HINDI KAMI MAYAMAN

photo from http://www.flickr.com/photos/pinksherbet

For as long as I could remember, people have labeled me and my sister as “sosyal (elite)” or mayaman (rich); dressing, speaking and acting the way we do. Actually, the remarks were more directed to me because I was the one sent to Assumption College while Cha had a university education for her degree in medicine. In a third world country, being considered as elite should have been a compliment but coming from relatives with ulterior motives it always sounded like sarcasm, or worse, envy.

Yes, we speak in perfect English, constantly wary of using proper grammar. But that’s because of our privileged education and an early start with Mommy’s aunts who were all teachers. Yes, we have good taste in clothes, thanks to the fashion flair of Mommyla and Mommy. Yes, we seem to have been born and bred by Emily Post the way we conduct ourselves socially. But honestly, it’s just the way Mommy brought us up.

But the truth is this: WE ARE NOT RICH. We were never rich and we still are not. I could almost hear the unanimous gasps of disbelief of every friend, classmate, colleague and everyone in Poblacion, Makati who knew us: every single one who saw us drive our own cars (they’re not “ours” they are defective hand-me-downs from our Dad), who praised our chic clothes (they are not even branded as everyone assumed), who heard us confidently converse and mingle socially (well that’s breeding we got from Mommy). Everything I described about me and my sister was not brought about by a wealthy and spoiled lifestyle; we were molded this way because of our mother’s love and sacrifice. She never wanted us to feel deprived despite the real situation our family was in. The reality that despite the appearances of the rich life, we never had a lot of money, we didn’t even have our own house.

Even before I was born, we lived in Mommyla’s house in Poblacion, Makati. From what I learned, my parents were allowed to live there as Mommy, despite being a pampered only-daughter of one of the reputable families in Poblacion, settled to marry a neophyte engineer of the Munisipyo whose humble beginnings were from the slums of Manila. Tragedy struck when Daddylo was assassinated in front of the house in 1979; one of the many poltical killings at that time that was never publicized. I was 4 years old and Cha was 3 and we were both with him when he was gunned down. Our Dad being the only one working at that time since he never allowed Mommy to go back to work, became the breadwinner of the household. Since he was only starting out at that time, there was just enough to go by but Cha and I never felt that the family was struggling. It’s because Mommy made the simple things seem like luxuries: free Sanrio stickers from 2-peso chewing gums, paper dolls cut from Mod magazine, the almost daily lunch or dinner dish of steamed “gagamba” (spider in Filipino but actually it’s how we called blue-shelled crab which was mine and Cha’s favorite at that time), the not-so-often lasagna treat from the Bird House or fried chicken from Kentucky before it even became popular as KFC.

But more tragedy was yet to come. A few weeks later, an anomaly in Daddy’s department happened: someone complained of extortion from one of the engineers. Mayor Yabut, known to use an iron-hand in the management of Munisipyo employees, castigated the entire department with a blockade, freezing everyone’s salaries and benefits. Daddy was on the brink of being fired from his job. Mommyla, despite suffering from a nervous breakdown from Daddylo’s assassination, pulled herself together, mustered enough strength and courage then headed to Mayor’s office and not having an appointment, waited in line for hours to see her long-time Kumpare to plead the case of Daddy. Alas, Mayor Yabut saw her among the crowd, surprised that his Kumare was queuing to see him and invited her to his office. After learning that one of the reprimanded employees was Mommyla’s son-in-law and that he was the only breadwinner of the family at that time, Mayor Yabut immediately had Daddy reinstated.

From thereon, his career took off, rising from the ranks and becoming chief electrical engineer. With the promotions came the connections and with that he started an electrical contractor business, naming it after his father as sole proprietor to protect his position in the government. Reyes Electrical Services boomed in the 80s with their biggest contracts coming from Jollibee, building the food chain’s first 45 stores in the country. For the first time Daddy was able to buy a car and not be handed down one like his first car given by Daddy Boy, Mommy’s eldest brother. Still nothing felt different for me and Cha. We still lived in Mommyla’s house. We still went to the same Catholic school and were fetched by Mang Tomas’ tricycle despite the walking distance of our school from the house. We still received gifts only on our birthdays and on Christmas but mainly because of tradition plus the fact that we never asked for anything anyway. We always accepted what was given us and that was that, nothing more. Because Mommy raised us that whatever we have or whatever was given us, that was all there was to it because that was all that could be afforded. We bought the drama that there was only “enough” and that it would be too embarrassing to ask for more so Cha and I grew up never asking. But what we thought was a virtue was actually a curse; something that would be used to take advantage of us and eventually consume Mommy with grief that eventually cost her life.

The truth was we had to settle what was given us because Daddy had to provide for his side of the family. One day, Daddy asked us to dress up because we were going to a party at Sampaloc. Imagine Mommy’s surprise when he drove us and Mommy, not to the shack at the squatters’ area where his parents and siblings lived and where we visited them every weekend, but to a 3-storey duplex 3 blocks away from their former residence. And who bought and built the house for them? Surely not from Tatay’s measly veteran’s pension. Up to this day, Daddy’s siblings claim that the house was built from the fishery business that Tatay sold some years back. They had no idea that Mommy knew, in fact it was spread by their very own relatives, that Tatay’s fishery went bankrupt because a relative had duped him. What about Reyes Electrical Services? Oh yes, you’re right. The business that boomed due to Daddy’s connections and whose contracts were closed and sealed by the only electrical engineer in their family. Duh.

So now, the 3-storey duplex has become 4-storeys with 1 floor for each of Daddy’s siblings while we still don’t have a house that we can live in and call our own. Yes, we live in a rented 2-bedroom condominium. Yes, it’s rented, it’s not even lease to own. Daddy never had plans of buying us a house since, as he proudly claims, we are only daughters who would marry someday and should be provided by a house by our husbands and not by him. So daughters don’t have the right to be provided for but his sisters should be? Oh I must be an ingrate for almost forgetting: Daddy did buy Mommy a posh property in the expensive area of The Fort Global City. It’s where she’s been living for the past 9 years: at Heritage Park Cemetery.