Angel Cuala: Humane Blogger At Large

I cosponsored a blog contest where bloggers donated prizes to winners who were chosen at random. The winner of my prize received an interview from me. I would like to congratulate my winner, Angel Cuala.

Angel Cuala: Humane Blogger At Large

By Alexys Fairfield

Part One

Angel was just a toddler in Quezon City, Philippines when his parents broke up. His father got sole custody of him while his mother took his two older siblings over 8,000 miles (12.8747 km) away into the arms of America; a distance only multiplied in the eyes of a child.

His father later remarried and he inherited a loving stepmother and step siblings that temporarily replaced his longing for his biological mother. As birthdays and first time experiences passed without his mother, the scars of a broken family deepened.

“I am not proud to be a product of a broken family, but I know I am a stronger person because of this. This is why I feel it's my advocacy to help families to be complete and happy,” he reflects.

During the following years that transpired, not only was Angel living under the iron fist of Ferdinand Marcos, dubbed the most corrupt government in the last century, he was dealing with pressures in which no child should ever have to deal.

His childhood was accelerated and he confronted the responsibilities of an adult head on. He never had a chance to play with toys or children his own age, instead he went to work.

At 10 years old, Angel already had work experience under his belt and a work ethic that was nonpareil for someone his age. In his first job, he had to cut hard candies using a crosscut saw that his tiny hands could barely manage even with another boy at the other end.

When that job proved to be too dangerous for a young boy, he got another job catching mussels and oysters with his bare hands from the shallow waters of Manila bay.

“I had to wake up at 4 AM to catch the market rush. It gets crowded and everyone has something to sell. Oysters and mussels are easy to find but dangerous to catch. Their sharp shells will cut hands, shoes and feet. Usually a crowbar or a long handled screwdriver is best to use, but I couldn’t even borrow a screwdriver and I didn’t even own gloves. I had to wade through the thick and sticky gumbo soil to catch them. It was a little like quicksand at times because the mud does not want to let you go and some oysters held onto the mud,” Angel remembers.





Angel went from work to school and back to work after school, often going without breakfast. He walked 2 1/2 miles (4 kilometers) everyday to school without the comfort or convenience of riding in a warm car or having a full stomach.

It was on the streets of the Singalong and Paco market that gave Angel a sense of family, pride and heritage. While he sold oysters, mussels and delicious homemade Lumpia and Yema prepared by his stepmother, he observed people from all walks of life.

He learned what years of deciphering scrawls on a chalkboard could never teach. The observance of man in the midst of man’s existence. The exchange of experiences that show us glimpses of ourselves and where we stand against the sky of mankind.

Those mental snapshots stored in the recesses of our being like leather bound novels on our shelves of life. The market is an education. It is anthropology, philosophy, psychology and sociology, thrown in with the unmistakable Filipino hospitality grilled over the bonfire of humanity.

Angel oversaw hordes of people. Faces from local vicinities and foreign lands alike, all brought together to partake in this Filipino rite of passage - the art of the deal.

The steam bath humidity does not deter them. The crowds don’t faze them. The prices don’t scare them. The atmosphere is inviting, if not frightening to be in close proximity with so many bodies brushing against one another.





Colorful jeepneys decorate the street like urban pop art on wheels and the air is as pungent as it is sweet with the smell of fresh fish and lechon filling the nostrils.

There is also bibingka, and goto, among the pompano, talakitok, lapu-lapu, and bangus, all waiting to get to their destination on someone’s plate.

Vendors jockey to get the last peso from the locals and tourists by making prices so irresistible that pesos practically fly out of a buyer’s hand. It is a family gathering like no other. No one is a stranger and everyone is welcome.

This was Angel’s world, but it was not enough, something was still missing. He had still not seen his mother and like most children he was beginning to think the separation was his fault. Something inside of him was longing for more.

(to be continued)