Metro Manila: A Bite of Reality

Last Sunday, we took our little boy to his first trip to the cinema to watch Metro Manila, an award-winning film that was a marriage between his own ethnic origins with a British director and Filipino actors. He slept through the whole thing of course, save for ten minutes of breastfeeding, and for nearly two hours at least, I was able to once again experience the sights and sounds of the country where I come from. 

It was an age-old Filipino tale of survival in the country's capital. A rice-farming young family was in the verge of destitution after their crop failed and decided to leave their tranquil life in the province to relocate and seek employment in the bustling Metro Manila region. Once there, they immediately fell prey to local fraudsters, losing what little money they have saved and were forced to squat in the slum where they slowly slide into the poverty trap.  

The tide started to turn when the husband Oscar found himself not only a job in a security-van company but a friend in his senior Ong. But this friendship came with a cost and we found out about the life-changing contents of a missing safety deposit box and what it would take to open it. 

The story may be typically Filipino but the bittersweet ending was admittedly very British, one that shocked my mother who came to watch it with us. But how should it have ended otherwise? 

I was briefly reminded of a Facebook post denouncing moral relativism. When you have a roof over your head and eat three meals a day, it would be easy to distinguish black from white. But when your family is clinging on the cliff's edge, different rules apply. 

This movie will not be a commercial success in the Philippines with its lack of well-known actors and only its critical international acclaim to advertise it. The Metro Manila here depicts the gritty reality of urban life with seedy alleys, empty lots, dark bars and rundown houses. The people are desperately holding on to their faith and principles amidst the struggles and hardships of life in a capital of nearly 12 million inhabitants. No, this is not a movie that will help you escape your own sad reality but to confront and disturb, to jolt you out of your comfort zone and horrify you enough to understand that unless we have a fairer society, we cannot expect the same set of moral values to govern everyone. 

Metro Manila is now showing in the UK and will be released in the Philippines on October 9. 

What is Left of Home?

“We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors. We borrow it from our children.”

When I think of home, I think of my childhood. It is not a particular place but a certain moment in time, one filled with innocence and expectations, laughter and daydreams echoing across the yellow cornfields as I ran barefooted under the blazing heat of the summer sun towards the peak of Mt Matutum which loomed over the horizon.

That idyllic home of my early years only exists in my memories now. Just after my eight birthday my family was forced out of our comfortable way of life by the influx of squatters taking over the surrounding areas of what used to be agricultural farmlands which were soon turned into sprawling cheap housing developments. My carefree world of open expanse was replaced by the suffocating concrete jungle which became home to hundreds of families like us, coexisting in the dark and grim suburban nightmare of rows of boxlike houses that were separated only by a thin wall between them and very narrow streets. It was considered modernisation then: we were introduced to electricity and public transport that our previous rural existence would have not heard of.

It was modernisation that drove me away from the city I grew up in, mostly because of the lure of the bright lights and big bucks from the country’s financial capital. Yet there had always been a desire to come back, to return to the much simpler way of life compared to the fast paced monotony of the big cities that when I made a brief visit home two years ago, I was expecting to see everything as I have left it. 

But the world is constantly changing and so has my hometown. During the recent years, the city’s economy has shifted from one that is largely sustained by a big fishing industry to one that is retail-driven brought about by large investments from greedy multinational giants who have set up shops in massive shopping malls that have taken over what used to be a rural landscape. This development was welcomed by the local government and the population rather imprudently without consideration for its long-term effects, including the death of local businesses, foreseeable issues with obesity, rubbish disposal problems and  the shortage of electrical power that would grip the city for hours, causing a frequent blackout. Daily Facebook status complaints on the electrical power cuts flood my wall but no one seems to be asking why it is happening, maybe they should.

And yet I wouldn't have asked any questions if I have stayed. My culture insists that we must always try to look at the bright side of things. Living in Europe has made me realise that this almost blind acceptance of fate is the very reason why there is no lasting and meaningful change in a nation that only looks out for number one (or for number one's relatives). In this part of the world, paying high levels of taxes is an accepted way of creating a more equal society where every individual's basic needs are met and problems from the local communities to the general population are rightfully addressed. It takes a shared sense of social responsibility to create a fair and humane society.  

