It was almost 6 a.m. as our car sped along the near empty streets of Quezon City – we watched the sky begin to lighten, streaks of deep pink and purple rushing through. The clouds were fixed in a way I had never seen before. It was so beautiful, almost hypnotic — the kind of sight that sets you at peace after a long day at work.
Then, rather quietly, a friend of mine said: “Ang ganda. Parang wala tayo sa Pilipinas. (It’s so beautiful. It’s like we’re not in the Philippines.)” And just like that, the magic was broken.
This is the sort of thing I hear quite often from different kinds of people in relatively similar situations. But whenever it’s said, it’s never spoken in disparagement. It’s simply an honest observation, a reaction to what the eyes perceive.
I have to say I can’t really blame people who react this way. And why should I, when we are constantly surrounded by traffic jams and humidity and squalor and taong grasa (unwashed vagrants)? “Why, when there is always some kind of trouble caused by gangs and politicians as well as crime and injustice?
With our eyes becoming so jaded, it becomes incredibly easy to forget that our country is not just a jigsaw of crowded streets. We forget that it is not all concrete and unresolved problems, that it is also cool mountaintop communities, peaceful valleys, vast seas, unexpected sights, beautiful sunsets, toasty bonfires, urban cities, sandy beaches and rural towns full of people who think “Islander” slippers are the epitome of fashion.
Earlier this year, I found myself in Camarines Sur province for a summer camp. One night, after transporting stuff from one house to another, my friend Peejay and I both lay down on the back of the pick-up during the trip home. We didn’t speak, and it was not because the movement of the pick-up mimicked that of an OSIM massage chair and left us practically half-asleep by the time the truck pulled out of the driveway.
We didn’t speak because as the truck ran the expanse of the narrow provincial road, the water in the plantations shimmered in the dark, making the fields on either side appear like endless seas of glass. We didn’t speak because the stars danced with the clouds in the sky, and the wind whistled in our ears. In that moment, all I could do was lift my hands to touch the air, close my eyes, and think: “Grabe. Ang ganda talaga ng Pilipinas (Awesome. The Philippines is really beautiful)!”
Last December, my friend Arah shot her short film, Bugaw (Pimp). Based on a true story, it is about a husband and wife in such dire financial straits that the husband eventually becomes his wife’s pimp. It’s the sort of heartbreaking tale that makes you wonder how this place we call home can be so cruel.
We shot it in this little shack in Antipolo City, the same kind of makeshift house you would find somewhere along Commonwealth Avenue in Quezon City or deep in the bowels of Manila. It was common, complete with your usual walls styled from a mishmash of yero (G.I. sheet) and scrap wood. There was earth where there should have been a floor, and yet this house was lovelier to me than all of Versailles.
The light came in through the galvanized walls like soft gold, and lent a sweet kind of charm to the little sea-foam green stovetop, the aging black kettle, and worn-out turquoise panels dotting the walls. It should have been incredibly depressing, but in that moment, all I could think was, “Grabe. Ang ganda talaga ng Pilipinas.”
I’ve been blessed to have traveled to the other side of the world, and still dream of seeing the rest of it. But I’ve been just as blessed to walk the less-than-pristine sidewalks of Katipunan Road, to tread water along the flooded streets of Abad Santos, to see art come alive at the Cultural Center of the Philippines, to eat, drink and be merry along Maginhawa Street, to laugh at the sketchy massage parlors that line the Kamias strip, to stop in the middle of my commute and have some penoy (duck embryo) at Recto station, to roam Ali Mall in Cubao, Quezon City – just because I feel like it.
And while I absolutely dislike “American Beauty,” there is one line from the film that rings true: “There is so much beauty in the world.”
I believe much of that beauty lives here, with us, in our streets and across our landscapes. What is lacking is not aesthetics, but our desire to see and cherish what our little corner of the world has to offer, to get to know this place we are from, to appreciate the complexity, the dangers, the wild nature and the simple joys that litter the rest of the country.
Let us open our eyes, hearts and minds, and allow ourselves to be surprised by the wonders that exist even in the ruins and landfills. Let us ride horses in Baguio City, harvest pearls in Zamboanga, and stop in Cebu for some unforgettable lechon (roasted pig). Let us see, smell, taste, feel, learn, and listen. And in this journey, may we fall into the magic that makes us, quite rightfully, the Pearl of the Orient.
It is my hope that one of these days, whether you are lying on a sunny beach with a fruity little drink or you are caught in the middle of a traffic jam amid a sea of red lights, wipers clicking back and forth at chubby, dark rain clouds, the beauty that surrounds you will take you by surprise. And that even as your toes touch the waters of Hawaii or your feet scrape the mountains of Kilimanjaro, the allure of home may haunt you in a way that makes you whisper, “Grabe. Ang ganda talaga ng Pilipinas.”
Ma. Gabriela C. Tatad, 22, is a film student at the Marilou Diaz Abaya Film Institute and Arts Center.
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