Trains and Good Samaritans

When I was younger,
while our family was boarding
a crowded train,
I remember my mother talking
to this desperate stranger who
was asking for help.

The man, apparently got mugged,
and had no tickets back home.
So he asked if he can pretend
to be part of the family for a few minutes,
to avoid being thrown out of the train.

My mother gave him money and tried
to hide him from the ticket inspector
to no luck.

Caught, yet grateful, all the
man said was "Thank you ma'am"

And in those weary eyes I saw hope
from my mother's kindness

How I've grown up trying to
imitate her empathy

Old lady with the umbrella

Comfortably cuddled inside the bus, as it rains cats and dogs outside -- I can't help but feel guilt when we just passed by a waiting shed. For a brief second, I saw a lonely lady as old as my mother, lying on the cement with only a broken umbrella to protect her. Now there's a lump in my throat for not doing anything but helplessly stare as she fades into distance...

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A Matter of Theatrics

Dec. 14, 2007

An old man clinging on his walking stick asked for alms. His face was purposely disfigured, and instead of asking properly, he was showing his rolled tongue. I reached for my pocket and unfortunately found a 25centavo coin to spare. I gave the coin and before I can go further I heard a loud sarcastic "THANK YOU!". I smiled knowing that he was able to speak after all. I was in a hurry so I never looked back.

On my way back home, I was able to pass the old man. Instead of his usual pitiful feature he was sitting on the street puffing a cigarette with his back straight as if enjoying the jeepney scenery.
It was role playing, which reminds me of a scene in the french movie Amelie: Amelie was about to give a coin to a subway beggar when the latter refused to accept it and said that he wasn't working on a Saturday.

Begging for alms is a way of living. Like our usual day-to-day job, we wear hats and masks to play the role/position given to us. We play the boss, the employee, the co-worker, the doctor, the engineer; yet still we are all very much the same. We longed for that break from our theatrics.

The old man stood up after the cigarette break. He arched his shoulder and started to limp with the support of the stick, he showed his rolled tongue once more. I waited and gave him an extra credit for the effort.

The Longest Jeepney Ride Home

 September 11, 2007

The idea of a jeepney ride home at 11pm was uncomfortable for me. I prefer the comfort of the bed with my 2-year old son and my wife beside me while counting sheep in my dreams. The jeepney room wasn't full and wasn't empty. I sat at the far left corner. That way I can go down easily by the time I say "para manong".

The jeep stopped in front of the municipal hall. The place wasn't well lit, but the image struck me like the Juan Luna painting: Homeless people lying down with only carton sheets as their protection against the cold concrete. My attention was grabbed, and looking intently, I noticed that some of them are awake and cheerful. If only one would not consider the atmosphere, you can place their smiling faces in a Fernando Amorsolo's painting. You can tell, by the look of their faces that they were somewhat content and happy.

My mind was about to wander on what experiences placed them on such condition when the jeep started to move. Like the vehicle I rode, my mind simply went to it's usual movement. Thinking about the responsibilities at home, on what book to read, about my son growing up, about the advertisements that passes me by as I rode home.

"Manong bayad. Abot mo nga apo." muttered the voice just in front of me. I thought the old lay was asking me to pass her fare but she was telling it to her grandson. The little boy, who was probably just 6 - 7 years old obeyed without hesitation. I saw the same happiness in them which I just saw a moment ago in the park. They were smiling and they too were beggars. They we're carrying a large sack and two large bags. I was able to confirm my assumption that they were in deed homeless when I eavesdropped a bit and heard that the Lola was asking her grandson where they will probably sleep. They were deciding whether to stay at the park or a dumpster near the park. The boy answered his lola with great spirit that the park won't be crowded and will provide good light for his studies.

My curiosity got the best of me. "San po nagaaral ang apo niyo lola? Smart po siya sumagot." I asked the old lady. She said that her grandson is studying in OCES, an elementary public school. She must've known what I would ask next since she began telling their story.

She said that life wasn't used to be hard. She's got a good son who was the bread winner of the family. Her sole responsibility was to raise and educate her grandson since the boy grew up without a mother. As if life wasn't hard enough for them that her son became so sick and eventually died. Without any other relatives to go for help, Lola was forced to beg for money so as to provide for her grandson. They lost their home and soon found themselves among the beggars near the municipality hall.

I asked her that maybe she can ask for social help from agencies providing social welfare. She shook her head and said that she will provide for her grandson no matter what. She said she will not let the boy stop schooling even if it requires her to beg for more. She said this as if she's just having her usual friendly chat.I was lost in our conversation when her grandson began pulling her grandmother's hands. "Bababa na tayo dito. Nasa Park na Lola."

"Para manong" we both said. Just before she got down I slipped a paper inside her hand, "Sukli daw po", which made her smile. "Kasama ka sa panalangin ko iho", I simply said that her story is worth more than the value I gave her.

The jeep began to move. But my mind stayed with the thought of that old woman and her grandson.

Project Pearl : A Charity Work at Ulingan

It's been a while since I last wrote to this blog. This goes to show that I really need to go back to my old self of helping out needy people even in small ways.

I've attached here an image of a charity work I made with Project Pearl in helping out the kids in the Ulingan, Tondo: A community near the charcoal factory. This is one of the slum areas in Manila.

To see more of Project Pearl, please visit http://www.projectpearls.org

The Bus Light

After sitting for nearly two hours in the bus, the sight of the Dau stop-over was a relief to see. The bus would soon be flooded with vendors enticing passengers of 'buko pie', 'hotdog' etc. -- and the once quiet bus isle will be a festive market of food and drinks. I planned to stretch my legs outside, so I quickly stood up as the bus was brought to a stop.

Right before the bus light was turned off, I caught sight of an image outside. Right in front of us lies a dirty mat with an old woman talking to a younger woman, who was cradling a baby to sleep. They were the only still figures from the busy crowd. They moved silently not minding the people trying to board and chase buses. They were peacefully staring at the sleeping baby. They were beggars, too tired from the day's struggle for coins.

I walked out, and before I knew it the old woman saw my curiosity. I pleasantly stretched my arms for the small help I got from my wallet. After receiving my alms, they resumed their silent talks and lullaby for the silent baby: peaceful hope in times of sorrowful turmoil.

It made me realize how important it is to find hope, no matter how dark the night is in our lives.

A single mother's love

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.