But no matter how late we show up, we’re always earlier than everyone else. This is a phenomenon known as Filipino Time.
You can set your watch by it: to most Filipinos, any designated time actually refers to 30 minutes after that specified time.
It’s another example of how the usual laws of physics and logic do not apply here in the Philippines. (Other examples would be: the number of Filipinos capable of fitting into a small elevator, the ability of Pinoys to hang off jeepneys for long stretches without becoming part of the pavement, and Joyce Jimenez’s breasts.)
People smirk when you mention Filipino time, shrugging helplessly and noting that even big shots and hosts arrive late for events, so why should anyone else arrive early? Who wants to be the first one at a party, right? I don’t have the answer to that, but I do know this: the Philippines is probably the only country where the Millennium countdown arrived five minutes late. (That’s right: those standing on Ayala Avenue at the turn of the last century kept checking their watches at midnight, wondering when Regine Velasquez was going to stop singing. So much for Y2K.)
How did this alternate sense of time come about? I have heard many theories on the subject, which, to the uninitiated, can sound remarkably like lame excuses. There’s the "Rural Theory," which states that since the Philippines is traditionally agricultural, people still measure time in seasonal cycles, rather than in hours. Well, that theory is fine for farmers, but what about the people of Metro Manila? And by the way, my sources say that folks in the provinces are a lot more reliable about showing up for appointments. I believe it’s an old-fashioned rural tradition known as "common courtesy."
Some claim the length of one’s tardiness is a measure of his or her importance: you know, the bigger the VIP, the longer everyone has to wait for their appearance. Maybe someone should remind such people that the term "fashionably late" gets a little stale after 45 minutes of waiting.
Then there’s the ever-popular "Trapik" excuse. This one is clichéd, but all too often, it’s true. Still, for those in the habit of using traffic as an excuse, here’s a free tip: LEAVE HOME EARLIER! Make allowances for traffic; don’t count on it as an excuse.
Another frequently-cited theory is the "Blame Spain" argument. You know: the mañana and siesta habits were casually dropped here by the Spanish centuries ago, and never quite left. But hey, the Philippines sent Spain packing 102 years ago. It really is time to synchronize your watches.
Filipino Time manifests itself in all kinds of places. Movie theaters are my personal favorite. Filipinos habitually wander into cinemas 20 minutes before a movie ends, or an hour after it begins. Again, you can set your watch by this. Lugging armfuls of food and beverages, the latecomers then pass casually before your eyes, tentatively inspecting potential seats, here, then there, until you are forced to politely ask them to SIT THE HELL DOWN ALREADY. (I’ve often wondered about this habit of watching movies from the middle. On the one hand, it’s a very radical, non-linear approach to narrative. On the other hand, it kind of takes the suspense out of, say, Thirteen Days if you watch the ending first, then stick around to find out how the Cuban Missile Crisis actually came about.)
Not only do Filipinos reliably show up late, sometimes they fail to show up at all. Politicians are especially famous for this, particularly Filipino politicians on foreign junkets to the US. Everyone has heard tales of local congressmen who, invited to this conference or that forum alongside their American counterparts, suddenly drop off the radar during the last three or four days of the visit. It’s like the Bermuda Triangle of International Diplomacy. Where do they go? Some cite jetlag or sickness as reasons for not attending all the hearings of their US hosts. Others claim ignorance of the rules regarding per diems and airline tickets. But if you really want to locate those AWOL congressmen, here’s my advice: check the malls first.
Then again, why expect the average Filipino to show up on time when leaders often fail to set a good example? Witness the recent spectacle of Joseph Estrada’s plunder trial, which the deposed president’s lawyers couldn’t seem to make time for. Yes, the attorneys claim they never agreed to attend the trial, but doesn’t this indicate a peculiar disregard for other people’s notions of time? And if lawyers can pretend that deadlines and appointments don’t exist, what about the rest of us? At least Estrada himself showed up, albeit under protest and dressed like he was ready for a game of Pusoy Dos.
I guess it all comes down to the Filipino’s refusal to be bullied by Western notions of time. I’ve heard some academics claim that Filipinos simply don’t want to be "colonized" by Western ideas about punctuality and obligation. "Filipinos must be free to live by their own unique internal rhythms," I’ve heard one sociologist explain (and he was being perfectly serious). Har-dee-har-har. I guess that’s fine if the Philippines wants to remain an isolated archipelago with no connection to the outside world. I mean, if Filipinos are perfectly happy laughing and joking about lateness amongst yourselves, then by all means, carry on. On the other hand, if the country wants to keep up with its ASEAN neighbors, it may need to think about making some changes.
Punctuality, though, is something you have to master yourself before expecting others to follow suit. For instance, I was surprised to discover that, in three years of writing, I had never addressed this peculiar Filipino habit before, which makes this column kind of… late.
But along the way, I’ve discovered some useful tricks to get Filipinos to show up on time:
• The Shame Approach. A nasty look accompanied by "You’re late. "Pro: It instantly releases your self-righteous anger. Con: It hardly ever works.
• Offer Freebies. Promise free snacks, pins, caps, whatever, for the first 100 people that arrive. Pro: People will show up. Con: This can get quite expensive.
• Lie. Say your event starts 30-60 minutes earlier than it actually does. Expect hostile glares from those who catch on.
• Start On Time. If all else fails, roll that movie at 8 p.m. on the dot, start the meeting with or without the stragglers, order lunch before everyone else arrives, then stick them with the check. Hey, you’ve got to start somewhere.