It was a time when most people heaved a sigh of relief as they get out of work. A time marking a precious moment with the family. I walked passed our street with a tired face, trying to ignore the people around me. But the scraping noise right in front of me was hard to ignore. I tried make out the image amidst the darkened street. At first, I thought it was a street dog ravaging the garbage bins, but the cart full of organized plastics and cartoons proved me wrong. As I walk nearer, the silhouette became clearer: a woman was carefully salvaging cans from the garbage bins. She was doing it with all calmness trying not to make any noise. As I pass by, I caught a glimpse of realization. Tucked inside the cart was a small boy, not older than my son Jas. He was sleeping silently.
I got home, went straight to the remaining loot bags my friends donated and went out, hoping that the woman and her child are still there. I left the bag with the carton sheets, making sure that the woman will find it for later.
I was filled with thoughts about the mother and child. The walk back home was much heavier when I was carrying the bag.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Monday, November 10, 2008
Wet Carton Sheet
It rained hard on a Saturday afternoon as I was joining the linear crowd queuing to pass through the SBMA Bridge . People were whining and complaining on the unexpected turn of wet event. I was feeling irritated myself when something caught my eyes: Wet carton sheets, melting on the wet pavement. The sheets were dragged by the heavy footsteps of tired people passing by. At first it didn't occur to me how tragic the sight is -- It didn't occur to me, that the carton sheets belong to people in need of shelter, of clothing and of warm bed.
I imagined a few hours after the rain, that a wet shaking old beggar will look for her carton sheet, only to find it cold and fragmented into pieces -- just like her hopes and dreams.
I saw the end the bridge, but it didn't end the gloom face I had.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
David Vs Goliath : A Jas Story
My wife, Jody, witnessed a clash between David against Goliath yesterday. Only that it was the other way around.
While buying bananaQs after Jas' nursery class, Jajas was greeted by the infamous Daddy: A 30+ year special person who has a mental age of a young boy. Think of "Rain Man" or "I am Sam", and you'll know what I mean.
"Pahinging limang piso poging baby". teased Daddy. Jas eyed the man, probably surprised on why a grown stranger was teasing and asking for money from a kid.
"Hindi ako baby! boy ako" Jas retorted back.
"Ay sori pala poging....baby " said Daddy smiling and quite happy with the teasing.
Jas, quite crossed, tried to win the argument by shouting "HINDI ako baby... BOY AKO..at hindi ako pogi..GWAPO AKO!!!"
Jody, although laughing at the scene, calmed Jajas down and properly explained why Daddy was acting the way he did.
Daddy, on the other hand, happily left carrying a smile worth more than a five peso coin.
While buying bananaQs after Jas' nursery class, Jajas was greeted by the infamous Daddy: A 30+ year special person who has a mental age of a young boy. Think of "Rain Man" or "I am Sam", and you'll know what I mean.
"Pahinging limang piso poging baby". teased Daddy. Jas eyed the man, probably surprised on why a grown stranger was teasing and asking for money from a kid.
"Hindi ako baby! boy ako" Jas retorted back.
"Ay sori pala poging....baby " said Daddy smiling and quite happy with the teasing.
Jas, quite crossed, tried to win the argument by shouting "HINDI ako baby... BOY AKO..at hindi ako pogi..GWAPO AKO!!!"
Jody, although laughing at the scene, calmed Jajas down and properly explained why Daddy was acting the way he did.
Daddy, on the other hand, happily left carrying a smile worth more than a five peso coin.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
A Boy's Song from Mindanao
It was in the UP Lagoon 7 years ago when a boy of 15 took me to Mindanao. He approached Aris and me, as we played the guitar mindlessly taking our post-exam break. He asked for money, but being broke ourselves, we offered some of the merienda we were eating instead. Curiously, he stared at my guitar-playing; and curiously Aris asked what brought him to such condition.
He came from a tribe in Mindanao, and out of childish curiosity he took a ship ride with a young friend until they ended up in Manila. He apparently lost his friend along the way, to which he was hesitant to elaborate. He liked the privacy of the campus, so he took the refuge of the Lagoon. It was a bit hard to understand his language as a native tone usually plays along with his tongue.
We asked him if he already tried the Mindanao Muslim Studies center near the chapel for help. But he immediately rejected the idea by shaking his head and adding that the center was only helping people from a rival tribe. I wasn't sure if it was true so I decided to give the argument a rest.
As he finished eating the bread, he asked kindly if he can play my guitar so that he can give back a song as a form of gratitude. I oblige, and saw a smile on his dirty face. He gently placed the guitar on his lap the way a musician initiates a guitar love-making; and even though his fingers showed the literal speck of a hard life, he strummed the guitar with a joyful tone.
