“1 … 2 … 3 … 4 … 5 … 6 … 7 … 8. Look alive, ladies, and smile,” Mark instructs the line of girls, all slim and eager. Not eager, hungry.
Girls from every corner of the country arrived in this agency in droves, all awaiting a chance to be chosen to go to Japan. She knows coming to the big city to be trained as an entertainer will have her branded as a Japayuki-san,1 and while she may be desperate, she knows she’ll never stray that far. Last year, Sol’s day-to-day locations consisted of her college, her brother’s monastery, and her home. Now, she’s subjected to daily lessons on when to pour drinks or laugh at dumb jokes. Plus, there’s the complicated choreography to Gary Valenciano’s “Natutulog Ba ang Diyos?” that Mark continually adds on to. Sol stumbles and hopes that God is sleeping.
Her older sister, Luz, is waiting for her in Japan, and she swears that the fastest way to get there is to be an entertainer. Her other sister, Nora, is also applying in another agency. Nora’s aiming for Dubai as a domestic helper. Cousin Rosa is aiming for Australia, dreaming about the day her pen pal will ask her to get married. Sol’s been in this agency for almost six months and daydreams about what her life had looked like before Luz didn’t send enough money for her tuition.
She recalls taking the jeepney2 to the market with her sister Nora, who accidentally suffocated the Mother Hen in her market bag. She was too ashamed, but Sol had long let go of trying to keep up pretenses when other schoolgirls mocked her banana-leaf-wrapped lunch. Welcome to the Philippines, where even Tupperware is considered a status symbol! Sol knew that there was no shame in selling the Mother Hen to cover some of their tuition for the year. She asked her sister to let the Mother Hen breathe. After all, that’s what they’re all trying to do: survive. As she peeked in the bag, she knew the Mother Hen would be a little too dead to be a farmer’s livestock.
So, Sol has adjusted her sails, knowing she can’t move against the wind. She practises the choreography every day and laughs at all the dumb jokes — she does both to the beat of eight counts. However, this Choosing Day she doesn’t make the cut again. The agency official’s verdict: “It’s good that you’re slim, but we’re looking for someone a bit more exotic. I’m afraid you might look too local for their tastes.” Like the Mother Hen, Sol is a little too pale to be on the market.