What Being A “Human Export” As A Kid Taught Me About Privileges
I got inside the vehicle. It’s that awful smell again; it makes me nauseous. I just have to lay there quietly as I am being driven away from home by a rich guy. I prefer to be face down, pretending to be asleep. But I always take a sneak peek out of the window without making much movement — just a little tilting of my head, one eye taking a glance — to see what part of the road we are on. I don’t want the wealthy man to notice I was awake. The nine-year-old me was too shy to engage in a conversation. In a couple of hours, I will live with a different family. In just a few moments, I will live with him again.
I will live with my best friend.
Yes, I was a “human export” at some point in my childhood years. I am coming from a lower-middle-income household.
But I got to experience the life of the upper class when I was being “exported” from our simple place in Makati to a rich family’s residence in San Juan every weekend because I can render a unique kind of “service” to them and their son, Dwayne, who eventually became my childhood best friend.
Let me clarify: this is not a slave trade. I was not subjected to child labor. I was not put in adoption. It was quite the opposite. What I was being asked to do every weekend is not even considered work. I was treated so well. A rough title of the job post would probably be “playmate.” And it comes with the best “work” benefit: experiencing the life of a rich kid.
My mom is good friends with Aunt Grace and her husband Uncle Martino. They have two children — their teenage daughter, Morgan, and their son, who’s my age, Dwayne. They’re a wealthy family. Their surname would ring a bell, the ones well-known among the elites. Proof of how rich? Our studio apartment is only the size of their bathroom.
I was sent there every weekend for Dwayne. My mission comes in threefold:
- Be his playmate. He’s the only kid in the mansion. Dwayne and Morgan have a big age gap, and of course, a pubescent teenage girl would hardly relate to a high-spirited little boy.
- Be his study partner. I was performing well academically despite studying in a public school. Dwayne, on the other hand, prioritizes fun and games over reading or reviewing.
- Be a model. I need to influence him to be a good boy as I was a well-behaved kid.
Close to verbatim, I remember Aunt Grace saying, “I hope you convince Dwayne to be just like you.” How exactly was I supposed to do that? Nobody knew. I was a kid. But looking back, I was only able to fulfill #1. Not that I failed at the other two. But come on, we were two little boys spending Saturdays and Sundays together. What can you expect?
Dwayne? Dwayne was loud, rowdy, and a hyperactive kid. He’s into sports, Taekwondo, wrestling, and CounterStrike. I, on the other hand, like drawing, coloring books, and writing poetry.
He has the attributes to be the alpha male, and I was the perfect sidekick. True enough, whenever we did role-playing games in our fantasy world battling zombies or aliens, no questions asked, Dwayne, is the hero. And I fit the stereotypical geeky and wimpy secondary character who knows how to hack computers.
Then after two days, I will be shipped back to my place. Uncle Martino will drive me back to my home on early Monday morning before my class starts. This arrangement went on for quite some time.
Do you know what happens when you get a taste of the good life? It feels so nice, you want it to be permanent. When you get to live in an air-conditioned house, eat five times a day, have house helpers follow you around, and have your car service, it gets into your head.
There was a time Uncle Martino was about to bring me home. Since our apartment was walking distance from my elementary school, I wanted to be dropped off right at our school gates.
I was thinking, it would have been such a power move if my classmates would see me get off a private vehicle. If they asked who was the one with me, I could easily say he was our family driver. Sorry, Uncle Martino!
But that was wishful thinking. It was quite jarring as a kid — the shifting from one social-economic environment to another. I became envious but not to the point I will rant about it. I wanted Dwayne’s new big toys. I wanted to have my own room. I just honestly felt envy in my heart, but I didn’t actually believe my mom or I can do something about it. And I realize, if it was that shocking for me — someone from the lower middle income family — what more for those who are marginalized?
When you get to experience, not just see, the two worlds, you’d see how different our lives were. He plays with PlayStation and I have a cheap brick game. My family orders takeout from Jollibee and they do takeout from a fine dining restaurant
There were a lot of things shown to me that I never knew was an actual thing in life. And there was one time it was inverted. For some reason, Dwayne tagged along with Aunt Grace in picking me up from Makati. We passed by my school. When he heard that he asked, “So where’s your school?”
“There.” I pointed my hand at a three-story one-block building.
“Where?”
“THERE,” I emphasized this time.
“That’s your school? It’s so small!” His face looked so confused in disbelief that a school can be so puny.
His mom interrupted, “Dwayne, don’t say that!”
It was an innocent remark. He didn’t mean harm. In as much as it was a shock for me to see his life, it was the same for him to see mine.
I didn’t quite get the magnitude of his comment, not until it was his turn to take me to his school for a summer clinic or something. He is enrolled to one of the premier private schools. And there’s a lot to see, not just one building.