I am not against progress but there is a certain progress that was not considered in the city’s recent economic boom, one that is sustainable and inclusive which would provide for all and not just for the moneyed few. Instead the government has acted in a clichéd ‘short-term gain, long-term pain’ manner. In keeping up with American model of modernisation, my hometown and indeed the rest of the country has lost its identity and most certainly its natural resources. I am scared to think of what the future generations would be  left with.

When I think of my hometown, I am no longer gripped with longing but with sadness. When asked if I still have dreams of settling back, I say no. This is not because I have suddenly become an arrogant immigrant who refuses to look back to my roots but because, aside from my family who were left behind, there is little that is left of the life I have once cherished and would have wanted my own children to have a glimpse of.

Which Accent?

I emerged from the underground station of Piccadilly Circus slightly fazed and for a moment stood briefly transfixed by the urban scene that was before my eyes. Behind me, a lone building is mounted up with a collage of advertising hoardings in bright neon lights, London’s version of the NY Times Square. On the other side of the boulevard, a fountain was erected with the statue of the Greek god Anteros, popularly mistaken for his brother Eros. The buildings on each side of the intersection features theatre houses, shopping centres and fine restaurants catering mostly to tourists who flock in thousands at any time of the year.

But on that cold January morning, I wasn't there for sight-seeing. An unfortunate incident in Budapest last year has left John and me stranded in Central Europe without a passport. An emergency one was issued but only for a year and after months of putting it off, I finally had to renew.

I haven't been to the capital for more than a year and I easily forgot what it was like. From where I stood, an overwhelming flurry of movement rushed past me in every direction - a carnival of sorts - of cars, busses and delivery vans; of businessmen, tourists and lunchtime shoppers. They all seemed to have a clear idea of where they were going and an urgent need to get there, oblivious to the heavy snow that was starting to fall (although this being London, it never quite settled on the ground).

I started to move off and crossed the street at the traffic lights, following Haymarket Street just before it slants to the left and entered Suffolk Place which leads to a line of impressive Regency period terrace buildings that boasts of a painted stucco façade, wrought iron balconies and bow windows. This is Suffolk Street, an expensive neighbourhood in the Westminster area and home of the Philippine Embassy in Britain.

The Philippine flag, hoisted from the middle of the four dramatic columns above the main entryway, beckoned me in. It was still 15 minutes before the embassy opens for the afternoon but the waiting area was already packed and noisy. I picked a number (33) from the door and prepared for the long wait.

Unlike the heavily guarded British embassies around Europe with intimidating officials and very quiet rooms, my national embassy felt somewhat cozy. In a city where people tend to occupy their own spaces and went inside themselves on public places, it was a refreshing experience to see how Filipinos manage to break free from this culture when they find themselves in the company of their fellow countrymen. Acquaintances were made on that waiting room, the national language and occasional English  some with very recognisable Filipino accent was spoken.

I haven't heard my first language spoken by a large group of people for a long time. British cultural integration meant mixing with peoples of different ethnic origins who have made this country their home and thus there was absolutely no need to become a part of a Filipino community (my husband would heave a sigh of relief on that). But having been able to socialise with individuals from different tongues, I have learned to pick a person's origin from their accent and in Britain, there is nothing 'racist' about it as some Facebook statuses have accused. In fact, the British themselves are rather proud of their regional accents - Cockney in London, Scouse in Liverpool, Geordie in Tyneside, Brummie in Birmingham and Scottish English amongst others. John occasionally slips into the Yorkshire accent himself.

Although the British are not particularly patriotic, an ideal that to them seems rather vulgar and should be limited to the waving of the Union Jack during royal celebrations (which very few people participate in), there is a very strong sense of regionalism here. People are proud of their local colour - their provincial customs, history and landscape - and these regional differences are happily celebrated. But it isn't just the British. Other non-native speakers of the English language have their own accents that tend to carry over the intonation and phonemic inventory from their mother tongue into their English accent. These accents speak of their origins and they are proud of it.

