Where I live, Thursday mornings are dedicated to the ritualistic pilgrimage to the local talipapa, a humble expedition to secure a week’s worth of sustenance for the household. Our modest needs are dictated less by appetite and more by the pragmatic demands of advancing age. Reaching for a favorite, I inquired about the price of a kilo of pompano—a fish that, not so long ago, went for a respectable ₱440.
“₱560,” the vendor replied without flinching.
Gasp! My favorite fish now costs more than my lunch budget.
Food, fuel, and transport have formed an ungodly trinity currently squeezing my Class A wallet empty. I have clearly failed to master the Olympic-level sport of street-level haggling. Seeking refuge at the high-end supermarket—whose owners, mind you, I occasionally dine with during the holidays—I found the same pompano priced drastically higher than the ₱517 it went for a year ago. Giatay ba. I am staring at the exact same fish, pulled from the same ocean, in the same archipelago, yet charged an astronomical premium simply for the privilege of standing in air conditioning. Sosyal.
To be fair, the government tries its best. A targeted subsidy here, a suggested retail price there—it’s like handing out a single cup of halo-halo in the dead heat of an El Niño drought. It’s refreshing for a brief second, sure, but it hardly changes the climate. Over at the Bangko Sentral, Governor Remolona tinkers with interest rate levers and monetary dials all day, though even he openly admits he cannot magically manifest rice harvests or lower global crude prices by sheer force of central bank policy.
Meanwhile, across our Southeast Asian neighborhood, our peers seem to have missed the memo on reality-TV politics. Vietnam, quietly and efficiently, has zipped right past us, channeling its energy into building actual highways and manufacturing hubs while we remain deeply occupied with building fan clubs. It is our most curious national pastime: given the choice between a competent statesman who speaks like a policy textbook and an entertaining celebrity whose integrity is as thin as their legislative record, we enthusiastically pick the actor. We’d sooner elect someone simply because they carry a famous surname or can dance a mean Budots than line up for leaders like former Finance Undersecretary Milwida Guevarra—and her relentless quest against fiscal leakages—or former COA commissioner Heidi Mendoza, who insists on government accountability even when it is wildly inconvenient for everyone involved. We openly lament the cost of living, yet faithfully vote for the very cast of characters that keeps the system corrupt, incompetent, and comfortably in power.
So what is left to do? Fiscal policy must stop acting like a temporary band-aid and start addressing broken supply chains and neglected agriculture. Central bankers can keep the currency steady, but they cannot farm the land for us.
Stepping out of the market, the morning heat begins to settle over the busy stalls. There is a fleeting, quiet moment as the silver scales of the pompano catch the early light—a reminder of simple, everyday pleasures that somehow keep slipping just beyond our reach. You take a breath, savor the familiar warmth of a morning that feels both timeless and fleeting, and then you pay the vendor, let go of the modest fish you didn’t buy, and walk home under the same old sun.
The Pedantic is a weekly commentary by Jun Vallecera, editor of Context.ph, sometime cat father to 12 puspins, and a 38-year veteran of watching the Philippine economy misbehave. He does his own laundry, which may explain his continued employment at home, and occasionally wonders why his wife has not left him yet. His views are entirely his own, although he remains unconvinced that anyone is keeping score.
