You can call Noel Pascua, 40—with his quick wit and easy smile—if not a natural comic, a born businessman. Now part of PSP's sales team, he calls doing time in Bilibid, without a trace of irony, "a blessing." This is his first legitimate job since being convicted of drug charges in 1992. Growing up in Pangasinan, in proximity to the noto-riously abundant marijuana supply in Baguio and Kalinga, he progressed from drug runner to pusher in just a matter of weeks when he didn't make enough money as a small-time roadside vendor. "Hindi ko nga alam kung ano pala ang probisyon niyan, kung ano ang sama, wala akong alam," he says. "Basta ako makapagtinda lang, makapag-hanapbuhay, mapakain ko ang pamilya ko." He was finally apprehended through the now-defunct Narcotics Command's (NARCOM) Palit-Ulo program. "May nagturo sa akin kaya kinakailangan ko magturo rin ng isa para ako naman ang makawala at hindi ako ang makulong. Pinapaturo naman sa akin kung kanino ko kinukuha ang drugs. Hindi ko maituro dahil malakas ang impluwensiya niya, may kapit siya," he explains. "Kung hindi mo pwedeng maituro, sabi nila, 'Ayusin na lang natin ito, kinse mil.' Noong panahon na yun wala naman akong kinse mil na maibabayad sa kanila. Nagtitinda nga lang ako—saan ako makakakuha ng pera? Kaya nga ako nagtitinda para may maipakain sa pamilya."
Pascua had to earn his upbeat disposition. When he first found himself within prison walls, his thoughts simply wavered between doom and desperation. "Bahala na…hindi ko alam ang kahihinatnan ng pamilya ko. Dahil nga sa dami ng problema, hindi ko na maisip kung ano'ng mangyayari," he says. He recalls leaving his family in inconsolable tears at the futility of his predicament. However, Noel's resourcefulness served him well inside Bilibid. To continue providing for his wife and children, he offered laundry and massage services to wealthier inmates. "Sa lingguhan kong sweldo, naiiambag ko sa pamilya ko, sa pagbayad ng P50 noon para sa upa sa bahay."
His family would soon find their own resilience. Pascua credits their regular visits as his inspiration. His mother, Puring, did not give up on her son—offering him advice or admonition, as well as the unlikely imagination of a second chance. "May lakas din pala ako ng loob, yung hindi ko nagagawa noon, nagagawa ko ngayon. Kaya ko pala tumayo sa sarili kong paa," he muses. "Blessing ito para sa akin kasi naituwid ko ang buhay ko sa tamang pamamaraan. Proud pa rin ako kahit dati akong bilanggo."
Their sense of dignity—that from an honest day's work—is well deserved. Each candle, crafted with their bare hands while the wax is still warm, would be its keepsake. When Artemio and Noel happily pose for photos to tell their survival story, Mateo joins them, slowly making his way in his habitually hunched stance. He lifts his head to look at the camera and the scar is still there. But this time, there's also a smile.
» Guy Wisdom archive
Men's Health Philippines - August 2005 Issue
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Change is familiar territory for a former inmate. From lawbreakers, Dumasig and company were constrained to adapt to Bilibid's stringent rules and regulations.
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