After three years of living in Sheffield, I have come to appreciate the blend of cultures that mix harmoniously in this country. In this politically correct society still tormented by its dark history, an accusation of racial discrimination is a serious one met with harsh consequences. Laws are set-up to promote equality and efforts are made to reduce racial and other discrimination. And while there remains allegations of racial divide linked to crimes, I have never been subjected to this nor have heard of any reported incident within my community. There would of course be the occasional banter involving one's origin, but this should be distinguished from that dirty word: racism.

My visit to the Philippine Embassy lasted for more than two hours because despite the queuing system, groups can actually approach the counter at the same time and those picking up passports or documents need not go on the queue. But perhaps the biggest inconvenience was the fact that the system does not seem to be capable of cross-referencing records thus the need for individuals to check that all details typed by the staff are correct. This probably explains why a postal service is not an option. It was very typical of a Filipino public service, if I am allowed to complain and on an age where customer service feedbacks are the norms, there was a deeply felt absence of such a questionnaire.

It was still an interesting afternoon nonetheless, where I became privy to the lives of other Filipinos who are happy to share their life traumas and accomplishments. For a moment, it did feel like I was back in my own nation's soil. But when I left the building for what might be the very last time and stepped back into the British soil, I also felt relief. 

So This is Christmas

A Filipino, wherever they are in the world, would always long to be home at Christmas time. It's been five years since I have last spent this merry season with my family and the yearning only grows with time. I have walked along the street markets of great European cities, sang carols with my church family in Gibraltar and shared roasted goose with my English family over Christmas dinner and yet none of them has ever come close to capturing the Christmas spirit that we have in my old country. 

In the Philippines, the advent begins as early as September when carols start playing on radio. Elaborate and grand decorations are slowly being put up on the streets and inside the houses. Competitions to light the parks are sponsored by private enterprises and the malls put up the biggest and brightest Christmas trees, some major advertising ploys if one must say but it sure draws the crowds. But of course it wasn't just the commercial machinations of big businesses or music executives cashing in on the biggest Christian celebration in my homeland. 

The message of Christmas - hope, love, charity - is still very much embraced where I come from. It is a time of mass homecoming where families separated by distance and time, would once again be together in prayer and thanksgiving. And within these families and amongst friends, old wounds are healed and peace is restored. 

I suppose then that it is the meaning of Christmas to its inhabitants that differentiates the spirit of my country's celebration from the Western one. But none is better than the other, for even if perhaps the celebration in this 'politically correct' part of the globe has less to do with the birth of Christ, it shows that Christmas can be celebrated by Christians and non-Christians alike. It is a perfect example of how people of different cultures and traditions can co-exist with acceptance and respect for each other. 

And because I am a Filipino, from a culture known to be able to see the best in everything, I have also been able to make my cold Christmases away from home special and spiritual (as much as I can!).  In the next posts, I'll try to bring them back to life: 

2008 ~ My first Christmas in Gibraltar
2008 ~ Soup Kitchen in Gibraltar
2009 ~ Christmas markets in Barcelona  
2009 ~ A rainy evening walk in Granada
2009 ~ My second Christmas in Gibraltar
2010 ~ Winter Wonderland in Wetherby
2010 ~ Christmas markets in Sheffield
2010 ~ My first snowfall
2010 ~ Christmas markets in Manchester
2010 ~ Russian Christmas in Chatsworth House
2011 ~ Christmas whizzed past
2011 ~ December in Paris and the Great British escape at Christmas
2012 ~ Christmas markets in Bath
2012 ~ Christmas traditions of my friends from different countries
2012 ~ New Year's Day walk
2012 ~ Our Special Christmas Eve Tradition
2012 ~ Christmas Blues, S-A-D! and the Winter Solstice

Proud to be Pinoy?

‘Proud to be Pinoy (Filipino)’ is a phrase that I never quite understood. What have I done to deserve that pride, never mind what has my country of 7,000 islands in the southwest of the Pacific Ocean, contributed to world history that should make me proud to be its citizen?

Does this claim of national pride take on the Word Web definition of nationalism as ‘the doctrine that your natural culture and interests are superior to any other’ as opposed to ‘love of country & willingness to sacrifice for it’? But if it is, then how come we as a nation have blatantly embraced American culture with no qualms and secretly declaring our country as the 51^st state of our previous (and perhaps on-going) oppressor.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my home land. I am grateful for the two greatest gifts it has given me if none other: roots and wings. But I am not proud of what it is – a Third World Catholic nation in the Far East with a highly corrupt political system and an ever-growing population that shows no signs of slowing down. That it is named one of the fastest growing economies in Asia mean little when social and environmental issues are being swept under the carpet, when human rights violations are being brushed aside and where political powers are used to promote personal gains.

