Rising from the Land of Gangsters
A story of not letting my past define me.
I’ve lived in five different cities in Metro Manila. Don’t worry, this ain’t a tale of five cities, but only of one: the first. Manila. This was when my siblings, a cousin, and I, all college students, stayed in an apartment in the city district that’s probably one of the most notorious in the entire country — Tondo. Its notoriety stemmed from it being the cradle of the deadliest, most feared gangsters and criminals.
We lived there for four years ’til the late ’70s — four years of solving engineering homework problems and having a can of chili-hot sardines with a bag of 𝙠𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙠 on the side for dinner when supplies from the province ran out.
A place of many firsts for me:
-wading through waist-deep flood;
-hanging from a jeepney 𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙗𝙤 (stirrup) for a ride to/from school);
-walking 2–3 km to save transport money;
-drinking ’til I got drunk (yep, all three bottles of San Mig);
-pushing an electric pole (a.k.a. throwing up in a street corner after a drinking spree);
Although I cannot make any grand claim of being a member of a deadly Tondo gang or being born and raised there, it was there where I grew wiser. From a 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙤 (from the province or rural areas) to a city boy, I’ve learned to mix with the locals — played street basketball with punk kids, blend like a chameleon while keeping away from trouble.
I graduated from college in one piece, but not before going through the initiations of manhood. It helped that the ground I was treading on was paved with courage, fortitude, never-say-die attitude. In Tondo, I was purified by fire.
Here’s to the Tondo boy in me. Cheers!
Since I still do not qualify for Medium Partner Program — the Philippines is not among the countries included in the program, but…
