Re: a foreigners impression of the philippines
- From: "fathersrights" <rlisaacsjd@xxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Sat, 29 Sep 2007 08:33:17 -0500
The happiest group of people I ever met was a spirit filled group singing
praise and worship songs in a mountain church with dirt floors North of
Davao. They enjoy the secret that materialism does not produce happiness and
contrntment, only a close relationship with GOD and JESUS gives peace and
happiness.
"> GOT THIS FROM ONE OF THE YAHOO GROUPS I'M SUBSCRIBED TO. THIS IS A
MUST-READ! THE LAST PORTION MOVED ME TO TEARS....
Paolo P. Mangahas, 32, is currently working in Kuala Lumpur as Head of
Communications for
WWF-Malaysia (World Wide Fund for Nature Malaysia). He won Honorable
Mention in the
2003 Doreen Fernandez Food Writing Award for his piece Adobo, I'm
Home!
and has published several essays on food, lifestyle, fashion, and
social and environmental development.
------------ --------- --------
Between Poverty and Paradise
Paolo P. Mangahas
LAST night, I had dinner with a German friend to talk about her
planned trip to the Philippines . She had just completed an internship
program in one of the law firms here in Malaysia and wanted to take a
short holiday in a nearby country before heading off to Australia to
finish her studies. She wanted to know more about the Philippines and
asked me for tips on making the most of the two-and-a-half weeks that
she had allotted for this vacation.
We planned her trip between bites, armed only with a faded map of the
Philippines that we had downloaded from the Internet. My goal was to
identify all the "must-see" places in the country (her criteria being
beaches and volcanoes), plot them according to distance and flight
routes, and then cram them all in 17 days. A tall order indeed,
especially for someone like me who has never had a sense of direction
even in my own neighborhood. For the life of me, I could not spot
where
Boracay was on her map. So I took the easy way out and told her to go
to Palawan instead.
I carried on with the task like a diligent student trying to remember
my geography, starting from the rice terraces in Banaue up north,
moving down south to the Mayon Volcano in Bicol and the Chocolate
Hills
in Bohol. It was an embarrassing ordeal nonetheless as she could see
that I was struggling to find all the other attractive
destinations on the map, which in turn made me realize how little I
truly knew about my own country. She was very excited about the trip
and was eager to learn more about the country and its people.
She imagined the Philippines to be an eternal fiesta of Spanish and
Chinese Third-World flair, filled with warm and accommodating people
who all speak with a clear American accent, where all men have the
handsome earthy appeal of Jericho Rosales and women the heavenly
mestiza charms of Kristine Hermosa (thanks to Filipino soap operas
that
have become so popular here in Malaysia ). It was certainly one of
the
most honest cultural impressions that I have ever heard and quite
amusingly, one shared by many. In my German friend's opinion, the
Philippines is one of the most open-minded countries in Southeast Asia
. I found this view rather interesting, especially since it came from
a
European who has never stepped foot in the Philippines and whose only
direct exposure to the country, was me.
The funny thing about cultural impressions is that they often come
from
a place of both acute perception and blatant ignorance, split in the
middle by what is painfully true. But they are what they are ~
impressions. Quite naturally, my friend and I have come to build our
own impressions about Malaysia in the several months that we have been
here. Malaysia is a beautiful country that seems to be in a hurry to
develop economically, but is hampered by a palpable trace of social
reluctance. It seems grounded on an age-old culture that simply does
not mix well with progress, or at least the kind dictated and
exemplified by the Western world. I find this true for most
developing
Asian countries, including the Philippines.
My friend pointed out that she has never seen a beggar in the streets
of Kuala Lumpur since she moved here and asked me if it is the same in
the Philippines. As a matter of fact, she admitted that she has never
seen a beggar up close in her whole life and asked me to explain how
it
is to live in a poor country like mine.
She wanted to know more about poverty. Her question struck a chord in
me because I realized that apart from Jericho Rosales, this woman had
absolutely no idea about the country where she was going and how it
was
out there. Here was someone who came to me wanting to know more about
my country and the best I could offer was a geographical
representation of scenic destinations, which I hardly even knew
myself.
By this time, I had put down the pen I was holding, set aside the map,
and got ready to explain to her details about my country. I did not
know where to begin. After all, how does one explain poverty to
someone who has never experienced it before? To make things more
relevant to her, I started by comparing the Philippines to Malaysia. I
told her that blue-collar workers in the Philippines did not have the
same opportunities as the ones in Malaysia, who can afford to eat in
the same restaurants where executives eat or even shop in stores where
their own bosses shop. I told her that unlike the ones I have met in
Malaysia, secretaries and administrative clerks in the Philippines
will
eat in posh restaurants only on very special occasions and can barely
afford to travel to other countries. I then told her about the
beggars,
young and old, who parade the streets of Manila, the children who
knock
on car windows selling sampaguita, the mothers who have to forage for
food in garbage landfills, and the unemployed fathers who waste their
lives on drugs and alcohol. I told her about the shanties that bedeck
highways and railroads, the unproductive traffic jams, the
garbage-infested streets and sewers, and the regular typhoons that
flood the country and exacerbate already poor living conditions. I
told
her that poverty in the Philippines unapologetically hits you in the
face the very moment you step in. It is an open wound just waiting to
be healed.
My friend looked shaken, as if experiencing for the first time a world
she has seen only on TV. That was when my tears started to fall. I
could not help it. I have never cried in front of a semi-stranger
before but for some reason, I cried this time because she was still
not
immune to these things.
Her unawareness taught me to see poverty as if for the first time
myself, which brought out a lot of pain. I have become so used to the
pain that I have forgotten how it felt until I painted for her the sad
face of poverty.
I then found myself having to explain to her that despite all these,
the Philippines is still a beautiful country and this you will also
feel the very moment you get there. It is a beauty characterized by
the
indomitable human spirit of a people who have seen better days and yet
still have the capacity to find a piece of heaven in their lives. It
is
a beauty defined by the untiring faith of a people who have learned to
acknowledge their plight with reverence and yet have never lost the
courage to dream big dreams. It is a beauty characterized by the
painful history of a people who have been abused and pillaged through
the years and yet still have so much of themselves to give.
Now her tears were falling, smearing the map that I had earlier
vandalized with circles and arrows. But I knew it did not matter
anymore at this point.
I realized that my friend had learned all she needed to know about my
country and my people. She thanked me profusely, saying that she came
to me wanting to know more about how poor the Philippines is but in
the
end, she learned how abundantly blessed Filipinos truly are.
A beach is a beach and a volcano is a volcano anywhere in the world,
but it is the people who make the difference. I learned in that moment
that I may not know the geographical features of my country all too
well, but I sure know its heart and its soul because it is who I am.
The real poverty lies in not knowing this.
.
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