ducks can drink milk!

We’ve all seen him before, tucked inside his ambulant stall, always busy yet always smiling. But who, exactly, is the man behind it all? Here, we introduce Vicente – more so known as the owner of the ‘pisbulan sa tabi ng Metrohair’. – Perfecio

“O, marami kayong bibilhin, ha.” The jeer easily rolls from a bystander’s tongue, easily joking about how we should compensate our interviewee with a little barter.

On April 25, a scorching hot afternoon after a couple of short classes, we headed to the stall smack dab in the middle of Centtro Mall and Metrohair, right in front of what some of us know as Rus Lights and Sounds. It was perfect – apart from the heat, of course. He had only a couple of customers who seemed intrigued in what we would ask about ‘Manong Pisbol’.

THE HERO’S BACKSTORY

Manong Vicente, as he introduced himself to us, sported a smile – just as he always does. I’ve been to his stall a few times, buying from his assortment of unhealthy yet equally as tempting piles of fried food. We watch him in earnest as he professionally cooks his merchandise: adjusting the heat, making sure none of them dry out or cook too much, pokes them with his stick at the customer’s beck and call. As interesting as the process was, we had to ask the basics.

He first states that he is from Bay, Laguna – to which we had the smallest bonding moment, considering I am also from the same municipality. Thirty-six, he adds, smile still so blinding even as oil incessantly splashed on his skin. It must be a product of how used he was to the sensation – even pain can be numbed down and ignored, once you get used to it. The calloused hands show years of work, not only in his stainless steel stall, but also in his hometown.

“Taga-Isabela ako dati,” he shares, prodding the floating pieces of kikiam to check if they were still raw, “bukid-bukid lang.” Coming from a family of farmers, Manong Vicente is part of the Philippines’ agricultural sector that chose to shift from planting, harvesting, and processing, to gambling in a city far from home. He says that he has no one here apart from his current family; going to the city with nobody there to welcome you or show you the ropes can truly be terrifying, especially at the young age of 24, not having finished anything but his high school degree. Mang Vicente simply shrugs it off and flashes that seemingly permanent smile – “Wala, ito lang talaga trabaho ko, noon pa… wala tayong magagawa, wala tayong natapos, eh,” – his motivation for 4 PM to 7 PM work, as he says, is necessity, and the drive to provide for his family.

THE JOURNEY

Adjusting to a life so different from his old one must’ve been difficult for Mang Vicente, seeing as how he momentarily stilled as he reminisced. Twelve years – he has worked with the same stall at around the same vicinity for twelve years now, starting at the same year he moved to Bay.

“Palipat-lipat. Minsan doon, minsan dito, pero dito lang sa area na ‘to – sa Lopez lang.” Here, he met his wife, whose name he did not disclose – but he does say a bit about his only child, a daughter. With his hard work and perseverance, he is able to provide for his small family of three: his wife, his daughter, and himself – he even paid of his wife’s procedure when she went into labor, which a very costly and dangerous caesarean birth. To this, he laughs, and shoves eight fishballs into a small paper cup for his customer. One child is enough, he says – “caesarean, eh.”

While his profit seems to be enough to provide for his family, and he confirms this by saying that, yes, he did gather enough money to send his kid to school, feed them, clothe them, shelter them, and cover every necessity; however, there was sadness in his eye as we spoke. “Sapat lang,” he murmurs with a good-natured look, even if I knew he wanted to say so much more. I could guess what he was thinking then, even as he refused to elaborate; there must me a will in him to do more, not only for himself, but also his family. He wants his daughter to finish her studies – she’s smart, and he believes that she will be able to do well in the world of professionals.

NEW HORIZONS

While Mang Vicente has no plans to move to a different job, he shows a fondness for this particular one. His favorite moment is when customers flock to his stall and buy all of his snacks until he runs out – what a work ethic! He says that customers have never been upset at him. However, he has been upset at some customers. Why? “Dinodoble kasi sawsaw. Isa lang dapat.”

           Ang takot, hindi basta-bastang sumusulpot.

