I exist!
Hindi pala ako singaw lang. I wasn’t just forced out of someone’s ass.
The first week of June, I went to the NSO to get a copy of my birth certificate. I needed it so that I can attach it to my petition to take the Bar. The thought of going to the NSO revolted me. I thought of long lines, and a crush of people. I’d be wasting the whole day falling in line, drenched in sweat, while I was swearing at the inefficient effing bureaucracy. I’d learn the day I went to the NSO that there was a semblance of efficiency after all. You were given a number the moment you went in. And there were chairs where you can sit down and watch teevee. And the guards, who were busy ushering and controlling the crowd- the guards were surprisingly polite.
You’d think that maybe, there is some hope for this country after all. The rub though, is that the reason why there is a throng of people at the NSO is because so many of them are wanting Out, to work in other countries or whatnot. You’ll need your birth certificate to apply for work abroad, I reckon. Or maybe to get a passport.
My classmates told me that there was a number I could call so that I can have my birth certificate delivered in three to something days. I didn’t entirely trust the service, and I thought I could get the darn thing the next day- read: quicker- if I just went to the NSO personally.
I didn’t get it the next day.
The guys at the counter told me that they couldn’t find a record of my birth in their vaults and that they’d have to conduct a manual search. I was to come back in three weeks. Maybe they’d have found it by then. Maybe.
So for a few days, I quietly doubted my existence….
Until finally I got the nerve to call and ask my mother, “I was wondering if you and Dad ever found a baby in a gutter, say, thirty years ago…?” Which was to say that I asked in a roundabout way if I was really their son or not. (Hah!) My mother quickly caught on and gave me a photocopy of my birth certificate, should I need it, she added. Okay. But I needed the government to affirm that I was for real.
A few days later, I went back to the NSO and got the certificates I applied for. Kudos to the NSO. It took a while, but you can plainly see that they’re trying their darndest to improve their services.
The first week of June, I went to the NSO to get a copy of my birth certificate. I needed it so that I can attach it to my petition to take the Bar. The thought of going to the NSO revolted me. I thought of long lines, and a crush of people. I’d be wasting the whole day falling in line, drenched in sweat, while I was swearing at the inefficient effing bureaucracy. I’d learn the day I went to the NSO that there was a semblance of efficiency after all. You were given a number the moment you went in. And there were chairs where you can sit down and watch teevee. And the guards, who were busy ushering and controlling the crowd- the guards were surprisingly polite.
You’d think that maybe, there is some hope for this country after all. The rub though, is that the reason why there is a throng of people at the NSO is because so many of them are wanting Out, to work in other countries or whatnot. You’ll need your birth certificate to apply for work abroad, I reckon. Or maybe to get a passport.
My classmates told me that there was a number I could call so that I can have my birth certificate delivered in three to something days. I didn’t entirely trust the service, and I thought I could get the darn thing the next day- read: quicker- if I just went to the NSO personally.
I didn’t get it the next day.
The guys at the counter told me that they couldn’t find a record of my birth in their vaults and that they’d have to conduct a manual search. I was to come back in three weeks. Maybe they’d have found it by then. Maybe.
So for a few days, I quietly doubted my existence….
Until finally I got the nerve to call and ask my mother, “I was wondering if you and Dad ever found a baby in a gutter, say, thirty years ago…?” Which was to say that I asked in a roundabout way if I was really their son or not. (Hah!) My mother quickly caught on and gave me a photocopy of my birth certificate, should I need it, she added. Okay. But I needed the government to affirm that I was for real.
A few days later, I went back to the NSO and got the certificates I applied for. Kudos to the NSO. It took a while, but you can plainly see that they’re trying their darndest to improve their services.
posted by Talang Pula at 11:48 AM
5 Comments:
I must say, of all the govt Public Service I've tried, I was impressed with the NSO. I've had my fair share of going there for my birth certificate til marriage cert. and so far everything was smooth sailing :)
holi oli!
hehehe c",)
duke, oks na nga ang nso, 'no? sana ganu'n na rin sa lahat. hay.
ANNA!
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