He played a native song he learned from his tribe. He only used his 2 strings on the guitar as his left index fingered the frets without hesitation. He hummed at first and seeing that we were enjoying the song, he sang along in a dialect we didn't know. His voice reminded me of my roommate's tapes of Gamelan music: It was surreal and captivating.
He sang with his eyes closed, taking us with him on his short trip home; he sang as if the park was his and the campus was an audience to be serenaded; he sang longing for the family he left behind; and he sang not wanting the song to end.
Suddenly, he stopped playing, opened his eyes and handed back the guitar. He simply said thank you and bade good bye as if he just had a short conversation with a stranger. We watched him walk away still under the trance of his music.
I never saw the boy again but I would often try to imitate his song from time to time taking a short and vivid trip to his home in Mindanao.
He came from a tribe in Mindanao, and out of childish curiosity he took a ship ride with a young friend until they ended up in Manila. He apparently lost his friend along the way, to which he was hesitant to elaborate. He liked the privacy of the campus, so he took the refuge of the Lagoon. It was a bit hard to understand his language as a native tone usually plays along with his tongue.
We asked him if he already tried the Mindanao Muslim Studies center near the chapel for help. But he immediately rejected the idea by shaking his head and adding that the center was only helping people from a rival tribe. I wasn't sure if it was true so I decided to give the argument a rest.
As he finished eating the bread, he asked kindly if he can play my guitar so that he can give back a song as a form of gratitude. I oblige, and saw a smile on his dirty face. He gently placed the guitar on his lap the way a musician initiates a guitar love-making; and even though his fingers showed the literal speck of a hard life, he strummed the guitar with a joyful tone.
He played a native song he learned from his tribe. He only used his 2 strings on the guitar as his left index fingered the frets without hesitation. He hummed at first and seeing that we were enjoying the song, he sang along in a dialect we didn't know. His voice reminded me of my roommate's tapes of Gamelan music: It was surreal and captivating.
He sang with his eyes closed, taking us with him on his short trip home; he sang as if the park was his and the campus was an audience to be serenaded; he sang longing for the family he left behind; and he sang not wanting the song to end.
Suddenly, he stopped playing, opened his eyes and handed back the guitar. He simply said thank you and bade good bye as if he just had a short conversation with a stranger. We watched him walk away still under the trance of his music.
I never saw the boy again but I would often try to imitate his song from time to time taking a short and vivid trip to his home in Mindanao.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Si Kuya Daddy
If Olongapo City would have an icon, Daddy would perfectly fit and live up to it.
"Kuya, piso!" was his trademark while reaching out his hand asking for a piso. He is on his late 30s. He was wearing a school boy uniform dirty enough for a school fight or after-school games. He walks awkwardly like a seven year old waving at people and sometimes asking for what you're drinking and eating.
The way I figure it, he has the mental age of a seven year old, like the persona of the "I Am Sam". He isn't homeless as he appears sober and clean every start of the week. Well, aside from his weird costumes, that is. His got a family and sometimes as the story evolves they say that his got a RICH family; but the family let him be, like a kid with the whole city as his playground.
I usually see him being teased by tricycle drivers, jeepney drivers and even by policemen: "Daddy piso piso" they say before he can mutter his own line. He would laugh with them with an unexpected curse "pu@g in@", then he would walk away.
But what's comforting with his idea; is that he never change. I came to Olongapo as a kid in early 90's and every time I see him asking for a piso, the old remiscence brings me back to my youth. I think that's what most people find appealing; unchanged lives. We wish we were young forever; We always longed for the old feeling; We envy his forever youth.
They call him Daddy, and that's how everyone knows him. I still wonder what his true name is.
"Kuya, piso!" was his trademark while reaching out his hand asking for a piso. He is on his late 30s. He was wearing a school boy uniform dirty enough for a school fight or after-school games. He walks awkwardly like a seven year old waving at people and sometimes asking for what you're drinking and eating.
The way I figure it, he has the mental age of a seven year old, like the persona of the "I Am Sam". He isn't homeless as he appears sober and clean every start of the week. Well, aside from his weird costumes, that is. His got a family and sometimes as the story evolves they say that his got a RICH family; but the family let him be, like a kid with the whole city as his playground.
I usually see him being teased by tricycle drivers, jeepney drivers and even by policemen: "Daddy piso piso" they say before he can mutter his own line. He would laugh with them with an unexpected curse "pu@g in@", then he would walk away.