So no, I don’t understand what ‘Proud to be Pinoy’ is all about but if I am open-minded enough as I claim to be, maybe I do not really need to understand it.

‘One’s nationality is an accident of history and it is difficult to justify being proud of a heritage. One never did anything to deserve being Scottish or American or whatever one was. But national pride was something that people feel – they could not help it. And it was a form of love; loving one’s country, one’s culture, amounting to loving a particular group of people, and that, surely, was not something for which one had to apologise’ ~ The Lost Art of Gratitude, Alexander McCall Smith

And yet I still hope that this overwhelming sense of national pride that a lot of my countrymen claim to have would not blind them of the things we shouldn’t be proud of and perhaps propel them to aspire for a country that is truly free and just.

A Case of Cultural Identity

Disclaimer: Having become a fan of the very popular British satirical humour which usually means taking a 'mick out of themselves' as a nation, I decided to compose a Filipino version. This is a product of fiction: any resemblance to people living or dead is purely coincidental. For those who are otherwise offended, I sincerely apologise. 

The ultimate scorn for a Filipino living abroad is to be accused of abandoning their own culture, it is as good as being branded a traitor. For a country that hails 11% of its citizens as 'modern-day heroes' for selling their skills to the highest bidder, it is expecting these global citizens to remain loyal to the same ideals that pushed them out of their own Motherland. 

But this is a rather Herculean task, especially when you live in a continent as multicultural as Europe. Recently, the question of what it means to remain a Filipino abroad has started to consume me. Discussing this with a compatriot, we have come up with a list of answers that could be enough to show we are loyal to our origins: 

1. Subscribe to the Filipino Channel, never mind that it costs a huge chunk of your monthly income, this is a sure way to remain rooted. Besides, you need to know who you are cheering on (and why) when you attend the Filipino Fiesta in London. [What BBC? We are watching 'TV Patrol' to keep up to date with the celebrities].

2. Join a Filipino community. If you can't afford the outrageous Filipino Channel subscription cost, this is the best alternative. You will always be in the middle of a reality TV-style drama and be able to enjoy the nation's favourite pastime, chismis (i.e. gossiping). Leave the Europeans to their talks about culture and politics, we don't want to meddle with those, thank you. 

3. Throw a party! That's also one of the best things about joining a Filipino community. We know how to party. Don't forget to bring your Magic Sing, there's nothing like singing the blues. 

4. Share a flat (or a house), you did not leave your country to have a comfortable life abroad. Think about all the money you can send home and what it would buy your loved ones (most importantly the latest gadgets they can show off). Do not even think of falling out with your housemate, it's expensive to live on your own. It would be best to avoid confrontations.

5. Keep a stack of the national drink, Coca-Cola, on your cupboard to accompany your meals. It will make you feel closer to home and bring back memories of mealtimes with your family. Dismiss the European claims that it is bad for your health, they don't understand culture. Period. 

6. Smuggle Mama Sita (a packed MSG-filled seasoning) on your luggage. You can buy them from the Chinese market or any Filipino shop in London at highly exorbitant prices but it doesn't matter. There's nothing like eating proper Filipino food with rice three times a day. ['Pasta? Don't try to be posh!]

7. NEVER complain about your workload, that is your competitive edge. While everyone else thinks they have the right to fair pay and working hours, keep your complaints to yourself. That is why you will keep your job (no matter how you hate it) and your work colleagues will leave eventually, obviously to find better employers. Recruit another Filipino on the job! 

8. Do not go out with anyone who is not of the same 'blood'. Those who go out with foreign blokes have questionable agendas. ‘Oh? So are they getting married now? Is she pregnant then?’

9. Book your holidays in the Philippines, after all, there is no place like home. After living in the civilised world for most of the year, surely you can manage a few weeks of being stuck in traffic on your way to the biggest mall in Asia (especially as they don't make those malls in Europe). 

