Filipinos. Oddities, quirks and mannerisms.

You see and learn so much just walking the streets of Manila. Sometimes, lives are played out on the footpath for everyone to see, because that’s where so many people live, where they scrounge to eat, and hassle for work.

 

Sure, Manila has its slums and squatter areas, but there are rich and swanky suburbs, middle-class areas, and average working-class suburbs too.  Sometimes, these jarringly different suburbs are almost cheek-by-jowl, providing a stark visual reminder of the city’s wealth disparity. And sometimes, there’s a buffer – a river or a highway – splitting communities of glaringly contrasting lifestyles.

 

Memories are most vivid when the images are shocking and confronting. Some of my most disturbing memories are of street beggars carrying babies, sometimes hired for the day, who weave among stationary vehicles at intersections, tap on your window, mournfully peer inside, and make eating motions by bringing their fingers to their mouths.

 

Often, these street beggars employ a technique of public shaming by approaching a luxury car which becomes their ‘target’ vehicle for the entire time it takes for the traffic lights to change. The beggars don’t waste time at the driver’s window, he’s probably a paid employee, instead they approach the backseat window, where the ‘soft touch’ rich passenger sits.

 

They stare, plead, and do the hand-to-mouth motion often enough and long enough to attract the attention of the other car drivers stuck in traffic gridlock. It’s the beggars’ psychological ploy: to publicly embarrass the back seat passenger to give money, and most often they do.

 

The bedraggled windshield washers employ similar tactics, but often less successfully. They too lie in wait at traffic lights. They know the precise number of seconds it takes to walk between the stationary cars, armed with their bucket, or bottle of water, and with their sponge and squeegee, before the lights change.

 

Most drivers ignore them or dismiss them with a wave. But some windshield washers’ pounce and without the driver’s approval wash the windscreen anyway, often finishing just as the lights change, allowing the driver to make a quick getaway without paying. But, if the driver’s getaway is delayed, the flamboyant antics of the unpaid windscreen washer begin. He protests, calls out, and jogs alongside the moving car, putting himself in obvious danger. The only conclusion of onlookers is that the car driver is a penny-pinching miser, refusing to pay for a clean windshield. But the driver never wanted his windshield cleaned in the first place. He didn’t ask for it. In fact, he asked that it not be done. None of that matters though. The faster the windshield washer runs alongside the car pleading to be paid, there’s a mounting risk of him being hit by overtaking cars. Almost always it ends the same way. The driver, to avoid public humiliation and a possible accident, invariably gives in and hands over enough money to persuade the windshield washer to give up the chase. It’s a dangerous, but a proven money earner for the desperate street people of Manila.

 

Crippled beggars take the most risk. They emerge when the traffic light turns red. With only one leg, sometimes none, they sit on modified homemade skateboards and use gloved hands to propel themselves in front of and between rows of stationary vehicles. Some have attached to their skateboard a slender bamboo pole with a limp red flag on top so they can be seen. The foolhardy ones don’t bother. Every day, at every light change, they risk death or serious injury.

 

The everywhere, everyday newspaper sellers also pounce when the intersection lights turn red. Somehow, they manage to display half-a-dozen newspapers, and even some magazines, using paper clips and rubber bands attached to an ingeniously designed, purpose-built sandwich board, hung from their necks.

 

In Manila, you can buy one cigarette at a traffic stop. Taxi drivers and jeepney drivers do it all the time. Only rich people can afford to buy a full pack of cigarettes. Using the same sort of neck-supported, chest high candy tray once common in cinemas, cigarette sellers roam the intersections with open packets of popular cigarette brands. Choose your favourite stick and the obliging vendor will light it for you.

 

Jeepney passengers know it’s cheaper to buy a soft drink if you ask the roadside vendor to pour the contents into a plastic bag, seal it with a rubber band, and stick a straw in the top. Both the soft drink buyer and the soft drink seller win: the passenger avoids spillage and saves money, and the vendor earns extra money because he keeps the deposit for every empty bottle he returns.

