The ‘happy box’

In the late 1970s, travelling Filipinos used discarded cartons instead of suitcases as their luggage. These boxes came in all sizes and (battered) conditions, but Filipino ingenuity always found a way around all kinds of inconvenience. The milk or grocery carton became a useful travel accessory; an empty canvas suitcase weighed at least four kilos. That is how the wa-is Pinoy saved on possible overweight charges.

From that need emerged a major Filipino invention known as the “balikbayan  box,” which became a symbol of family love and unity in the best Filipino tradition.

This 24x24x24 box sent and delivered from door to door, bringing much desired items to replace what or who is missing in the Filipino home, has evolved from the once corrugated plain box of the 1970s into a jumbo box made from reusable plastic shipping material. Part of the box’s attraction is its economic value, affording the sender a cheaper bulk shipment of items versus sending each item individually in smaller boxes through unreliable  postal service. (Some technical information about the box in this article has been culled from Google.)

The  balikbayan  box first appeared in the 1980s in three different dimensions and has since been used widely by overseas Filipino workers to connect with their families and loved ones in the Philippines. Before long, more and more accredited agents stationed themselves in different parts of the world to render service to the Filipino via the box. Most Filipino stores abroad have this kind of service: delivering love and happiness in a plain and simple box to the families left behind. However briefly, it gives joy to the fatherless or motherless Pinoy child’s heart.

Like the jeepney and the Sing-A-Long inventions, the  balikbayan  box is truly Filipino. It’s a symbol of family love and all the nurturing qualities of Filipinos and their desire to give as much of themselves, including material comforts, to their loved ones—the very reason they are slaving away, often in severe conditions, in a foreign land. It is also their way of connecting and sharing, of making up for long absences. They hope that the recipients of the box feel the deep love that goes with it—spouse and children; parents, brothers and sisters; nephews and nieces, aunts and uncles; not to forget in-laws and close friends. In return, the much-awaited box is received with happiness and gratitude.

My daughter Sandy has thus suggested that it be called a “happy box.” Indeed, how did we all survive before Skype, Viber, e-mail, mobile phones with cameras—and the  balikbayan  box?

I am a recipient of a  balikbayan  box. It comes to me from two sources, lucky me. My sister in Florida tells me that her doctor gave her this and that medicine, good for her knee pains or her muscle aches, and she wants to send me some, too. I tell her, no, please, don’t send me anything, I don’t want you to waste your money on me, or I don’t need anything, or I can buy that here cheaper, and all kinds of ungrateful statements. But it is not that I am being ungrateful. I just don’t want her to bother with the extra expense.

But she ignores me and before I know it, she announces that my happy box has left and will arrive in 45 to 50 days. I mark that on my calendar. I love everything she sends, of course, especially those two-in-one lipsticks, shampoos, lotions, lovely-smelling Italian soaps bought from TJMaxx, candy-like vitamin jellies, cookies, chocolates, instant soups, oatmeal, cereals, pistachios and almonds, and lots more, plus turmeric capsules and oils of oregano, and some other things I have never even heard of. What to do but enjoy them all? Thank you, Lord, for a generous sister living abroad—and for the  balikbayan  box.

To the Filipino family, a  balikbayan  box represents many time-honored values. It is the symbol of the blood, sweat, tears and the many sacrifices that OFWs endure so their loved ones may have a better life. Money sent is not enough for a birthday or Christmas gift for a child who longs for the warmth of a parent’s presence. With the box comes the hope that, at least, a gift of a toy, a shirt, or a pack of candies will warm the child’s heart, albeit superficially and temporarily.

On the sidewalk skirting the building where I live is a family of five. The parents are known drug users and how they have managed to beget three cute kids on that sidewalk is beyond me. They have been living on that sidewalk, sometimes near Shakey’s, other times near McDonald’s, for more than eight years. Parents and kids are all thin and brown from dirt and exposure to the sun—perhaps the reason no policeman or barangay  kagawad  has noticed them.

But thank the Lord for the  balikbayan  box. It is their happy consolation, as they always manage to get a  new, discarded box for the whole family to sleep on when everything is quiet and everyone else has called it a day. (But I wonder where that wide-eyed girl takes her family for shelter on a wet and windy night.)

Shirley R. Wilson (formerly Shirley Wilson de las Alas), 75, says: When I am not reading or writing, I like playing piano and guitar—badly, from lack of practice. I am a widow now, so I am dropping the “de las Alas” from my name for brevity and convenience.