The happy-sad life of the overseas pinoy
On one trip to Rome, several years ago, my wife and I chanced upon a Filipino couple peddling balut and chichiria on the sidewalk in front of the Philippine embassy. Because we had time to spare, we engaged the couple in a conversation.
“This is how we make our living,” the wife said, quite casually. She and her husband had been in Rome for over 10 years but their children were in Manila.
The husband beamed. “We’ve sent our children to college with what we earn.”
And she added, with genuine pride: “La Salle.”
The husband piped in with a smile: “Malapit na kaming makaraos.”
That seemed to me like the classic happy-sad story. The plight of overseas Filipinos invariably evokes visions of heavy drama, fit for a soap opera tear-jerker. But the truth is, life is not always sad. Or even if it starts out laden with sadness, the plot often begins to be transformed into a genuine success story, a happy story — at least as far as the principal characters are concerned.
That final sentence — “Malapit na kaming makaraos” or, loosely, “We’re almost over the hill” — was what struck me then and, struck me again, when Rudy, a former driver, paid me a visit on one of my trips to Manila.
After Rudy left me, he found a job in the Middle East for both himself and his wife. With their overseas contracts having expired, they returned to Manila with enough savings to build a small house in Parañaque and buy a second-hand van. While they were overseas, they sent their children to college.
“Kuya,” he told me, “we’re no longer squatters and our eldest daughter is now a teacher. Our other children are almost finished with college. Malapit na kaming makaraos.”
I was in Barcelona last week with several members of my family (at the time of the terrorist incident) and we were enjoying drinks at a sidewalk café right outside our Airbnb. The owners of the little restaurant were a young Chinese couple, with the husband and wife having been away from China for six years and five years, respectively.
Theirs was a modest success story, but typical of the stories of overseas Chinese — diligent, hard-working, entrepreneurial, thrifty and, eventually, gaining relative business success and often becoming well-to-do.
At a nearby table was a Pinay who was having her merienda. Overhearing us speaking in Tagalog, mixed with English and broken Spanish, she remarked that she was a kababayan.
We introduced ourselves and soon began telling typical overseas Pinoy tales. We found out much of her life story — a story of relative success, in her own fashion. She was a domestic, had been one for over a decade, and was currently working for an English couple, based in Lebanon. They were on vacation and had brought her along.
While she worked long hours, doing all the household chores, preparing the meals and taking care of two young children, she said she was treated very well, was paid a good salary, and was allowed to take a vacation in her native Mindoro every year.
Her husband and children were in Mindoro and the kids were almost finished with college. “Makakaraos na rin ako,” she said, with no hint of self-pity.
One is tempted to translate that into, “My sacrifices are almost over” — except for the fact that, for Filipino parents, giving their children a college education, even if they have to scratch the ground for it, is hardly perceived as a “sacrifice” but as a sacred parental duty. A duty to be willingly performed.
To better appreciate this, in the US, average income parents do not feel an obligation to send their children to college. The grown-up children have to look for a job or apply for a college loan if they want to pursue higher education.
We are currently on board a cruise ship on a Mediterranean voyage. Not surprisingly, many members of the crew, particularly those assigned to the dining areas, are Filipinos. I believe that Filipino seamen, including those working in cruise ships, are among the most numerous, compared to other nationalities.
Having been on a cruise before, we knew what to expect from our kababayan. Special attention and virtual VIP treatment.
Told that a Pinoy was among the head chefs, we wondered aloud if we could request adobo. The positive response was immediate. “Done!”
The Pinoy servers attending to our table have all been at sea for years, one of them for over 10 years. Another got married to a fellow server, a Ukranian. All the others have families in the Philippines whom they see only once a year.
Unlike other contract workers, waiters on cruise ships depend mainly on tips for their earnings, rather than on fixed wages. But they obviously are earning well. Teams wait at several tables and attend to regular customers for the duration of the cruise. At the end of the cruise, it is customary for each passenger to give a fat tip. Needless to say, the more attentive and efficient the servers are, the fatter the tip.
Said one of the Pinoy servers, “Our team is among the best of the best in this ship. You see, most of our customers are ‘my time’ diners, which means they can vary their dining schedule, unlike those who have reservations for the duration of the cruise and have a fixed dining schedule. This means that we have to be extra efficient and attentive, to persuade passengers like you to keep coming back regularly.”
Extra efficient and attentive. This description applies not only to Pinoys on cruise ships but also to most Filipinos working overseas. You can add diligent, hard-working, trustworthy and pleasant to work with, to the description. And, oh yes, disciplined, too.
For those in the Philippines who routinely describe our people as undisciplined, easy-going and incompetent (plus dishonest and shady, when referring to politicians or government workers), the image of the overseas Pinoy worker is one that ought to be regarded with great pride.
The fact that they literally keep the Philippine economy afloat is even more reason to be proud of them.
On this current overseas trip, as I meet fellow Pinoys estranged from their families, working long hours, virtually scratching the ground para makaraos, the irony of it all strikes me.
The main reason why millions of Filipinos are working overseas is because our country, our government, our businessmen and employers, have been unable to help them provide decent, dignified lives for their families. This is generally considered a tragedy — as, indeed it is, if one thinks of the thousands of broken families this has caused, and the millions of children who have had to grow up without enough parental care.
And yet, working overseas brings out the best qualities in our people, while enabling our country to makaraos, with their millions in remittances.
One wishes that these same admirable qualities were manifested in our home country. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be the case.
That is the sad-happy part.
Greg B. Macabenta is an advertising and communications man shuttling between San Francisco and Manila and providing unique insights on issues from both perspectives.