 

The face towel is a good roadside money earner in Manila’s oppressive humid climate and some vendors specialise in nothing else. Weaving between vehicles caught in traffic jams, the face towel specialists find ready customers among the sweaty-faced jeepney drivers and their passengers, in fact anyone who drives a non-air-conditioned vehicle. The towels size determines their use. There are the ‘petite’ face towels (for a discrete brow wipe), the ‘tea-towel’ size face towels (for the face, arms, and neck), and the ‘half bath’ face towels (for a full body washdown and dry at a jeepney depot).

 

Traffic jams, already notorious on Manila’s clogged roads, were so much worse in the early 1980s, when the light rail network was being built. Some vendors sold plastic ‘pee bottles’ to desperate jeepney drivers stuck in the stop-start traffic. Having an unobserved pee while stuck in traffic was quite a feat.

 

Parking in Manila is a hassle, and that makes fly-by-night parking spots a guaranteed money earner for street beggars. Even a small, open piece of land – gravel, muddy, or potholed – is a potential, non-regulated parking lot. The parking spruikers mostly operate in a vacant lot or a disused building site, fenced off with moveable wire barriers. It’s the simplest and quickest enterprise that requires no permit, just brashness, and it’s best to strike at night when no one is around. Acting as a team, street beggars cut away a section of the wire barrier, erect a homemade Car Park sign, stand at the opening, direct cars to enter, and charge a small amount for people to park there. It’s illegal of course, but cars will come, and people will pay, such is the shortage of parking spots in the Philippine capital.

 

These parking touts say they’re providing a service. The landowners call it vandalism. Within a day or two, sometimes longer, the fence is repaired and the aptly named ‘fly-by-night’ parking entrepreneurs disappear, only to open another illegal car park days later.

 

To park your car in one of these ‘fly-by-night’ parking spots is an ever-changing rigmarole because street beggars have mastered every money-making trick. First, street beggars become self-appointed ‘car park officers’ whose job it is to fit as many cars as possible into these illegal car parks. Then ‘car tappers’ take charge. They show you to an empty parking spot and then walk slowly behind your vehicle as you reverse, tapping on your car boot as you go. It’s a human version of the annoying ‘beep, beep, beep’ sound made by reversing trucks. The closer you get to the wall or the fence, the faster the ‘car-tappers’ tap, until they give one big slap on your boot as a signal for you to stop. For that service – for which you didn’t ask and probably didn’t need – you are expected to pay a few pesos. Then, immediately, the ‘car-tappers’ transform themselves into ‘car-minders’ and ask for a few more pesos to protect your car from ‘car snatchers’ and ‘car scratchers’. Of course it's extortion, plain and simple. They play the game, and you play along. They know that you know that they are in fact the ‘car nappers’ and ‘vehicle scratches’ they speak of. So you pay them a little extra extortion money.

 

When not car directing, car tapping. or car minding, these streetwise beggars can also offer ‘car space minding’. At an allocated time, in a designated spot, for a negotiated price, these streetwise beggars will stand in a vacant carpark space and stop anyone but you from parking there. It’s a well-honed business and a guaranteed money-earner.

 

Also popular among beggars are supermarkets. They will lurk at the shop doors and offer to guard your dog for a peso or two. Or they will offer to carry your groceries and load them into the boot of your car for a small tip. At long queues, they offer a ‘queue standing’ service to allow the time poor to have a cup of coffee, or to rush to the toilet. The best and finest ‘queue minding’ service I ever saw was done for free, and it was done by shoes, not people. Several old people had realised that if they took off their shoes, sandals, or slippers and placed them on the ground behind the person in front, they could rest on several seats nearby. They were shoe sentinels. When the queue moved, the understanding and kind queue person immediately behind, would kick the shoes a short distance forward, maintaining the invisible person’s position in line. It was a system entirely dependent on kind-heartedness. If the queue person immediately behind the empty shoes was not so understanding and refused to kick the shoes forward the hapless barefoot seniors had to get up and re-position them.

