A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A FILIPINO

By Senator Antonio F. Trillanes IV

It was still early in the morning when Mang Nestor got up from bed. He is now quietly sipping a cup of salabat inside his kubo as he prepares to walk to the town. Mang Nestor is a rice farmer in a strife-torn town in Central Mindanao. Today, however, he will not farm. He had been told the day before that the area where the rice fields are, had been declared “No Man’s Land” by the AFP as part of the on-going military operations against the MILF. Taking advantage of the break, Mang Nestor decided to spend the day to look for a doctor. He had long wanted something to relieve himself of the sharp pain in his abdomen. He believes it is some sort of liver ailment as told by the albularyo he consulted with.

At the health center, Mang Nestor dutifully waited for his turn. After patiently waiting for a few hours, he was finally called but only to be dismissed quickly by the attending health worker since the doctor was not around. Besides, he was also informed that there was no medicine available. Eventually, he was told to come back the following week as the doctor should arrive by then. Realizing that he had no more business in the town, Mang Nestor then headed slowly back for home. As he strode by the dirt road, he began to shake his head in regret when he figured that his habitual drinking could likely be the cause of his predicament. He smirks as he recollected about those whole-day drinking sprees he and his friends did back then to provide some form of cheap entertainment as well as to drown his hunger and miseries away.

His reflections were abruptly disrupted by a convoy of streaking vans escorted by several police and military vehicles that blew past him causing a cloud of dust and dirt. As he squinted his eyes, he managed to get a glimpse of the black van at the center of the convoy. He nodded as though it was very familiar to him. A few years back, Mang Nestor recalled that it was the same black van that brought the town mayor to the plaza to deliver a campaign speech. A bus had brought him there, along with other people, to be part of the hakot crowd in exchange for a fifty-peso fee. The mayor then was running for re-election and was sincerely promising the townsfolk that, if re-elected, he will install deep-well pumps for potable water in their barangays as well as multi-purpose pavements to dry their palay. During the elections, he voted for the mayor not because he was moved by the promises made but because he had sold his vote to the tune of five hundred pesos. His neighbors said they received more but then again, he thought, five hundred pesos is still five hundred pesos. The elections are near again yet the promises remained unfulfilled but the prospects of making a little money amused him. This time around he will sell his vote to the highest bidder. He is convinced they are all the same anyway.

Halfway to his home, Mang Nestor decided to take a break from walking under the scorching heat of the sun. He found a big tree and gently sat underneath its shade. He appreciated the scenic view of the rolling mountains as he blew out a sigh of exhaustion. Near the base of the nearby mountain, however, there seemed to be clouds of smoke. Then he heard distant rumbling of what sounded like continuous cannon shelling. It is the war, he thought. How long would it take this time, he asked himself. It was a good thing he still had a half-sack of rice stored in his house. He had already conceded the possibility that his harvest would be completely destroyed. Besides, he had already loaned out almost all of it to the rice cartel operator in the area in exchange for the money he used during pre-production.

He now wondered how his life would have turned out had he joined the NPAs who were recruiting him decades ago? Would he be living a better life now? Most probably not, he thought. For he vividly remembered an incident a few years back when a band of NPA guerillas stormed their barrio and killed a man suspected of being an AFP informant. He could not understand why these people who fashioned themselves as the saviors of the masses would kill the very same people they claimed to be fighting for? Then again, he still would not have joined them because no one would take care of his family.

Mang Nestor’s wife, like him, is illiterate and could not be employed. Actually, only one of his six daughters had gone past grade six. Aside from the fact that he could not afford their education, he remembered what was taught to him by his own parents: “Knowing how to read and write your name; and how to count money are the only things you need to know to survive”. What frustrated him though, was the fact that he had no sons to help him in the farmlands. His two elder daughters had gone to Manila to work as housemaids. The next two are still at home helping their mother. The fifth daughter left for Davao to look for work a year ago but he had not heard from her since. His neighbors heard this vicious rumor that she had ended up working as a prostitute. While the youngest child, the brightest and the one who had the most promising future, had eloped at a tender age of fourteen. In deep thought, he had not noticed the tears that rolled over his cheeks. He asked himself, “What have I done to deserve this?” “Maybe I was not praying enough”, he answered himself back. But his family rarely missed going to mass. Nonetheless, he pledged to himself that this Sunday he would pray more fervently than the previous weeks.

In his reflections, Mang Nestor had lost track of time. He looked up and estimated the time to be way past noon, which was why he had grown hungry. He contemplated on resuming his long walk home but then he realized there was nothing to eat there except the boiled malunggay leaves his family had been eating for the past several days. So instead, he decided to lie down on his back and sleep.

The plight of Mang Nestor is but one of the more than forty million Filipinos or more than half of our population living way below the poverty line. Each one goes through a similar ordeal every single day since the day they were born. Their lives are the representations of the true state of the nation with all the societal problems, government shortcomings and the damaged culture that had made them poor, weak, and helpless.

Last November 29, 2007, I made a stand for Mang Nestor. I failed then but I will still stand up for him someday…