Pamasko, or the art of giving alms

Nothing beats spending Christmas in the Philippines. There’s something reassuring about spending the holidays with your family, and with old friends. New friends are great, of course. But nothing beats spending Christmas with old friends who love you at your meanest, bitchiest self—because they’re pretty mean and bitchy themselves.

What I don’t like about Pinoy Christmas is the practice of pamasko. Pamasko is the act of giving cash gifts during the holiday season. Usually, we Flips give it to our young relatives and godchildren. My dad noticed though that everybody—young, geriatric, unemployed, and gainfully employed—ask him for pamasko. My father, unlike yours truly, has earned a reputation in our community for being nice, generous, and cheerful. Christmas, therefore, is the season when countless folks—some of whom we can never identify and never even say hello to us the rest of the year—stretch out their hands to Dad and say, “Tito, namamasko po!” (Hard to translate into English, but it simply means they’re asking Dad for alms.) Once they get what they want, they leave our modest home, without saying thank you, and we never hear from them—until Christmas the following year.

Are gift cheques accepted?

Last year, I gave one of the kids Php150, around SGD6, but is a pretty big amount to kids here in the Philippines. That child said thank you, but her mother—a relative—has the guts to ask me, “That’s it?” This woman never gave me pamasko during my childhood years, and she has an irritating habit of asking me when I’m going to get married. I wanted to slap and strangle her then and there.

I held on to my patience and gave her a tight smile instead. Then, she, a woman with a stable job, asked me, “How about me? Where’s my pamasko?”

These people are hopeless.

One Night at Changi

Budget airlines have the most interesting flight schedules. My flight out of the Lion City was at 6:30, which left me no choice but to camp out at Changi, or else I would have to pay more than SGD 50 for taxi fare. The airport was unbearably, numbingly cold, made colder by the fact that except for us Flips, there were very few people milling about.

Changi has some really interesting Christmas decor. Hmmm...

I spent the night reading a novel, and when that eventually bored me, I resorted to talking to one of the fellow Flip passengers from Darwin, Australia. Our conversation went like this:

Man: You should try working in Australia. You can end up being a PR.

Me: I prefer to work here though. Singaporeans are very nice. And you can also be a PR eventually.

Man: How much is the Singaporean dollars worth when you convert it to peso?

Me: SGD 1 to Php 32.

Man (a little arrogantly): Ah, the Australian dollar is worth a lot more.

By this time, I have a feeling the conversation is heading to dangerous territory.

Man: Are you single?

Me: Yeah. It’s very hard to leave your family behind just to study.

Man: Do you plan to go home and get married after this?

I looked at the man and thought, “Hell, no!” I did not leave my comfortable life in the Philippines, complete with maids, membership in a swanky gym, and a slew of weird, creative, and funny friends, to study in one of the toughest schools in Asia just to go home and get married after I’m done with it. But since I've lived in Singapore, I’ve learned to be nicer and be more patient. So I gave the man a sweet, bleary-eyed smile, and said, “No.”

Today's lucky number...13.

What is it about marriage that we Flips bring up the topic to people we’ve just met? Shortly before I left for school, I needed to get my insurance ID. There, I met a woman who had the temerity to tell me, “You’re 28, and still single?!” Yes. Is that a mortal sin?

What’s the big deal about being married? Is it that much fun? If it is, how come many of the married people I know (with the exception of magazine editor Frances Amper-Sales) end up looking like hell after only a couple of years of marriage?

And why do we Flips have this tendency to impose it on other people, especially to those who are so uninterested in it? As much as I love the Christmas season, I actually dread Christmas day itself. Christmas is the day when everybody—aunts, uncles, cousins, family friends, people who pretend to be related to us even if we don’t share the same DNA—troop to our house and badger me, “So, when are you getting married?

I am not anti-marriage. If my parents weren’t married, I would not have existed—although I have a feeling they were doing the deed a few weeks before their wedding. Sorry, Ma.