 

Tips could be earned in some rather dubious ways, even inside a five-star hotel toilet. I recall making a visit to the CR (comfort room) and paying little attention to the well-dressed man standing just inside the entrance. At the urinal, I lost aim and almost splashed the wall, when two hands clasped my shoulders and began the unmistakeable pressure motion of a massage. In mid-pee, I swivelled and saw the phantom masseur. He was the same man I had seen on entering the CR. Then, and only then, did he ask if I wanted a neck massage. Unbelievable! He was employed by the hotel to provide in-toilet neck massages. What were they thinking? Did this hotel really believe that inside a toilet, standing at the urinal, minding your own business, was the best place to receive an unsolicited neck massage?

 

In Manila, you prepare for all eventualities. Bribing policeman for supposed crimes – the sort that only policemen see – is something I had been warned about, especially as I was a relatively rare sight: a Westerner driving a car on the city’s chock-a-block streets. My friend’s tip was this: always carry a 20-pesos note inside your wallet as standby bribery money and try to avoid driving at lunchtime when underpaid policemen are hungry. The first bribe went well. I was stopped for some imagined offence and only allowed to proceed after the policeman opened my wallet and found his 20-pesos bribe.

 

The next time, I wasn’t so lucky. It was midday, close to lunchtime, when I went through a green light intersection. The policeman, waiting on the other side of the intersection, flagged me down. I had ignored a red ‘stop’ light, he lied. He asked for my driver’s licence and ID. I confidently handed him my wallet, but instead of the sleight of hand money transfer, he returned my wallet and began to write a traffic citation.

 

Puzzled, I opened my wallet to discover there was no 20-peso note. I had forgotten to replace it after my last bribe. There was nothing else to do but resort to outright in-your-face bribery, but when I opened my wallet, I found only a single 100-peso note – five times the normal bribe. I had no choice. I handed it to him. He was delighted and smiled. But the moment I asked for change, the smile disappeared. By my reckoning, 100 pesos was much too much, well beyond the current bribery rate, and I demanded some money back. My bluff worked. He didn’t haggle. Instead, he fumbled in his pocket, withdrew a wad of notes tied with a rubber band and gave me 50 pesos change. He was happy. And so was I. He sent me on my way, and I presume he went off to lunch now that he could afford it.

 

Guns are everywhere in Manila. They are on the hips and in the hands of para-military policemen and soldiers. But most concernedly guns are in the possession of legions of security guards who are so ubiquitous that often they seem to blend into the surroundings. Even so, I remember being shocked the first time I saw a seated security guard outside a pharmacy cradling a pump-action shotgun. Would someone risk death to steal a packet of headache pills? Elsewhere, guards patrol with holstered revolvers, or with rifles slung over their shoulders in suburban shops, and virtually all businesses, big and small.

 

Some retain an overbearing sense of self-importance, particularly those assigned outside or inside banks. But often, guards are slumped, seated, and bored, rather than standing ramrod straight and alert. The reality is many guards seem to be little more than glorified door openers, or direction pointers, and the public treats them with a casualness born of lifelong familiarity and trust.

 

Sometimes, the deference these guards show to foreigners is slightly embarrassing. Doors closed to Filipinos, regularly open to assertive foreigners. Among some Filipinos, there’s speculation the guards’ guns are just props – unloaded, and simply for show. I doubt it. Footpath gun battles with robbers, or suspected robbers, do happen and sometimes there are territorial turf wars which occasionally end violently.

 

On one occasion, when strolling through Rustans, Manila’s most luxurious department store, Bet, my wife, and I were approached by some of the store’s security guards who had been dragooned by the bodyguards of Imelda Marcos. We were told to leave the store immediately. Every person had to vacate the building because Imelda, the nation’s Number One shopper, wanted to do some shopping. Once she had left, the hastily evacuated shoppers, assembled on the footpath outside, were allowed back in.

