Reflections like these remind me that while we mark fifty years of formal diplomatic relations, the story stretches back much further through centuries of trade, migration, and cultural exchange. Today’s circumstance is simply the latest chapter, and my part is modest in making sure the story continues. I hold one or two of the many levers of diplomacy at a given time: economic, political, cultural, consular–always under the guidance of my superiors and instructions from Manila. In the way I write reports, handle engagements, manage cases, or sit through difficult conversations, I hope I can contribute, in small ways, to building a relationship that is more stable and more respectful and constructive.
I know many Filipinos see China negatively, and not without reason. That skepticism comes from real experiences: the coercion of our fishermen in our waters, the swarming of Chinese vessels in areas where the Philippines has sovereign rights under UNCLOS, the harassment of our coast guard and bureau of fisheries vessels, and the building of artificial islands on features that are within our maritime jurisdiction. The 2016 Arbitral Award made clear that China’s sweeping claims in the South China Sea have no legal basis and that its actions violated Philippine sovereign rights. These are not abstractions. They are real transgressions that affect livelihoods and national dignity. They explain why so many of our people look at China with suspicion, even anger. While Chinese officials may talk of dialogue or cooperation, it is often actions at sea that undermine trust and shape public opinion. That feeling is real, and it is not misplaced.
When I landed in Beijing in late May, the first thing that struck me was the heat. Dry, biting, and sharp on the skin. It’s not the heavy humidity of Manila, but a sting that prickles. I had braced for pollution, having been warned about air quality many times before I left. Instead, the skies were surprisingly clear and often cloudless. The avenues were not only long but also deliberately wide. Massive buildings of marble, concrete, and glass stood on both sides, heavy and imposing. They seemed to mirror the strict order and weight of the Chinese capital. Yet amid this hardness were plenty of trees, manicured lawns, and spring flowers, carefully arranged to soften the edges and remind me that even in this immense, unyielding city, appearances are deliberately managed. It was overwhelming, impressive, and impersonal all at once.
The language barrier was just as impermeable. Not being fluent (yet) in Mandarin, every signage and every document felt like a riddle. Even something as simple as figuring out what an establishment was for or deciphering product labels on food and appliances became an exercise in guesswork. Today I still find myself hesitating at shopfronts, unsure whether I am about to walk into a clinic, a massage parlor, or a shop selling something I have absolutely no use for. In the supermarket, I often worry that what I think is soy sauce might turn out to be vinegar or something I should not ingest. It is a constant reminder that adjusting here would take more than diplomatic training, it would demand daily patience and humility of the sort that reduces me to the turo-turo school of acting, pantomiming, and looking a little silly just to communicate simple needs and run errands.
