CHINATOWN aka BINONDO

This was the largest town during the 1800s outside of Intramuros.

It was the center of commerce for the Chinese and Filipino businessmen even before the Spaniards arrived and it continues to be a thriving commercial hub to this day.

More than 70% of the goods sold in the provinces are estimated to be directly sourced from wholesalers along Chinatown’s dozens of narrow streets. This area also boasts numerous eateries which attract many people from all over Metro Manila, especially on weekends.

My father, though born in Subic, Zambales, studied in Manila from elementary to college and lived at my grandfather’s cousin’s house in Binondo; only to return to Subic during vacation. After graduating from college, along with his cousin as partner, they set up a business at Florentino Torres Street near C.M. Recto Avenue.

From the time I was old enough to go to the bathroom by myself, my father started taking me along to his office on Saturdays when he worked only until lunchtime. I was a quiet, cooperative child and could be left on a chair near him as long as I have a favorite toy in my hand to keep me occupied. But when I turned eight or nine, there were times boredom would spur me to sneak out of the office and gallivant on my own around Chinatown. Confident with my basic know-how of the various twists and turns of some of its narrow streets, I would usually end up at my favorite place -- the pet shop that my father and I always passed by on our way to eat lunch.

It had a gigantic aquarium filled with exotic salt water fish. The nice Chinese proprietress would lend me a stool to sit in front of it. And while I ate a bag of buchi or mini hopia I bought from the nearby street vendors, I would make believe I was an underwater diver. This would go on for quite a lengthy period until I would get a tap on my shoulder from that nice Chinese lady as she pointed to the wall clock nearing 12. I would then thank her and run back to my father’s office.

At lunchtime, as we passed by the pet shop on our way to a restaurant, the nice Chinese lady would wink at me as if to celebrate our little secret. This escapade went on for quite some time until my father noticed my disappearing act and had his messenger, Tito, trail me. Once settled on the stool to watch the newly-arrived batch of intensely colorful salt water fish, Tito rushed back to the office and told my father my exact whereabouts. My father decided to leave for the day an hour earlier than usual and came to fetch me at the pet shop.

I was too engrossed by the activities inside the fish tank to sense my father standing behind me until I noticed his figure reflected on the tank’s glass. My eyes widened with fright but before he could utter a single word, the nice Chinese lady stepped out of her counter where the cash register was to greet my father. And from their initial exchange, they appeared to know one another. My father had always been a man of few words but quite articulate when necessary; however, on this particular occassion, he was obviously fumbling for his words.

And before I knew it, my father was buying me a five-gallon fish tank and some of its paraphernalia. The nice Chinese lady then told me to come back and buy the fish another day when the tank had been fully set up; with its water conducive enough for the fish to inhabit. Before saying goodbye to her, my father asked if he could use their telephone to ask Tito to pick up our purchase and bring it home.

We headed for lunch and then to a movie right afterwards. While my father dozed off as usual — lulled by the comfortable cushioned seat and the air-conditioned theater — I sat there fidgeting on my seat. My mind was fixated on my unexpected good fortune earlier. Although I was thrilled to have received a fish tank, I couldn’t figure out why my father got me one even though I was sneaking out without his permission.

I thought perhaps, the nice Chinese lady must have convinced my father to buy me one, but my father wasn’t one to be easily swayed by a sales pitch. Besides, I didn’t hear anything about getting me an aquarium in their conversation; they were merely updating each other about respective family life. I then suspected something else — but even at a very young age, I knew better than to pry so I left well enough alone. These intermittent thoughts, in the end, distracted me enough from enjoying a John Wayne western projected up on the silver screen.

I returned to the pet shop many times since then — now with my father’s permission — because the nice Chinese lady had started to teach me how to breed fresh water Zebra fish, which I later traded for marbles and bubblegum cards with some of the neighborhood kids.

And it wasn't until in high school that I realized I was wrong in assuming that my father and that nice Chinese lady might have shared a romantic liaison in the past (considering they both grew up only a block away from each other). The truth was, the many other surprise gifts and treats that I later received from him revealed the clue: they were mostly things my father never had as a child. And that every time he got something for me to enjoy, it was also as if he were getting it for himself.