Biographical Essays

The ‘sandwich class’

I am part of the “sandwich class.” I don’t consider myself poor, even if my mom and others in the sandwich label themselves such. Why should I, anyway?

My family eats three times a day. In other measures, however, while I definitely have a roof over my head, clothes to wear, and a chance to study in the best university in the land, I will pale in comparison to the rich kids and the “middle class” that governments want to spawn. Being in the sandwich means living a life of irony: new clothes (from “the UK”), a smartphone but not a postpaid plan, coffee and doughnuts but not a rice cooker in the kitchen, a LED TV but not a land title, beauty products but not health insurance, a job but not a college diploma.

We are the sandwich class, newly liberated from poverty, our journey about to start. In fact, one mishap such as a typhoon, a family member in the hospital, or even a demolition, and we are bound to return to Misery Road. This vulnerability makes us anxious, constantly worrying about whether we can still enjoy this newfound freedom when we wake up the next day.

Often we are misunderstood, especially by the middle class. One cannot actually lump the middle class in a box. There’s the upper middle: managers, professionals, politicians who have cemented their place in life through multiple degrees, some help from a compadre, if not making a jackpot under the table. Then the nouveau riche: wealth made by a relative abroad, or sheer luck in cold, nocturnal BPO offices. They’re not afraid to flaunt their newfound wealth and dominance.

While we in the sandwich are not poor, we’re not rich or middle-class enough either. Mostly we are working-class people, surviving on a minimum wage with which we deem ourselves lucky given that many Filipinos cannot even earn that much.

The upper and the middle of the pyramid often choose to disassociate themselves from us in the sandwich. They tend to see us as jejemon, devoid of manners and etiquette, a...