What drives Jun Abaya?

(Transportation and Communications Sec. Jun Abaya with his wife, Dr. Ria Abesamis-Abaya.)

IT probably isn’t easy to be named after a revolutionary hero like Emilio Aguinaldo, but Joseph Emilio Aguinaldo Abaya, the new transportation secretary, seems to carry it quite well.

In fact, Abaya, or Jun to his friends, seems every bit the overachiever as his great grandfather, the first president of the Philippine republic. Second in a family of six boys of former Congressman Plaridel Abaya and Consuelo Aguinaldo, he is currently acting president of the Liberal Party where word has it that he is being groomed as a future presidential standard bearer. (He insists President Aquino was just joking when the latter said, “Baka ikaw na rin ang susunod na magiging pangulo” at a recent LP sortie.)

Until recently, he was chairman of the powerful House Committee on Appropriations which successfully passed the 2013 budget. He also managed the House of Representatives prosecution panel during the historic impeachment trial of Chief Justice Renato Corona.

Even in his youth, Abaya seemed quite in the thick of things. He was some sort of math genius and a consistent honor student at Philippine Science High School, the elite secondary school for the country’s...uhm...nerds.

While studying to be an electrical engineer at the University of the Philippines, Abaya took and topped the entrance exams at the Philippine Military Academy. (His dad was a former PMAer as well.) This qualified him to join the US Naval Academy where he was able to get a BS Math degree in 1988. Unsurprisingly, Abaya was a consistent dean’s lister at the Annapolis institution.

From there, Abaya studied for his Master’s Degree in Electrical Engineering at Cornell University in New York. Upon his return to the Philippines, he served as aide-de-camp to President Corazon Aquino while enlisted in the Philippine Navy. With his father on his third term as congressman, Abaya went to the Ateneo Law School to prepare himself for a legislator’s life. He became a member of the Bar in 2007. He eventually retired from active military service after 20 years, with the rank of lieutenant commander.

(In similar fashion, at age 17, Emilio Aguinaldo was already a barangay official in the town of Binakayan, in what is known as the present-day Kawit, Cavite, according to Wikipedia. By 26, he was already Kawit’s first municipal captain. As member of the Magdalo faction of the Katipunan, Emilio successfully held off and defeated the Spaniards in various battles in Cavite. At age 29, Aguinaldo was elected first president of the Philippine republic. He died in 1964 at the age of 94, just two years before Abaya was born. Abaya’s mother, Consuelo, is the daughter of Emilio Jr.)

(Abaya is acting president of the ruling Liberal Party...and perhaps, if President Aquino had his way, future President of the Philippines as well.)

Abaya says the stories that stick out the most about his Lolo was that “he had an anting-anting, and had a friendly kapre that sat in a huge tree [at his home in Kawit], that’s why he never lost any battles. Mom would say Lolo is a quiet type of person. He never spoke English, maybe because of his anger [toward the Americans]. When he lost to Manuel Quezon [in the presidential elections of 1935 under the Commonwealth government], Lolo dedicated his life to helping the veterans [who fought for independence from the Americans]. He just quietly faded away in Kawit. I don’t think he even drank nor smoked.”

The eventual question is, of course: Does Abaya ever dream of becoming president of the Philippines someday? “No. President ng Magtatahong at Magtatalaba ng Kawit, pwede pa!” he answers in jest, then lets out a hearty laugh. Seriously now, even President Aquino says so! “He always likes to make jokes. You don’t plan for those things,” Abaya insists.

With his boyish charm and endearing smile, Abaya can actually be mistaken for just another college student, especially when he dons his favorite ensemble of sports shirts, jeans and sneakers (or sometimes sandals). “Ria [his wife] knows if I can get away with wearing this everywhere, I would!” the DOTC chief says sheepishly.

Though exposed to the American life and culture while a student at Annapolis, Abaya’s taste in music is strictly Pinoy. He is a fan of Noel Cabangon, Joey Ayala and...wait for it...Yoyoy Villame.

As DOTC chief, Abaya says his most pressing concerns are: getting the country’s aviation safety status upgraded to Category 1, implementing a P10-increase in Metro Rail Transit fares in 2013, rebidding of the information technology infrastructure project under the Land Transportation Office, “getting Naia-3 fully commissioned and online and addressing the structural deficiencies of Naia-1,” hiring more aviation experts for the Civil Aviation Authority of the Philippines and air traffic controllers, to name a few.

