During long holiday breaks like Christmas, city residents who have provincial roots like myself look forward to the trek back to where we were born. No matter how long we have lived our lives in the city, there is a general longing to go back to our home province.
This behavior is not unique to humans. Sea turtles and Pacific salmon always return to the exact spot of their birth even after migrating thousands of kilometers away and even years after they are hatched. The capacity of these aquatic animals to return to their birthplace is known as natal homing. Scientists theorize that these sea animals use the invisible lines of the earth’s magnetic field to return to their place of birth, similar to the way sailors use latitude and longitude.
For us humans, multiple reasons tug at the heart and sway the brain to drag body and feet to join the holiday exodus to our hometown no matter how strenuous the trip may be. There’s the reunion with family and friends from way back when times were simpler. There’s the sight of the elementary school, the town fiesta grounds and the church of our youth which trigger memory flashbacks of bygone days. There’s the calming view of the rice fields, mountains, or sea. There’s the chance to lie in bed all morning or sit on the couch all afternoon with book in hand, and with time stripped of its warp-speed wings. There’s the freshly picked vegetables and just-off-the-boat seafood catch that have the natural sweetness which poor city slickers never even know exists. And then there’s the air—pure and simply unadulterated.
A couple of decades ago, the majority of city dwellers had home provinces to which they drove, sailed, or flew during long holidays. Nowadays, most city inhabitants have no memory of country living except as ninja-tourists on short weekends.
The younger generation in the city now only know the way of life in the asphalt jungle where guile, cunning and suspicion pervade human activity. The culture of capitalism is deeply ingrained not only in commercial transactions but even in interpersonal relations in the city. It is second nature for city residents to weigh benefits versus costs even in nonbusiness interactions. The spirit of competition has become entrenched in all aspects of city life. Human relations outside of family and close friends are fast being stripped of a sense of belonging to a community; with it comes the erosion of the innate virtues of empathy, compassion and gratitude.
In contrast, most country folk engage in life interactions with an abundant sense of fairness, good faith, trust and camaraderie. A sense of empathy is deeply ingrained not only in their interpersonal relations but even in their conduct of business transactions. It is second nature for country folk receiving benefits not only to pay the cost but also to recognize a lifelong debt of gratitude. Beyond the absence of traffic, pollution and congestion, life is genteel in the province because folk in the countryside interact with one another not with the sole aim of maximizing gain, but with a healthy dose of compassion and gratitude.
Country folk are often teased as naive for their lack of guile and cunning, which trait is in reality life-affirming. It is city folk who actually deserve pity for the life-debilitating abundance of suspicion and mistrust in their bones.
This contrast in the mindset of city and country folk is keenly observed and experienced by most medical and legal professionals who deal with clients/patients from the social spectrum. It is instinctive for most city residents to haggle for discounts on professional fees. It is generally treated as taboo for country folk to request discounts, but when dire circumstances compel them to plead for a fee reduction, it is voiced with a feeling of embarrassment and accompanied with profuse apologies.
In my years as a practicing lawyer, I have had my share of clients from the provinces who have become lifelong friends. The most luscious fruits of the season like mango, durian, marang, rambutan and lanzones would be delivered to my city office in addition to the check payments for billed legal services. I would return to Manila from court hearings in the province with extra bags of crab, prawn, dried seafood and longganisa given as tokens of gratitude by grateful clients.
On one occasion, a client heard me complain of my difficulty searching for good-quality tsokolate batirol that I wanted to use as staple drink in my planned museum café. The next week, a big tin can full of native chocolate balls that transform into the most delicious tsokolate batirol was delivered to my office, with a note saying I should just give notice to my client if the supply runs out so a fresh batch can be sent. Another client butchers a goat and prepares a feast of kaldereta, papaitan and kilawin when he finds out ahead of time that I would go on a weekend of scuba diving near his town. A few days before the Christmas break, a client traveled for three hours to Manila to deliver to my office the most delicious homemade rice cakes money can’t buy.
Professional colleagues based in the provinces have it better. They are regular recipients of live native chicken, fresh farm produce and baskets of seafood even from former clients/patients long after they had completed dispensing medical and legal services.
I write this piece as I breathe in the crisp morning breeze coming from the rice fields. Later in the day, I will go to the market and check if pygmy pot-bellied pigs with snouts inherited from wild boars have been brought down from the mountains.
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