now i have come to realise the reason why the Lord has brought me to singapore. naye was i brought here to earn the money i am earning now; neither to experience luxury and whim. i realised the reason why i was sent here was for me to understand the most important lesson of all: a family needs to stay together. a few weeks after they have left, and a few months before they came to vosot, i slowly realised why i was going through all these- sacrificing proximity te earn a few thousand more. i was never sent here to earn money; i was brought here to learn my lesson. it will not be painful to leave everything behind. and it will be a slow process. but i look forward to seeing the day that i come to your doorstep and hug you tight, never again worrying that i will have to fly off the following day, or week, or month. i will stay where i should be: home.

OFW Rants: Big Time

My housemate just got back from work, at a quarter past 11 in the evening. He slumped his bag and headphones on the couch, took off his shirt, arched his back and went mumbling under his breath, only for us- the remaining two people in the house who were still awake- to realise that he was actually teary-eyed. Apparently his supervisor was going on a holiday, and he had to take over all the work he'd leave behind. That and he had an early morning shift the following day.

I gave him a shrug and said, “Kapit lang. Kaya yan (Hold on; you can do this)” and then made my way through the kitchen and into the toilet to pee. Inside my room, I sat on my bed and it struck me. That had got to be one of the the worst comments I have ever made in my life. Hold on, you can do this!? What kind of idiot would say such an apathetic comment. Apparently, someone like myself.

I've been a foreign worker for over a year now, and that's what I tell myself, day in and day out- to hold on... to tell myself that I can do this. I push myself, like many others who are like myself, struggling to find a better life for ourselves and the people we left behind, sometimes beyond our limits, because we have to. For many of us, we are left with no choices. People say I had it easy. I say, screw you. You don't know my story; you only know half of it. A true gentleman does not show the enemy that he bleeds. So why would I? Now, imagine those who have been foreign workers all their lives.

***
Just a few days ago, another Filipina was found dead near a lake in Taiwan. Over a month ago, the brother of a close friend died in a lowly hospital in Riyadh, with autopsy reports too vaguely constructed that no one actually knew why he passed away. A couple of days ago, an OFW was sentenced to death.

This is what we wake up too. No, not you who cry over not being bought the iPhone or iPod because Mother says she can't save enough just yet. Not you who ask for new shoes and clothes for the farthest possible relative. No, not even you, who seemingly take time to call, make us cry over the phone, and in the end tell us of woes that you carry on your shoulders- the sickly relative who needs more support, the uncle who needs a new engine for his motorcycle, or the lowly godchild whose grades shot up so high they deserve to get a new PSP.

***
Funny. None of you actually wonder why some of us only post the shopping spree- the new watch, the fancy new Air Jordans, the class Lvs and Prada. We post the fun that we have by the beach, the sleazy poses in front of Lucky Plaza's condom shops, the wacky Korean-esque hand gestures in front of a signage of Chanel. None of you ask. Instead, people tag comments like, “Wow ang yaman mo na (Wow, you're so rich)” or “Ate size 8 ako ha? (Sister, I'm a size 8 okay?)” or better yet, “Wala bang hiring dyan? (Any vacant positions?)” Nope. No one wonders. Blind people, you all are.

I know you've heard rants like these time and again. Who cares, right? I frankly don't know just as much, but it hurts. After a year, it still hurts. And what I say might not be true for everyone, but it is true for some people. That's what matters; because at the end of the day, that's who you have. Here in this foreign land, we have no one but ourselves. No amount of friendship can save your ass, my friend. We are all on our own.

***
There are worst cases, I know, but does anyone actually care? Why would they, my friend. They are more preoccupied with filling their bellies with nonsensical media-dramas that are disguised as legislature, and more concerned with how they and their brothers would fare in the next election. This is our part of the circle, and the fulfillment of the sacrifice. Accept it. That is what and who we are. Milking cows.

And while the rest of us are getting our asses kicked, burning the whole stock of midnight oil barrels, and stabbing our own hearts for not being able to even kiss our children on the forehead at night before they tuck in, the people who are supposed to make our lives better are too busy figuring out whether the man you voted for is having a lovelife or not. No, we are not okay; it is not another sunny day in Smallville, dude.

