Friday, June 06, 2008 Malilong: Badge we wear before other people’s eyes By Frank Malilong The Other Side
I’VE heard a lot about our “modern day heroes” but I have never seen so many of them until we strayed into the Worldwide Plaza in Hong Kong last Saturday.
“This is one of those times when I’m really mad at our government,” lawyer Dito Florido declared vehemently as we gazed at the huge mass of overseas Filipino workers (OFWs) huddled inside the building.
It was pay day and the OFWs were there to send money to their families back home through the banks and courier companies that littered Worldwide.
Most of them were women and from their age, it was easy to assume that they had little children left in the Philippines.
“If only our government could provide better opportunities for them at home,” Dito sighed. Sadly, that wish is not likely to be fulfilled in the immediate future as our government continues to encourage our countrymen to go abroad and earn enough money to prop an economy ravaged by thievery and mismanagement.
It was no wonder then that a lady judge from Albay, who was on the same ferry ride that took us to Macau, was mistaken for a domestic helper at the Hong Kong Airport. That is the badge that we wear before the eyes of other people, one that this generation and probably the next will find extremely difficult to remove.
***
One good thing about traveling abroad is that it teaches you tolerance. The driver that took us---Dito, USC Law dean Alex Monteclar, Ben Sun and myself (Butch Gemarino and Danny Llenes chose to stay behind)---back to our hotel from the Venetian was so rude that we would most certainly have lynched him had we been in Cebu. But since we were in his turf, I controlled my anger by imagining that when he ate later that evening, he’d chew a cheap Chinese imitation of the Gillette blade or swallow at least three pieces of thumb tacks.
Macau is opulent, a fact that its people impudently parade. “Here, we don’t fight over religion or politics,” said our guide. “We fight over money.”
The preference for money over religion is evident. The old and historic St. Paul Cathedral that was built by Portuguese colonizers centuries ago has become a shell with only the front wall standing. In contrast, the glittering Grand Lisboa hotel towers over the city as does the even bigger The Venetian at the island on the opposite side of at least three bridges.
But Macau’s enormous wealth (its casinos reportedly grossed more than Las Vegas last year) comes with a price.
Prostitutes openly ply their trade almost everywhere and are more aggressive than the pimps who chase your car along D. Jakosalem or Junquera Sts. I encountered three of them at the Venetian and am indebted for life to Dito as a result.
The girls asked in halting English if I was interested in a “good time.” Out of curiosity (and for that reason only, honest), I asked how much a massage would cost. One of them said 1,000 HK dollars. I replied, thank you, and proceeded to rejoin the group. The girls were persistent, however, saying “let’s talk, let’s talk.” “But I have to ask permission from my father first,” I told them, pointing to Dito’s direction. That made them move away.
I used to call him Sir Dits. For saving me from the unwanted advances of three pretty girls, I am now obligated to call him Dad.