Kahit kakaiba ang takot mo—takot man sa dilim, sa clown, o sa kung anu-anong hayop, lahat ng ito ay may dahilan. Takot ang mga tao sa dilim dahil hindi natin nakikita ang laman nito. Maraming takot sa mga clown dahil sa kapal at dami ng kolorete sa kanilang mga mukha. May mga takot sa mga piling hayop—minsa’y aso, ahas, leon, at iba pa—dahil ayaw nilang masaktan dahil sa mga hayop na ito. Ayaw nilang makagat, masakmal, o mamatay dahil sa mga ito.

Grade 11 ako nung naitanim ang takot ko. Hindi naging masagana ang taong na iyon—sa totoo lang, nahirapan ang pamilya ko sa dami ng gastusin na nagpatung-patong sa mga nakalipas na taon. Ang totoo’y kahit kailan, hindi ko nakita ang aming pamilya bilang isang mayaman at magarang pamilya, kahit na seaman ang tatay ko. Karamihan ng pera namin ay napupunta sa pagbabayad ng mga loan para sa iba’t ibang bagay, gaya ng bahay, kotse, o mga appliances. Madalas ding magpaayos ang nanay ko ng bahay noon, dahil medyo may edad na ang bahay naming, at nagkakaroon ng mga maliliit na sira.

Umuwi ako noon at nagsimulang mag-cellphone. Wala kaming Internet sa bahay, kaya’t bihasa ako sa paggamit ng mobile data. Oo, mahal, pero para sa estudyanteng namumuhay sa 21st century, napakahirap na isiping hindi ka gagamit ng Internet. Sa isang gabi lang na hindi ka makapag-online, napakaraming mangyayari—maaaring mag-announce na may quiz, maaaring may umaway sa iyo, o magbigay sa iyo ng maraming puri. Ako, noon, Twitter lang ang gamit ko. Wiling-wili kasi ako sa convenience ng app na iyon; hindi nakakasawang tumingin sa mga laman dahil ilang segundo lang ang kailangan ko upang makita ang napakaraming mga bagay.

Natigil ako sa pag-browse nang may narinig akong sigaw mula sa labas. “Tao po”,” sigaw nito—at hindi normal na sigaw iyon. Galit. Galit siyang sumisigaw, at kasama ng kanyang pagsigaw ang pagpalo niya sa gate namin. Maaaring makalimutan ko ang mga detalye—kung anong suot ko, suot niya, kung anong kulay ng gate, o kung anong araw iyon, pero hinding-hindi ko makakalimutan ang naramdaman ko nung panahong iyon.

Mag-isa pa nga ako nun sa bahay—natiyempuhan niya kong walang matatakbuhan. Unang beses yun na nangyari sa akin. Takot talaga ako. Takot na takot. Namawis ang aking mga kamay, at tumayo ang aking balahibo. Oo, kakaibang pakinggan, pero totoo. Sa panahong iyon, hindi ko talaga alam ang gagawin ko.

Kaya’t lumabas ako at kinausap ang babaeng kumakalampag sa gate namin. Hindi ko maipagkakailang nagulat at nairita ako sa kanya. Hindi ba siya nahihiya na nag-e-eskandalo siya sa tapat ng bahay namin na nakakandado? Hindi ba siya nahihiya sa kapitbahay namin na sinigawan siya ng “ang ingay mo!”?

Mukhang hindi.

Medyo may edad na yung babae. Maiksi yung buhok niya, at kulot ito—parang yung tipikal na pixie cut ng mga mas nakatatandang mga babae na madalas makita sa binguhan sa Olivarez. (Oo, nagbibingo rin siya.) Naka-daster siyang floral habang may nakapulupot na shoal sa balikat niya. Actually, lagi siyang naka-daster na floral tuwing pumupunta siya sa amin. Hindi lang naman ito isang beses lang na nangyari. Sa sobrang dami, hindi ko na mabilang.

May hiniram daw ang nanay ko sa kanya. Sixty thousand pesos daw, at hindi pa niya nababayaran ang parte niya para sa buwan. Maliban sa takot, nakaramdam ako ng inis. Para sa akin, hindi sapat na halaga iyon para magwala sa tapat ng bahay nain, at mangkalampag na parang sinubukan namin siyang takbuhan—e ang bahay nga niya’y ilang minuto lang mula sa amin! Kahit kailan, pwede silang mag-usap ng nanay ko! At ang icing on top of the cake? Isang linggo pa lang ang dumadaan sa deadline.