 

‘Please leave your gun at the door’ was a sign I never got used to. The so-called ‘goons with guns’ were the criminals, the stand-over men, the petty hoodlums, and the street gangs with attitude. Elsewhere, and less obvious, were the shadowy well-groomed bodyguards who trailed their bosses at a discreet distant, on constant alert, ever vigilant, and always ready to use that gun tucked out of sight beneath their shirts.

 

With so many gun-carrying security guards in the towns and cities of the Philippines, the sight of patrolling armed troops in the countryside was normal. Guns were a civil right. They gave status. Guns gave power and authority, but rarely respect. So often, guns were misused and became instruments of intimidation and suppression. It was too easy for guns to settle arguments, and to snuff out lives. A ‘hit man’ made headlines one time, even in gun-tolerant Manila, when he admitted accepting 100 pesos (less than AU$5) to kill someone.

 

Every New Year, celebratory gunfire and powerful homemade firecrackers tossed indiscriminately, injure and kill hundreds of Filipinos. Across the nation, year after year, hundreds of merchants are arrested or fined for selling banned fireworks, some so powerful that fingers are blown off, and arms and limbs mangled. After the midnight revelry, I’ve travelled on some roads, made so impenetrable by swirling gunpowder sulphur clouds, that even vehicles with fog lights are forced to a crawl.

 

Excess and exuberance define Filipinos. So does humour, loyalty, and compassion. And there are character quirks that can only be explained by history and geography.

 

Filipinos are Asians, unlike other Asians. Their colonial history – 300 years of Spanish rule and almost 50 years an American colony– left an imprint on the national character that closely identifies with the West, particularly with the United States.

 

This thick layer of absorbed Spanish and American culture, mixed with religious, linguistic, and philosophical attitudes and beliefs, is the indelible wellspring of the Philippines national character. The Philippines is part of Asia, but a little standoffish, less focused on neighbouring issues and more attuned to the developments, opinions, and trends in the United States.

 

Among Filipinos, their Americana way of thinking, their Americana twang way of talking, and their quick adoption of American trends, have for years made them the guinea pigs of American marketers. Often, US companies use the Philippines as their consumer-acceptance testing ground for new products.

 

Observers snidely comment that the Philippines’ colonial legacy is Catholicism from the Spanish, and Hollywood from the Americans. Other Spanish colonial legacies I would add include art, architecture, and religiously imbued social and moral values. The United States’ colonial legacies – education, legislative and economic structures – underpin the nation’s capitalist foundations and its constitutional republicanism. They also love their hot dogs, hamburgers, candy, basketball, Coca-Cola, popcorn, Hollywood movies, and just about everything American.

 

In Asia, the Philippines is the only majority Christian country. The teachings of the Roman Catholic Church have had deep consequential impacts on virtually all aspects of life. Catholicism is the touchstone of morality, values, and attitudes, and consequentially engenders a deep fealty to the church.

 

Words that come to mind when I think of Filipinos, include friendly, respectful, garrulous, nosy, hospitable, generous, sensitive, and unique.

 

They also practice a form of linguistic gymnastics called ‘Taglish’ – Tagalog plus English. Well-educated Filipinos slip effortlessly from one language to the other, depending on what they have to say, to whom they’re speaking, and which word or sentence best encapsulates the thoughts or meanings they wish to convey. A typical Taglish conversation can begin in Tagalog then, after a few sentences, slip into English, then back again to Tagalog, followed possibly by an English phrase or, if preferred, an English swear word or two. It’s great. Both Tagalog- and English-only speakers get the gist of what’s being said. Like many other blended languages, Taglish is flexible. There are words in both languages that have no equivalent. Some terms are too cumbersome. For instance, to refer to numbers or to tell the time in Tagalong takes longer, so often they use time-saving English. Filipinos love the interchangeability of languages; sometimes Pilipino, sometimes English. And for good measure they will throw in a Spanish word or two or add a sprinkling of American cuss words for good measure. It’s a linguistic honeypot. 