We are so screwed, and you know it.

masama ang loob ko sa inyo. kasi sa totoo lang, kahit hayup-hayop yung kapatid ko, sya pa din ang pinapaburan kasi sya yung hindi nag-asawa agad. ‘tang ina, sa kabila ng lahat ng ginawa nya kagaguhan at ng ginawang kong tulong, e sya pa din ang lalabas na magaling, putcha talu-talo na ito.

bakit, sa palagay mo ba dadalahin nya dito sa SG ang nanay at kapatid ko kung hindi ko biglang pinapunta yung mag-ina ko dito? 4years sa sa SG ngayon lang nya naisip papuntahin sila for vacation, samantalang ako e wala pang isang taon yun muna ang pinag-ipunan ko? alam kaya ng magulang ko na mas pinipili ng kapatid kong manuod ng ANTM kesa kausapin sila sa skype, nung mga panahong magkasama pa kami sa room? na pagsinabi nyang kakain muna sya, ibig sabihin nun, manunuod sya sa youtube? nakakainis lang ng sobra.

sana wag lang silang mag-expect na may matitira pang paggalang pagkatapos ng lahat ng ito. ayoko na. suko na ako.

THE PEDANTIC 3: RIVALRY


It is surprising to understand that at the end of the day, favouritism is still a big factor in broods of two or more. Let’s face the facts: although siblings are supposed to be raised and treated the same way, it is evident that some family structures cultivate some sort of rivalry among siblings, which in effect creates either rifts between them or the rise of the favoured child.

I admit, I was quite the favourite when I was younger. For one, I was the only first-borne in the Philippines (since my older cousin was already in California) and I was showing so much promise in academics– a cornerstone of the family’s tradition. At a tender age of two, I started reading newspapers and by six, graduated with outstanding marks in pre-school. I bravely took the primary school entrance exam on my own, and pretty much grew independently until my university days. I was presumed to be good at a lot of things, especially those that concerned the languages, history and science. I was among the teachers’ bet when it came to performing in class, although I had a very poor social life during my primary and secondary school years.

In essence, I was an A1 child in terms of the academics. And then, a few more years later, my first brother was born. Although he was a bundle of joy, he was perceived as different. He was more of the outdoorsy type, and like playing with basketballs and staying under the sun, while I toiled away in the confines of the sanctuary I called my room. Eventually, his fluctuating grades paved the way for comparison, since he wasn’t performing as he should, or at least as my parents wanted him to. The effect: at some point, he was marked as second-rate, and was branded as someone who might never achieve anything, aside from a mediocre life. And so he lived through 25 years of his life believing this, partly because he was treated as if it was true and etched in his heart every day of his life.

It was the morning of January 2 that he had a conversation with my mom and other siblings, telling them how much he wanted to become an engineer and that his life would have been different. That night, my brother died in a motorcycle accident, with multiple head injuries, a fractured skull and bruises lining his body like pavement crossings.

My second brother almost suffered the same fate as my younger brother, although towards the beginning of his career, the tables turned and I found myself being compared to him. He was three when he started uttering complete sentences– a feat our parents thought almost meant he would never be able to talk, ever. After he learnt, it was easy for us to identify that he head the gift of gab. And so by his university days, he was already hosting school programmes and events, much to the happy comparison of my superiors, since he finished his degree in the same university I was a head of department of.

Eventually, his voice and personality gained renown, and I was pushed to the side, given a taste of my own medicine, and relinquished of the attention I was initially given early on in my career. That made me feel very neglected, but looking at it now, I realise that more than the neglect, it was a perfect re-orchestration of what had happened to myself and my younger brother– only this time, I was the one being compared to him. He was the new standard, and I had to catch up.

Although at the end of the day, it could be disputed or attributed that the sibling rivalries were the result of the relegation of one’s children, I feel that there is always more to the situations under hand, once the individual doing the analysis garners enough maturity and sufficient understanding. As for myself, seeing that I still remain to be the eldest, one of the more favoured of the clan’s brood, I cannot safely say that I have developed enough understanding to digest the frivolities and nuances that the situations command us to do so. I can only speculate that eventually I will learn to understand and accept the fact that sometimes rivalries are just as vicious as Venus flytraps or laughing hyenas out for a night’s foraging.