Nagtanim ako ng galit sa kanya simula noon.

Gaya nga ng nasabi ko kanina, hindi lang ito isang beses nangyari; madalas niya itong gawin, lalo na kapag natatagalan sa pagbayad sa monthly na deposito sa kanya, kahit tatlong araw lang. Dumating sa puntong kahit kami ang may hiniram sa kanya, kami ang tumawag ng barangay tanod (at ang barangay tanod ay tumawag ng pulis) para paalisin at kausapin siya, kasi hindi namin siya mapaalis sa tapat ng bahay namin.

Ano nga bang laban ng isang bata sa isang matanda? At ano ang laban ng ina sa kaaway kung ang anak na niya ang inaatake? Ano ang laban ko sa tindi ng takot na pumapalibot sa katawan tuwing nakakarinig, nakakakita, o nakakabasa ng anumang mula sa kanya?

Kakaiba ang takot na nararamdaman ko tuwing naririnig ko siya, o kung anumang bagay na nagpapaalala sa akin sa kanya. Hindi ko inaakalang magkakaroon ako ng takot na kaya akong gawing walang kwenta—nakahiga, nagtatago, daig pang pagong sa nais na pumasok sa sariling kwadrado.

Sa totoo lang, hindi ko nakikita sa sarili ko dati na mahina ako. Anumang problema ay nahaharap ko ng walang pangamba, kaya’t malaki ang naging epekto ng problemang ito sa pagtingin ko sa aking sarili. Pakiramdam ko ay nawalan ako ng tiwala sa sarili ko at sa ibang tao—sa nanay ko, dahil sa paglilihim niya, sa tatay ko, dahil sa kahinaan niya sa pagharap sa situasyon, sa kapatid ko, sa kawalan niya ng pakialam, sa mga kamag-anak, dahil sa paglimot nila sa amin sa segundong may pumutok na problema.

Lalo na sa mga tao, dahil sa pagbabagong kaya nilang magawa para lang sa pera.

Binayaran niya ang babaeng yun. Sa totoo lang, ayoko ngang binarayaran pa niya. Sinabi rin ng kapitan ng barangay namin na huwag na raw siyang bayaran, at magreklamo kami sa DSWD dahil pinagmumura niya kami ng kapatid ko… at pumunta nga kami.

Namulat ako noon sa kawalan ng facilities ng gobyerno. Walang mga upuan para sa mga nag-iintay. Walang mga taong mag-aasikaso sa iyo, at ikaw pa mismo ang maghahanap ng mga tao. Walang tamang tanggapan gaya ng Women and Children’s Desk. Walang tao sa opisina ng DSWD.

           The trip started with a rushed run from the old Humanities building to the shed a stone throw away from the UP gate. We had been dismissed on time, but the time was much too short to actually walk with a leisurely hop in one’s step. As the call time was 2:30 PM, we were accompanied by the intense pounding of the sun’s heat—I personally found it beyond annoying, how the sweat insistently clung onto my skin and clothes, rolling down my temples in salty little rivulets as if my skin sobbed from the afternoon’s painful torture.

           My friends and I arrived at exactly 2:30 PM, disappointed at how the students that arrived earlier refused to board the bus first. We, however, rushed inside—we didn’t want the good seats to be taken (the good seats being the ones by the windows—‘para sa view’, I remember someone saying). The climb took some time, taking us higher and higher into the mountain, trees never disappearing from our points of view. My ears soon popped—a clear indicator that we were definitely climbing.

           Upon arrival, the first thing that I noticed was the abundance of buildings. Old buildings. It seemed as if the whole campus was untouched by the modernization happening by the foot of the elevation; there were no businesses, no fancy Starbucks, no KFC, McDonald’s, or Jollibee to provide fast food for anyone in need—just the wide wilderness, along with the occasional hut-looking housings.

