The True Logic Behind a Man’s Protest for Cheaper Fishball, Kikiam, Kwek-Kwek, Tokneneng, and Calamares

“Ano boss, ano boss?” - "Ibaba ang presyo ng fishball, kikiam, kwek-kwek, tokneneng, at kalamares!”

September 21, a day of rallies and protests in the Philippines, is usually remembered for calls against corruption, authoritarianism, and injustices. But amidst the crowd, placards, chants, and speeches, one man wearing a red shirt caught everyone’s attention—not because he was holding the loudest megaphone, nor because he took the interview when someone called him, but with his simple, almost comical call:

"Ibaba ang presyo ng fishball, kikiam, kwek-kwek, tokneneng, at kalamares!”

At first, I laughed it off. Sino ba namang mag-iisip na sa gitna ng mga sigawan para sa pagbabago, may isang taong ipapanawagan ang presyo ng street food? But the more I thought about it, the more it intrigued me. When someone in the crowd asked him, “Ano boss, ano boss?” his face lit up with a sincerity that you don’t usually see. His message, while wrapped in humor, is actually powerful.

Fishball, kikiam, kwek-kwek, tokneneng, and calamares are more than just “merienda.” They’re survival food. For students na walang baon, workers na bitin ang sahod, at mga tambay na naghahanap ng pantawid-gutom, these street foods have always been the cheapest refuge.

But here’s the catch: tumaas na nga rin talaga ang presyo nila.

• Fishball used to be ₱0.25 each. Now, in many places, it’s ₱0.50 to ₱1.00.
• Kikiam na dati ay tig-₱3 hanggang ₱5, ngayon ay umaabot na ng ₱10 per stick.
• Kwek-kwek dati ay tig-₱5, ngayon ay nasa ₱10 to ₱15 isa.
• Tokneneng (the bigger version) ranges from ₱15 to ₱20.
• Calamares sticks? Umaabot na ng ₱10–₱15 bawat tusok.

For the poor, that’s no longer “cheap food.” If you only have ₱20 in your pocket, dati kaya mo pang makabusog kahit papaano with fishball and rice. Ngayon? Bitin.

Street food isn’t just about taste—it’s about accessibility di ba/. Kapag nagutom ka at mayroon ka lang maliit na halaga at nagtitipid ka, pwedeng pampalipas ng gutom ang mga pagkaing tusok-tusok sa kalsada o di kaya ay mag takeout at sa bahay mo kakainin bilang hapunan mo pagkagaling sa trabaho. Sa totoo lang may mga taong ganito na lang talaga ang ginagawa at minsanan na lang talagang makakain ng manok, baboy at isda. 

When rice, ulam, and even instant noodles become expensive, the poor turn to the nearest cart of fried delights. Sawsawan plus kanin? That’s already a meal.

Kaya kung tataas ang presyo nito, apektado ang pinakamaralita. The protest suddenly makes sense. The man isn’t just asking for cheaper food; he’s pointing out how inflation and economic struggles trickle down to the smallest, simplest joys of the Filipino masses. Yun na nga lang ang kinakain mo, ipagkakait pa rin sayo dahil nagmamahalan na rin ang presyo. Katulad na lang din ng sardinas na laging nakikita sa hapag ng mahihirap na Pilipino, mahal na rin ang produkto ng sardinas sa panahon ngayon isama mo pa ang instant noodles. Kung patuloy itong magmamahal ano na lang ang kakainin ng ating mga kababayang sagad sa kahirapan?

Imagine: kung pati fishball na ang dating “last option” ng mahihirap ay di na kayang bilhin, anong klase ng lipunan na ang meron tayo?

When he was asked, “Ano boss, ano boss?” it was almost symbolic.

It was as if the crowd was saying: Tell us what you really mean. Ano ba talaga ang ipinaglalaban mo?

And his answer was direct, funny, but also gut-punching: bawasan ang presyo ng fishball at mga ka-tropa nitong kanto food.

Ben&Ben x SB19 - Kapangyarihan

Maybe we laughed because it sounded small compared to big issues like corruption and governance. Pero kung iisipin, it’s the most relatable protest out there. He’s not asking for something abstract. He’s asking for something every Filipino stomach can understand.

This man’s call shows us something about protest culture:

Not all revolutions are about grand speeches and fiery slogans. Sometimes, the most powerful messages are rooted in everyday life. Fishball and all of the street foods are the common denominator of the Filipino poor, students, and the working class.

To protest about it is to protest about hunger, inflation, and inequality—just wrapped in humor.

Ang sabi ko nga nung napanood ko yung video natawa talaga ko tapos kamukha pa ng kakilala ko rin na fishball vendor dati sa TaskUs, later, I realized that this man’s protest is a brilliant metaphor. If the government cannot guarantee even the affordability of street food, how can we trust them to solve bigger issues like corruption, poverty, and injustice?

The next time we hear someone shout, “Ibaba ang presyo ng fishball, kikiam, kwek-kwek, tokneneng, at kalamares!” let’s not just chuckle. Let’s pause. Because in his own funny, flavorful way, this man may have just voiced out the deepest hunger of our people—not just for food, but for fairness and dignity. Tayo rin na nasa mababang uri ng kabuhayan ang makikinabang sa kanyang simpleng protesta. 

Question now is: Magkano nga ba sa lugar niyo ang fishball at kwek-kwek ngayon? And more importantly, kung pati pantawid-gutom natin ay nagiging luho na, anong klaseng kinabukasan ang naghihintay sa atin? Ano nang kakainin natin, maghahanap na lang ba tayo ng damo sa kung saan-saan na tumutubo sa lupa?

Later on, it turned out that this man was actually mistaken for a PWD and reportedly suffers from schizophrenia, kulang sa pag-iisip kumbaga. But even so, his protest still makes sense—because in his own way, he voiced out something true: food, no matter how small or simple, should remain affordable for the poorest of us.