 

English has penetrated even the most remote provinces in the Philippines. Young children eagerly follow you, call out ‘Hey Joe’ – after the American ‘GI Joe’ – and jabber away to practice their English. In some big towns, soon after arriving in the Philippines, I was approached several times by friendly Filipinos who, on discovering I was Australian, asked if I knew their brother or sister in Sydney.

 

It’s in the countryside villages and towns, where the people still embrace the Spanish traditions of siestas, fiestas, and sweetheart serenades. The sight of young men casually holding hands, and with their arms over each other’s shoulders, was a surprising moment when I first arrived in the Philippines.

 

There are Filipino characteristics, or mannerisms, that surprise, amuse, puzzle, and frustrate.

 

As a traveller, I would frequently stop a passer-by and ask where the bus depot was, or a similar innocent question. ‘There’ the person would respond, and point. I would walk off in that direction and end up lost, with no bus depot in sight. After this happened several more times, I realised that asking directions was mostly a waste of time. And this was confirmed on one occasion when I stood on a street corner, map in hand, looking confused, and asked three people, one after the other, where the bus depot was. Each person, without hesitation, pointed me in three entirely different directions and they did so with such straight-faced assurance, I was absolutely convinced they knew exactly where the bus depot was. They didn’t. They pretended they did. But they didn’t. This, I found out later, was an example of ‘Tulong’ – a frustration derived from an overwhelming need to help a stranger. So many times, I longed for a simple ‘I don’t know’, but it never came.

 

At certain times, ‘No’ is a difficult word for Filipinos to say. Ask something that may be construed as too prying or too personal, and instead of a straight ‘No’, chances are the answer will be a ‘Maybe’, ‘I’m not sure’ or even a ‘Yes’ when they really meant to say ‘No’ but couldn’t bring themselves to say it.

 

‘Bahala na’ (come what may) is a common response – a resigned acceptance – usually accompanied with a shrug of the shoulders, when Filipinos are asked to speculate or comment about something they would rather not.

 

‘Ningas kugon’ is a puzzling Filipino term. It equates to ‘a grassfire that quickly burns itself out’. It’s when Filipinos exhibit an over-eager enthusiasm or bubbling excitement for something new or untried. It can be a personal challenge, or a common cause; something to which Filipinos commit themselves fully, almost unconditionally. And then, just as suddenly, the enthusiasm wanes and they lose interest.

 

Filipinos don’t like to be pressured by deadlines. When things can’t be done on time, when they’re incomplete, or too hard to resolve, then Filipinos proclaim ‘Mañana’ or ‘Mamayana’. It’s that imprecise, indefinite time in the future when, possibly, it may be done. In the Philippines, it’s okay to be late. In fact, it’s unusual if you’re not. The American colonisers defined time in terms of punctuality. Under the Spanish, time was flexible, it was ‘rubber time’.

 

With some good ‘tsimis’ (gossip), you make friends easily in the Philippines. A loud ‘Psst’ can stop a jeepney or make a Filipino turn around. ‘Hoy’ is both a face-to-face greeting and one way to attract a person’s attention.

 

‘Tsk’, ‘Tsk’, ‘Tsk’ (always said consecutively) is one of the most grating, annoying sounds you will hear in the Philippines. It’s particularly common in cinemas. Every time there is a scene which is disappointing or disheartening, members of the audience immediately chorus the tongue-making ‘Tsk’, ‘Tsk’, ‘Tsk’ sound usually three times in a row. Why three? I have no idea. In the darkened cinema, I could never tell but I’m sure they also shook their heads in disgust or disappointment.

