By Her Own Hands: The Fathom of What Awaits in Sonder for Nanay Narcisa

In San Fernando, Pampanga, people flock to LA Bakeshop for the city’s famous cheese bread—warm, golden, and freshly baked. But just a few steps away, another corner quietly holds its own charm. For locals, a familiar sight waits—a small cart filled with probiotic drinks, tended by a woman who has weathered time yet stands steady in her place.

Narcisa Ferin, 74, has spent nearly 40 years at this corner, selling her goods with quiet determination. From dawn to dusk, she arranges bottles of probiotic drinks with practiced care, her steady hands and calm presence marking her as a fixture in the neighborhood, a woman whose patience and dedication are as familiar as the city itself.

Decades of Tenacity

In the conquest of the unknown, one follows the path shaped by fate—holding on to hope and embracing what awaits. Every calloused hand carries a story, each mark a milestone of a life lived through labor.

From San Jose, San Fernando, Pampanga, comes Nanay Narcisa—a familiar figure to many, her gentle smile framed by years of sun and struggle. For almost four decades, she has made a living with her hands, offering the simplest goods that keep homes alive: onions, garlic, and vegetables stacked neatly in baskets at dawn.

But time, like trades, evolves. Two decades ago, Nanay Narcisa ventured into something new—reselling probiotic drinks. It was not an easy shift. The streets were already teeming with vendors, each fighting for the same handful of customers. She experimented with different brands, carrying bottles in the same hands that once measured onions by weight and tomatoes by color. Until, finally, she found her rhythm again with Dutch Mill Delight, a brand that became her steady companion through changing seasons.

“20 years [pa] lang. No’ng una nag-yakult ako kaya lang hindi maganda dahil marami kang kalaban,” she shared.

Now, she sells Delight for ₱65 per pack of five and ₱35 for a single bottle of the larger version. It’s a small business—modest yet enough to sustain her daily needs and keep her going.

Unlike other vendors who call out to draw attention, she remains calm and composed—never one to shout or chase a customer. Her presence has become so constant that even in the quiet corners of the internet, she endures; search the exact spot on Google Maps, and there she is—Nanay Narcisa, captured mid-day beside her cart, like a landmark of quiet resilience. She has become part of the scenery itself, a silent witness to the passing of seasons and to the rhythm of the city that moves around her but never past her.

A Strength that Never Retires

Beneath the rhythm of her daily trade lies a story of balance between necessity and willpower.

At 74, when most would have retired, Nanay Narcisa continues to work. Alongside tending her drink cart, she takes on part-time work under the Philippine Charity Sweepstakes Office (PCSO) through the Small Town Lottery (STL), locally known as jueteng.

Before settling into her spot, she walks through the San Fernando market to collect small bets from regular customers.

“Pagka-gising ko sa umaga, minsan mag-jueteng na ‘ko. Naglalakad ako para masalubong ko ‘yung mga suki ko—kahit pa lima-lima o bente pesos,” she shared.

For Nanay Narcisa, every peso has a purpose. Years of sacrifice went into sending her children to school, a dream she fulfilled on her own. Now, she continues working for her grandchildren, despite her declining health.

“Ngayon tapos na ang mga anak ko, mga apo ko naman. Kaya lang ‘di na masyado kasi masakit na ako,” she said.

Even as her body weakens, her will remains steady—proof that for Nanay Narcisa, work is not just survival, but love in motion.

Relentlessly Independent

Defying her body’s fragility, Nanay Narcisa works through pain most could not imagine.

Her hands shake slightly when she opens a cooler, her steps slower now, but her will—unyielding. She’s survived six heart attacks. Her knees ache from arthritis, and yet every day, she returns to her corner on Consunji Street, her spot tucked near the famed bakery whose scent fills the air like clockwork.

“Itong rayuma ko, masakit ko. Pero anim na beses na akong naatake. Kailangan ‘nak, dahil sa gamot,” she explains—revealing why she continues to work even at her age and with her ailments. “Kapag wala kang gamot, hihingi ka pa. Kailangan may sarili kang dudukutin.”

Observing everything in sonder, she finds contentment in her own solitude. The barricade of exhaustion nor aging did not hinder Nanay Narcisa in finding a living at 74, as she firmly believes that the world would not cater to and meet her needs by simply existing—it demands effort, persistence, and self-reliance.

Each day is a choice to keep moving, to keep earning, and to honor the life she has built with her own hands.

Obliged by Scarcity

Beneath her unwavering independence lies a sobering truth: society often forgets people like Nanay Narcisa.

Her diligent hands—like those of countless senior citizens—helped shape the country’s present. These are the hands that built homes, tilled fields, and tended families, contributing quietly to society’s foundation. Yet their labor is often overlooked, their sacrifices forgotten, and their resilience underappreciated.

Under the DSWD’s Social Pension Program for Indigent Senior Citizens, eligible seniors are entitled to ₱3,000 every three months. Despite being a senior citizen for 14 years, Nanay Narcisa only received her first pension in 2023, underscoring how access to such support remains out of reach for many.

“Sa senior, dalawang taon na kong senior. Wala akong nakukuha sa gobyerno,” she shared. She recalled receiving ₱1,500 before the amount increased to ₱3,000 every three months, while her vitamins come from STL.

The inaccessibility of programs meant for senior citizens often forces them to continue bearing responsibilities long after retirement. Still, Nanay Narcisa meets these challenges with quiet gratitude—thankful for the pension she now receives and for those who helped her gain access, even as the system continues to fall short.

Ruler of Her Own Fate

In a world that often measures worth through productivity, Nanay Narcisa remains a quiet rebellion. At an age when she should be resting, she continues to work—not because she must, but because she chooses to. Her hands will still determine the wheels of her fate even if hers now lies in wait.

“Hanggang kaya ko pang bumangon, ‘nak, magtinda ku. Hindi ko maiwanan ‘yan dahil hanapbuhay ‘yan eh," she said firmly. “Hindi pwedeng bigyan mo ko ng gano’n dahil hindi ko ugali ‘yung manghingi. Kumain ako dahil sa pinagpawisan ko.”

There is pride in her words. The pride of a woman who carved her life with her own hands, the one who refused to be defined by circumstance or charity.

When asked if she ever thought of stopping, she smiled, her eyes squinting under the sun.

“‘Pag tumigil ako, baka lalong ma[ng]hina. Mas masarap ‘yung may ginagawa ka. Parang gumagalaw pa ang buhay.”

Her cart may be small, but it stands as a monument of resilience—proof that even in the simplest corners of a city, history and dignity are being written daily by ordinary people, a quiet testament that the true measure of what awaits in sonder is found in the hands that continuously shape it, day by day.