“Positive” grudges

My seven-year old pair of shoes just gave up on me.

As a law school freshman, I bought these brown Oxford wingtip brogues at the Marikina Riverbanks Shoe Gallery which is no longer there, with a dear friend that I no longer speak with, and another friend who I recently reconnected with but stopped talking to me just last week. I first wore them for my friend’s wedding where I saw an ex for the first time again after breaking up four years earlier. After several trips to Mr. Quickie for routine cleaning, sole replacement, and recoloring to a darker shade of chocolate, my trusty pair saw its last big event when I matched them with a classic barong Tagalog weaved with images of palay and railroads to represent my hometowns of Talavera and Caloocan, respectively.

I spent most of my childhood living next to the railroad tracks of the Philippine National Railways whose trains ferry people from Tutuban to Alabang and even as far as Biñan. Growing up as a proud, rowdy batang riles meant afternoons become small missions to escape the mandatory siesta to meet up with fellow kids from other streets to play in parked tricycles, atop mounds of sand and gravel, and inside whatever makeshift facilities in an urban poor settlement. School days commence with my maternal grandmother letting me choose from her offerings as a seller of streetside breakfast: champorado, sopas, lugaw, and pansit.

Our extended playground of several blocks of informal settlers is no longer there due to demolition proceedings to make way for Skyway Stage 3 expansion. These shanties lining Brillantes Street are now government housing units in North Caloocan. This environment may be less than ideal in terms of safety and security, but it allowed me to interact with people from all walks of life, supplementing my parents’ upbringing and raising a young family struggling to make ends meet.

Because (and perhaps despite) of this background, I never really shied away from engaging in difficult conversations with colleagues, benefactors, and friends to request support when necessary, that to some may be a matter of mere discomfort, but to me, means survival or failure. In fact, my single favorite across 236 episodes of FRIENDS is “The One with Five Steaks and an Eggplant” where the mainstays navigate the very realistic terrain of not earning as much as the others. Some habits seem to be harder to break, such as when I stare at plates with food remaining, after being taught that unfinished food is a practically a mortal sin.

As an adult in his early 30s, I carry in my heart a strong sense of “positive grudges” (beyond simple gratitude) since I find it almost impossible to forget acts of generosity and kindness that I receive. I can still vividly remember a rainy night in Technohub when I had to reach out to a friend to borrow some cash because our salaries as contractual employees in UP were delayed by just a couple of days. In the years that follow (and I hope my friends attest to this), I make conscious efforts to return the favor as long as I can do so within my powers and the bounds of law.

My black law codal on the Civil Code of the Philippines is about as old as my brown leather shoes. Both show clear signs of aging and overuse, though I can confidently say only one has completely served its purpose because the other still has one final boss to slay, so to speak. If you reached reading at this point, it means you already volunteered your precious time to this Batang Kankaloo whether I deserve it or not. I am once again (insert Bernie Sanders meme here) asking for your generous support for the last time, hopefully, so I can finally retire my duct-taped codal next to my worn-out shoes.