 

If you’re a Filipino and want someone to look at something and you can’t be bothered to point, or your hands are full, then Filipinos have the solution. You look straight at the object, or person, purse your lips in the most exaggerated ‘air kiss’ imaginable, give a little head flick, raise your eyebrows, and – this is very important – don’t say a word. If you must say something, ‘yun’ or ‘doon’ (both meaning ‘there’) is acceptable. It’s so frustrating. You must guess at the thing or the person they want you to see.

 

Remember, if you’re in a restaurant and you want the menu, raise both hands and with your two index fingers draw an imaginary box in the air. Don’t whatever you do, draw a little air box because that means you want the bill, and that will confuse the waiter.

 

If you’re a foreign tourist, out at night, in the street, and you hail a taxi, the first question you will probably be asked is ‘Do you want a girl?’ If you’re an expatriate in Manila and you hail a taxi, you know not to get in until you haggle the price to get to your destination. It’s a ritual you go through. Once you and the driver agree on the fare, then you get in. Remember, the taxi meter is never activated.

 

If you don’t do the pre-departure taxi fare haggle, watch out! It’s almost guaranteed you will become a rip-off victim and suffer the most deafening horn-blowing ride to your destination. It’s because some sly taxi workshops tinker with the horn, and connect it to the meter, so that every toot of the horn triggers the fare meter to turn faster.

 

In general, most Philippine taxis are old, with no seat belts, but with lots of bumps and scratches. They are not air-conditioned because most of the windows are permanently open, and they can’t be shut to keep out the rain. The seat upholstery is ripped in parts, and you can count the springs in the seats – at least your bum can. Always remember, a taxi driver owns every bit of road surrounding his vehicle – front, back and the sides – and no transgression into his space is ever allowed.

 

When invited to a Filipino home – no matter what time you arrive – the first question you’re asked is ‘Have you eaten?’ From personal mother-in-law experience, ‘I’ve already eaten’ is no excuse. An empty plate is unforgiveable, and an extra scoop of food is always added to your plate no matter what you say. Hospitality is synonymous with food. It’s virtually obligatory to offer food to guests, even if you can’t afford it. I’ve been in the poorest slums where, on arrival, I’ve been offered a hastily bought soft drink from the nearby sari-sari grocery store.

 

Some compliments can be confusing. ‘Uyyy… Ang taba mo!’ literally means, ‘Oh! You’re so fat!’. But don’t take offense. That’s a compliment. It’s an oblique way of saying ‘you’re looking good’ because to look fat means you are probably rich enough to eat whatever you want, whenever you choose, and as much as you wish. And that’s good, isn’t it! You’ve done well out of life. Lucky you.

 

If someone is pleased to see you after a long absence, don’t take offense if they say, ‘Hoy! Buhay ka pa!’ (You’re still alive!). It’s their way of saying ‘Long time no see’.

 

In a crowded room, a party perhaps, ‘I’ll go ahead’ is a polite way to ask your fellow party goers for their permission to leave. It’s not an offer to check out the next party, like some sort of scout. It’s a plea to leave, possibly to go home to bed.

 

‘He’s my live-in,’ means he is your partner, whereas ‘I’m in a live-in relationship’ means your unmarried and living with your boyfriend. Only the most conservative, judgemental people say a de facto couple is ‘living in sin’.

 

With innocent sincerity, Filipinos will ask how much you earn and expect an answer. The value of something, an object, or an event, is how Filipinos relate to most things. If it’s expensive, it must be important, or good.

 

Above all else, Filipinos value family. A family’s honour, and each individual family member, must be cherished and defended. A family’s standing and its status within a community is paramount.

 

There’s a sense of obligation – almost a duty – among overseas employed Filipinos to share their good fortune by sending money home through regular remittances. It’s one of the mainstays of the Philippine economy. Another, more personalised approach, is to fill balikbayan (return home) boxes with gifts – designer clothes, household goods, toiletries, toys, electronics, and other non-perishable goods which are either unavailable, or too costly in the Philippines. The pre-paid boxes, of various sizes, are filled to the maximum weight and delivered door-to-door. There is a special place in every suitcase for ‘pasalubong’ – inexpensive gifts or souvenirs for family members and friends.

