stick to the hustle

three things about being in the philippines:

1. sticky
2. hustle
3. stickly hustle


sticky:

the weather here is wonderfully humid. if you just learn to be still and not complain about sweating. if you just embrace the fact that you cannot escape the sweat beads. if you just love the swivel of the fan, not yearn for everytime it faces your direction, instead think about how much more cooler it's making the room with every swing...you'll love it too.

the humidity and warmth = sweat. and its lovely. your skin is moist to the touch, sticky almost. everyone you hug. you sit next to on the jeep. you bump into. you shake hands with...has the delightful stickiness too. of course, it sounds disgusting and moronic. but it's those simple sticky moments you remember you're not just anywhere in the US. it reminds you that you're in the philippines, in your skin, alive. alive in the middle of another part of the world. living. breathing.


hustle:

today as i walked (by myself by the way!) from the MRT station, coming from school, towards Robinson's Galleria to catch an FX back to Pasig, there was a commotion ahead of me. the gated walking path narrow and spilling over with people wouldn't allow me to peer over to see what the hullaballoo was all about. our ant-like parade line slowed down as the sounds of the highway inches from our unsuspecting bodies screamed in a harmonious cacophany. i kept walking to the intersection, a clearing finally out of the sluggish crowd of after-work people. so many bodies running left and right. the vendors. candy vendors. isaw vendors. fishball vendors. boys. older women. pregnant women. the vendors. were running. running away. a siren in the distance. ano nangyayari? shouted a girl from a jeep. what's happening? BILIS, TAKBO! hurry up! run! footsteps of boots approach. a blue van behind about 4 cars back honks its horn. tatangalin kayo! they're gonna remove you! TAKBO! RUN! a splash of metal on concrete erupts. a little boy with a wooden cardboard filled with cigarettes and candy just spilled his whole day of work. his whole day of work. people scream O AYAN NA! HERE THEY COME! different people come to the boy's rescue, including me, picking up whatever coins end up by my feet. i pick up some of the coins and run to him as he crouches to the ground collecting his earnings. some do the same. others pick up the coins and put it in their own pockets. he shoves the cardboard carton to a pregnant lady so he can gather the rest of his coins. others are still screaming AYAN NA! HERE THEY COME!

since the boy wasn't seen by the police, not having the carton allows him to blend into the crowd just like another passerby getting lucky with the spill of coins all over.

the police confiscate another boy's carton. the boy's sister runs from outta nowhere and straight up jackie joyner kerseys it up onto the blue pick up truckbed. sa kapatid ko yan! that's my brother's! she grabs the box. the police grabs her. she wriggles out of the policeman's lock. jumps down from the truckbed and yells back, wala kayong respeto sa aming trabaho. ya'll ain't got no respect for our work.

the funny thing is in those couple of seconds. nothing stopped at a stand still. the bus drivers still honked their horns. the bus driver navigators still yelled for people to hop on the bus. the hundreds of people kept walking. the tricycles still kicked their motorcycles into low gear. the vendors picked up their mobile stores and kept going. the police kept confiscating.
everyone is hustling. everyone. no one not hustling.


sticky hustle:

sticky hustle not because the humidity makes your skin sticky to the touch. sticky hustle cuz if you look away, even for a moment, you're stuck. cornered. in the middle of a rock and a hard place. you gotta be quick.
these three maybe not my favorites. maybe they are just the realities that i'm coming to grips with.

a daughter on her second return. eyes much more open now.