(A young Abaya upon his graduation from the prestigious U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis in 1988.)

Considering the amount of work that has to be accomplished in a little less than four years until the Aquino administration steps down, this devoted soccer dad’s greatest fear about being DOTC secretary is spending less time with the family. “First of all, my response to the congratulations [on my appointment to DOTC] was, ‘Thank you. But kindly pray for us, but most especially for Ria and the kids. They’re the most affected sector in society with this decision.’”

For now, he still manages to bring the three kids to school in the morning, though the weekends are getting to be a challenge. (After our interview, which was held on a Sunday, he was off to Malacañang for the announcement of the Bangsamoro draft framework agreement. A pediatrician by profession, Abaya’s spouse, the former Ria Abesamis, tells me that she is realistic enough to expect that their regular family vacations may not include Jun in the meantime that he is serving in the government.)

But Abaya says he is determined to follow the example of the late Interior Secretary Jesse Robredo, who always made it a point to be home with his family in Naga during the weekends. “The second [greatest fear], is not meeting the President’s expectations and the people’s expectations. Sabi ko nga, if the President figures out I’m a disservice to the people, I could easily go,” Abaya stresses.

“I think the amount of work…eventually I’ll catch up with it,” he adds. “I’m not intimidated by the technical stuff. The politics, the media…that is something I’m not used to. I don’t want to be the center of attention. But it’s part of the job, I will have to do it.”

By most accounts, Abaya passed his first formal press conference with the DOTC beat reporters with flying colors - our female and gay colleagues in media can't help but swoon over the the new secretary whom they think is a total dreamboat! (Oh, but wait ’til the consumer groups start protesting the MRT fare hike! Ouch!)

Sounds like the beginning of a thrilling ride for the good secretary.

(Something Like Life is published every Friday in the Life section of the BusinessMirror. This profile of DOTC Sec. Jun Abaya was published on Oct. 16, 2012. This is the unabridged version. Photos courtesy the Abaya family.)

Rail stories

WHENEVER I go to my appointments at the Ortigas or Makati CBDs, I always take the rail.

Most of the time, the ride is a breeze, except when it’s rush hour. Then I can hardly find a seat, and I’m squeezed in by other passengers and their humongous bags or backpacks, barely breathing.

Or before the ride, the security guards at the station entrance will make a grand display of their so-called beefed-up security (three dutdots of the magic bomb-detecting drum stick inside one’s bag instead of the usual two), which only happens for a month after a bombing or some terrorist threat, and there’s a long queue of commuters ahead of you.

I like riding the rail despite these few inconveniences because it’s fast, not having any Edsa traffic jams to contend with, and it’s a cheaper commute. It also gives me time to indulge in my favorite pastime—fantasizing that I live in New York (cue in Billy Joel’s “New York State of Mind” here), and I’m riding the subway, on my way from my apartment in Brooklyn (which is beside a kosher deli—I’m obsessed with Jewish neighborhoods, so sue me!) to my office in Manhattan. Or I’m in Singapore on my way from my hotel to a shopping expedition along Orchard Road.

Whatever the fantasy, it always has to be in a First World country where my fellow commuters are chic fashionistas who get in and out of the train in an orderly fashion—no pushing, please!—and speak in English or some foreign language I barely understand. (I sometimes have a Tokyo variation or London script.) All this time, of course, I’m listening to my Madonna playlist on my phone (or Lady Gaga, or Katy Perry, depending on my mood), and I’m in the zone.

Along with my excursions into Lala-land, I also like watching my fellow commuters, observing what they’re up to, to pass the time away.

There’s often the young lady in a blue dress with white hemming, in thick beige stockings shod in black sandals—a sales clerk of one of these huge department stores.

She manages to squish into the very tight space in the passenger seat, and I notice that her long rebonded hair is still wet, probably after having shampooed it with Pantene or some such shampoo that promises straight locks that shine.

She has green eye shadow. I don’t know why all the female sales clerks of this department store seem to have a preference for that color. Then she starts putting on her lipstick—why didn’t she do that at home since she did manage to put on her eye color?—and then some blush.

