by Sol Vanzi, Manila Bulletin
The Pilipina is eternally a work in progress, evolving with every political and social change. The females in five successive generations of my family illustrate how the Pilipina has adapted beautifully through 120 years.
THE LAST DALAGA
Florentina, born in 1901, belonged to the last generation of your typical dalagang Pilipina. She wore layers of clothing that hid every part of her body from the neck down to her ankles.
Her long hair was always twisted into a right bun, kept in place by a comb whittled from carabao horn or turtle shell. Gugo bark served as her shampoo; coconut milk her conditioner, and calamansi juice her final hair rinse. She stayed home until her hair was dry and coiffed; it was considered indecent for single women to appear in public with wet untied hair.
She could not curse or use foul language. Nor could she laugh out loud, run, skip rope, or play tag. She walked gracefully and kept her knees demurely together when she sat.
On moonlit nights young men serenaded her but tradition dictated that she stay away from windows lest they think she’s flirting with them. The young men were never invited into the house.
Her social life consisted of attending wakes, fiestas, trips to the barrio well to wash clothes, weekly excursions to the next town on market day to sell produce from their small farm, and worship day at the Aglipayan church, popular in communities which lost families during the revolt against Spain.
fter a long courtship, she married Alejandro, a kutsero who, like her, taught himself to read and write. They settled in the next town where Alejandro opened a carroceria (calesa repair shop). After World War II, he started converting US military jeeps into passenger jeepneys. Among his workers were Leonardo Sarao and Anastacio Francisco, who both became giants in the jeepney industry.
Florentina blossomed as Alejandro’s wife and partner, opening a convenience store and carinderia to cater to the needs of the community and those of her husband’s workers. Together, the couple earned enough to send two daughters to a top Catholic university in Manila. Ely became a teacher; Amor became the town’s first female doctor.
Florentina broke many rules and set new standards. She was owner, not mere storekeeper, of the sari-sari store and the carinderia. The businesses, which gave her financial independence, took her to market at dawn and kept her cooking all day. There was enough to send all their grandchildren to school.
PAYING FORWARD
Amor married Vic, a classmate, and considered the possibility of migrating to the US. The two physicians, however, decided to serve their countrymen first.
They enlisted as government rural doctors and were assigned to Bohol. Based in the remote town of Anda, they were the only doctors serving the medical needs of half a dozen towns. There was no electricity, no running water.
They were in Bohol during a cholera outbreak, the worst ever in the province. Their four kids had to be kept in boarding school in Tagbilaran while the two fought the epidemic.
Florentina and Alejandro were beaming with pride when told of the doctors’ sacrifices.
AHEAD OF HER TIME
Florentina stood out for being ahead of her time on the matter of LGBT rights. When told that three granddaughters and one grandson were gay, all she said was “As long as they are good persons.”
When a granddaughter started going bra-less, her only advice was to avoid wearing transparent shirts. She frowned upon heavy makeup, which to her looked “cheap” and ugly.
She also believed a harmonious live-in relationship was better than a violent marriage.
Hard to believe Florentina, my ideal Pilipina, was born only 120 years ago
