#VOXPOPULI | Foreigner of his own homeland
by Edward Angelo T. Oribiana
*This essay was the winning entry for this year’s Grade 7 Essay Writing Contest held for the Humanities Festival English Olympics. The competition required Grade 7 participants to write a narrative descriptive essay answering the following prompt:
It is almost a guarantee that there is a Filipino in any country in the world: an overseas Filipino worker (OFW), a migrant who went to another country in search of a better life, or perhaps someone unfamiliar with the Philippine culture yet they were born to at least one Filipino parent. Of course, right here in the Philippines, we also encounter the same kind of diversity: the Filipino-Chinese community, children with a non-Filipino parent, and foreigners who have become naturalized Filipinos (e.g. basketball players from other countries, Koreans who decided to settle here, etc.). Given this diversity, what, then, does it mean to be Filipino?
There was a time when going to the province was the worst thing that could ever happen to me. Sitting on my yaya’s lap in the backseat of the car, beside my overly eager family, I never understood why they were so excited. Why would they want to leave the city for somewhere objectively worse? I didn’t understand why each and every month I was forced to watch the tall and gleaming city skyscrapers transition to the dull and dirty houses of Angat, Bulacan. As immature as this may sound, this was how I used to view my family’s monthly visits to the province.
But, that all changed during this one particular visit. Before each visit, my lola would call us a few days before we were scheduled to leave and ask what we wanted her to cook for us. This visit, my brothers picked corn soup with fried tilapia, which I wasn’t very thrilled about primarily because of the way they would eat the food. I’d be forced to watch in horror as they used their bare hands to eat the food, soup dribbling down their fingers and tinik littering their plates like the brutal aftermath of a crime scene. Additionally, I remember being annoyed at my grandparents for telling me to eat so much even if I said I wasn’t hungry while they would set aside smaller portions for themselves. Why did I have to eat so much of the slop but they didn’t?
So as our brand new family car drew closer to the house, I began to devise a plan. As soon as we arrived and my lola would tell us it’s time to eat, I would say I wasn’t hungry then invite my cousins to play upstairs. That way, they wouldn’t bother me and I wouldn’t have to force-feed myself food that I didn’t like. In my head, I was a genius and my plan was foolproof. Everything went according to plan. Once me and my cousins started playing, I ignored all of the calls from downstairs telling me to eat my plate full of food that my lola prepared. It’s just one plate, surely it isn’t that big of a deal, right? Eventually, without realizing it, I fell asleep on my lola’s bed, not thinking twice about the food I left on the table.
About an hour passed before I was woken up by the sound of my rumbling belly. After all, I had only lied about not being hungry. So I made my way down the creaky wooden steps and went straight to the dining room in search of some food. To my disappointment, there was no food to be found, not even a bowl of corn soup or half a fish.
“Lola! Lola! Can you make some more food? I’m hungry now!” I whined upon seeing my lola enter the kitchen.
“Ay, wala nang pagkain, apo. Naubos na kanina,” my lola replied. “Ano ang paborito mong restawrant? Magpapa-deliver na lang ako,” she said before she was cut off by my mom, who understandably wasn’t very happy with me at that moment.
“‘Nay, ‘wag ka nang magpa-deliver. Gagastos ka pa,” my mom said, glaring at me. “Kasalanan niya kung hindi siya kumain kanina. Ang kulit, eh, ayaw bumaba, tawag tayo nang tawag kanina.”
“Eh, nagugutom ‘yung bata, oh! Bibili na lang ako ng Jollibee. Gusto mo ng Jollibee, apo?” My lola asked me, ignoring the snide remarks from my mother.
“Opo! Opo! I love Jollibee!” I gleefully replied. Without a second thought, my lola picked up her nearby landline phone and dialed in the delivery hotline. I was so happy at that moment. My lola got me what I really wanted this time instead of some weird dish.
Despite my joy, however, one question surfaced in my mind. Why did my lola only get me what I liked now? I didn’t understand why it took her so long to realize what I really wanted.
But now, looking back at that moment, I think I finally found the answer. Lola had always tried to get me what I wanted. It was all she ever did, especially when I was there visiting from the city. She always asked for what food we wanted and gave us money, toys, clothes, and countless other things that as a child, I took for granted. This willingness to provide wasn’t limited to just my family too. My grandparents went out of their way all of the time to help anyone who was less fortunate in their area, no matter how closely related they were to these people and even if they themselves weren’t among the wealthy.
It was by looking back on this moment in my childhood that I realized what it meant to be Filipino. All around me in the province were people sacrificing their own good for others. People eating less food to give the rest to their visitors or family, like what my grandparents did, people donating money to the less privileged, people setting up cleaning efforts and more, all of them caring for one another. No matter what circumstance, class, or experience a person comes from, anyone would still help them. I haven’t seen many other foreigners who would regularly do these things as we Filipinos are quite a special case.
As I got older, I learned more about Filipino culture and the people, and I noticed one defining trait: caring without expecting anything in return. As basic as it sounds, it is true.
We Filipinos care for, love, understand, help, and forgive one another for the betterment of us all. It’s almost as if this trait is imprinted into our DNA from birth.
Even long ago, way back in our pre-colonial era, this could still be observed. Once Magellan and his crew landed here in the Philippines, they were hungry and thirsty due to the unexpectedly long voyage. So, our ancestors provided him and his crew with food, water, and more to keep them alive. This moment, however, was not the only time in history that this trait could be observed.
In our various colonial eras, many oppressed Filipinos banded together to fight against the different colonial powers. Out of their love for each other and their own country, they fought for and successfully granted our freedom after hundreds of years. Even now in the present day with our own modern problems, we keep caring.
Modern Filipinos such as Overseas Filipino Workers or OFWs, naturalized citizens, and half-Filipinos do what they do out of caring. OFWs take difficult jobs away from the Philippines and away from their families to provide them with the money and support they need to live a better life. Naturalized citizens and half-Filipinos are also made from the love of this country and its people, stemming from care. Not only do individual people do this, but communities and groups as well.
Programs set up by the government to aid those in need, to help out OFWs, and to do wonders for the local community, are all prevalent in the Philippines. Barangays and communities have also set up several different programs such as cleaning and food drives for everyone. Even from personal experience, my family has given goods to the underprivileged without anything in return.
Now that I’m older, I understand so much more about the Filipino identity and what it means to care and it was all thanks to my lola. She has always been a shining paragon of being Filipino to me. She has given so much to us, her family, and the community that cherishes her so much. To pay it back, now that I’ve grown older and more mature than 8-year-old me, I’ve been helping her with some things around the house. I’ve helped her clean, cook, wash clothes, and more, because of her many acts of genuine kindness. Even just these small things help us enjoy the visits so much more.
This month, we got to celebrate her 70th birthday. We all ate her delicious food and indulged in the cake we brought her. Now that I’m not that immature 8-year-old anymore, I now understand and cherish that innate Filipino trait. From all that I’ve learned and realized over years, I’ve made one conclusion. To be Filipino, is to love and care for all that is human.
*This essay underwent minor copy editing by The Science Scholar Staff.
