By R. Vincent Tupaz
For Variety

Ahh Philippines, I’m at home... “Whoaa! Ano Bayan!?” Watch out taxi driver-sir, whew on Guam that’s already an accident – “so as that and that and that!”
What an art it must be - to drive in Manila. Check that, it’s a sport.
In the few days that I’ve been here, I’ve seen but two accidents and those were simple fender benders. Now I’m not so naïve as to think there have been no accidents that were serious, but I have yet to see one. It’s no wonder Guamanians come here to have their annual check-up. Aside from the superior care offered by the nurses, doctors and clinicians - by the time one arrives at the hospital, your heart rate should be operating at its optimum.
As I witnessed the mayhem that is the traffic of Manila - a blended mix of daring pedestrians, surefooted autos, tricycles, jeepneys and a variety of commercial vehicles, I concluded that there were similarities between American football and PI traffic, at least in the trenches.
PI drivers use a dash of daring, a whole lot of luck, perfectly timed braking and even the sidewalks or front lawns of homes to get to where they are going. They get there by using other commuters to chuck-block, cross-block and cut-off much like Guards and Tackles at the line of scrimmage. Then the running backs or rather motorcyclists squeeze by in successful fashion and head towards their destined goal. It’s surely is a treat and adventure to watch, just like the game of football. And you get the same adrenaline rush, honest.
Anyhow, on a personal note: here I am mom and pop, in the Philippines after several years and I am impressed with the progress, at least the visible ones, of the infrastructure and development. Yet I remain dismayed at the state of prevalent poverty. Kawawa naman. It is truly heartbreaking and indeed humbling to see the struggles and challenges here in the PI, but still life goes on for the millions of my Kabibayans. And always with a smile!
Thus far, I’ve stayed in a hotel, a “mansion,” a couple of lodging homes and with bona-fide squatters, albeit of the working poor variety. And I’ve managed. I don’t know if I could manage with the absolute poor, but that’s another tale. Of the places that my overnight journey adventures have taken me thus far, I most fondly enjoyed living in the “Bautista squatter subdivision,” or what I dubbed the LRT, (the LRT is the rail system in Manila), a chain of homes, no larger than eight by fifteen, lined-up side by side. Some hanging Cliffside, others blessed with a firm foundation.
With the squatters, I witnessed families sharing resources as best they can. A network of “Sari Sari” store just a stones throw or few steps away from where you lay – each with the staples that make a meal. Chickens, pigs, dogs, cats and eww, a rat or two. Everyone smiling – some perhaps laughing at the absurd size of my being - and others just happy to see me. And I wonder how can they be content with the worry of their families next meal their primary concern and where they’ll haul water from today and tomorrow. Will their neighbor will be so kind as to let them tap their faucets yet again for a lowly monthly fee? Or will he charge more to make up for unexpected expenses with the knowledge that he has a current monopoly on life’s most basic necessity. And will the government bulldoze their area yet again as they make forward progress with over and sometimes poorly planned development. Yet they smile.
Meanwhile, I huff at my thoughts, as my most pressing concern is whether I will miss the show. If I can just figure out where will I watch Super Bowl XLI. I had it all set on Guam you know, I was going to the “Zu,” but here in the PI, I haven’t a clue. Absent are the enticing advertisements that I’m so used to. Does anyone know?
O how fortunate we are on Guam.