The Sari-Sari Store of My Childhood

One can’t drive three blocks anywhere in the Philippines and not find a sari-sari store. Both in urban and rural locations, sari-sari stores proliferate. They’re a greatly scaled-down (and I mean greatly) 7-11 or Wawa convenience store where anything is sold. Sky’s the limit. Bandages…office supplies…dried, smoked fish…fresh fruit…skin whitening serums. The merchandise is hit-or-miss, but there’s always the basics like cigarettes, beverages, candy, bread, packaged rice.

The sari-sari store of my childhood was a simple, walk-up affair in metropolitan Manila at the corner of Plaridel Street and a small road whose name I don’t remember. The store was open on two sides, with wood-framed glass display cases. The owner, Aling Mary (“aling” is a term of respect for older women) kept her store tidy. She sold everything from peanuts to headache pills and bond paper (what we call “printer” paper now), and in the afternoon she also sold fresh-baked  ensaimada, a sweet bread slathered with butter and sugar. 

To get to Aling Mary’s sari-sari, I had to cross narrow but busy Plaridel, so my father, Ben in Boy of the Pearl, worked on my crossing skills. For days, we practiced “look to the left, then look to the right,” with me crossing and re-crossing Plaridel. When I got the street-crossing down, I was allowed to run to Aling Mary’s anytime I wished, with my precious centavos gripped in my hands. Just several centavos back then bought me a few pieces of penny candy like White Rabbit “milk candy,” or a package of champoy, which is a super salty-sweet, dried fruit. 

I’d run home, stop before entering the front door and stuff my purchases in my waistband so my pesky kid brother wouldn’t see them and I’d be forced to share. The things went crinkle-crinkle, crinkle-crinkle as I walked, so I made a beeline to my bedroom and quickly hid the goodies under my pillows.