This book by Nick Joaquin was written as a “popular history of Manila that young Manilans would enjoy”. Although I sometimes disagree with Mr. Joaquin’s take on certain historical issues in this book, I’ve enjoyed reading it so far. Having read mostly Teodoro Agoncillo’s history textbooks my entire student life, I find Nick Joaquin’s “pop” style of writing refreshing. I’m learning more about Manila while reading this book than I have all those years of sitting in history classes.

This book has helped me appreciate Manila even more. Having lived in different parts of Metro Manila for four years before I came to the U.S., I’ve seen and appreciated facets of our nation’s capital that I would not otherwise have known.

I came to Metro Manila to work in July 1999. Prior to this, I had spent most of my entire life in idyllic Cebu, with short trips to Leyte and Davao City. I had been to Manila for vacations only twice before. Both times I stayed with relatives in what was then the military camp and residences in Fort Bonifacio, where my uncle was a military doctor. This trip in 1999, however, was different. Though I would stay with relatives for the first few months, I was basically “on my own”.

When I first arrived there, Metro Manila might as well have been an alien world. Things seemed familiar, yet were very different. The taxi drivers either did not know the place I was going to, or pretended not to. They were angrier, meaner and ruder versions of Cebu taxi drivers, and never, never gave me back sukli (change) for my fare. The buses were no better - they stopped for thirty seconds while the kunduktor yelled for me to get on, and many times they would stop in the middle of the street while the kunduktor yelled for me to get off, with other vehicles zipping by at crazy velocities and unpredictable tangents. Fast-food places had long lines I’d only seen in Sto. Nino church during Fridays, and casual-dining restaurants made you wait 20-30 minutes before getting you seated. These memories amuse me mildly now, but at that time, I was ready to pull my hair out in frustration at what were then to me strange and foreign concepts and experiences.

My first two attempts at “living on my own” in rented apartments didn’t fare too well, either. Since I was so disgusted with commuting, I decided on the first apartment because it was walking distance from my where I was working. I sublet a moderately agreeable unit in an apartment complex, but didn’t realize that the woman I was subletting from had 5 kids! I tolerated the noises at all times of the day and night, until very early one morning when the apartment’s owner came knocking angrily to demand late rent from her. I was greatly surprised at this, because I had been paying her my share of the rent very promptly. That same afternoon I was apartment-hunting again. This time I rented from a nice enough family. My room was tiny and the bathroom was cramped, true, but the place was quiet after 9 pm. However, I realized soon after that the owners brought the one and only telephone in the house (I had no celphone at that time) into their room at night, because the man’s boss apparently called him at odd hours. I could not use the phone from the time they went to bed, until they brought it out again in the morning. It was crazy.

Thankfully, one of my cousins from Cebu learned that I was working near where she and her husband lived, and they took me under their wing. I would later refer to this as the act that “saved” me from packing my things and just simply giving up and going back to Cebu.

Had I done that, I would not have enjoyed all the other wonderful things that Metro Manila had to offer. I would not have been able to appreciate Malate’s colorful nightlife and Quezon City’s varied eating places. I would not have been able to find my way around certain areas in Intramuros, nor ever visit the National Museum, or even Luneta. I wouldn’t have enjoyed the diverse and delicious culinary treats of different Manila restaurants. I wouldn’t have watched plays in Intramuros, the U.P. Theatre, or the Cultural Center, nor danced to live music by the Eraserheads, Brownman Revival, Color It Red, and my beloved Parokya ni Edgar. And I wouldn’t have been able to make the rare but very enjoyable side-trips to Tagaytay, Batangas, Cavite, Corregidor and Baguio.

Had I left Manila before I began to understand it, I would not have experienced Christmas-shopping in Divisoria, or gone on a guided walking tour of Quiapo with a local resident whose family has lived in the area for decades. I would not have experienced elbowing my way around the Greenhills tiangge, nor witnessed the opening of Greenbelt 3 and Eastwood City. I wouldn’t have gone to Cosmo’s parties and FHM’s events, nor would I have played WarCraft in Area 51 with Budj, Brandie, Jojo and the other guys in Mark’s barkada, or played Paintball in the U.P. Sunken Garden with Nikko and Lanie, Pia and Wowell, Fritz, Ella and other friends. And I would have missed eating in Mang Jimmy’s and the Ateneo Clubhouse!

More than this, I wouldn’t have met all the (sometimes strange) but always interesting people I have had the pleasure of getting to know in this city.

This post started out as a mini-review of a book, but now I see it has evolved into a homage to that amazing, crazy, dynamic, incomparable place that is Metro Manila.

My stay in Manila changed me, for better or for worse. There, I started out feeling uprooted from all I knew and loved, but later established roots. I started out nangangapa (fumbling, or faltering), but eventually found my voice. I started out alone and lonely, but found real friends. I started out hating the city, but ended up falling in love with a Manileño - and with Metro Manila.

Before I lived in Manila, I considered myself a true-blue Cebuano in heart and soul, and in many ways I still am. In Manila I learned, and adapted to, the ways and attitudes of the Manileño, and there I learned to grow up and be my own person. Now, living so far away from home, my experiences in both cities have fused into a stronger identity, and a deeper, more unwavering pride at being truly Filipino.

Posted under Navel-Gazing , Reading