By Pennie Azarcon dela Cruz, Executive Editor
Sunday Inquirer Magazine

BACK when I was in Grade 2, our family had the distinction of being one of the few households in that rat hole of Tondo to first own a TV set. Not just any ordinary television, mind, but a real “Made in the US” appliance, courtesy of a paternal uncle. I remember that it was housed in a dark wooden cabinet with sliding panels, with the Z in the “Zenith” brand looking much like a bolt of lightning.

How proud I was of that hulking gadget, never mind that the reception was bad and that I ruined my eyesight trying to see moving images thru the blurry screen. “They’re ants,” I declared categorically to my younger siblings when we couldn’t get anything but the snowy screen no matter how many times we flipped the channels. “It’s probably a nature show,” I added. I couldn’t bear the thought of people criticizing this one appliance that put me in the same league as my more privileged classmates. Kids even then were insufferable snobs, and it didn’t help that we wore hand-me-down “Ang Tibay” shoes (simply indestructible, I swear), to this Catholic school where most of the enrollees were shod in the more fashionable and expensive Greg boys shoes.

I protected that TV set like it was my personal virtue. Even better, I think. I was one selfish brat who shooed away neighborhood kids who climbed over our gate and crowded our window trying to watch the meager shows on local TV at that time. TV was our form of bonding in the ‘60s, with whole families gathered for “Oras ng Ligaya” or “Tangtarangtang” or “Tawag ng Tanghalan.” The entire neighborhood was still tuned in to “Tiya Dely,” her familiar theme music the one sure way to tell that it was now 3 in the afternoon. In fact, one could walk down the street to the main road without missing a word of this surrogate aunt’s advice since every household had their radio on the same station. But 6 pm was our glory hour—when clots of playmates would sidle up to our door, pretending to be on an errand just to be able to peek at the TV screen. We made a show of inviting them in, a grand gesture bestowed on favored friends of the moment.

Soon enough, every other household had its own TV set and our next wave of glory came some 10 years later when colored TV replaced black and white. Again, we had one of the first colored television in the neighborhood at the time. I remember how we’d turn off the lights and pretend we were in a movie theater, while passersby gawked at the square of light and color through the open window.

Some 30 years later, I found myself regarded as a virtual luddite when it came to this appliance. Do I hate television, friends asked sympathetically. Do I have Amish tendencies and can’t bear to see my kids succumbing to the charms of the idiot box?

How has it come to this? I thought.

Well, it started innocently enough. A power surge after a particularly nasty brownout and our TV set was a goner. Thus far, it had been the focus of my father-in-law’s after-dinner life. Close to his 90s at that time, he has retired and regards television as his main source of interaction with the world. I thought it was sad that he had to make do without the box for several days while it was being repaired.

I happened to mention this to a lunch companion the next day, and he asked innocently, “Bakit, ilan ba ang TV set niyo? (Why, how many TV sets do you have?)” I replied, “Isa. Bakit ilan ba ang TV ninyo?” He paused, looked at the ceiling and mentally began counting the TV sets in his household. Finally, he said, “Six, including the one in the househelp’s room.” I was scandalized: “That’s way too extravagant. Couldn’t you just share a set or two?” He shrugged, ending the conversation.

I recounted this dialogue to colleagues at the Sunday Inquirer Magazine and they asked me the crucial question, curious that I would find six TV sets excessive: How many television sets do I have anyway?

Their jaws dropped when I said we have exactly one television set. “What if you want to watch another show?” somebody asked. I tell the household I’m reserving the TV on that particular time slot. “Buti di nag-aaway yung mga anak mo,” another remarked. Thank God they love books, I said self-righteously, so they’re not so much into TV. “Well you know, mura na ang TV ngayon, lalo na sa mga Japan surplus stores,” one of the staff said helpfully, a look of pity at my destitute circumstances stealing into his eyes.

Intrigued at how this appliance could stir up so much emotion, I made an informal survey in the office. “How many TV sets do you have?” I asked fellow editors, rank and file and other colleagues I met at the corridor. The answers varied, with a few asking if they should include the black and white sets and those that sit idly in empty rooms, gathering dust because they’ve been replaced by newer models with cable-ready functions and bigger screens. Most households, I found out after the survey, have four to six TV sets, most of them in working condition. Suddenly, I was Grade 2 again, with my Ang Tibay shoes.

It didn’t help that even our own household help—who weren’t stay-in—had more TV sets than we did. “Ate, how much did you spend for the TV repair,” our help asked. “P950,” I said, asking in turn: “How much did it cost you?” She paused, trying to remember. “Yung isa, P650 ang binayad ko. Yung mas maliit, P450 lang.” You have two TV sets? I asked, incredulous. The SIM staff laughed when they heard this. “You’re way too generous; you’re probably paying her too much,” they teased. “Did you check kung Sony yung TV niya? Di ba LG lang ang sa inyo?”

That did it; from then on, I didn’t hear the end of it from the SIM staff. Sometimes they’d be discussing a “CSI” episode when I come in and abruptly they’d stop. “That was a great show last night,” one of them would deadpan. “Oo nga,” another would pick up. “Ay, sorry,” one or the other would finish with mock-guilt. “You probably didn’t get to watch it. Isa nga lang pala ang TV ninyo!” Beeytch!!! I’d say, used by now to such antics.

“How many days’ notice to reserve a slot in your TV watching hour,” went another familiar line. “Dali, magpa-reserve ka na. May Miss Universe sa Lunes.” Harharharhar!!

We were really starting to sound like a badly-written Pinoy sitcom.

One time, and this was the morning after the office Christmas party, I learned that I won a major raffle prize. “You won a washing machine but they waived it because you’ve gone home by then,” a SIM editor said, syrupy concern in her voice. I wasn’t fooled and waited for the punch line. Sure enough, she added, “Sabi namin, okey laaang. Kung TV pa iyan….” Bwahahahaha!!!!

Why, even my sisters who stay in Tondo have taken up the taunt. “Hoy, mas mayaman na kami sa iyo,” my elder sister said one Christmas. “Dalawa na TV set namin.”

I recounted this to the hubby and immediately, he offered to buy me a new set. That’s not the point, I said. I’m just amazed at how television has taken over the Filipino home. Kaya siguro hit na hit yung “Sadako.” With so many TV sets around the house, people could actually imagine themselves vulnerable because of so many entry points for malignant spirits.

Of course I was sourgraping. And I realize it only when, some two Christmasses back, I finally got to win the top prize in the office Christmas party: a 29″ inch JVC TV set. Wait till the hubby sees this, I thought. Well, what do you know? That same night, hubby excitedly called: he’s just won in his frat’s karaoke contest. And the prize? You guessed it—a Phillips 29″ inch colored TV. With our old TV set, we now have three television sets—wow, made na kami!!! Goodbye, Ang Tibay shoes! I thought.

We gave away the old set to the hubby’s office, and set up one new TV in the sala and the other upstairs, in my in-laws’ room. We don’t feel too deprived anymore. Except of course, when we see those ads for flat TV…

(For more stories on the latest gadgets, check out the Sunday Inquirer Magazine’s Sept. 28 issue. Free with the Philippine Daily Inquirer)