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Malacanang Palace is the official abode of Philippine Presidents. It straddles two sides of the Pasig River. On the north bank known as the Legarda side, the Executive Office sits in a complex that includes the official domicile of the Chief Executive and his family. Normally courtesans belonging to the extended family network of the incumbent could be seen flitting in and out of the corridors of power. A loose pecking order of sorts that inserted itself in the chain of command gave rise to influence peddling and shady deals.
In this particular era, there was none of the clustering. The sitting President marked two firsts in the history of the republic. He was the first Philippine President one generation removed from his Chinese roots. He was also the first Philippine President elected to the top office as a confirmed bachelor.
He loved being among the ordinary people especially in his favorite proletarian haunts in Binondo, the old Chinese quarter. This did not carry to his campaign habits and public persona. He tended to be apolitical and withdrawn to the ilk of his PR front men and behind the scene image weavers. Showing a fake façade and wearing a forced smile while working the crowds never rubbed enough to take root in his psyche. He behaved like a standoffish ivy leaguer with a superiority complex. It grew on him because he spent too much time in Boston and Wall Street. His ‘Taipan’ father decried his self-exile from the overly burgeoning family business and tagged him the prodigal yuppie.
He loved his country and its people in his own good time. He never thought of himself as a savior who could overturn ingrained and deep-rooted inclinations. He always invoked such an argument with his father by pointing out that he built his business empire on top of it. He put an all-trusting faith in the change of values that education can bring in time and fruition to all his countrymen. That’s what goaded him to come home finally to find a way to hasten it and contribute his father’s hard earned resources to its realization.
He was no social butterfly either and distanced himself from his mother’s family and social gentry. His mother belonged to a Chinese well-heeled social class that took on Spanish aristocratic flavor to be in step with the ensconced establishment in the high society circles. He found joy in its uniqueness much like the dated Chinese restaurant menu he once saw in a hallowed Binondo corner. He took to calling his Mom “morisqueta tostada” the menu name for Yang Chow fried rice. Always with a love and endearment, mind all and sundry. He swore by her with an allegiance more than his father. In fact when it boiled to the nitty gritty, she knew she could have her way with him but never asked out of love for him because she knew it will roil him inside.
He relished the simple life of the wealthy backroom wholesalers of Binondo, the Chinatown of the old Manila business district. In his youth he divided his time between his schooling at the Jesuit run Ateneo, the premier educational institution in the country up to graduation from its clubby law school, learning the ropes first hand among the lower ranks in his father’s retail business, and spending all the free time left to be a volunteer with the hardy and renowned Chinese volunteer fire brigades in Ongpin street.He believed in their credo of contributing to society without pay or reward because their families and their community benefited from the larger issue of fire safety. This attitude can transpose by macrocosm to a whole county to a gamut of critical issues. He firmly believed in it and lived it.
Going against the current was never his thing. He was not wont to impose his own convictions on others and found unifying forces in the use of circumspection or being attuned to the interests of others. He always recognized the human desire for wealth as the most natural thing. He sought to harness it to work for the attainment of his goals. He was not ashamed to be associated with the Chinese business moguls running the country’s financial backbone from their bodegas in Binondo. It was said that he swept to victory on the crest of the multi billion baubles they provided. President Harry Sey was quick to deny it. Although in one after election festive gathering, he tactlessly joked that it helped his campaign that nine out of the top ten banks in the country were either controlled or owned by his Chinese backers. The punch line was to be the number of voters in the combined nationwide network of branches that was a captive electorate. This got swamped in the incensed reaction of the media to the cheekiness of his humor.
It was a private luncheon in the air-conditioned lanai dining room of the Malacanang Guest House overlooking the river for the Ambassador from the United States. In a breach of protocol they sat comfortably across each other at the edge of the table leaving the Chairman’s seat empty. The Ambassador looked pretty. Being female, she looked like Diane Keaton.
“These shrimp dumplings are so exquisite like fine glassware,” she commented but really meant it was a chore to try to snag the slippery mounds with a pair of chopsticks, which she bravely took on.
President Sey felt at ease with her and found her likeable. He lived, studied, and worked in the U.S. long enough to know what makes her tick. He admired the liberated gung ho career driven ladies of America and found them better suited for the new tech age. He didn’t see anything wrong with the subdued retiring ways of the traditional oriental women although he couldn’t bring himself to picture them surfing the Internet maniacally. Except of course those who are seeking foreigners to marry; he thought he had no problem with those as well because he always believed in worldwide genetic diffusion. He lightly termed it ‘ninja toitle mutancy’, a joining of old with young, of white with colored, or colors of varying shades, and of east with west. He speculated that on a futuristic space voyager, genetic lines would not be distinct anymore. The humanoid will just have to be arrayed with other stranger forms.
He observed quietly her nifty coiffure and polished look in her upscale business suit. He played a guessing game in his mind and came out with $800 at Marshall Fields. Nah, that’s not a good topic for now, he rightly steered himself from lapsing to another faux pas. Instead he moved the appetizer plate with seaweed, century egg, and black mushroom closer to her reach.
“Now that’s the next stage of the trial by ordeal with the chopsticks,” he jested with her.She mumbled something, got caught by a laugh, and hurriedly covered her blushing mouth with a napkin.
The maitre’d was quick to the rescue with a glass of Perrier. She wagged her finger resignedly at the President to signify a most embarrassed ‘touché’. She was unhinged that he deduced her inner thoughts by some quirk. As it is, her clumsy reaction only confirmed it.
He retained many simple habits from his upbringing except in the manner of dressing. He would never touch the cheap stuff sold in the bargain markets in his favorite hangouts. He had a flair for fashion and was always nattily dressed even back in his youth. Designer apparel always suited him and spent all his extra income on them. He was an inveterate clotheshorse if you wanted to pin him down for a personal weakness. He was a sight to behold when dining in his favorite hole in the wall Chinese restaurant in the ancient quarter. He was always overdressed in his Ralph Lauren togs.
They put the meal out of the way and repaired to the anteroom for tea. The ambassador regained her fine demure composure and sat smartly with the proper air of officialdom as befitting an official representative of the mightiest country on earth.
“Taiwan would be willing to bankroll this accord to have a joint exploration of Spratlys. Japan and the United States are behind it 100% as well as members of the Group of 7 who now prefer to remain unnamed.”
“The focus of our Congress is now the rich deposits in the Muslim autonomous region. Everybody feels it was a big mistake to sign over the lands and allow those allied with Fundamentalists to possibly enjoy free rein over the oil wealth. Just like when the Promised Land was partitioned. The barren desert turned out infinitely richer.”
“Our sympathies and support are with you in that respect. We of course would rest easier to see such prospective wealth wielded by an ally closer to home instead of perennial antagonistic interests. How you can unravel such a scheme to abrogate agreements would be a messy affair and spark armed conflicts that can detract from the priorities demanded by worldwide and regional interests.”
“Spratlys oil?” The President mused.
“Yes your honor, gazillion barrels of Spratly’s oil to keep the China fire burning.”
Her U.S. Marine aide in civvies was ushered in. He properly begged the President’s indulgence and handed her a note. It read, “Jason Burke has been shot.”
She reddened in the face and apologized for the interruption. Right then she asked to be excused momentarily to go to the ladies room.
The President was used to such late breaking interruptions. He smiled at her and turned to lend an ear to an aide who bent down to whisper something in his ear. This one he was not used to.
“Ellebana has been spotted running under the LRT (elevated train) with a gun!”
He didn’t wait for the Ambassador to come out of the restroom. He broke in a run to his car with his security men hot on his tail.
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