 

At Hong Kong airport, which I regularly transited, the easiest way to find the Philippine Airlines check-in counter, was to look for passengers struggling with the tallest and bulkiest items – refrigerators, TVs, all sorts of bulky electrical goods – swathed in bubble wrap like an Egyptian mummy. That’s the Philippines Airlines queue.

 

One question it’s best not to ask in the Philippines, is ‘where’s the toilet?’ It’s considered a little rude, a little uncouth. Just ask the whereabout of the CR (comfort room) or the bathroom.

 

Also, unlike elsewhere in Asia, the lighter your skin, the more mestiza (mixed race) you look, the better. Going against world trends, international beauty contests remain popular events, especially when a Filipina wins, and very often national beauty contests are mestiza against mestiza competitions.

 

Copycat mimicry is a prized Philippine trait. It’s a wonderful thing if a Filipino band can reproduce the sound, almost note for note, of a world-renown foreign band. Originality and improvisation are regarded less highly.

 

The political lexicon of Filipinos is a little different too. ‘Scion’, a descendant, and ‘Solon’, a legislator, are common. One of my favourite words is ‘aggrupation’. It’s not in the English dictionary, but it should be. It’s meaning is wonderfully precise. It’s when several groups, usually political parties with little in common, form an organisation with one overarching goal. In other words, it’s a short-lived grouping, formed to fight a common enemy, or threat. In the Philippines, there were so many groups, parties, and alliances fighting for so many different political causes, the only thing that united them was their opposition to Marcos. So, they formed an aggrupation – a loose alliance, united by a common goal: to get rid of Marcos.

 

On the battlefield, communist rebels often engaged in ‘ambuscades’ (ambushes) against government troops. It’s a dated term, but so too is ‘thrice’, which also is commonly used. ‘Salvaging’ is the opposite of what you might think. It doesn’t mean to save something; it means to kill someone. And usually it’s done by the military, clandestinely, and the victims are frequently accused of being left-wing sympathisers or communists. Suspects, arrested and held illegally, are often detained in ‘safe houses’ which are anything but safe. They are the opposite to what the name would imply. Inside these ‘safe houses’ (usually in military camps) detainees are jailed, manacled, and tortured. Sometimes killed.

 

There are wonderfully descriptive terms, often associated with Philippine elections, such as: ‘gun-toting goons’ and armed ‘bully boys’. If you’re a ‘flying voter’ you move from one polling booth to another and get paid for each fraudulent vote you cast. ‘Ghost votes’ are votes cast by dead people, meaning their names are gathered from tombstones and used for voter registration forms.

 

Filipinos have learned to be precise about electricity shortages. If it’s a short outage, it’s a ‘brownout’. If it lasts longer, then you’re having a ‘blackout’.

 

In the Philippines, a ‘birdie’ doesn’t have wings, feathers, and a beak. It’s a young boy’s penis. Also, to ‘pirate’ someone is to poach them away from their job, through some form of inducement.

 

‘Boss’ is one of those words that can be used for different reasons, by different people with different connotations. It is a word that is very much class specific. Among friends of equal standing it is commonly used to gain someone attention, or in casual conversation it is the Filipino version of ‘mate’. But when used by poorly educated Filipinos, ‘boss’ connotes something that’s demeaning, servile, or ingratiating. ‘Yes, boss’ is the humble response commonly heard from doormen, guards and in government offices.

 

A ‘fixer’ is someone (usually standing outside a government office) who will help you cut through the bureaucratic red tape. However, to fix your car tyre you go to a ‘vulcanising’ shop.

 

A ‘dirty kitchen’ doesn’t mean you have a grimy and grubby kitchen. On the contrary, it’s a separate room, or outdoor food preparation area, where you can chop fresh chicken, meat, and fish, and make lots of smoke cooking them.

