Family Day

Sunday was grocery day with our family. Once a month, right after Mass at Della Strada, we’d drop by Shoppersville and grab the usual – a couple of cans of SPAM, big packs of Mighty Meatys and spiced ham, one of those giant Stik-O containers, a couple of Coke Litros, a box of Frosties for Ate Macy, and a box of Coco Pops for the boys. Then there’d be mangoes and bananas and potatoes and kang kong and other random greenery (a necessary evil). Lots of other stuff too usually, and of course, there’d be the giant bags of ground pork and beef. Oh, tomato sauce and noodles too. And those pre-garlic-ed garlic-bread-in-foil that you can just pop in the oven. Spaghetti was Mom’s specialty for those big Sunday family lunches that’d come as soon as we got home.

The best part of grocery day was when we’d take the side trip upstairs where Shoppersville had the non-groceries. There were school supplies, and power tools, and the aforementioned best part – toys. On a good day, we’d take home a Casey Jones or a Snake Eyes. Well, when we were younger at least. As we grew older, the side trip upstairs meant getting two 8-packs of California Maki rolls. Those were the best too.

More consistently though, the best part of grocery day was picking the fare for the family lunch afterparty – the chocolate bar six-pack. Sometimes it’d be Crunch bars. Sometimes it’d be Krackel. Sometimes it’d be Mr. Good Bar or Butterfingers or Snickers. Oh and the best times would be when it was Alpine Whites or Bar Nones. Too bad they don’t have those nowadays.

Somehow, I’d always felt that chocolate was absolutely made for our family. After all, they always came in packs of sixes. Well normally at least – let’s not count Ferreros or Toblerones, those are special. And definitely not those assorted mini-packs, those are just random. The standard six-pack falls neatly into place. There’s my dad and my mom and there’s the three of us boys and of course our favorite sister. It would always be an even distribution by default. Sure, there’d be bargaining and trading for a future share, or a favor between us – especially when Dad was sick or Mom was on a diet. But since it always started from a point of parity, there was always balance.

Fast forward a couple of years, and the big Sunday family lunch has become something of a rarity in our household. We’ve moved away from Della Strada and rarely go to Mass together. We’ve moved away from Shoppersville and groceries are usually just done by Pedro, our de facto majordomo, after the four of us siblings shell out our household shares after pay day. Dad usually tags along so that he can get out of the house for a little while. Being retired and in a wheel chair can get boring. But the rest of us are often off doing our own thing.

But on those rare Sundays, and the big holidays - those Christmases and Easters, we still do try to have that big family lunch. We’re all grown up now, and sometimes too busy to see each other as often as we’d like. Strange how that is, seeing as we all still live in the same house. Nevertheless, it’s nice to know that we can still fall back into a rhythm with each other. There is still some magic to be had over a couple of Coke 1.5s, and Spaghetti and garlic bread and that pack of Crunch right after.

Somehow, I still feel that chocolate is absolutely made for our family. After all, they always come in packs of sixes and the standard six-pack still falls neatly into place. There’s my dad and there’s the three of us boys and of course our favorite sister. And there’s that extra piece to remind us that it always started from a point of parity. That even now, she gives us balance.

Bayanihan

What are you supposed to do when you’re held captive by flood water, starving, shivering and dying of thirst? What are you supposed to do when your family tells you to stay where you are, and that they are stranded by 10 feet of water without food or water all in the same breath? What are you supposed to do when your solitary boat can barely fight the current as so many cry for help? What are you supposed to do when your home is being ravaged while you’re stuck a million miles away? What are you supposed to do when your resources have been spread thin by the widespread calamity, and are without have already used up emergency reserves?

These are just some of the questions that Ondoy has left for many of us over the past days.

Fear. Desperation. Hopelessness. Heartbreak. Frustration. Anger. We cycle through emotions as we struggle with what we can’t do. We look for something to blame…someone to blame. After all, what else are you supposed to do?

But for all the questions of what we are supposed to do, the only real answer lies with what we can do. To paraphrase a good friend, if all we have are our hands then we are perhaps better served using them to try and move mountains than to point fingers.

And as a country being tested by this ordeal we have answered and have continued to answer the questions as best we can. Without any semblance of political spin, we’ve been battered and bruised, but we have not been broken.

Sociologists have spoken all too often of our struggles in our quest toward nationhood. But I would like to think that despite all that has happened, we are not to be defined by those that would turn this into a political pissing contest (i.e., pataasan ng ihi), or that would use it as a backdrop for bargaining with the bemoustached devil himself, or those that simply can’t wait to get their drink on. We are not to be defined by those worrying about whether they will still get their baon despite having no classes, or have turned volunteerism into a soiree, or have taken all the confusion as an opportune time for thievery and looting, and other travesties of justice. We are not to be defined by the indifferent, or indisposed, or the otherwise bereft of sensitivity and delicadeza.

I’m more inclined to believe that, if anything, we would be defined by those who can cope amidst the worst of times by wearing a smile, or cracking jokes to keep hope alive. We are to be defined by those who would, in the face of crisis, rise to the occasion whether it be from next door or from far away, in ways both large and small. We are to be defined by those who have performed rescue and relief operations, those who have donated and given until it hurts, and those who have spread the word to spur others to do the same. We are to be defined by those who watched the news and sympathized, and straight up gave a damn. We are to be defined by those who have offered prayers, and have seen the plight of strangers and cared enough to do something, to do anything. We are to be defined by those who have given up the safety of their homes, the little they have, and even their lives so that others may survive. We are to be defined by courage, determination, sacrifice and, above all, selfless and inspiring heroism.

That we are outraged at the former, and that we champion the latter exemplifies what it is we value as a people. It exemplifies that the so-called Bayanihan spirit is at the very heart of our nationhood.

So while for many Ondoy can only be described in terms of rain volume, wind speed, or death toll, may this ordeal be remembered not as just another statistic. May it be remembered for the extraordinary stories pieced together of the Filipino people coming together and pulling through. And this will only be possible if we continue on the fight. That Pateros, Payatas, Cainta, and countless others have not been reached are testament to this. That Pepeng is coming to test us, more so. Rescue and relief are only just the beginning. There is still the need to rebuild all the destruction in the wake of Ondoy and Pepeng and the storms yet to come (whatever form these may take). There is still the need to rebuild lives.

There is only so much we can do. But the operative words there are we can. Yes, all we have are our hands, but it is in our hands that we hold our future. It’s time to move mountains.

For You, the World

I’m not the friend you’d tell your stories to, or entrust with your secrets, much less the first one you’d call, or text (or tag it seems) at an instance of particular significance. I’m not the trophy friend you carry pictures of, or namedrop when you’re with other friends. I’m not your lunch buddy, or movie buddy or that familiar face you’d look for in a party. I’m not the type you’d go out of your way for, or whose birthday you’d always remember, much less at the stroke of midnight.

I’m not someone you’d ever really miss.

But then that makes sense, because I’m the one who’s always there.