Bibliographic Entry: Scott Magkachi Saboy. 2009. "Abàng Tony." In Beltran, Jr., ed., ANI 35: The Philippine Literary Yearbook.Manila: Cultural Center of the Philippines. [Intext Citation: Saboy 2009, 182-184]
There should be nothing special about the Philippines, abáng Tony George (TG) said matter-of-factly. EDSA 1? His people take great pride in Mahathir’s iron-fisted reforms. Makati? Hi-tech Kuala Lumpur towers over it. Boracay? They got at least four Boracays and he has been to the top 10 beaches of the world only one of which is in the Philippines – and it’s in Palawan, not Aklan.
On and on, he stacked the cards up against my country which he perceived was flapping hopelessly in the sewers of social and political turmoil.
He was quick to point out, however, that Malaysia is not utopia, what with its past two racial wars, the sometimes ruthless Federal Reserve Units (FRUs), its occasional harsh treatment of prolific writer and lawyer-activist Cecil Rajendra who happens to be his cousin (Tony gave me a copy of Cecil’s poetry collection, Child of the Sun, as well as his biography, which I now use in my Literature class), and a host of the usual human foibles you would find flashed in the New Straits Times. But compared to the Philippines, Malaysia is paradise.
That is why his friends thought he was nuts when he announced that he was definitely going to make his home in the Philippines. They wondered what was so special about a country which has historically tended to take pride in its Western heritage, instead of identifying itself more with its Asian sisters and brothers?
Why leave a country which turned him into a jet-setter and a co-owner of a company, and which gave him two residences and a Ford pick-up truck? And if he is to leave why not set sights on Ireland where he spent his college days or at the Northern Territories of Australia where he has been so often?
He would explain to his sceptical pals that there’s just something about the Filipino people that discounts the odds stacked against this “Sick Man of Asia.”
It puzzles him when poor Filipino folks manage to find something to smile, laugh and joke about even in the face of adversity. It intrigues him seeing the Filipino masses display “ultra-practicality” in their frantic efforts to survive with scarce resources.
It tickles him watching the tricycles and the other teeny-weeny yet unique inventions of the Filipino mind, drawing materials from this garbage dump called “necessity.”
It also inspires him sensing a strong value system among Filipino families. He is touched when a mother, upon seeing her three-year old sleepy head stumble into her tiny, roadside carinderia (eatery), drops everything she’s doing and embraces him all the while softly asking, “What is it, my dear? Do you need anything? Have you eaten already?”
It means a lot to him seeing Filipina domestic workers in his country straining every nerve to earn and save so they can send a few thousand pesos to their needy families back home.
He’d often say, I will give medals to Filipino women… Filipina mothers should be given a Congressional Medal… They need to be given more respect… I will never cross my Filipina maid!
These and other everyday scenes in the Filipino’s life are what many Malaysians should envy, TG ventured.
He lamented that in his own country many of those who are materially blessed wear long faces all the time and are often scared by a mere rumor of a stock market meltdown; a great number have lost their sense of initiative and creativity in their enjoyment of government dole-outs; busy parents seem unable to find time to cuddle their kids; multitudes seem to have lost any interest in spiritual pursuits: in short, a lot of Malaysians have everything yet paradoxically have nothing at all.
And so after weighing his options, he was planning to eventually sell some properties, migrate to the Philippines, and use his expertise in agri-business and bio-security to help a few secure a sustainable form of livelihood.
It seemed to me then that it really didn’t matter if he’d miss for some time the smokeless Malaysian-made Proton cars, the absence of incessant honks along the neat network of jalan, the serenity of his neighborhood at Petaling Jaya, and the black garbage bags neatly stacked at the foot of trees and posts by the roadside unmolested by scavenging dogs and people.
He simply didn’t want to miss the opportunity of making a difference in the lives of those who could deeply appreciate what matters most in life more than many of his own people could.
I haven’t seen nor heard much about Tony since my short visit to his quiet home in Petaling Jaya. Although some friends say he married a Cebuana lately, I don’t know if he did get to make a permanent home somewhere in the Philippines.
Whatever final move he made, I’m sure he would choose something that could make him of better service to others.
Looking back to those four days with my Malaysian host, I still salivate for roti canai and satay as well as salivate with envy for Malaysia’s admirable culture of discipline and its sustained development.
Naturally this means I couldn’t help grieving over the squalor my country has been in. But my first visit to Malaysia impressed upon me a deeper realization of having neglected to see, as it were, the beauty of the lotus flower atop the murky waters — that we can be awed at the 1,483-foot Petronas Towers without forgetting that there is something about the Filipino spirit that towers above that stainless steel-clad skyscraper.
It may be a long while before I get to again hear someone exclaiming Selamat Datang at KLIA, but for a lifetime TG will hear me saying, Terima kasih banyak-banyak!