teachers (things have not changed much since we were children). Home means at least one parent is an overseas contract worker. Future is employment abroad. Heaven is, what else, Jollibee. So when the NGO I’m working with decided to put up a ”student center” in the community, the aim was not to have burger feeding programs but to give the kids an alternative to putting their hopes in moving to a foreign land or being resigned to their fate.
Those in our NGO believe they can do this by keeping the kids in school for as long as possible. They pay for their school fees and buy them new sets of uniforms, shoes, bags and supplies when the school year opens. They offer free tutorials (with free lunch) on weekends. (I’ve been teaching there, mainly Math and English, for four years now but I’m thinking of moving to kitchen staff, lalo na pag tinotopak ang mga bata.) They also provide regular medical and dental checkups. If the budget allows, we go on field trips every now and then. The only thing the student has to do is write regularly to his supporter abroad. So far, the parents and the public schools are grateful. The number of dropouts has dropped, and some of the children were able to reach college.
The system works. And I should know: I was one of their first batch of scholars 12 years ago. The Student Center is still fun, but the more exciting news is the one-year-old cooperative Kuya Joy founded. After much thought, I decided to invest a little of my (already little) hard-earned money in the ”baby” he has given so much of his mind and time to. We call it Salong-bahay Development Cooperative. I suggested ”Alis-Bumbay Cooperative” since it was initially intended to provide competition to Ali Baba and the rest of the ”five-six” gang in the neighborhood. Starting as a simple credit cooperative, it now offers hospitalization and death benefits (mind you, the kabaong has not been spared the inflationary effects of the Asian economic crisis). We hope to expand this year to include some livelihood projects. I hope this cooperative will give us what the public school teachers’ cooperative, of which Mama is a member, has given them: self-respect.
The pride of being able to look out for each other. Better than expecting anything from the government. Even our barrio in Pampanga is being shaken off from a long sleep. The traces of ”la-ar” are still there, but the buzz is all about okra. Papa has found a market for our okra in Tokyo. (I never realized how Japanese love this ”ulol na gulay” until now.) He has convinced most of the farmers to try growing okra. They began with four hectares, then expanded to seven and now 22 hectares of shiny and crunchy okra. Last I heard they’re pushing for 50 ha. next season. (Before your mind starts to race and compute, we are far from being okra magnates.
There are so many birth pains, not to mention that we’re still planting on rented lands.) But Papa has not stopped planting other vegetables (sitaw, talong, patola, etc.), but they’re just for our own consumption now. And he still raises pigs, chickens and tilapia, although on a much smaller scale. At least, Mama is still satisfied with fresh supplies of greens and meat. Besides all these, how can I leave, hmmm, sinampalukang manok, binagoongang baboy, ginataang kalabasa’t sugpo, fishball sa UP, concert ni Gary Granada and my daily fix of the Inquirer and Today? My day would not be complete without Mama nagging me about my unladylike manners, or Papa lecturing me on car maintenance. (Hey, what do you do when the car sputters every time you put it in second gear?) Is there anything more convenient than having a brother who owns a library, and another who picks you up anywhere you are at any time of the day? Or a sister who summarizes everything you missed on TV while you were at work?
And of course, I want to be here when they prosecute the Marcoses ”till kingdom come.” I will be lying if I say I never dream of becoming rich. I do. In fact, I want to be so filthy rich that I can buy my father his own land and my mother an Avon franchise. But I’m not sure if I can give this all up to go to the United States. Just a week ago, someone at the office offered me a foreign assignment. I politely declined, saying I was already keeping an eye on a local project. But in my mind I was saying, ”Yeah right, per diem and a chance to see a princess’ grave for all of these? Not in a million. Life here is as rich as it gets. If I can make it here, I don’t want to make it anywhere.” Sorry, I just can’t go.
