Manila Mishap (from June 3, 2007)

I had my memory of Manila’s Quiapo and Carriedo areas refreshed when my sister and I visited them last Friday. Before this day, my last vivid recollection of those places was back when I was in grade school, when my lolo used to take me along on his trips to Dapitan, Plaza Miranda and the general vicinity. Last Friday was a shock! It was absolutely crazy.

I had my complete physical exam in this diagnostic clinic across the Philippine General Hospital. Since it was still early, I decided to try and reach the National Bureau of Investigation (NBI) to obtain my clearance.

The NBI Clearance center is located amidst this huge tiangge, a cross between Greenhills and Divisoria, where throngs of people crowded around stalls that sell mobile phones, pirated DVDs, shoes, clothes and other stuff. The place was packed. You would have to wade through piles and piles of warm bodies to get through. Ironically, the NBI building itself shares the venue with more stalls selling those counterfeit goods. The headquarters is actually on the third floor of the building. The moment I reached the floor, fixers offered me their services (“di ka na pipila, miss”, “mag-aantay ka lang”) in exchange for 300 bucks. Looking at how filthy, crowded and disorganized the place seemed, I had half the mind to actually say “yes” to their offer. The only thing that stopped me was the fear of being swindled out of my money, and the possible humiliation of getting caught (my uncle works for the NBI, and he’s a morally upright person who would frown upon anything dealt under the table; I can’t imagine having to explain such a fiasco to him).

My sister and I climbed up a steep row of stairs in what looked like a gymnasium separated into several floors. Then I had to go through 8 unbelievably complicated steps (in which my sister has proven to be smarter and cooler under pressure than I could ever hope to be, with her keen eye for all the shortest lines and the ability to successfully retrieve all my documents while I was going out of my mind trying to find them) to obtain certification that I, in fact, had no prior criminal record as far as NBI is concerned. On steps 3 and 8, I had to have my finger prints taken, and we were asked to pay 2 pesos, presumably for the wet tissue provided to wipe the ink off our fingers.

The Rank and File staff who manned the lines looked sleepy and were cranky despite the air conditioning. They didn’t smile back when I tried to give a warm greeting. I probably shouldn’t be too hard on them, but what the heck, I came all the way from Taft Avenue after having my lungs freakishly and scarily checked and getting a blood test (I had those needles in me twice, one botched, thanks to an inexperienced intern). It was insanely warm and my clothes were soiled. I’ve had enough of the Manila crowd to last me a lifetime. I mean, life is as hard for the rest of humankind. Duh. Welcome to the real world.

My mug shot, which is now safely stored in the NBI database, was a disaster. Anyone from their office could take a look at my file photo and be convinced that I’m guilty of some heinous crime. Still, I can’t blame them for it being less-than-acceptable. I’m just really not photogenic.

On the other hand, it took only 20 minutes for me to obtain my NBI clearance, which is a relief. I wanted to get out of the place as soon as possible.

My ordeal was not over, though. Once out of the place, we had to once again, fight our way through the crowd of shoppers and vendors. I held on to my bag for dear life, afraid of the fabled (and confirmed) snatchers roving about the area. When we got through the tiangge, we found ourselves in the middle of Quiapo church. I was wondering why my sister was in such a hurry. I didn’t realize until it was too late that she was trying to overtake another surge of crowd as the 5PM mass ended. We squeezed through the maze, past a line of tarot card readers and amulet vendors, until we finally reached an underpass to get us to the road going to Quezon Ave. Right smack in the middle of the busy walkway were four or five men and women, deep in slumber. With pillows. Appalling. The underground was a another melee of stalls selling Purefoods hot dogs on stick, fake Ray Ban shades, etc. I was thinking, this must have been what Harry Potter felt like when he first visited Diagon Alley.

We finally got through the other side, where the crowd was as thick as ever. No cabs available! We had to take the ever-dependable colorum (?) FX. We rode all the way to Ortigas where we thankfully got into a taxi queue.

My sister and I reached Trinoma in time for dinner, though we must have carried an evil nimbus of sweat, dirt and candle scent. It was my sister’s first time to see the mall, but the scenery hardly registered. Our feet were sore and we were too hungry to care. We decided to save malling for another day. We wolfed down our food (sisig and nilagang baka at Gilligan’s), went home, raced to the bathroom to take a bath, and promptly fell into bed.

I’ve been complaining endlessly about how going all the way from Quezon City to Makati sucks, but this trip definitely made me count my blessings. I find myself missing my late lolo when I recall last Friday’s misadventure. I just realized how uncomplicated and uncomplaining I used to be when I was young and in grade school, and didn’t worry much about stolen cellphones, cabs (who would’ve thought I’d be able to afford them someday?!??!??) and NBI clearances. It was a reminder of how I’ve changed (into a ranting brat), and how I can take a lot of comforts for granted.