Student life in Vito Cruz, Taft is a seemingly insular one. From the ivory-arched University campus to the sleek, high-rise condominiums nearby, it is easy to dismiss the area as a bubble of elitism enclosed within a waste bound, crime-rampant, and underserved urban district. But beyond the version of Taft that frames the aesthetics of DLSU as its saving grace, lives intertwine more often than one might think. Along the boundary between campus and the community outside sprawl the familiar faces and public spaces that transform Taft into a communal neighborhood—our home away from home.
Shifting out of the ordinary
For Arrow Paquera (IV, BS-PSYC), moving from Davao to Taft for college was a complete lifestyle shift. His new routine thrust him headfirst into independence as he lost the certainty of home cooked meals and familial company, a transition he described as a necessary sacrifice for his growth.
Thankfully, the area’s accessibility serves as a crucial starting point, and Arwen Esporas finds this aspect to be one of Taft’s biggest strengths. As a freshman student from Benilde, she considers the nearby food hubs and the LRT station to be helpful fixtures of the vicinity, narrating how the newfound sense of liberty initially became a difficult period in her life. However, she regards this struggle as a guidepost for exploration, citing Taft’s invaluable contribution to picking up the ins and outs of the city: “I’ve learned to be more street smart and more brave in terms of exploring Manila itself.”
The once-chaotic image of Taft comes clearer into focus. “The moment you go out of your condo, kahit nga pagkababa mo palang sa lobby, there’s a bunch of people. And it’s a very warm, fuzzy feeling for me,” Arrow reflects. Even when noise engulfs Taft, there comes a sense of serenity that follows after sharing pleasantries and stories with residents–individuals that make Taft what it is.
(…even when you simply go down the lobby…)
Ganito pala sa Maynila
Often, however, it is difficult to romanticize the “big city life” in Taft. What little sidewalk there is bleeds into the main road, leaving people to wade along murky footpaths where vehicles take precedence over pedestrians.
For Benildeans whose campuses are scattered all across the area, daily trips weave through rivers and roads—but it is not an idyllic landscape. “It’s like doing parkour around Taft,” Esporas says. Perpetually strewn with garbage and closed off for inexplicable reconstruction, its uneven, waterlogged streets also span canals with potent smells wafting into the already smog-thick air.
These are problems so old that it is easier for some to cement the challenges of Taft as footprints of its residents’ existence. “The traffic is bad because people have to be in places,” Paquera reasons. “There’s litter everywhere because vendors have to make a living, and there’s no proper segregation systems anywhere. The quality of life is not as good, but it’s something I’ve grown to be very familiar with and love.”
Unfortunately, such realities are harder to embrace for those who cannot afford to recognize Taft’s novelty. After over a decade of living near campus, pet supply storekeeper Jessica (AB-PSM, ‘18) has observed the uptick of unhoused people who are increasingly vulnerable to forced displacement since the pandemic.
“Some [people] really have no choice. They don’t know where to go,” Jessica explains in Filipino. “So, since there’s a lot of people and students here, I think they’re able to make a small livelihood through begging.”
Jessica shares that while she does what she can to help these individuals, years of offering immediate relief has carried out a sense of fatigue over unchanging circumstances. She hopes the government can step in beyond performative intervention: “[Halimbawa], pagbibigay sa kanila ng livelihood opportunities, hindi lang yung basta bibigyan sila ng pabahay, pero isolated naman kung saan sila nakatira.”
(For example, they need livelihood opportunities, not just housing in a place that’s cut off from everything.)
Likewise, Esporas calls for improvement in terms of Taft’s safety at night, fearing recurring instances of snatching and harassment in the area. Such measures reflect the necessity to protect not only students, but Taft’s community as a whole, regardless of residence.
Paths intertwined
Despite everything, Taft still serves as a home to people who have since occupied the space—providing both comfort and a way to weave into new circles in the bustling city.
Taft’s close community allows the residents to immerse in the spaces within. With the lively streets and busy people, encounters with the citizens become second nature. Jessica narrates that she enjoys listening to customers who share all kinds of stories about their own lives—whether about their cats or more personal and intimate anecdotes, “For some reason, napapa-open up sila.” This sense of familiarity cultivated by always seeing the same people has allowed even the unlikeliest pair of strangers to become close friends.
(…they’re able to open up.)
For Arrow, staying in Taft has always made him empathize more with the community surrounding it, remaining touched by being remembered by the kids that he tutors in a nearby barangay, and describing it as one of his gratifying moments. “It’s often [that] street children are seen as [a] nuisance in Taft. But at the end of the day, they’re part of the people that make Taft, Taft.”
Whether they’re a student or a long-time resident, people from different paths of life pass by each other in the crosswalks of Vito Cruz, Taft. Amid its never-ending motion and commotion, it has provided a place of growth, comfort, and belonging for students far from home.