Payback

Tomorrow, our tax season shall officially end, as the Handel’s Messiah erupts from accountants and bookkeepers everywhere. They shall soon be enjoying real and uninterrupted sleep, unhampered by nocturnal visions of debit, credit and balance sheets. Business owners and individual taxpayers will soon fold the variously numbered 1700 forms in the envelopes, gratefully insert them into the clear plastic envelopes and file them for the next year.  The calculation and organization skills that have heightened and shall now rest.

There is another set of skills that has been exercised for the calculation of our taxes, that of being … creative.  “Pagka-wais.” Case in point. I was ending my first working year and was looking forward to filing my income tax. It felt so adult.  I was referred to the company accountant by our internal bookkeeper, and he relayed a message to me:  “How would you WANT to pay?” I gaped at the messenger when I heard this.  I relayed my final answer:  “I want to pay what I am supposed to pay.”  And his judgment was relayed back to me:  “Tell her she is a good taxpayer.”  Oooh, that sure felt like a papal blessing. And so, a few days later, I swaggered to the BIR Regional Office to inflict my magnanimity upon them. The Manoy Guard failed to be impressed by my aura, and dismissively waved me to the counter. I looked in and almost turned around to make a run for it.  The counter people were the dukes and princesses of this kingdom, and I was only a lowly serf paying my tribute to the king. A bit dramatic, but it sure felt that way. I was the one bringing the money in to make their work possible, but it felt like I was being punished for it. Not even a stale cookie for my efforts. And worse, I step out of the building and see the holes in the streets, the haphazard urban planning and the non-working street lighting—the very things that my money would have been paying for.

It was a surreal experience to be paying taxes in Singapore, where I am now based.  Three years ago, I had mistakenly paid my taxes twice.  (I know, I know—I am a stickler for rules). My previous company had already deducted the taxes from my final pay, and sent me my tax forms for my reference. But I—still the eager beaver—thought I was being instructed to pay the amount. I needed a refund, and it had to be soon because I was leaving in two weeks. I called the hotline and was informed by a charming young man that this process normally took three weeks.  He told me to call another number for my special case. I called the number and was told to follow on with the request a few days later. I did.  When I called again, it seemed that my initial request was not filed. I bristled, but went through the process again. Still another day later I was still getting haphazard answers.  And so, I blew my top and gave them a piece of my mind (but in surprisingly perfect English, I may add). I could hear the rapid eye blinks of the poor soul on the other line and was immediately transferred to his supervisor. She was the more seasoned one, ably managing this exasperated taxpayer.  She settled the matter by assuring me that I would be able to pick up my check in three days and encash it at any bank in Singapore. “Any bank?” I sputtered, disbelieving. “Any bank,” she intoned. Three days later, I showed up at the Internal Revenue Service suite and  found my way to the specific office.  I take in the gleaming floors, the granite counter tops and the row of smartly dressed personnel. Am I in the right place? THIS is a government tax office?  I had to step out and read the sign to make sure. I am approached by a smiling young man (who had INTERN written all over him), and am directed to the refund counter. I show them my slip, and I’m told to wait because the supervisor will release the check to me. I sit down and bring out my book to get ready to wait, and wait. I am used to this. But ten minutes later, I am called over and my signed cheque is handed over to me. And true enough, I had my check cashed at the back a few doors down. Wow. Until then, I never knew that experience was possible.  But apparently, it happens in certain efficient areas of the world when the people’s taxes are spent and allocated appropriately.

“Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s and unto God the things that are God’s” (Matthew 22:11). This is an oft repeated answer of Christ that left his audience grudgingly admiring of his wisdom and infallible nature. This also seems to be the reminder that we tell ourselves when we hand over our money.  How well with they spend the money anyway?

This taxpayer may not be as bright –eyed and bushy tailed as before, but it is a conscious choice and firm decision to yes, still pay taxes. I will have done my part. I will have moved toward being a part of the solution.

The ones who receive my money are now answerable to God.