And then I saw it. A dome. They have a freakin’ dome inside their campus! What made it unbelievable was it was just a cafeteria! So let me get this straight: their school cafeteria is a big dome, while in my school, we just serve food trays in our classroom. Theirs had a wide array of dishes as options; ours had peanuts, packaged snacks, and street food.
But one equally disorienting event is on how their family threw a birthday party for my childhood best friend. This party was not like any other; this is Dwayne-style celebration! I arrived for the usual weekend arrangement expecting party balloons and spaghetti. But I was greeted with all these kids our age and I instantly knew I was the odd boy out. Dwayne invited all his closest friends from his school. They had branded clothes and shoes, some were with their chaperones, and all were being dropped off by their family cars. And all had guns.
Yes, guns! Pellet guns! Big expensive-looking pellet guns!
Little did I know that we were all tributes for a pellet gun-style battle royale in Dwayne’s property. They were all showing of their newly bought toy gun models. They came prepared for the kiddie warfare party. One demonstrated cocking it. Another annihilated a nearby plant by blasting pellets through it. It was like their status symbol. And I had none.
Dwayne called me up and reassured me that I don’t have anything to worry about not having my own toy. No, my dear friend. If not having one is my scapegoat then so be it, I thought.
But no, he cared for me such that he reserved some pellet guns for me. Gee, thanks.
Looking around, I was already there. I can’t do anything about it. To be fair, Aunt Grace was totally against it. Yes, she’s on my side! But Dwayne was insisting to give this one thing for him, for his birthday. So they made a compromise to not point guns on the face, only on the lower parts.
Yay?!?
I’ve been to many kiddie birthday parties and THIS. IS. NOT. HOW WE DO IT!
But then a latecomer arrived — a decent looking kid, with his parents on his side. Dwayne called me up, “Hey, Andrew, you should meet this guy. He’s the top of the class, he’s smart like you.”
He carries with him a big gift box and exchanged pleasantries with Aunt Grace and Uncle Martino.
I can say he’s not close to the classmates. He’s not that enthusiastic about the party. I can analyze with the way he spoke, he knew what this event is all about, and he’s not a fan of it as well. And he quickly faced Dwayne and said apologetically that he can’t join the party and will just be dropping off his present.
Oh damn it, he dodged a bullet! Literally! I wanted to send an SOS signal. Save me! Take me with you!
At that time, I didn’t know what transpired. But the power dynamic was at play. He CAN do that because he had a gift as consolation and free pass, and he had a family car as an escape plan. Yes, we might be both smart. But he was rich.
Honestly, I ended up having fun! No one got seriously injured, thankfully. But that was one highlight of my childhood I will never forget.
Although we have differences in how we were raised and despite our income inequality, Dwayne never viewed me differently. No special label or treatment. I was not his poor friend (but okay fine, he occasionally refers to me as his “smart friend,” like that’s my redeeming quality). But the family treated me as one of their own.
At that time, I didn’t know what I knew now about social classes and privileges. My nine-year-old self didn’t have the words to articulate my thoughts. The feeling of envy and desire for the things Dwayne had always become stronger during the transition period, when I was on Uncle Martino’s car. What a perfect analogy for social mobility.
But at the end of the day, I forget all of that when I come home. There were still many comforting thoughts that sobered me up. I have my wonderful mom waiting for me to give me hugs and kisses, to ask how my weekend went. I knew I was not a valueless human being because I do well in school and have always been seen as a good boy…as evidenced by being an in-demand, well-reviewed, rare-find “human export” by a family who already had everything. Haha!
I was able to forge good and healthy relationship with people different from the social class I belong to. Because in the same way Dwayne never let my economic background hinder our friendship, his wealth also never became a factor of how I treated him. I would have done the same to any human being who knew how to play and have fun (but maybe not with pellet guns this time).
Before society put a value on people based on their privileges, or lack thereof, kids always knew how to make friends with another little one. As long as you pass the ball, as long as you let me slide after you, as long as you don’t block my view on TV — we really don’t care about your social status. Before any indoctrination of how one should see the world and those living on it, kids’ innocence is the purest proof that anybody can be on the same ground.
After more than 20 years, I am happy to say Dwayne and I still are friends. His parents are still friends with my mom as well. They migrated to a foreign country, but we were able to maintain communication until now. Dwayne married a fine lady, and they just had a kid. We do video calls occasionally, and we laugh at those crazy times.
DISCLAIMER: This true story is based on my point of view at the time I experienced them. Names of people have intentionally been changed to respect their privacy. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Read more of Andrew’s work:
Andrew Beso is a Manila-based content creator who is exploring different ways of sharing art — whether it be written, spoken, and visualized. Aside from being in Medium, his work can also be seen on Youtube, Instagram, and Tiktok.
He is using his undergraduate and master’s degree in Economics and Political Economy, respectively, in discussing social issues through creative expressions.
