OverFlow: How the Filipino Idea of Pambahay vs. Panlabas Is Rooted in Unresolved Poverty Trauma
I didn't grow up a rich kid, although that supposition comes from a middle-class perspective.
OverFlow is what happens when I overthink, overflow, and over-everything. When my feelings have nowhere to go, I write about them.
I didn't grow up a rich kid, although that supposition comes from a middle-class perspective. Coming from a family with an ancestral house in Metro Manila and household help, I still grew up with privileges most of my grade school classmates didn't have. But compared to some of my friends? We don't talk about it much, but as they say in Filipino, pulubi ako.
What Does Pulubi Mean?
In Tagalog, pulubi means "beggar"—not an exact translation for being poor, but it's close.
I was the youngest child of a family whose business was past its prime by the time I reached puberty. Of course, I didn't realize this as a child. Going to a private Catholic school with a focus on charity also helped make our socioeconomic status inconsequential. Most of my classmates in elementary school lived in rented apartments and didn't have household help—in fact, some came from families who are household help. Don't have a lot of good things to say about going to a private Catholic school, but it did instill in me the core belief that socioeconomic status isn't a reflection of a person's value.
Where Does Unresolved Poverty Trauma Come From?
When I say unresolved, I really mean generational trauma.
Yes, my family did own a business—two of them, in fact—but we don't come from wealth. I don't think we've ever not worried about money. Apart from the whole pambahay vs. panlabas concept—which we'll get to soon, I promise—other signs of this generational poverty trauma include:
An aversion to going to the doctor
A fridge full of leftovers
And yes, I inherited all three of these signs.
I think it simply comes from not having a stable income and getting used to that situation, so much so that you forget how it feels to care for yourself properly when you can.
It still hurts that my two older siblings went to a private university, but I needed to go to the University of the Philippines (U.P.) because it was cheaper. My mother may say otherwise, but she didn't wake me up for two of my private university exams and straight up told me that she wanted me to go to U.P. So, I chose U.P. and even paid for a few semesters on my own.
What Is the Pambahay vs. Panlabas Concept?
When I left private school, I met other people from much wealthier families. I observed our differences with curiosity and, sometimes, disbelief. These people had personal chauffeurs and sometimes their own bodyguard or even a whole security team who'd follow them throughout the day. Meanwhile, I'd ride tricycles and jeeps daily to travel from home to school and back. These people dressed like Nancy Drew did at home—in their panlabas! When I'd read books as a child, it always weirded me out when characters would wear denim jeans or what I'd think of as "outdoor" dresses at home.
For non-Filipinos: Pambahay are clothes you wear at home, and panlabas are clothes you wear out. In general, pambahay clothes are comfortable and often old or worn out panlabas clothes. Some panlabas clothes never get downgraded like this, though—because you'd never wear them at home in the hot and humid weather of the Philippines.
What Does a Wardrobe of Someone from the Filipino Diaspora Look Like?
I had to contend with four significant changes in my wardrobe when I moved from Manila to Vegas:
I didn't bring most of my old clothes—a lot of my pambahay was left in Manila.
I needed to dress for both warm and cold weather.
I was working out, losing weight, and dropping dress sizes.
I lived with friends for a while, so I needed to "dress up" even at home.
When I say, I needed to "dress up," I mean that I wasn't free to just walk around in a top and panties—something my grandparents frequently told us to do at our ancestral home in Manila because it was always so hot.
I quickly learned that buying new pambahay clothes just felt... wrong. Where was the comfort of the well-developed wear and tear? But I didn’t have the luxury(?) of waiting for that comfort, so I still bought new pambahay.
Why Does Spending Money on Clothes I Need Feel Wrong?
Now, we get to the heart of this topic. Why does spending money—on anything, in any instance—feel wrong? It goes back to the way I was raised. A cluttered home, a fridge full of leftovers, designated panlabas items in my closet, and never going to the doctor are all just variations of the same theme: not having enough money. And because I was the youngest and used to hand-me-downs, I always got the smallest piece of cake.
Sometimes, we would have money to spend, but my voice was never heard as the youngest. We would stock the pantry and fridge, but the snacks were always the favorites of my parents and grandmother. My mother would buy new things for me, but never the ones I really wanted because there were cheaper alternatives that looked the same to her. I internalized all that and became an adult who still has trouble buying things for herself. I use my husband’s Amazon account because I can’t bring myself to click the checkout button! I never think we have enough money to buy stuff we need. And I never feel like I deserve new things, even when I need them.
What’s Your Favorite Panlabas?
Tell me about your favorite outfit! What are its components, and what do you like about it? Did you buy all the elements at once, or did you build this outfit over time? Where did you first wear it? What memories are attached to it?
Mine is a new outfit—a pink and striped dress I wore for the first time on my birthday last July 11! It was the first time I wore a dress with thin straps you needed to knot into bows. I paired old Hush Puppies sneakers from Raf and a new crab purse from Christa with it. You can see me wearing it on my Instagram!
Photo by Volha Flaxeco on Unsplash
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