Manila and me

A barangay (Filipino: baranggay, [baraŋˈɡaj]), also known by its former Spanish adopted name, the barrio, is the smallest administrative division in the Philippines and is the native Filipino term for a village, district or ward. Barangays are further subdivided into smaller areas called Puroks (English: Zone). A sitio is a territorial enclave inside a barangay, especially in rural areas. Municipalities and cities are composed of barangays.

You get the idea - there are small places inside smaller places, which are then sub-divided into more small places. Welcome to the Manila, the city of villages.

It is important to exhale here, more than in most other cities I've been to. My most pronounced memory of Manila after spending about 3 months here in 2009 and being here again now, is the traffic jams. There are just a lot of cars. The roads burst at the seams at almost at every hour of the day. More flyovers and tunnels would help. Jeepneys, which typically do not go faster than 50 km/h should probably not be allowed on the highway. I am no city planner, but one should probably be able to turn right when they need to, instead of cramming with a crowd of vehicles turning left just to make a u-turn, and then join the futile congestion on the other side.

Still, that is life sometimes. Messy, a little hopeless and you just got to laugh. And keep on trucking, measuring out on each other’s patience and mercy as we go. In time, I hope we will all get home.

Why I Do What I Do Sometimes

Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry, but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die, it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other, we may even become friends.

-Maya Angelou-

Thank you Alliz, for introducing a great lady!

Kita bebas beragama, maka saya beragama bebas

Recently I was on a plane home from somewhere, and a teenager about 13 or 14 years old sat next to me. I will admit this – I deliberately ignored him. It was late, the plane was stuffy and he was the sort of fidgety, meng-a-a* kind of kid who pretended he wasn’t noticing if anyone was watching, yet acutely aware when someone was.

Anyhow. An hour or so after meals, we established we were both Malaysians and I asked if he was going home. He was, to his mum for the holidays from the international school he was attending in Surabaya. This and that for a little while more, and then:

“Aunty (well, I suppose I AM twice his age) orang Cina kan?”
“Ya”
“Tapi aunty boleh cakap Bahasa Melayu?”
“Kenapa pulak tak boleh?”
“Biasa orang Cina cakap Inggeris”
“...”
“Aunty Kristian?”
“Tak…”
“Habis Aunty agama apa?”
“Em.. I beragama bebas”
“Apa tu?”
“Percaya pada Tuhan, tapi bukan pada satu agama. Kenapa pulak?”
“Biasanya orang Cina agama Kristian”.

I wanted to sit him down, and ask him why he would think these things. In Malaysia, we all speak Malay. Granted, in varying degrees, but we all. speak. Malay. This is who we are.

Also, we are a God fearing nation as our Rukunegara first principle states, but it should be God we are united in believing, not religions decreed by race.

I know why he is right, yet he is so wrong. I want to re-adjust the structure of his thinking, almost how you would move the skeleton of a toy square to shape an octagon or triangle. Little shifts, that mean everything.


*meng-a-a: meng-attract attention