But what's comforting with his idea; is that he never change. I came to Olongapo as a kid in early 90's and every time I see him asking for a piso, the old remiscence brings me back to my youth. I think that's what most people find appealing; unchanged lives. We wish we were young forever; We always longed for the old feeling; We envy his forever youth.
They call him Daddy, and that's how everyone knows him. I still wonder what his true name is.
Monday, January 28, 2008
The Street Kid I Left Behind
This is one of the memories I am not proud of; A guilt feeling which resonates every time I see a boy no older than 4 years old.
Jajas, my son, is now 3 years old.
--------------
It was my last semester in college. I was no longer allowed in the dormitory and have decided to stay in a boarding house of my college friends instead. Carrying two heavy large bags, I found myself stranded in front of the boarding house knocking and semi-yelling "Tao po" one night. Behind me, retracing my steps, was a silent boy curiously looking at me. He was being followed by a group of kids playfully calling him "kuya,kuya".
The boy was skinny for his age. He was bare-footed with knees heavily bruised. He was a street kid. The other kids call him kuya for a reason I will find out later that evening.
I sat down in front of the empty house waiting for someone to open the gate. The boy sat down a few meters away while the bullies left him probably due to my presence. I took out a plastic of bread I bought earlier, got one for myself and offered the plastic to the boy.
His eyes widened, and like a new friend, he slowly shortened our distance apart. He took a bread and silently nimble it. Then he ate fast as hungry kids would do. He asked for more.
The night was silent aside from our usual chewing.
"Gabi na? Saan bang bahay mo", I asked. The boy said he was homeless and was just passing by. He addressed me as Kuya politely.
"Ba't andito ka kuya?", he asked me while pointing at my bags. I told him that I was waiting for a friend. I was glad enough for the boy to have shared my waiting.
"Pwede ba akong tumira dito kuya?" he asked seriously. I said that the place wasn't mine. He was silent for a moment and tried another hopeful comment; He asked that I take him with me to where I live knowing that my waiting was getting hopeless.
I sat there for a while and told him my story the way I tell a bedtime story. His comforting bed was the pavement, and his kuya was a stranger.
I said that I was just a student without any money to spare. My thesis was getting nowhere. My girlfriend Jody, pregnant then, resigned from work and was expecting to have a baby boy. I half-jokingly said that I was actually planning on squatting at my friends boarding house for a semester.
He said he was homeless and looking for a place to stay; It was no competition. I felt guilty for feeling sorry for myself when all along a street kid was listening to my wonderful life.
We finished the plasticful of bread as the night was getting darker. I stood up saying that I need to take a padyak ride back to UP.
He said that I should take the padyak route with the bright lights on because the other one was scary dark. I told him that I have to take the scary one since it was the nearest and cheapest way.
He seemed disappointed. As I took the bags I was carrying, he offered to accompany me to the padyak's loading area. He was silently following me. The bullies earlier followed him again while teasing "kuya kuya" over and over. I grunted and scared them away. The boy smiled from my action.
As I took the ride, the boy pleaded that I take him with me. I said that it was impossible for me to take care of him. But the boy wasn't letting go of the padyak's sidecar. The padyak's annoyed driver shouted at the boy to back off.
The boy got scared, stood there and sadly watched me leave. We were out of his sight as the road wasn't properly lit.
The road was getting darker and darker, just like what the boy said. I was thinking of his plea "Kuya, kuya". The sound resonated in my head slowly getting louder as my thought was replaced by another padyak moving the opposite direction.
"Uy hinahabol ka ng bata oh!" The other driver shouted at the driver beside me.
My padyak's driver sneered and murmured "Di ko anak yan no?"
I looked back and there running was the boy as he shouted "Kuya kuya". I was only able to see his silhouette as his young short legs slowed down. His outline slowly being eaten by the darkness.
I did not ask the driver to stop nor wave back to say goodbye. I was there undecided and scared of my horrible action.
They teased him kuya and I never saw the little boy again.
Jajas, my son, is now 3 years old.
--------------
It was my last semester in college. I was no longer allowed in the dormitory and have decided to stay in a boarding house of my college friends instead. Carrying two heavy large bags, I found myself stranded in front of the boarding house knocking and semi-yelling "Tao po" one night. Behind me, retracing my steps, was a silent boy curiously looking at me. He was being followed by a group of kids playfully calling him "kuya,kuya".
The boy was skinny for his age. He was bare-footed with knees heavily bruised. He was a street kid. The other kids call him kuya for a reason I will find out later that evening.
I sat down in front of the empty house waiting for someone to open the gate. The boy sat down a few meters away while the bullies left him probably due to my presence. I took out a plastic of bread I bought earlier, got one for myself and offered the plastic to the boy.