           Pagsulang—it was the name of Lora Noreen Domingo’s book launch and exhibit, both of which seemed quite successful. It was on the hybrid lives of the Manobo-Lapaknon peoples in her hometown, Butuan City, and aimed to show its viewers and observers that the Manobo-Lapaknon are not as savage and unknowing as media and stereotypes would like to portray. They live in the city, too, able to use modern technology while keeping their own.

           Pictured above is the creator of the exhibit, Ms. Domingo (who was surprisingly around the same age as us), as she introduced her work. She began by icebreakers, asking us about what we knew about indigenous peoples, stereotypes, and asked us to state examples—most of us were too shy to actually answer, however, and it did not fail to make me feel a tad more awkward.

          Next came her vibrant introductions; she told us who the leaders of the group she observed were, their names, positions, and duties. There was even a segment where she told us of how the naming system worked—which I found cute.

           The paintings on the walls were amazing. Acrylic paint screamed stories at us, speaking of traditions and stories that the Manobo-Lapaknon believed. They spoke of amazing births, tragic sacrifices, and stories of bravery.

           My favorite story of all was that of the ikugan and Datu Calixtro, a Lapaknon warrior, as photographed (with myself) above. The ikugan were cannibalistic men with slithering tails who terrorized the Lapaknon community with their evil methods. They dared the datu to kill a pregnant woman for the freedom of his people, believing that he would never be able to do it—but he proved them wrong by tearing her insides out, effectively scaring the ikugan away.

           The room was small and cold, making me clutch onto my bag just a little bit tighter. The last part of the tour soon came rolling, after the stories, the accounts, and even a little session on mollusk-collection, we finally got to the part where we would send our messages to the Manobo-Lapaknon.

All sorts of letters were hung on twine with wooden clips with acetate tucked neatly in front. The transparent material had English translations for their respective letters printed on them, giving me a sense of curiosity, as I failed when I tried to print on acetate once.

           I took an unused blue pen from the assortment before the curator gave us the go signal, immediately reaching for a paper which had a neat handwriting. I didn’t read the translation, as I could understand the writing on the sheet, anyway. I immediately got to writing—I tried writing in Cebuano, until I realized that some words might be different, and I might not be understood as easily—so I wrote in English instead, so Ms. Domingo would be able to easily translate my words for me.

           The letter I picked spoke of her life; how she grew up, how she got married, how she was a bit well-off, unlike what we commonly think. She got married and had three children, all of whom she loved very much. However, she said that life was getting harder around their area, as they were being haggled by those who want their land—she claimed that their homes were being ruined, taken over by companies and even the government itself, who say that they have no right to be in those lands in the first place.

           In my reply, I tried my best to be empathic; I told her about my childhood in Laguna, how I studied, how my parents were from Negros Occidental. I tried my best to add a few statements in our shared language; words that would make it feel more like home.

           As I wrote, I plopped onto the banig, legs stretched out in front of me as I set my paper on my planner, writing with careful yet still somehow messy letters—a jumble of chicken scrawls, but I was certain that Noreen would understand it, anyway. I returned to the hanging lines, clipping my letter back onto the rope, before retrieving a postcard and going on my way to talk to the curator with a few other people; we spoke of her life in PHSA, her life back in Butuan City, and even about the hardships of being so high up the mountains. (I learned that McDonald’s, KFC, and Jollibee do deliver food up there.)

           After our chika, the entire class went outside, excitedly taking pictures of the scenery and even ourselves. The roads were beautiful and empty, as if stretched out for me to admire, as egotistical as that may have sounded. The bus came after a few minutes, and I, admittedly, was disappointed when it came; it was smaller than the last, and it was a very tight fit. My right hip was squished against the seat handle, which left a small bruise—but I had fun. My seatmates were noisy and hilarious, making jokes as we made our way back down.

Wilfredo Pascual’s seminar on personal essays was, at the very least, a revelation. Not only did he speak in a wonderful oration, he also shared bits and pieces of his work and his process. He was generous in his tips and his photos; generous in letting today’s students have a taste of what he’s worked on for almost the entirety of his current life.

