iska at taft avenue

And when I’m back in Taft, I feel it. Another version of me, I was in it.

Picture the most aesthetically pleasing photos of Taft Avenue while DJO’s End of Beginning plays. For those who are not chronically online (particularly on TikTok), I apologize for the pop culture reference.

Taft is a special place. To be a college student studying there has been purely eye-opening and humbling. But it’s not just Taft; there’s something different about Manila. There is a beauty from being far from home and trying to be independent in this big, scary, city. There is beauty in seeing the rawest and harshest realities of our country and trying to be a person who can help alleviate those adversities.

Studying at UP Manila is the farthest thing from having an aesthetically pleasing university life. But when things get rough, pretending to be the main character in a huge city like New York always gets me motivated!

It’s no secret that I was raised by strict parents who probably babied me a little too much. Generally, I use the words “strict” to describe them when I’m speaking with my peers, but I know now that I was blessed to have parents who care enough to know everything about me. Before college, I’d only ever ridden a jeep about. . .six times? I had no idea how to cross the street. Independence was a foreign concept to me.

So, let me tap into my imagery skills and portray Taft as best as I can.

I get there by train. Our country lacks urban development planning, and I feel it all the time when I grapple to climb the steep steps in the LRT. I see students from public and private colleges. Senior citizens going to the market. Construction workers. Company employees. High school barkadas. Convenience store cashiers. Irritable canteen vendors. Sketchy foreigners. Probinsiyanos getting to know Metro Manila. Sometimes people are loud, and sometimes they’re not. One time, a woman watched a sex scene with her phone on full volume. Everyone stared at her.

I’ve never come across a typical ridiculously in-demand good-looking Chinto. But some of my friends have.

I get down at United Nations or Pedro Gil station. You know you’re in Manila when the streets are loud and the pollution oozes into your skin. People are scary, so cling to your bag. Walk quickly and keep a straight face. Don’t look scared (even if you are). After a two-minute walk, I should reach Padre Faura, but the path is dangerously close to the road. Hazards: the electric cable lines, intellectually disabled people who could potentially harm you, cars being arm’s length away, and stepping into dog excrement. I pass the NBI. Then the Department of Justice — which always reeks. I’ve seen rats and cockroaches on walkways. Questionable palm readers and illegal street food vendors. Rallies and news reporters. Police in front of the Supreme Court — which is funny because UP students usually fear the military on campus, and for good reason. But I finally sigh in relief when I see the College of Arts and Sciences, the sight of the Oblation my solace.

To get to UPM CAS from Roosevelt: Go down United Nations Station (LRT Line 1). Get down from the station and you should see tricycles in front. Keep walking until you pass by the NBI and DOJ. You should reach Padre Faura. From there, turn right until you reach the building next to the DOJ; the one with the UP emblem.

Every day, I see the Philippine General Hospital: it provides the best public healthcare with the best medical practitioners from UP. And yet, there is so much more to provide for Filipinos. I see the thin mattresses in dire condition. I see the patients sitting on sidewalks under a measly tent. I see a little girl in a wheelchair with a large injury on her nose, clad in a tattered pink shirt, and all I can think of is how she’s sick; she should be in bed but she’s in the middle of an intimidating street, likely suffering in pain. All I can think of is how I never had to go through that. It’s hard to stomach the fact that life is painstakingly unfair. Her dad is a taxpayer, and dads like him pay for my education. These people helped me attain a college education; I need to do something so that they and their little girls can live a comfortable life.

The Filipino people pay for the UP education I have fought tooth and nail to attain. I need to be someone who can help those people: to do whatever I can with my education to create a better life for them. These moments in Taft remind me to keep going – not for me, but for them. 

Regrettably, with the UP Budget Cut, PGH resources can only do so much. According to my economics professor, Manila is predicted to be part of the world’s worst cities in ten years. And sure, there are cool places like the National Museum and Intramuros. But there’s mostly poverty and crime. And poverty.

Studying in Manila forces you to toughen up. But no matter how outrageous this city gets, I will always talk about Taft with love. It’s the Sacramento to my Ladybird. My second home and first taste of adulthood. It has allowed me to know brilliant and inspiring minds through university and has connected me with lifelong friends. It is my New York, my Cornelia Street, and my Chicago.

Within the past two years, I’ve witnessed how fun classes and great friends have transformed Manila from a dark city into a community brimming with color, life, and excitement. Because of my superb college life, I've unlocked a new layer of Manila filled with places to see, things to experience, and so much to learn. One of my fondest memories is of navigating the LRT from Manila to Megamall; as inferior as the commute system was, it was a blast having friends by my side. Another one is going to Vito Cruz, the La Salle side of Taft, for our food trips, aesthetic cafe dates, and occasional pogi hunting. There’s nothing more fulfilling than having an early dismissal from a professor I admire, going home before 12 and enjoying Taft in its softest state, listening to Alicia Keys’ Empire State Of Mind on the train while imagining myself as a New Yorker.

Some of the most remarkable things about my college life are not bound by the borders of my university. It's not just "UP" that makes my college life amazing, it's the Manila dazzle that makes it exhilarating. The magic and memories are born out of the Manila energy: when you realize that this city isn't always mean and grimy, it grows on you: you witness something terrific firsthand, bask in its culture, history, grit, adventure, dreams, and potential for what more it could be.

My everyday travel to Taft is a daily broadcast of the rawest and harshest realities of our country. Manila is great, but it could be so much better.

And when I’m back in Taft, I feel it. Another version of me, I was in it.