10. Embrace some of the (alleged) Western culture too. Like drinking Starbucks coffee as though it is high quality beans, getting drunk on cocktails on a Friday night out, going on pub crawls all over Europe, buying yourself an SUV [What do you mean by CO2 emissions? Bigger is better!], queuing for the latest gadgets and wearing branded clothing i.e. like GAP plastered on the front. You've worked hard for your dosh, it's time to show what its worth!

11. Best of all, promote your country. And what better way to do it than by wearing a 'PROUD TO BE A FILIPINO' t-shirt. Put it on during the national festival of your host country too, it's a statement [that you refuse to be integrated with their culture, surely you are a hero].

Then again, you can just be brave and accept the consequences of turning your back on those specific cultural hindrances and embrace the values that your parents have instilled in you: of handwork and perseverance, of simplicity and respect for all creation and of ingenuity in difficulties. In a highly globalised world, you do not need to put a plaster on your head saying you belong to a nationality to have an identity. You have to find your own identity by yourself. No one needs to tell you who you should be.

Hometown Heroes

Local support over homegrown talent was something I didn’t understand until I watched the 2012 Olympics.

My hometown, a seaside metropolis in the southern part of the Philippines, has recently raised its local profile owing to the growing number of native talents who made it in the country’s entertainment industry. Just last year, the city heralded a woman, who on her skimpy swimming attire, declared to the world that Filipinos have little or no acceptance for any other religion. Then there was an elementary schoolmate who appeared in the country’s version of Big Brother and who managed to get himself to the finals thanks to local support. Then very recently, a celebrity wannabe became a You Tube hit over a karaoke rendition in a shopping mall (we went to the same university so that ought to have made me feel proud). Of course the city’s major boast is our boxing champion Manny Pacquiao whose sporting fame allowed him to star in films and sell music and then even won him an electoral seat to become a lawmaker (an MP equivalent in the UK).

I’m sure it gives the city a morale boost when someone who has walked on the same streets manages to seize their dreams. But it is still perplexes me that success has all-inclusively meant becoming an entertainment celebrity, where the younger generation’s inspiration are people who have found ‘overnight fame’ by uploading a video online. It makes me shudder to think that children will be looking up to anyone who, in this day and age, would happily represent women as sexual objects in the guise of a 'beauty and brains' competition. 

Watching the Olympic Dreams in BBC World has made me appreciate just what it means to become a hometown hero. There was the feature on the two-time Taek-won-do bronze medallist of Kabul, training up the hill overlooking his war-torn city, inspiring young men to take up the sport in a place where war is a normality. There was the story on the South African double amputee Oscar Pistorius who lost both his legs after childbirth but who went on to become the first man to have competed on both the Paralympics and the Olympics. Then there was a documentary on the fastest man on the planet, Usain Bolt, a double triple medallist whose daily life was dedicated to his sport.

In Sheffield, we have our own golden girl: the face of the 2012 Olympics who brought the city's gold. Few people have done it, to deliver despite the burden of high expectations and to deliver in style. When Jessica Ennis crossed the 800m line on Super Saturday, the rest of Britain shared her big sigh of relief and her hometown, gathered at the stadium where she trained, burst into cries of jubilation.

I hope that these are the sort of role models that we can give our children to look up to: men and women who have conquered themselves and their dreams through extra-ordinary focus, unyielding dedication and continuous hard work. Real people whose motivation is not the glitz and glamour of a celebrity lifestyle (and who will not be making movies or selling albums to cash in their fame) but of personal bests. Because these are the qualities that everyone need to arm themselves in order to succeed in the world of reality.  

Last Sunday, when I stood beside Jess Ennis' golden mailbox in the city centre doing Mo-bot, I felt a bit relieved that in this part of the world at least, the younger generation have real heroes to look up to. 

Saving the World

Charity should not be mistaken as a single grand act of kindness or a moment of heroism that brings with it a ‘feel good’ factor and a pat in the back for a job well done.

In the light of the recent flooding in Manila, I admired the heroic acts of my compatriots, many of them are my friends, who initiated donation campaigns and relief operations for the thousands of people who were uprooted from their homes. It’s nice to know that in a time when the country seems to have been overtaken by the American culture it so openly embraces, Bayanihan, the spirit of communal unity to achieve a particular objective, is still alive.

