Where I’m from, there is a day at school called card day. Card days are typically scheduled on weekends so that parents would be available to accompany their kids to visit the school to claim their report card and see how the quarter went in terms of their kid’s academic standing. It would also be the opportunity for teachers to personally praise or bring up alarming issues about the student to the parent.
For me it was a mildly bothersome day as popular media stereotypically represented it as one when you probably will either “get it” or get a “pat on the back” for a good job.
Thinking back, it was also almost special to me. It is occasional for one of my parents to be present at school. We never had the luxury to have the car for them to drop me off or pick up from school; we would be employing services from a “school service” provider – mine was driven by an old chap with his wife taking the role of a helper. She was seated at the van’s door and was tasked to manage rambunctious kids. Both in their 60s, their air of seniority was enough to put kids in their places – with exception to their own grandson who always seemed to be the bane of stubborn pranks that all of us can only shrug off. That’s a nepo baby for you! Despite being their customer, we’ve always failed to pay in time. Our late payments were always less than what’s owed, carried over to the next month as debt. As the kid who has to face them daily, this debt will continue to daunt me up to the last days of 6th grade that I have to ride their aged vehicle.
No heavy bags to be tugged around, young me would be weighed down by envious feelings towards classmates sporting trendy clothes during card day. I’ve lived with an inferior attitude due to the simplicity of what we can afford. Fortunately, my parent had exaggeratingly glowing appearance that attention was drawn to them with compliments. Some were snide remarks questioning if we were actually related.
Card days were almost special with my parent displaying courtesy and politeness towards my teachers, as expected. What was lacking or rather what I don’t recall to have had felt was the display of their pride. I remember it was a smile and satisfaction that the quarter ended and that my card had passing marks. The commute home was not special. We never talked of what needs to be worked on nor what I need to continue doing to retain or exceed my current standing. There weren’t any stops to get a favorite snack. Going to the school itself was an expense we would not normally have space for from the family’s already extended budget. Whatever amount expected in the coming fortnight has already been allocated and rewards to celebrate such a small achievement cannot be accommodated. The card day event ends by the time I changed into my casual house clothes. The weekend washing starts with the help of a spinner tub. A common display of my parent’s multi-tasking while I wait for them to cook a late lunch in our sawdust stove (kalan de kusot).
Reflecting on my childhood card days as an adult, I realize how much I have to be grateful for. Never had one of my parents missed card day. Some of my classmates’ parents would not even make it as they can’t take the day off. Their neighbor classmate’s parent would claim the card in their stead. Our family, on the other hand, managed to just have one parent working mainly since we were living in a family compound where my neighbors were actual relatives. We would have not been able to make it if it weren’t for their help. I’ve always thought it was expected since we were family after all. Despite the obvious choice of living close to where help is immediate, starting my own family, urged me to move to a slightly distant city where rental rates are relatively affordable. Settling for a home to call our own has become daunting, on a much larger scale compared to our school service late payments dilemma. Together, with our neighbors who are also non-home owners, the spirit of the common struggle binds us to support one another – we would take turns on the laundry clothesline; they would receive mail and deliveries for those who are not around; there would be pancit and spaghetti to share during their family’s birthdays and there would be no nepo babies needed to be brushed off.
Yet, this shared warmth only highlights the housing crisis in the country and presents challenges for families like ours in the lower class to be able to own houses that support livable conditions. What are considered as affordable housing projects fail to meet, even the simplest factor to make the cut: proximity to the basic facilities – good water source, reliable connection and electricity, near business districts, accessible schools, health facilities and free open and green spaces. Unless changes are made to what is considered by the government as standard and acceptable housing projects a big portion of the population will be forced to carry the burden of putting up with a cycle of earning only to rent from private owners instead of being truly supported to afford their own. It is a vicious cycle like that on a spinner tub – only meant to wring them out until they are nothing but dry pieces of dilapidated fabric.