If it isn’t the green-eye shadowed salesclerk, there is also the hefty lesbian in a checkered polo (sometimes with the rolled-up sleeves, or sometimes in short sleeves), in jeans, with her feet shod in monstrous gray or blue sneakers. (Perhaps, she is going trekking in the hinterlands or off to a marathon?)

It never fails to amaze me that most rail-riding lesbians will insist on being classified as female when it suits them, although in the normal course of their lives, they insist on acting like males, and are often more masculine than real men. They will get into the train designated for the ladies, pregnant women and senior citizens, and use their bulk to elbow their way to any available space on the passenger seats. Uunahan ka pa! These lesbians have never once offered me a seat, unlike the men on the few occasions that I find myself in the latter’s designated carriages.

Then there are the one or two men who obviously do not look anywhere near 60, but somehow manage to sneak into our carriage, pretending they are seniors. (Only men will pretend to be old to get a good deal. Women will always pretend they are younger than they really are.) It’s a good thing that these men don’t scramble for seats and try to edge out the real seniors and the women. Often they slip into our train just to take advantage of the roomier space.

An annoying facet of the MRT-commuting life is having to hear one-sided conversations by some passengers shouting into their itty-bitty Nokias. I don’t know what possesses women to carry on long conversations over their cell phones—yes, it’s mostly women who do this—when, gathering from the one-sided discussion, you can tell it’s not even an important call, just plain tsismis.

One time I was seated at the men’s section, a woman launched into this very loud conversation over her cell phone. Ten minutes later, she was still on the phone, and perhaps because it was so early in the morning, a few men collectively shouted at the woman to shut up. I could only manage a snicker—I’m sure the chatty woman made the men think they were back at home with their nagging wives, instead of escaping to the office!

Speaking of the men’s section, I am told by some gay friends that despite their feminine inclinations, they just love being in the designated male trains, especially when it’s sardine-packed during rush hour. Hmmm...I wonder why? ;p

I have also noticed that in the few times that I’ve had to ride in the men’s carriages, there seems to be a lot of cute or smoking hot guys between 9 and 10:30 am. I don’t know why that is. And they seem to cut across income levels—there are the dudes who are off to their Makati offices, dressed in their long-sleeved polos and dark slacks, uniformed staff of some food or clothing chain, and just very ordinary types in their striped collared tees, jeans and basketball sneaks. And the college students! Ooh-lala. Just the kind that can bring out the cougar in any aging matrona. Rowr.

But after 11 am, forget it. All we get are long-haired-feeling-I’m-a-rock-star dudes, balding men, those aging or unkempt with huge backpacks (yes, they’re the guys who usually hold up the security queues), and a number of loser types. There are also a handful of who are job-hunting—probably at call centers—I can tell because they are in a “spooting” mode. But I did feel the strongest urge to tell one kid last Tuesday that a striped colored long-sleeved polo over black pinstripe pants will fail to impress the HR head. Oh wait, maybe he was going on a date. Ach!

But I like riding in the men’s trains sometimes, because more often than not, they do offer me a seat. I actually find it surprising that in this day and age, there are still a few good men who do this. Maybe I remind them of their sweet lolas or indulgent mothers, hehehe.

I have observed, however, that if these men are with their girlfriends, they won’t get up and offer any woman their seat—no, not even to pregnant women or seniors. They are just stuck there, butt firmly kissing their seat, holding hands with their girl. I often wonder how they would feel if their girlfriends remained standing the entire trip and not one man offers her a seat. I mean, I’ve seen fellow ladies stand up for other females, especially for the pregnant mommies and grannies. I also get offered a seat by other gals when I’m struggling with a lot of shopping bags and I’m in my heels, or lugging my laptop with me. Needless to say, I usually return the favor to my sister commuters, and to seniors as well.

Soon enough, my 15- to 20-minute ride to my destination is over, and I shuffle out of the train with my fellow commuters, and on to the rail platform. Up the steps we go and through the turnstile, then out the station into our disparate harried lives.

(Originally published in the BusinessMirror, March 4, 2011. My column, Something Like Life is published every Friday in the Life section of said paper. Photos from pictures.wayn.com and michaeltanate.wordpress.com)