Being the eldest and only daughter, my normal routine during Sundays and after mass is to accompany my mom get some fresh goods for brunch (since we arrive home too late for breakfast and too early for lunch). Pork belly, pork loin, pork leg, chicken or some seafood are our usual must-haves.
This isn’t the best part.
At the outermost part of the mini-market near our parish is Manang Gulay. I don’t know her real name, so I baptized her myself. I called her that because she sells random vegetables at the side of the road, away from the vegetable section of the market. She occupies a small space, maybe a square meter or two, and crams all her fresh veggies on the ground. Laid only on rice sacks, newspapers, vegetable kegs or sometimes still wrapped in plastic bags, Manang Gulay’s goods are unmistakably fresh. She doesn’t sell a lot and it’s clear enough that these harvests are fresh produce from her own backyard. Her supplies usually include spring onions, red squash, sayote, eggplant, gabi, kalamunggay, white squash, beans, tomatoes and some bananas. At certain times, depending on the season, she has camote tops, ginger, ampalaya, native guavas or chicos.
Buyers come and go and after some time, Manang Gulay had “suki’s”, some customers who are satisfied with her goods and service. I and my mom included. What’s fascinating about her, aside from her plump tomatoes and green spinach leaves, is that, Manang Gulay can barely speak without her voice breaking and move without her hands trembling. Evidence of old age, she has lines all over her face and veins noticeably positioned on her hands, arms and legs. She has pigments, ranging from light brown to black, all over her skin. She moves slowly as she gathers her goods from her kegs to the weighing scale to the customer’s plastic bags or bayong. She sells for a cheaper price. That’s why she has a lot of suki’s. Even so, she still manages to add a little more for her customers. Added value, so we say.
Sometimes, especially when she has a lot of buyers at once, it gets annoying how this old woman takes twice the time to pack goods chosen by customers (even though she looks like she’s always in a hurry due to all the trembling). I thought maybe I should do it for her so my mom and I could escape the crowd at a lesser time. I thought about why this fragile woman is alone and has no one to help her sell these products. That could have saved me my time standing there and waiting for her to finish. I thought again and I asked, why is this woman working at the first place? She should be somewhere in her home, resting, or cooking merienda for her grandchildren, or sweeping the leaves off the ground from a nearby Mahogany tree. She should not be here in the city, alone and working. What I failed to see is how her sweat trickles down the side of her face and how her feet quiver from sitting in her cramped space, and still manages to sell her goods with a smile and an honest heart. Watching her, I cannot help but smile with the thought that there are still people who struggle through life in the most decent way they can, regardless on how lowly their lives may seem, but still puts a smile on their faces.
It led me to think about Manang Gulay’s drive for working. Perhaps she sends her grandchildren to school, like any other “huwarang lola”. Maybe she supports her children who cannot find jobs to provide for their family. Perhaps she has a son who suffers from a serious illness. Or maybe she has no one at all. These made me realize how heavy a burden this old woman must have on her shoulders, that amidst her bouchard’s nodes protruding from her digits, she continues to stay on her tiny space on the outskirts of the market.
For others, she’s just some woman. For me, she’s Manang Gulay, a perfect example of an independent woman, a heroine. She’s a mom, a grandmother, a trustworthy neighbor, a loyal friend, a woman of power. Whatever she may be to anyone, she radiates happiness and contentment. She breathes life to her family and to each of us. She is a lifeline.