 

Filipinos’ penchant for nicknames deserves a special ‘Only in the Philippines’ category.

 

I’ve met deeply lined and stooped old men called ‘Boy’ and frail, shuffling old women called ‘Baby’. Of course, out of respect, I call a 90-year-old man ‘Lolo Boy’ which literally means ‘grandfather boy’, and an old woman ‘Lola Baby’ (‘grandmother baby’).  Silly, I know, but at least I’m being polite.

 

It seems everyone in the Philippines has a nickname. There are those ill-considered, irretractable, spur-of-the-moment, childbirth names like ‘Wee-wee’, ‘Girlie’, ‘Bo Peep’, ‘Precious’, ‘Lovely’, ‘Peanut’ and ‘Peaches’ that often linger, unwanted, through to adulthood. On one occasion, I met a woman called “CP” who hadn’t managed to eliminate her childhood nickname entirely. Instead, she disguised it with the first two initials, C and P – ‘Cutie Pie’.

 

Often, Filipinos make up nicknames by mixing their parents’ names. A common nickname is ‘Jomar’ – a combination of the first two letters of the father’s name, Jose, and the first three letters of the mother’s name, Maria.

 

Often, there’s a tenuous link between real names and nicknames. Rhyming nicknames are popular – ‘Jun Jun’, ‘Joe Joe’, ‘Jay Jay’, ‘Toy Toy’, ‘Ting Ting’, ‘Noy Noy’, ‘Boy Boy’, ‘Bong Bong’, ‘Bo Bo’, ‘Bee Bee’, ‘Ning Ning’, and just plain ‘Bing’, ‘Bong’, ‘Ding’. Say it out loud. Rhythmical, isn’t it?

 

Everyone, it seems, must have a nickname. Some popular ones include: ‘Pepe’ (Jose), ‘Aldo’ (Romualdo), ‘Chato’ (Rosario), ‘Dado’ (Conrado), ‘Lina’ (Angelina), ‘Mena’ (Filomenia), and ‘Doy’ (Salvador).

 

Spanish sounding surnames are a throwback to 1849 and the ‘Claveria decree’ issued by the Spanish Governor to the Philippines, Narciso Claveria. To systematise census data and tax collection details, he issued a 141-page Alphabetical Catalogue of Surnames which contained 61,000 surnames (mostly Spanish) which were applied geographically, and from which Filipinos had to choose.

 

Consequently, the Spanish administrators were able to monitor internal migration patterns based on the person’s surname, and Filipinos, even to this day, can guess the home province of many of their countrymen.

 

Filipinos have a reverential attitude to their elders. It’s a multi-layered protocol of respect, encompassing all strata of Philippine society. It’s a form of veneration, a dignified deference to elders and the place they hold in society.

 

As a sign of earned respect, Filipinos say ‘po’ at the end of a sentence, and ‘opo’ if they’re conversing with elders. It’s expected and appropriate to address an old man ‘Lolo’ (Grandfather) and an old woman ‘Lola’ (Grandmother). The fact that they are not blood related is irrelevant.

 

The same applies to middle-aged men, who are addressed as ‘Tito’ (Uncle) and middle-aged women who are called ‘Tita’ (Auntie) even if they are not related (in Western terms). Of course, you risk offending those women who believe they are too young to be called ‘Tita’.

‘Kuya’ (older brother) and ‘Ate’ (older sister) can apply not just to your actual brother or sister but to other relatives or older acquaintances as a show of respect. Family members, especially children, are taught the act of ‘pag-mano’, whereby they raise the back of the hand of their elder and press it to their foreheads as a sign of respect.

 

Above everything else, Filipinos are confident and self-assured. Among all the nationalities I encountered in Asia, they were the most easy-going. All Filipinos – men and women – stand tall and confidently look you straight in the eyes. They are self-assured and never do they divert their gaze.