The simple life

It sounded like something from an episode of Survivor – or at the very least, Paris and Nicole’s The Simple Life. Two and a half days in a fisherfolk barangay in Binan, Laguna. No bed. No faucets. No flushing toilets. No malls. No coffee shops. No cable. No Internet. No barkada. Two and a half days sounds like nothing, but I have to admit, my immersion for theology class sounded a little daunting to me. Some of my friends who had already gone on their immersions came back bearing stories of taking a bath in a poso, eating nothing but rice and salt, unhygienic eating habits, and more. Nevertheless, I was determined to go and immerse myself, especially since I hadn’t been able to in high school. Also, we had already spent half a semester talking about social awareness and option for the poor in theology class, yet I still couldn’t put a face on the "poor" that we were talking about. I had been talking and hearing about the poor since I was in grade school – we all have – yet I felt that I had a very flawed and incomplete picture of the poor in my mind. We constantly talk about the have-nots, we assume that we know how they act and think, but do we really know who the poor are? What constitutes poor in our society? Is it simply their household income? Is it the area where they live? Is it the amount of appliances they own? Is it their worldview? There are so many questions that cannot be answered by mere speculation and sparse encounters with street children begging on the highway. I believe that our immersion is an important step for us to truly understand the people who make up the majority of our country.

Sure, I was a bit nervous about living without the normal amenities in my house, especially the toilet (I have bathroom issues), and I felt that I could be accomplishing important work in those three days instead, but I was positive that this was going to be a different and significant experience that I needed to go through.

Different and significant was an extreme understatement. It was truly an amazing and inspiring experience. I felt like I was really immersed in a different life. I’m so used to watching foreign sitcoms and dramas, surfing the Internet, driving past billboard after billboard, hanging out with my friends in plush coffee shops, and sleeping afternoons away on the couch. In our barangay, I waded through murky waters in boots to get to my Tatay’s kubo, learned how to shoot snail eggs off okra stalks with an airgun, enjoyed the cool breeze in the middle of farmlands, watched and laughed at Eat Bulaga with my foster family, pumped water from the poso, played with live shrimp, listened to Kamikazee’s Narda being sung over and over in a videoke joint, rode a boat from the river to the Laguna lake, and even cooked popcorn in a pot. Even without my iPod, a bathroom with a flushing toilet and a sink, and my favorite accessories, I had a fantastic time. I learned how to shoot an airgun, to clean and cook tahong, and to sing in front of other people in the name of entertainment. It was also so refreshing to discover all these things instead of trying to catch up with the fast-paced and stressful urban life.

I was also blessed to have such a wonderful foster family. My friend Steph and I stayed with Tatay Zaldy and Nanay Lita, who after three kids are still in the honeymoon stage of their marriage. They, along with their whole family, were incredibly generous and welcoming. We could tell that they did a lot of things to make us feel comfortable and at-home. They showed us around the barangay during the first day, cooked delicious seafood, bought us merienda, tried to shoo us away when we offered to help with the household chores, and basically accommodated us into their weekend. I felt like they were the most perfect hosts; I felt like they were really family.

Another thing that blew me away was how industrious their whole family was. Tatay Zaldy, a fisherman-slash-farmer-slash-videoke king, is a real superman! He wakes up at four in the morning and heads off to Laguna Lake to catch shrimp. He was even awarded "Best Fisherman" in the community. The rest of the day, he plants vegetables, makes traps and prepares bait for shrimp, and continues building his new bahay kubo. Nanay Lita wakes up at four as well and sells vegetables in the market until eight at night, stopping only to eat lunch at home. Neither of them have any weekends of holidays off. Ate Julie is taking her master’s and works at KFC as a cashier at night. Like her, my brothers continue to balance school and work. I was totally floored. Here I am, desperate to sleep for at least a month after college, unwilling to start working right away, and they’re working each day and doing every possible thing just to be able to eat. They’re not just content with one job but try to do as much as they can. Even with a couple hours of sleep, they’d still get up to fish, to sell vegetables, to be the cashier at KFC. I complain when I don’t get at least 10 hours of sleep. They really gave me a new perspective on working.

We also had the chance to talk to several fishermen in the area and they described the problems that they face, from political issues to environmental ones. I’ve probably heard all of these problems before, but this time I could really see how badly these could affect real people and communities. For example, Tatay Zaldy would tell us about how profitable fishing was some 20 years ago. If they could catch and sell fish by the kilo then, now it’s on a per-piece basis. I could concretely see how it affected the income and lifestyle of his family, of the families of other fishermen in the area and the country.

I had a lot of realizations about urbanization. Most of us think that with modernization comes progress, but it can also have adverse effects on the lives of others. We talked about how proposed roads, bridges, dams, and even resorts threaten to injure their livelihood. Unfortunately, we often don’t see what happens to other people when we build roads, bridges, etc. As we continually strive to see and achieve that big picture, we tend to forget about the smaller pixels. As I listened to their stories, I felt frustrated and saddened. All these problems never seemed as real to me as they do now. They were nothing but general problems in the country in the past, but now they’re concrete, specific problems of people I know.

It felt strange leaving after the immersion. I didn’t know what to do or how to say goodbye. I couldn’t thank Tatay, Nanay and my siblings enough for everything they’d done. I tried to be lighthearted and cheerful when I hugged them goodbye, but I could feel a pinch in my heart as I boarded the jeep. They had given so much more than they realized. They fed, entertained, educated and inspired me. How could I thank them? What could I do to make them realize that living their regular lives for two days had changed mine forever? I had gained so much, and now I was leaving to go back to my own life. And when I did get home, I immediately got a Javanilla shake and a foot spa. I took a long shower until the smell of shrimp was gone from my fingers and the traces of mud in my toenails had disappeared.

But my thoughts and memories of my weekend with my foster family did not – and will not – fade away. I don’t know if I will ever see them again, but I know that they will always be with me, when I hear news about floods, about construction, about the price of fish. When I form opinions about these important national issues, I will not see blank faces representing the 80 million Filipinos who live in poverty. I will see Tatay and Nanay. While they may not embody the most typical Filipino, they have helped me to really look at people. My immersion has truly opened my eyes to the state of our society, our environment, and our country. More importantly, it has cleared up the hazy faces of all our countrymen. I see them now. Maybe I can’t change corrupt structures, our polluted surroundings, or even other people. Most people can’t, because they attempt to help from where they are or where they’re coming from. Sometimes it’s more important to be able to see and understand the real people who we want to help first.