Here’s the thing: many Filipinos we consider “poor” might not even realize they’re “poor” in the conventional sense. For them—and for me growing up—it’s just life. It’s normal. And in many ways, it’s the life.
I never thought of myself as “poor,” even though some might look at my childhood and see otherwise. Let me paint you a picture:
1. My Bed Was a Sink
Yes, you read that right. My bed—every single night since I was about five—was our family sink. Not a fancy one, mind you. It was made of bamboo strips, woven together, creaking gently under my weight. After dinner, I’d wipe it clean, spread out my coconut-leaf mat, fold a shirt or two for a pillow, and drape my little blanket over me. A mosquito net completed the setup.
Let me tell you, those nights on the sink weren’t sad—they were magical. I fell asleep to the soft hum of crickets and woke up to the scent of the early morning air. It wasn’t until I was 16, a university freshman far from home, that I had my first “real” bed—a 20-inch-wide plywood bunk crammed into a room smaller than a master bathroom. And you know what? I felt like royalty. Although, I still missed my sink bed at home.
2. No Electricity, No Running Water, No Problem
We didn’t have electricity or a gas stove.
Water came from a nearby well, and cooking meant gathering firewood.
At night, we studied by the warm, flickering light of an oil lamp—until we ran out of oil, that is. It wasn’t inconvenient; it was just life.
The stars were our roof when walls were scarce, and our living room was everything: kitchen, bedroom, workroom, and balcony rolled into one. It wasn’t cramped—it was cozy.
3. Meals Were an Art of Rationing
Rice was measured carefully: one cup per child. We were nine kids, so you can imagine how precisely we portioned it. Meals were simple—salt, raw sugar, maybe a pinch of pork fat if we were lucky. Vegetables came later, and fish or meat was a rare, heavenly treat reserved for special occasions or when my father got a bonus.
But you know what? Those meals tasted like love. Every grain of rice, every pinch of salt, was shared and savored.
4. The Good Old Days
Forty years later, I look back at those times and smile. Yes, I can now afford better things—electricity, proper walls, real beds—but those simple days? They were the best times of my life.
We didn’t have much, but what we had, we cherished. We made do, we made memories, and we made life beautiful in its own way.
What I’ve Learned
Being “poor” is a state of mind. It’s not about what you don’t have—it’s about how you see what you do have. Back then, I didn’t see hardship; I saw adventure. I didn’t see scarcity; I saw resourcefulness.
And here’s the thing: what your mind can imagine, your body will follow. If you believe you can rise above your circumstances, you will.
So, how do poor Filipinos live? They live with resilience, resourcefulness, and a knack for finding joy in the simplest things. And if you ask me, that’s a kind of wealth no amount of money can buy.
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