Portal de Periódicos da CAPES

Seek and You Will Find

2013; Issue: 21/22 Linguagem: Inglês

10.13185/kk2013.02121

2094-6937

Michelle Tan,

Socioeconomic Development in Asia

MOVE, MOVE, THE DRIVER SAYS, two more on the left, one on the right.The passengers shuffle instinctively, almost as one, opposite rows undulating like snakes in the morning sun.Three SM salesladies teeter inside the jeepney, the passengers struggle to make room, already the vehicle is lurching forward, expelling a trail of gray smoke and the lazy put-put-put of urban progression.From any point through the window one can see the commuters, one hand on the rail, the other clutching bags, umbrellas, plastic bottles, fans.Only a few dare to take out cellphones, veterans or ignorants, or perhaps practitioners of the same black trade, who knows.Those with free hands pass fares to the driver, coins changing palms at least seven times from one end to the other, a precarious economy replicated in the thousands of jeepneys all across Metro Manila.Seven, because the average jeepney contains a full load of ten on each side, and because it is a sacred number, almost in itself divine.And today is a divine morning.January 9, the annual feast of the Black Nazarene, also known as Nuestro Padre Jesús Nazareno, Mahal na Itim na Nazareno, among other names of adoration.Like ants to honey, devotees swarm to Quiapo to catch a glimpse of the miraculous effigy, blackened by fire as if in testament to the trials Christ endured during his crucifixion and, possibly, its eternal enactments.The jeepney we are following, however, plies a route that skirts the procession path by a wide margin, its passengers headed away from the commotion in Manila.We must resist easy judgment, for these citizens are no less faithful than those currently awaiting the Black Nazarene, only more committed to earthly employments and less confident in the security provided by Manila police.Even now they make signs of the cross, pray to God to dispel the heavy traffic the way he parted the Red Sea.Under their breaths they curse their crazed counterparts in Quiapo, for whose devotion the local government has closed major thoroughfares, whereas they, servile employees to the system, are rewarded with early morning bottlenecks and tardy deductions in their salary.God must truly favor those eight million devotees, who have no day job or have fewer mouths to feed, in any case they can afford the luxury of a twenty-hour procession from Rizal Park to Quiapo Church.If they are lucky, they may even get to wipe a handkerchief on the statue, if they don't collapse from heat exhaustion first, in which case the blessed cloth will have an opportunity to demonstrate its miraculous properties, and all will not have been in vain.In the spirit of piety, we must confess that the above sentiments do not belong entirely to this narrator, but are the jumbled thoughts of a man sitting by the entrance of the jeepney.He is Alexander F. Narciso, male, Filipino, 26 years old, single, Roman Catholic.He is hunched forward in his seat, hands gripping knees, backpack slung over both shoulders, ready to bolt at any second.The SM saleslady beside him notices his agitation and clings even more tightly to her handbag.He doesn't look the type, but in these uncertain times who can say for sure who is or is not to be trusted, all's fair in love and thievery.Still, she gives him a once-over Kritika Kultura 21/22 (2013/2014): -672 © Ateneo de Manila University and decides that, even in this harsh light, he looks almost handsome in profile.Lean, perhaps a little too thin, dressed in jeans and a three-fourths polo, hair cut in the latest Korean fashion but not flashy enough to attract unwanted attention.We who can see into his mind know that the saleslady need not worry, he has no interest in her or her handbag.Like everyone else he is merely worried about the traffic, already it is 7:45 on his watch.He and two others alight at Blumentritt, and from there he takes another jeepney to Retiro, a street embedded in collective memory, whose name people continue to affirm daily despite street signs that insist otherwise, insist on N.S.Amoranto, in this way travelers lose themselves in the maze that is Metro Manila.Inside this jeepney a sign cautions passengers, God knows Hudas not pay, and so Alex hands over his requisite eight pesos and waits to exit purgatory.When they pass Our Lady of Lourdes Parish Church, he kisses the wooden cross hanging around his neck, for what blessing he doesn't know, force of habit, he would say if pressed, over the years he has become, like all Filipinos, expert at navigating the line between prayer and practice.As they say, all suffering soon ends, and when Alex reaches the office of Tricolors Screen Printing Supply and clocks in at exactly 8:00, we are tempted to believe that miracles do exist after all.We imagine angels singing in his ears, but the door opens to a minor catastrophe, Madam has not yet arrived, the office is in a flurry, the air vibrating with the ringing of telephones.Tricolors, good morning, Hold on, Uhhuh, uh-huh, Let me repeat that, 25 kilos wetlook T, 30 kilos superwhite T, 2 kilos fixer NF-70, 1 kilo black RC, 1 gallon table adhesive, Pick-up or delivery, Is the check ready, Right, I'll call you again with the total, Goodbye.Across the room Jam has answered the other phone and is looking up prices on the computer, for a moment the office is quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner and her tap-tap-tapping on the keyboard.Then Ramon bursts in with his too-tight polo shirt and demands to see Jennilyn.She's not yet in, Jam says without turning around.Ramon curses as he plops down on a swivel chair, muttering about a delivery mistake to one of his clients.Alex stares glumly at the company laptop screen and enters the password.A close-up of a koala appears, littered with tiny icons.Opo, that's our last price, Jam says on the phone.Madam comes in at half past nine in a low-cut blouse and slacks, as is her Godgiven right, along with the unequivocal authority to condemn when necessary, commend when obligated, and cultivate a look of mild dissatisfaction for all other occasions.She is followed by Ashley, her teenage daughter who has been interning at the office for the past week, alphabetizing receipts and fiddling with her iPhone until classes resume on Wednesday.After them comes a retinue of men carrying in bags and snacks and sports bottles from the white Toyota Fortuner that has transported the pair from their house in Talayan Village, a distance of almost ten blocks, which the driver covered in the time they took to comb their hair and apply lipstick, what would we do without the privacy of tinted cars.