His eyes widened, and like a new friend, he slowly shortened our distance apart. He took a bread and silently nimble it. Then he ate fast as hungry kids would do. He asked for more.
The night was silent aside from our usual chewing.
"Gabi na? Saan bang bahay mo", I asked. The boy said he was homeless and was just passing by. He addressed me as Kuya politely.
"Ba't andito ka kuya?", he asked me while pointing at my bags. I told him that I was waiting for a friend. I was glad enough for the boy to have shared my waiting.
"Pwede ba akong tumira dito kuya?" he asked seriously. I said that the place wasn't mine. He was silent for a moment and tried another hopeful comment; He asked that I take him with me to where I live knowing that my waiting was getting hopeless.
I sat there for a while and told him my story the way I tell a bedtime story. His comforting bed was the pavement, and his kuya was a stranger.
I said that I was just a student without any money to spare. My thesis was getting nowhere. My girlfriend Jody, pregnant then, resigned from work and was expecting to have a baby boy. I half-jokingly said that I was actually planning on squatting at my friends boarding house for a semester.
He said he was homeless and looking for a place to stay; It was no competition. I felt guilty for feeling sorry for myself when all along a street kid was listening to my wonderful life.
We finished the plasticful of bread as the night was getting darker. I stood up saying that I need to take a padyak ride back to UP.
He said that I should take the padyak route with the bright lights on because the other one was scary dark. I told him that I have to take the scary one since it was the nearest and cheapest way.
He seemed disappointed. As I took the bags I was carrying, he offered to accompany me to the padyak's loading area. He was silently following me. The bullies earlier followed him again while teasing "kuya kuya" over and over. I grunted and scared them away. The boy smiled from my action.
As I took the ride, the boy pleaded that I take him with me. I said that it was impossible for me to take care of him. But the boy wasn't letting go of the padyak's sidecar. The padyak's annoyed driver shouted at the boy to back off.
The boy got scared, stood there and sadly watched me leave. We were out of his sight as the road wasn't properly lit.
The road was getting darker and darker, just like what the boy said. I was thinking of his plea "Kuya, kuya". The sound resonated in my head slowly getting louder as my thought was replaced by another padyak moving the opposite direction.
"Uy hinahabol ka ng bata oh!" The other driver shouted at the driver beside me.
My padyak's driver sneered and murmured "Di ko anak yan no?"
I looked back and there running was the boy as he shouted "Kuya kuya". I was only able to see his silhouette as his young short legs slowed down. His outline slowly being eaten by the darkness.
I did not ask the driver to stop nor wave back to say goodbye. I was there undecided and scared of my horrible action.
They teased him kuya and I never saw the little boy again.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
How the Charity Worked
This is a story which I've not witnessed, which I'm not involved with, but definitely I was part of. I was very optimistic to give alms to the needy beggars last December, but I was only able to distribute blankets and warm clothings during the second week. Luckily my story inspired donors to give more donations: 3 bagful of clothing and 1 sack of rice. It was more than enough for a month's distribution this January.
But I became busy, that it was idiotic of me to use it as an excuse.
It was mama's idea to give the donations to the Columban church since she's a member of the collector's guild (manang ng simbahan). She said that everyday, the church people face problems of providing alms to beggars who take refuge in their sanctuary. Logically, the chuch would be the place to go to during spiritual and physical hunger. That's why churches should always be open 24/7 which I totally agree with.
I was happy to hear from mama that the donations, which she and Jody delivered under the donor name IDESS IT Inc., were very much appreciated by the church. The church is actually hoping to have a long-term regular donations in the future.
My satisfaction of being involved with the charity work may not have been fully met, but I was happy that the purpose was achieved.
To all donors, thank you. I believe that seeing someone else needy, wearing your used clothes or using the gifts that you gave, is enough blessing to make you smile. Until the next charity works then.
But I became busy, that it was idiotic of me to use it as an excuse.
It was mama's idea to give the donations to the Columban church since she's a member of the collector's guild (manang ng simbahan). She said that everyday, the church people face problems of providing alms to beggars who take refuge in their sanctuary. Logically, the chuch would be the place to go to during spiritual and physical hunger. That's why churches should always be open 24/7 which I totally agree with.
I was happy to hear from mama that the donations, which she and Jody delivered under the donor name IDESS IT Inc., were very much appreciated by the church. The church is actually hoping to have a long-term regular donations in the future.
My satisfaction of being involved with the charity work may not have been fully met, but I was happy that the purpose was achieved.
To all donors, thank you. I believe that seeing someone else needy, wearing your used clothes or using the gifts that you gave, is enough blessing to make you smile. Until the next charity works then.
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