My vote is for Nelson

(Editor's Note:  This entry won this columnist the Globe Telecom Media Excellence Awards as Columnist of the Year original published May 11, 2013)

His surname isn't Osmeña, Del Mar nor Rama. Neither is it Aquino, Marcos, Binay nor Enrile. I actually don't know what Nelson's family name is but my vote on Monday is for him.

No matter how hard I try, I am never a morning person. I rarely, if at all, set appointments before lunch, but if clients or VIPs prefer to meet in the a.m. and I haven't much of a choice, chances are, I'd go without any sleep.  Yesterday was one of those days. With no sleep, I rushed to Quest Hotel for breakfast with my Manila-based Acebedo relatives. And, having had no sleep, I was extra irritable.

I probably attracted some bad vibes from being so extra grumpy getting ready to leave the house: as if I wasn't already running late, I hadn't noticed that I was running low on diesel too. As I normally do during rush hour, I took the Guadalupe- Oprra- Beverly Hills shortcut, but when I reached the steep and narrow roads of Oprra, horror of horrors, my car was starting to conk out. It was so embarrassing and traumatic to be causing traffic like that, and I just wanted to cry.

Start, kaput, restart, kaput. It was nerve-racking. "There has to be a reason for this, some tradeoff later today," I thought to myself, always believing in some cosmic reason, that the Universe is always fair and just. Finally, I was able to start the engine enough for me to move and park my ancient car on that out-of-place basketball court in Oprra, the one that's awkwardly part of the road. Parked safely and no longer obstructing the flow of traffic, I endeavored to look for a gas station, still very mindful that my relatives had already been waiting for almost 30 minutes. I walked and walked and saw a bunch of habal-habal drivers; they would know where to buy, I was pretty sure.  So I told one of them my predicament: "Boss, asa makapalit ug diesel ngari, murag nahutdan akuang sakyanan."

He then took it upon himself to ask around, and when there was none in the car servicing shop nearby, he said we'd better buy at the gas station in Lahug, the one across JY Square Mall. He looked for a container and when he found one, asked if I wanted to join him. I decided I'd rather stay with my car and try to keep the aircon running and gave him two hundred pesos, enough to fill the one gallon jug.

Five minutes had passed, I was late, still stuck, and there was no sign of the habal-habal driver. Was I duped? I was thinking of the worst: what if he ran off with my money because he could and other people would. There is a litany of reasons why we doubt people's sincerity, and in this case, I even forgot to ask him for his name. Yes, I trusted that someone whose name I didn't know was going to help me and save the day.

And before I could make up my mind and completely judge him, there he was, the habal-habal driver, with the jug in one hand, steering in from out of the curb, like a knight in shining armor holding his lance and shield!

He gave me back a 50-peso change, the receipt, and a smile. I told him he could have the 50 pesos and that I'd give him more in a bit. He protested, he said it was too much and he just wanted to help. As we were about to pour in the diesel in the gas tank, we looked at each other and decided it wasn't going to work, it was going to spill. So he looked for something to use as a funnel and quickly found a small metallic signage he folded a bit to use as a makeshift siphon.

But throughout all this time, from when he was looking for something to use as a funnel and right when his mini innovation was proven a success, he was repeatedly declaring: "kaya lagi ni, kay maayo baya ang Pinoy, wa-is baya ang Pinoy…ang Pinoy makapangita gyud ug pamaagi, survivors, bright gyud ang Pinoy… maayo ang Pinoy, di ba sir?" With only a smile to show, deep inside I was awestruck. Inspired. What a wake-up call.

The sense of Filipino pride this person had was moving, I was almost in tears, yet I didn't even know who he was. There, amid countless campaign posters of politicos with their names and faces, was a nameless habal-habal driver helping me. What juxtaposition. And he was proud of being Pinoy. Right there, he displayed at least four Filipino traits: bayanihan, honesty, ingenuity, and patriotism. "Maayo ang pinoy, maayo ang pinoy."

And there was the reason I was looking for… everything does happen for purpose: He helped me not only for my problem of that day, but for a bigger problem that I was facing, something that was creeping and endangered my idealism, my sense of hope. I needed that, I so needed that.

I sat in my car, started my engine, ready to leave for Quest Hotel, still overflowing with a feeling hope and a realization that not all is lost for our country. But I forgot to ask his name! I had to drive around to find him, to know his name. I just had to know his name so I can whisper a prayer for him. After a few minutes, I spotted him. Thank God I found him, his name is Nelson.

I thank God because I had the chance stop and think and meet someone who succeeded in reminding me of the reason why we should go out and vote, and why we aspire to serve, of why we continue to hope for a better Philippines. So my vote is for Nelson and for every other Filipino who continue to give us a reason to hope, decent people who deserve far better.

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