ETHER DIARIES

controlled breaths | uncontrolled thoughts

Could have been a Nepo Baby

     Yes, I am the son of a DPWH engineer.    

But my father was different. In the early ’90s, when Pampanga was battered by lahar and infrastructure projects were in demand, he could have profited from it. Instead, I saw him return bribes, ranging from baskets of mangoes to brand-new cars, offered by contractors. He always declined the so-called monetary “SOP” worth millions.

We grew up the way a government official’s family should—modest. Yet, I have no memories of going hungry while he was in office. We had what we needed, and we were content. That’s how we were raised.     

From our dad, we learned the value of hard work, which allowed us to study in good schools. That education led us to our careers: my sister, now on her nth promotion, was awarded Model Employee at the Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas; and me, from chief resident to consultant at the state university.    

There are a lot of what-ifs. What if my dad had not lived a life of integrity? I might be a different Macoy today. The kind you’d see on social media, flying first class with an Hermès bag. My circle of friends wouldn’t be the same. My career wouldn’t be the same. Or if it were, I might be that consultant with an inflated ego and a diva complex.  

Sometimes I ask myself why my dad chose to raise us the “modest” way, when he could have spoiled us with all the luxuries contractors offered. After all, isn’t providing for their children what parents naturally want to do? Now I understand. He wasn’t thinking of short-term gains; he had the foresight to raise children who would succeed on their own merits and live with integrity.

Thank you dad. I can sleep soundly at night knowing no public funds sent me to school (just the subsidy as a state university student). I can face the public with the certainty that no tax money was used to feed me. And I have every right to march with the people and demand an end to systemic corruption.

 So yes, you can be a DPWH engineer and still give your children a good life without resorting to corruption. Anything beyond that is just pure greed.

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I’m Macoy Cruz

Macoy is, ironically, my professional name. Before residency, there were probably only two people who actually called me that. Then I had to get my name embroidered on my residency white coat. It cost ₱9 per letter, and I realized it would be cheaper if I used a nickname I barely used.

So I did.

People who knew me before residency would occasionally hear someone call me that and look confused, like, Who is he? People who met me after residency, meanwhile, would be like, Who is Mark?

I was diagnosed with depression in 2018. It has relapsed a few times since then.

Most of the time, you probably wouldn’t know. I still go to work. I teach. I see patients. I answer messages. I buy groceries. Life continues looking remarkably ordinary even when, internally, it doesn’t feel ordinary at all.

Writing became one of the ways I deal with that. It forces me to take whatever has been circling inside my head and put it somewhere else for a while.

Sometimes I understand it better afterward.

Sometimes I just make it funny.

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