Everything Needs Fixing     

By Joe Larano Jr.

During my vacation in the Philippines this season, a small problem led me to a lesson I did not expect to learn. The sole of my leather shoe had started to move and was about to come off. The upper leather was still good, but one careless step on a sharp concrete pavement had weakened the attachment. I needed the shoe repaired because I would use it the following day for a special occasion at a hotel function in Manila. Buying a new pair was not practical. The nearest shopping mall was about an hour drive from our place. Someone recommended a small repair stall inside the public market area, only ten minutes away. That was how I came to know Vincent Mallari.

Vincent is forty-two years old, married, and a father of three school aged children. His stall was small, just enough for a wooden bench, a low table, and shelves filled with tools, glue, thread, and pieces of leather and rubber. Outside was the usual noise of the market, vendors calling, tricycles passing, people bargaining. Inside his space, there was calm and quiet concentration.

I handed him my shoe and explained that I needed it the next day. He examined it carefully, pressing the sole and checking the part where it had separated. He said it could still be repaired. Vincent does not only fix shoes. He also repairs slippers and bags of different kinds. Around him were items waiting to be restored, worn sandals, school shoes, old bags with broken parts.

He removed the old adhesive and cleaned the surfaces. Then he sanded both parts until they were ready for bonding. He applied fresh glue and waited patiently before pressing the sole back into place. His movements were slow but sure. It was clear that this kind of work could not be rushed. Watching him, I felt that repair requires patience more than strength.

While working, he shared a little of his past. He used to be a fisherman in Bulacan. For many years he depended on the sea, but storms became stronger and the catch became smaller. One time their boat was badly damaged, submerged and lost. With three young children to raise, he moved to Arayat, Pampanga, where a relative taught him this trade. From catching fish, he learned to repair what people use every day.

He said, there is income daily, even if small. People will always walk. Slippers will tear. Bags will break. Something will always need fixing. His hands may no longer pull fishing nets, but his resolve works hard to provide for his family.

In a time, he handed the shoe back to me. I wore it and walked a few steps to test it. The sole felt firm and secure, as if it had never loosened. My steps were steady again. I felt relieved knowing I could attend the function in Manila without worry. The amount he charged was modest. I thanked him sincerely. He only smiled and returned to his work, picking up another worn item waiting on his table.

As I walked away through the busy market, I realized that life is very much like the things Vincent repairs. Nothing stays perfect forever. Time, pressure, and unexpected steps can weaken even what once felt strong. But that does not mean it is beyond repair. Filipino resilience often shows itself in quiet ways. It is found in people who continue working, adapting, and providing despite difficulties. Vincent lost a livelihood at sea, but he found another way to move forward. Instead of giving up, he learned how to mend.

Perhaps that is the deeper value of handwork. It restores not only objects but confidence. It reminds us that broken does not always mean finished. Sometimes what we need is not replacement but repair, not abandonment but patience.

As long as there are hands willing to mend rather than discard, there will always be hope. There will always be a way forward, one careful step at a time, on lives patiently repaired for tomorrow.