DATELINE SEATTLE
Greg Castilla
I am falling in love
Evelyn Priestley, a former colleague, emailed me this article. Her
husband, Ernie Priestley, a former peace corps in the Philippines,
wrote it. The Priestleys are based in Seattle. I thought I would
share this with the readers of Bicol Mail because it captures the
spirit of the Filipinos and is very illuminating.
I am falling in love. I’m not sure when it started. Maybe during
a visit to the house by 20 or 30 members of the Gomez clan to pay
homage to their eldest member, Evelyn’s 99 year-old mother,
Isabel. These are the young professionals of the city. They sang
beautiful native carols and “Mary Was An Ordinary Girl,” which I
had not heard but suspect is from one of those religious-themed
American musicals, Godspell or Jesus Christ Superstar or
something. They sang in three and four part harmony, and sounded
like a cast recording.
Maybe it was the little boy with big eyes and a home made drum
caroling by himself outside the gate on Xmas eve, trolling for a
couple of pesos. Maybe it was the incredible afternoon cloud
formations last week. Or the flowers. Or the signs (“Please Fall
In Line,” ”Immoral Acts Prohibited,” this latter in the Chinese
Taoist temple in Cebu.) Or the colorful decorations in the barrio
next to the one in which Evelyn’s mother’s house is
located, decorations made of plastic straws and cups and put up in
connection with the barrio’s annual celebration of the feast day
of its patron saint. (Every barrio has a patron saint.)
I don’t know when it started, but I am falling in love with the
Philippines . . . again.
35 years ago, when it came time to leave the Peace Corps and go
back home, I did not want to go. If I could have found a way to
support myself in this country, I would have stayed. I’m not it
that psychological space this time - I am looking forward to
going home to snow and skiing and good coffee and everything else
that makes the Northwest the great place it is to live. But I
will miss this place, and I will look forward to my next
opportunity to return.
I think what attracts me to this country most is that, in spite of
corruption, poverty, exploitation, limited hope, and extreme
overcrowding, people here smile, and are considerate, and work
very hard at getting along with one another. “Pakikisama” it’s
called, which translates to “smooth interpersonal relationships,”
and it is a primary value here, held by all, regardless region or
social rank.
The good humor here is reflected in the propensity of people to
just break out into song, spontaneously, in public. The other day
I found myself staring unobtrusively at a pedicab driver with a
facial deformity. Just as I was beginning to feel pity for him,
he suddenly broke out into exuberant song. Why do I pity him? I
thought he’s the happy one here. Another time, standing packed
tightly on a little boat that was required to take us to shore
because our large boat couldn’t reach the pier until high tide,
several hours hence, the young woman at my elbow suddenly burst
into full-throated song. Two or three times I have had to ask the
child sitting next to me in one of these little internet “cafes”
to please sing a little softer so I could think about what I was
typing.
Yesterday’s copy of one of the national newspapers included as a
prominent item the suicide of a teenager in a southern city. You
know you’re in a country with a low rate of psychological
depression when the suicide of a teenager from a family of
ordinary status makes the national news. How many dozens of
teenage suicides are there every day in the US, I wonder.
And as for getting along . . . If you put American drivers into
the cars and trucks in Manila, or even here in this little
provincial city, you’d be carting the bodies away by the truckload
at the end of the day, I think. You’d have an epidemic of road
rage. But somehow, here, the traffic keeps moving, albeit very
slowly, nobody kills anybody because of road rage, and there
aren’t even very many accidents. (I haven’t heard of a single one
in this town since I’ve been here, despite the fact that
pedestrians, pedicabs, cars, busses and trucks are all traveling
at different speeds and all competing for the limited space
available on the roads.)
I asked my nephew, Abi, why there were so few accidents in Manila,
despite having what might be the worst traffic in the world. “We
Filipino drivers understand each other,” he replied. And indeed
they appear to. Driving here seems to me to involve the constant
monitoring of other drivers and continuous negotiation for the
limited available concrete, with the continuous staking and
challenging of claims. But it all works out, nobody loses his
temper, and, slowly, the traffic inches along. (Maybe that’s
another reason there are so few accidents: the congestion keeps
the speeds low.)
I have never felt so personally safe as I do here. At night I see
little girls of 8 or 10 years walking alone or together through
the darkest streets, completely unafraid because there is no
threat, there is no possibility that they will be abducted and
abused and tossed into a ditch.
I’ve seen some graffiti around town saying things like “Long Live
CPP and NPA (the Communist Party of the Philippines and the New
People’s Army, the military wing of the communist party), and some
folks who are in a position to know have talked, confidentially,
about the movement of NPA operatives in the outlying areas of the
city (cities here are large, like counties in the US). But unlike
other times I have visited here, especially during the Marcos era,
no one seems concerned with my safety, either in town or out in
the barrios. So I feel safe here too, just as safe as those little
girls.
I’m not going to renounce my citizenship and become a Filipino,
but I think I’ll be spending a lot more time in this wonderful
(and mysterious and colorful and happy and poor and corrupt and
happy - did I say happy already?) country.