But the big question that no one seems to be asking is that after all the relief operations finish, some of the houses are rebuilt and the typhoon season temporarily ends, “What’s next?”

Contrary to the Catholic Church’s belief that the devastations caused by typhoons in the Philippines are signs of God’s wrath over the Reproductive Health Bill, it is in fact, a natural phenomena where patterns haven't significantly changed since meteorological observation started more than 200 years ago. The ferocity and frequency of weather events across the globe are increasing, a man made inevitability thanks to carbon dioxide and its heat retaining properties. Disturbingly, the summer arctic ocean is predicted to be completely ice free by 2030. Indeed just half a degree increase in sea surface temperature can help a storm gather significantly more wind strength and rainfall amounts.The increasing temperature and melting ice caps also pose another threat to countries throughout the globe, but particularly ones with large areas of coastline and an abundance of islands, making the Philippines even more susceptible than most. Sea levels have been rising by 2mm a year and the latest middle estimates predicated a 100cm increase by 2100. It was shocking to see the evidence first hand on our trip to Boracay last year when dead tree stumps could be found on the sea shore.    

Our tropical country, because of its location, is in an area where typhoons build up but it was only in the recent years where we have started to experience the wrath of them. The reasons are two pronged but couldn’t be more obvious: growing carbon emissions contributing to global warming but also the way we have fundamentally changed our landscape. A concrete landscape cannot absorb nearly as much water and neither can soil that has been stripped of its forests. Dense vegetation helps to put moisture back into the atmosphere as well as help bind the soil together which prevents sedimentary run off and ultimately landslides too. They also help absorb carbon dioxide and put oxygen back into the atmosphere. 

Then add the nations's population growth that shows no sign of slowing down; booming housing market that does not consider sustainable development alongside; industry operations lacking energy efficient saving measures; high-carbon emission cars; and cities that don’t have proper waste management implementation. It is a recipe for disaster.

“I’ve always respected those who try to change the world for the better rather than just complain about it.” — Michael Bloomberg (Autobiography, 1997)

No, I am not all talk. I actually walk the walk. I am lucky enough to live in a country where ‘Saving the Planet’ and ‘Making a Difference’ is more than a single act of goodwill but a lifestyle in itself.

We own a car with a 1.0L engine and CO₂ emission of less than 100g/km which means that we don’t have to spend a lot to fill the tank and we pay the lowest rate of Vehicle Excise Duty and. But despite that we use the public transport, a tram service run by electricity, then walk 20 minutes to get to work every day. It’s a healthier option and it cuts down the carbon emissions released in the air.

At home in Britain, we practice reduce, reuse and recycle. We reduce the amount of household wastes by bringing our own carrier bags when we go food shopping therefore not accumulating plastic bags that are usually a major source of litter. We use creativity to reuse items purchased for one reason into something else. We segregate plastics, glass, paper and bottle to be recycled. We also carefully select the chemicals in the cleaning products that we use, making sure that they are environmentally friendly and would not contribute to water pollution.

This kind of lifestyle is not cheap. On top of our personal taxes, we also pay council tax to the local authorities. We don't even earn as much money as most of our friends overseas (perhaps even some of those who live in the Philippines). But I’m sure people who reap the benefits of a cleaner environment and a better quality of life would agree with me that it is a price worth paying for. For someone who used be against socialism, Europe has taught me that there is better way than the right wing American way which is only geared towards personal, rather than community aspirations.    

Then again, I live in an already developed world. How would the country of my birth, where a quarter of its population live in poverty, be bothered about saving the planet when it can’t even feed its offspring?

I used to think the same: save humanity first then save the world. The human race requires an immediate need for food, water and homes to survive. But the world’s natural resources are finite whereas the world population will only grow in numbers. We need to find a way to meet man’s needs through renewable resources and make it our responsibility to be educated about how our actions affect the future of mankind.

As a Filipino living abroad, I couldn’t do anything more to alleviate the plight of my countrymen but I can show them that there is a better way to do things. In doing so, I can be the change that I wish to see in the world.

At the end of the day, there wouldn’t be anyone who would give me a pat in the back for a job well done but I sleep better at night knowing that because of the little things I do everyday, I would leave the world a better place.