“I guess they don’t want you to visit long.”  That is what my big brother (“kuya”) Tom said to me when we arrived at our modest apartment at the Balay Kalinaw (BK), a conference center with adjacent guest quarters at the University of the Philippines Diliman (UP).  I had noticed that kuya’s expression said something like “what have I gotten myself into?” as he looked at the accommodations.

I was disappointed.  Friends of mine had made the arrangements. The guest apartments at the BK are not five-star, but I have occupied three different rooms there and thought them all quite nice.  In my attempt to make kuya feel better, and to defend my and my friends’ choice, I said, “This is where Visiting Professors stay when they come to UP.”  I was rewarded by the glum response above. 

Granted, kuya was tired, of course.  It is a long flight from Newark, NJ to Tokyo, where he and I linked up.  He had waited in Narita Airport for several hours for me to arrive from Green Bay, WI.  Sleep had eluded him so far.  On the other hand, we had one of those rare experiences from Tokyo to Manila: an upgrade to Business Class.  

A lovely Filipina at the Delta boarding gate granted us this boon when kuya spoke to her: “Can you find seats together for my brother and me?”  She scrutinized us. Without changing her expression she replied, “You will be in Business Class. You should appreciate it.”  Kuya announced to me, “It’s nice to see someone who appreciates family.”  “Certainly.  She’s a Filipina,” I said.  Still, the memory of the family-oriented gate agent had not trumped kuya’s disappointment at our living arrangements.  

When I came from my bedroom to the kitchen-dining area the next morning, kuya was working his daily crossword puzzle.  Kuya is an early riser.  He said he wanted to show me something.  It was not the crossword puzzle.  He took me to the window and pointed to the expanse of squatters’ huts that occupies a good chunk of the UP campus and snuggles right up to the BK.


 “I should have warned him,” I thought.  “Now he is really going to hate this place.”  But I was surprised.  Kuya simply said, “I took some pictures of this.  It’s amazing.  Let’s go to breakfast.”  He spoke in a thoughtful tone.  “Let’s go,” I agreed.

We walked the short distance from BK to the campus hotel, where visitors stay for shorter visits, overnight or a few days. The hotel has a large patio on the ground floor, set back under the second floor to avoid the sun.  It is next to a pleasantly open, spacious garden area.  The weather was in the eighties, unusually warm for early December, but we were cooler in the shade. 

For the next ten days kuya and I visited the sites of Manila and one beyond, the island of Palawan.  In Manila, we were often accompanied by Filipino friends, the Dalisays, usually by June (Beng), sometimes only by their car and driver.  During one Sunday drive to the mall at Greenhills, in heavy Christmas-shopping traffic, kuya and Jose (Butch) Dalisay talked about American-Philippine relations.  I heard kuya say, “the more I travel abroad, the more I am embarrassed about my own country.”

Kuya became good friends with my Filipino friends, and he made some friends on his own. The only person I heard him complain about on our whole trip was the one non-Filipino who repeatedly kept everyone waiting on the package trip to Palawan.  “My nemesis,” said kuya.

As I look back on the trip, I conclude that kuya’s negative judgment about the apartment at BK the night we arrived arose because he was expecting something more ‘western,’ like business-class.   In the light of the next morning, he realized his mistake.

The day before we returned to the US, kuya and I were sitting on the patio of the UP hotel having breakfast.  Kuya looked out on the garden and said, “I could live here.”