Meet Rey. If Willy Wonka were a Filipino, he would be Rey. From a mobile contraption of a store mounted on a motorcycle, he sells stuff children's dreams are made of: The latest trinkets and novelty items; small toys; every imaginable kind, shape and colour of candy; action figures; tiny cars, planes, trucks, and ships; girls' and boys' jewellery and accessories; etcetera, etcetera. Rey makes the rounds of almost all the schools in our town of San Pedro, aware of their respective break and dismissal times (for obvious reasons), hopping efficiently from one school to the next like clockwork.
I have this admiration and respect for Rey, and all the others like him, who earn meagerly but at all times honestly. They are the good people in our midst, the ones who convince me that decency remains alive and well in this impoverished archipelago, made poorer with each passing year by rampant corruption. Whereas, in other still-fortunate places, those who are caught with their hands full of ill-gotten wealth are either banished or made to literally die of shame, in this country we elect them to public office, so that they can all the more acquire ill-gotten riches and flaunt these in our faces, by way of their mansions, expensive cars, and private militias. My faint clue, as to why this is allowed to happen, is either plain and simple idiocy or gullibility.
Rey has been in his trade for, I calculate, almost ten years now, starting out with a much smaller mobile store contraption connected to a bicycle. He has a wife who helps him eke out a living via this amusing, itinerant trade, but it is Rey who pounds the streets of our town rain or shine. He has two children (or maybe three), which he sends to two private schools, with the eldest set to graduate from high school in a few weeks' time, and already having obtained a college scholarship through sheer academic merit!
Rey and his family have this enviable acceptance of their fate and their role in the world. And with their seeming tirelessness and composure to go about their unvaried routine day in and day out, an unquestioning faith that they will persevere and prevail is very apparent. This accomplishment is beyond the reach of many others who are better-heeled and educated. At once, Rey has let me in on one of the secrets to happiness: The absence of too great or too much expectations.
Rey might be unaware of another thing enviable about him. He is assured of a special place in the pleasant and beautiful memories of all those children who patronize his store of dreams. Rey has made me recall some of my own schoolchild memories: Ka Conching's eatery for students, with its piping-hot, home-cooked meals; the Nectar ice cream man and his sweet, multicolored popsicles; Ka Domeng's Kabayan ice cream and buco sherbet; noodle sandwiches; deep-fried pork rinds dipped in spicy vinegar; Rey has opened the floodgate of memories, all of them pleasant and from times that held great promise.
The domain of childhood memories is sacred ground. It defines the man. It sets him off to his journey in life. Depending on the quality of these memories, they either provide solid anchoring or shaky foundation. Good people like Rey give to society the former. Not too many people may lay claim to this achievement. I can't. I most probably will be remembered as a moody, cantankerous man, an impractical dreamer, given to fits and episodes of rage, desperation and elation. My only consolation, however, is not being lumped together with the greedy, the murderers, the corrupt. As politicians are.