But what is it about Filipinos and our culture that puts marriage on a pedestal, as if it’s the greatest achievement anybody can ever have?  And why is it that whenever somebody’s single, people think of that person as some sort of a freak, a weirdo, some circus attraction? Shouldn’t it be the other way around, considering we live in a world where very few marriages stay intact?

Can somebody please explain to me, ha?

The other day, I was telling my mom that my next homecoming might be around 2011, because I have plans of working in Singapore after I am, hopefully, done with school in 2010. I told her I plan to look for a job in Singapore, try to work my way up and maybe become a fashion editor of a magazine, because I honestly believe that I can’t make that happen here in Manila. The city’s social-climbing, status-seeking crowd will make it impossible for me.

My mom, that sweet, kid-loving, nagging lady, smiled at me and said, “Oh. I thought you were about to say you were getting married.”   

Shifting Loyalties

I was really excited about going home. Really, I was. I’m proud to be who I am and where I came from. I’ve always talked about the Philippines with my classmates, about how, in spite of being the Third World hell hole it is, it’s the home of smart, artistic, and funny people. I looked forward to going home the minute I stepped on Singaporean soil. But when I did go home, I wished I didn’t instead.

Manila is a mess. The poverty I used to ignore gnawed at my insides. I use to not give a flying fuck about Filipinos obsessed with material possessions—the latest It bag, the perfect furniture, the hundred dollar heels. Now, they make me want to hurl many times over. In a country where more than half the population lives in poverty, I don’t understand why people have the gall to talk about their possessions. The Sunday showbiz talk shows—which used to be a staple of my weekends—seemed inane, petty, and a complete waste of air time. The tambays are an eyesore. And the skinny, naked kids these guys have produced makes my heart break.

My four and a half years at UP were spent in massive indoctrination—about how the government neglects us, and how poverty eats at our core. Back then, I didn’t care. My belief was, the country was good to me and my family, and I should be grateful for the opportunities it has given us. To say that, though, smacks of selfishness. It’s ironic that it was a foreign school that changed my beliefs, when the activists of UP have spent years shouting slogans to my face, but to no avail.

I dream about going back to Summit. I wanted to go back to the people whom I regard as my friends and family. I still do. I still feel envious when I see the gang’s party pics on Facebook. But the typhoon’s aftermath, and the recent news about Baguio, has left me feeling iffy.

After one week of Manila, I went back to Singapore a few hours before my class. I usually take the train from Changi, but this time, I decided to take the taxi instead. As we drive by the port and the Flier, I was very relieved. I’m glad to have another country. The other one has become a burden.

The Train

Two days ago, I wrote something about how much I love my people. Only two days have passed and I think I'm doing an about face.

Nakapag-LRT na ba kayo from Recto?

Do you notice how people act when they board the train? Boarding the train from that station is a scene straight out of a children's party, with everybody scurrying about, trying to find the next available space. It's an adult version of that old parlor game, Trip to Jerusalem.

Here in Singapore, people seem to be more giving: when they see you carrying something, they'd give the seat to you. When they see an older person board the train, they'd give the seat to her. They're very courteous people

I noticed that during my registration, NTU's staff are so different from UP's. The people in NTU are courteous and respectful of students. Some of UP's staff are some of the most bastos, power-tripping, egoistic people you can ever meet. I've met several secretaries in my college I'd be happy to strangle. I was once berated by a librarian for mistakenly leaving my stuff in his turf. As freshmen, we hated this nasty OUR admin assistant, whom we will only talk to at gunpoint.

When I opened an account at OCBC, the lady constantly apologized for making me wait-- for like, well, three minutes. It's so different from the treatment I got from the local bank I have been depositing money to for almost 10 years. The manager just looked at me with dead eyes-- no good morning, no smiles, no apologies for making me wait.

Somebody told me that one thing she liked about working here is that there are no class differences in the workplace. People don't care whether you're rich or struggling: they'll befriend you, talk to you, eat out with you. In the Philippines, parang may caste system in a single office.

We're supposed to be good people. I guess we're not anymore.