While I have trouble remembering the exact details of everything he’s read, I remember Animalia and Kilometer Zero. I specifically remembering finding his bad story crazy interesting.

I wouldn’t go as far as to say that he has pure talent; rather, I believe that his manner of writing is a product of both peculiar experiences and a vested passion in writing (since youth).

I dare say that some people are made, even destined, to write, while others are not. This makes it a delicate art, for me. However, if one has the drive, he or she can definitely work harder and practice much, much more.

On the other hand, the PHSA trip was breathtaking. 

The entire place was beautiful—it was an entire campus at the disposal of less than 200 students. I imagine that it would be difficult not to be bored, and one of the reasons why they’re of such a low number is because of the isolation.

First off, seeing the exhibit was surprising. It was of such amazing quality; then again, I should not have expected less from the Philippine High School of the Arts. It was inspiring, when I thought about it; all of the work displayed in the room was gathered, created, and arranged by people my age, including the artwork.

The prose written on the walls by acrylic paint was simple. That, though, in my opinion, added to the charm of the exhibit. Making sentences simple and easy to understand would definitely make way for less misunderstandings, which was in line with the goal of the entire exhibit—to reduce misconceptions about indigenous groups.

As striking as the curation was, I think that she could’ve improved upon several bits. One, she could’ve tried to get an expert on the local language. As she mentioned, she barely understood their words. While I have no doubt that she tried her very best when translating, I believe that many parts of the conversations must’ve been lost in translation; some words may have had connotations that she didn’t understand.

Two, I think that her method of collecting data wasn’t very effective nor efficient. She mentioned things about how it was very difficult, as she had to do everything herself; taking notes, creating transcripts, filming—all on top of barely understanding the dialect.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Ang Yu-Gi-Oh! ay isang kilalang Japanese manga series na habang nagtagal ay ginawan na rin ng palabas sa telebisyon. Sa series na ito, ang mga tauhan ay nakikipaglaban sa isa’t isa gamit ng isang strategy card game kung saan ang ilan sa mga layunin nila ay magkaroon ng mataas na karangalan, masolusyonan ang mga pag-aaway at higit sa lahat, ay protektahan ang kanilang mga minamahal. Sa paglalaro, mahalaga ang card deck na gagamitin kung kaya’t mabusisi ang pagpili nila ng bawat uri ng card. Sinisigurado ng manlalaro na ang bawat card ay babagay sa bawa’t isa, gayun din sa kaniyang playing style, para maging isang buong grupo o team ang kaniyang at ang kaniyang deck.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Sa Capstone Project na ginagawa ng mga estudyante ng Senior High School, sila ay pipili ng mga kagrupo, pati na rin ng iisang paksa na bibigyan nila ng pansin at sasaliksikin. Mahalaga ang pagpili ng mga miyembro ng isang grupo dahil isa sa mga bagay na magdidikta ng tagumpay sa pananaliksik ay ang pakikitungo ng bawat miyembro sa isa’t isa. Bukod rito, mahalaga rin ang pagpili ng Capstone Adviser sapagkat siya ang gagabay at tutulong sa inyong grupo upang makamit ang mga layunin ng inyong pananaliksik. Tulad ng Yu-Gi-Oh! na may iba’t-ibang uri ng cards na maaaring bumuo sa isang deck, mayroon rin iba’t-ibang uri ng Capstone Adviser na tutulong bumuo sa inyong grupo. Layunin ng artikulong ito ay maitala sa pamamagitan ng paggamit ng Yu-Gi-Oh! cards ang iba’t ibang uri ng Capstone Adviser.

Kung mayroon sana kaming Internet, siguro, araw-araw ko nang binubuksan ang website na ito. Hindi ako pwedeng gumamit ng laptop, dahil wala kaming Internet sa bahay, at hindi kaya ng mobile data na magbukas ng Facebook doon.

Sa phone, ganito ang dapat gawin.

1. Tapikin ang Safari.

2. I-type ang free.facebook.com sa search bar.

3. Lalabas ang dalawang box na may pangalang ‘Email or Phone’ at ‘Password’. I-type ang tamang mga detalye.

4. I-click ang Enter.

5. Mag-intay.