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C H A P T E R F O U R Transportation Seamen and Tomboys in Ports and at Sea My nation, my body. NEFERTI X. TADIAR, “Domesticated Bodies” There is reason to seize the bits and piece of . . . history as they flash up in the randomness of memory. There is a history jeopardized by prevalent understandings of queer identities and tired notions. . . . RODERICK FERGUSON, “Sissies at the Picnic” A Transportation Story, Metro Manila, Philippines, 1998 At 5:00 a.m. it is dark and quiet when I wake up, trying to beat the morning rush hour in Metro Manila. The port should only be about a twenty-minute car ride, but with the arteries of the city becoming increasingly clogged, it could take two hours. Other people have similar ideas, so by the time I reach the street corner where the “Quiapo-Pier” jeepney1 (or jeep) stops to pick up passengers in need of a ride to the other side of the city, the street is already lined with people. (Jeepneys are a form of low cost transportation in the Philippines, typically owned and operated by individuals or families.) Although I could take a taxi, during fieldwork in Manila, I often rode jeeps to participate in more working-class spaces in the city.2 I board and take my seat when the jeep arrives, and I stare out the window and begin to watch a clip of the film that is Metro Manila. We pass historical University of Santo Thomas, with its green playing fields and dignified buildings, students waiting at the front gate; 7–11 stores; Jollibees (fast food restaurant chain); residential housing; pawnshops; and dilapidated office buildings. Eventually, the jeep goes beneath an overpass and enters Quiapo, a historically Chinese or Chinese Mestizo/Filipino area of Old Manila. 150 T R A N S P O RTAT I O N I have ridden this route numerous times before during previous stays in the city, for example, when I studied at a local college during my undergraduate days. In Quiapo, I always think about and remember my mother. She completed a bachelor’s degree at Far Eastern University (FEU), which I see on my left as the jeep passes through the neighborhood. I think about the stories my mother told me about being young and in college, and I imagine her sitting in a little Quiapo restaurant enjoying a Coke and “hopia” (Chinese bean cakes), her favorite cheap meal, which she said she savored because her “pocket money” was always limited. After passing FEU, I see Quiapo Church off to the right. The scene is lively, and there is an interesting mixture of people that I observe as the jeep slowly passes the famous church. Believers wearing black buy candles and flowers outside the church doors. Nuns in white, rosaries visible on their chests, approach the church, perhaps to attend morning mass. Vendors sell bottles of oils mixed with herbs for various ailments, teas to heighten fertility, potions to induce miscarriages, and rich coconut oil to soften skin and fortify hair. Young skinny brown boys push wooden carts filled with old newspapers or little brothers through side streets, while middle-class civil servants and Filipina office workers wearing identical grey skirts (uniforms) and white blouses jockey for position as they wait for taxis. A few European tourists wearing safari-wear and sandals with bright magenta backpacks, thirty-five-millimeter cameras and guidebooks in hand wait for local transport. The jeep crosses the historical Pasig River3 and continues into Old Manila. U.S. government style buildings, remnants of U.S. colonialism, haunt the landscape. The National Post Office and other governmental buildings with huge columns look worn out, but some are getting new paint jobs in time for the 1998 Centennial Celebrations, which recall the Philippine Revolution against Spain and the establishment of the Philippine Republic, as well as the subsequent Philippine-American war. Eventually, the jeep gets closer to Intramuros, the Walled City, where Spanish colonial administrators, merchants, and settlers once lived (discussed in chapter 1). Intramuros is architecturally composed of urban poor shanties; medieval structures; a golf course (established during the U.S. American colonial period); several schools; “turo-turos” (lowbudget eateries) and corporate fast-food restaurants; upscale Philippine cafes, handicrafts shops, and art galleries; shipping-related offices and seafarers’ union buildings; and other anonymous buildings. Intramuros, importantly for my research project, is also adjacent to the Port of Manila. As in any major industrialized port city...

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