The alarm goes off. You hit snooze.
Within the next five or ten minutes (which felt like two seconds), your phone shrieks again like a banshee. The cycle continues until you are out of choices. Everything is on autopilot now. You get up and try to recall who you are, where you were, and what you were supposed to do that day. School, work, a side gig, or some limbo in between? Are you missing something?
Hey, cheer up.
You are fortunate, they say. You earn coins. You have a purpose. You win the bread and bring it home.
Cheer up.
You help your family. You see how their eyes light up whenever you hand them their pasalubong, gift, or allowance. Your name always gets called. You witness how they sigh in relief whenever you volunteer and assure them that you will handle it. You will pay for the house bills and tuition fees and debt from the sari-sari store, penalties and all. You are their beacon of hope. You are in a place of utmost honor, and nobody can take that away from you.
Cheer up. I mean it.
It is not always about moldy memories and expired dreams. Sometimes, you will encounter a tray of hope and warmth. If you knead enough, you rise gradually until you are ready to serve again.
If you are unlucky (because the universe has a terrible RNG), you might burn in the process, and you are left with an undesired and crusty situation. Is the bread not winner-material? Is it enough to satiate the hunger for survival? Is there an end to a never-ending obligation? Maybe?
You do not have to answer that for me. I just wanted to ask you to remove your apron, along with your gloves or mittens. Lay down the flour and allow me to serve you in this bite-sized and fleeting moment. Thank you for coming to this virtual bakery and sanctuary.
Pan de Sandali welcomes you home.
The Oxford English Dictionary (OED) cites the earliest record of using the word “breadwinner” before 1614. This was mentioned by James Melville in one of his writings. He was a diarist and minister at the Church of Scotland. Though there were no verbatim passages providing clearer context, he was probably referring to people who were responsible for sustaining their livelihood through their hard work or income. The one who “wins” the “bread.”
Just like in any Asian household, breadwinners are a common and highly anticipated entity in a Filipino family. Most of the time, it is the eldest child who inherits this obligatory add-on, while bearing the brunt of an already cruel world. Sometimes, it is the middle child who gets the short end of the stick because the older sibling found an emergency exit and the baton got passed. In some cases, the youngest one is forced to fend for themselves because the well has already dried up before they were even born. Regardless of who becomes the tribute, this remains a painful painting to look at and a brutal reality to live in.
The Philippine entertainment industry often features stories of breadwinners hailing from different walks of life.
Carlitos Tagle (played by Aga Muhlach) had to juggle his responsibilities as the family’s new patriarch and his role as a partner to Monica (Aiko Melendez) in the 1993 film, May Minamahal (dir. Jun R. Lana).
The characters from movies directed by Cathy Garcia-Sampana, Bobbie Salazar (Bea Alonzo) of Four Sisters and a Wedding (2013) and Bryan Bonifacio (Dingdong Dantes) of Seven Sundays (2017), mirrored middle children who strived hard in their careers to shoulder their family’s finances, only for their sacrifices to be misinterpreted as arrogance because of the ironclad façade they anchored themselves to.
Becky Macadaeg’s (Jodi Sta. Maria) tale was split into two possibilities in Dear Other Self (2017, dir. Veronica Velasco): one where she kicks ass in her corporate job and another where she succumbs to her wanderlust and rediscovers herself under a whole new lens.
Joanne Candelaria (Nadine Lustre) from Never Not Love You (2018), Joy Marie Fabregas (Kathryn Bernardo) from Hello, Love, Goodbye (2019), and Bambi Salvador (Vice Ganda) from And the Breadwinner Is… (2024) all demonstrated an aliquot of the hardships overseas Filipino workers (OFWs) endure because of a family back home waiting for the next remittance.
The country’s filmography never ran out of such tales. It does not matter if they are still in school, neck deep in paperwork at the office, running away from authorities while trying to volley between jobs, hoping to trigger a reset by building their own family, or playing Russian roulette while dealing with existential crises.
One thing is clear: They have to be present for everyone else.
They have to be everything and everywhere, all at the same time. They are the flagbearers of a single, aching body that has to devise a survival strategy alone and feed several mouths. The debuff does not even end here. The game has to be interesting. Cue in the third-world economy and disgusting political landscape. Add a pinch of natural disasters here and there. Fan the flames with the butterfly effects of regional conflicts and global tension.
Breadwinners are not allowed to break despite all these. Absolutely not! That would be sacrilege. They have to win the bread even if it means losing some teeth, money, sleep, or even themselves.
Breadwinner. I detest this word and how I am branded this way.
It is true, it does not make me feel like a winner. At all. It is not some bejeweled crown I can brag about. The closest it can get to being royal is being a royal pain in the ass. I wear it every day like a crown of thorns. It is excruciating and suffocating. Too much weight in one tiny frame.
But still, I am one.
I try my best not to be hateful. Resentment is a black hole I needed to steer clear of. For years, I grappled with the idea of finding something or someone to blame for the cards I have been dealt. It is a band-aid within an arm’s length, sure. But it hurt me more, even the people I vowed to support, protect, and love.
I figured what I needed was space. A simple pick-me-up. A moment. A sandali. It is the only thing breadwinners can afford in a game where everything is on the line and pressing quit is not a welcome option.
Pause.
I am a breadwinner and I am not here to romanticize it. I am not a victim. I am not empty-handed. I still hold the power. I can conquer this life with wisdom and grace.
I created this digital refuge because I wanted to write about something close to my heart and share it with people who might be feeling sore walking in the same shoes and asking the same, recurring questions: Whom do we burn for? What keeps us grounded and sane? Where can we get help (when it is challenging to even consider asking for one)? When is enough enough? Why us? How do we catch our breath and secure a fighting chance in a battle we did not ask for?
It is tough living this breadwinner life for the first time. I am aware I am enrolled in a lifelong process of learning, relearning, and unlearning, and after going through the syllabus, I am fortunate that I came across and acquired practical tools I am willing to share through Daily Doughs. Treat this as an amalgamation of my own research, personal experiences, and counsel from people whose arsenal of know-how equipped me just enough to stay on my toes and thrive.
Crumb Chronicles will house my reflections or personal essays. I will let my mind heave a hefty sigh, embrace introspection, and lay it all out on this digital paper. I plan to produce English and Filipino writings under this creative, story-driven room.
Lastly, I aim to keep things light and smooth on Butter Days. Here, I will share content related to hobbies, interests, or preoccupations that get me through the day. I may be a breadwinner, but I am human first and foremost. I always seek and find joy in the nooks and crannies of everyday life.
I am no sage, so this is the part where I wave the “no approved therapeutic claims” flag. I will not guarantee any groundbreaking articles because I am an amateur at what I do. At least, for now. I am staying positive that I will improve. I am looking forward to baking fresher and warmer stories here at Pan de Sandali. Thank you for dropping by and grabbing a bite.
Until the next slice,
Martinne