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

  An obstetric anesthesiologist by training, a satirist by survival. I dwell in the quiet chaos behind the drapes: where vitals fluctuate, alarms scream, and consciousness is optional. This blog is my decompression chamber: part memoir, part manifesto, part controlled substance for the soul. Expect musings on medicine, life, and the paradox of staying awake in a system designed to sedate.

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