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
Wednesday, June 14, 2017
Friday, September 14, 2012
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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Thursday, June 28, 2012
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, June 11, 2012
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
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
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.
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.
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.
Friday, December 14, 2007
A Matter of Theatrics
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.
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.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Early Christmas Charity Work
Just a short blog before I immersed myself in writing my master's paper.
Last night, after enjoying our company bowling tournament, I was able to start a personal charity program that I've been planning for a long time now. The idea is very simple: Instead of shilling out to poor beggars, I intend to provide the basic items they will be needing especially this time of cold December. The program will be made weekly until the end of December.
I asked my friends to donate clothings and blankets days earlier, since we just had a typhoon (which is a bit strange for the cold season). With their hearts on their sleeves, I got a bagful of donations, which I thought was enough for the first night of charity works. But I soon learned that the donations wasn't even close as enough, with so many homeless kids and old beggars in the street.
On the way home with some of my friends, we went looking for prospective donors. Oddly, the bridge from SBMA, which is commonly a place of beggars, is a deserted at around 10:00 pm. I'm not sure if the curfew made this happen, but we only found one drunk donor.
He was a common face. A midget whom I was able to talk to before. Sadly, I grew up seeing how he ended up as a beggar. He didn't use to be a drunk small guy; he was a nice vendor helper during the early SBMA years. I think he even got a family back then.
We gave him the only jacket in the donation (the rest are blankets). He took the jacket and thank us. I told him to keep sober. he smiled and walk away.
The next beggar we saw is actually the one I admire most. He was a regular in front of the mall. I approached him with a smile:
"Kuya may sobra kasi kaming kumot baka magamit mo sa lamig", he looked at the blanket, at me, made a thumbs-up sign and walk away.
My bestfriend laughed at me: "Sabi sayo enlightened siya eh". We both expected the reaction in some way, since Aris and I were planning to end up exactly like the beggar when we were very philosophical back in college. Enlightened, so we went on.
By the time we passed a group of police man, we've decided to call it a night. But I intend to go on with my project. I walked the Magsaysay Street. I was hoping to see the aetas, but I only saw a sleeping vagabond. I didn't wake him, but simply placed a blanket beside him, hoping that he'll wake up from cold only to find a warm greeting in front of him.
Starting to lose hope, I changed plans and walked the dark Gordon street instead. The place didn't change much. During the naval base occupation, the street was filled with American-inspired bars; Now it's Korean-inspired. Different people but the same old faces.
After rounding the place twice, I found no beggars. So I started walking home.
At the corner of 6th and Gordon, I heard jolly kids playing in front of the panaderia. They were street kids.
"Sino sa inyong gustong kumo..?" I asked. But before I can finish they shouted "KUMOT!". Like a palarong pambansa game, the kids dived for the blankets. I can't blame them for not sharing with one another, since they're having a hard life; and begging is a very competitive work.
I bought some bread to compensate for those who didn't receive any blankets. But the chinese lady who owned the panaderia started shouting at them threatening to call the Police.
The kids ran away before I could even give the bread. But before they all leave, a kid approached me quickly and said:
"Salamat kuya sa kumot!". Good kid, and to think that he was one of those who didn't receive anything at all.
---Thanks for reading, please consider doing the same project, or you can share a story or two
also THANKS TO DAVE FOR THE WONDERFUL BLANKETS!
Last night, after enjoying our company bowling tournament, I was able to start a personal charity program that I've been planning for a long time now. The idea is very simple: Instead of shilling out to poor beggars, I intend to provide the basic items they will be needing especially this time of cold December. The program will be made weekly until the end of December.
I asked my friends to donate clothings and blankets days earlier, since we just had a typhoon (which is a bit strange for the cold season). With their hearts on their sleeves, I got a bagful of donations, which I thought was enough for the first night of charity works. But I soon learned that the donations wasn't even close as enough, with so many homeless kids and old beggars in the street.
On the way home with some of my friends, we went looking for prospective donors. Oddly, the bridge from SBMA, which is commonly a place of beggars, is a deserted at around 10:00 pm. I'm not sure if the curfew made this happen, but we only found one drunk donor.
He was a common face. A midget whom I was able to talk to before. Sadly, I grew up seeing how he ended up as a beggar. He didn't use to be a drunk small guy; he was a nice vendor helper during the early SBMA years. I think he even got a family back then.
We gave him the only jacket in the donation (the rest are blankets). He took the jacket and thank us. I told him to keep sober. he smiled and walk away.
The next beggar we saw is actually the one I admire most. He was a regular in front of the mall. I approached him with a smile:
"Kuya may sobra kasi kaming kumot baka magamit mo sa lamig", he looked at the blanket, at me, made a thumbs-up sign and walk away.
My bestfriend laughed at me: "Sabi sayo enlightened siya eh". We both expected the reaction in some way, since Aris and I were planning to end up exactly like the beggar when we were very philosophical back in college. Enlightened, so we went on.
By the time we passed a group of police man, we've decided to call it a night. But I intend to go on with my project. I walked the Magsaysay Street. I was hoping to see the aetas, but I only saw a sleeping vagabond. I didn't wake him, but simply placed a blanket beside him, hoping that he'll wake up from cold only to find a warm greeting in front of him.
Starting to lose hope, I changed plans and walked the dark Gordon street instead. The place didn't change much. During the naval base occupation, the street was filled with American-inspired bars; Now it's Korean-inspired. Different people but the same old faces.
After rounding the place twice, I found no beggars. So I started walking home.
At the corner of 6th and Gordon, I heard jolly kids playing in front of the panaderia. They were street kids.
"Sino sa inyong gustong kumo..?" I asked. But before I can finish they shouted "KUMOT!". Like a palarong pambansa game, the kids dived for the blankets. I can't blame them for not sharing with one another, since they're having a hard life; and begging is a very competitive work.
I bought some bread to compensate for those who didn't receive any blankets. But the chinese lady who owned the panaderia started shouting at them threatening to call the Police.
The kids ran away before I could even give the bread. But before they all leave, a kid approached me quickly and said:
"Salamat kuya sa kumot!". Good kid, and to think that he was one of those who didn't receive anything at all.
---Thanks for reading, please consider doing the same project, or you can share a story or two
also THANKS TO DAVE FOR THE WONDERFUL BLANKETS!
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
A Matter of Common Sense
If all people are children, then earth would be heaven; Not literally, otherwise we would be having sequels to the "Children of the Corn" books and movies and earth would be hell.
If all people are children, having a naive philosophy in the way things are perceived, then we can easily see that the problem in the world is simple. We can easily see that the street kids are hungry and homeless. We can see that the old people in the streets need shelter and comfort.We can build a world based on common sense. But that's far-fetched from what we have right now; however I saw a small glimmer of hope one Saturday evening.
Like other Saturdays, My wife and I brought our son to a video rental shop. We rented a Dora vcd and my little boy asked if he can play in the McDonald's Playhouse just beside the shop. As we got out the double doors, my son was greeted by an Aeta boy.
The little boy, like other unfortunate Aetas, seemed malnourished. He wasn't alone, a few steps away from him is his family; His mother begging for money while feeding a baby in her bossom. Three sleeping children, whom I assumed to be the little boy's sibling, shared the spot.
Innocently, my son greeted the little boy back with a smile. He walked towards the little boy patted the little boy's head (he does that a lot to babies) and asked why the boy wasn't wearing any slippers or shoes. The little boy did not reply, but looked at his feet instead.
Imagine my surprise. My son saw beyond the difference in skin color, hair and language. He saw what was necessary.
If an adult sees the little boy asking for help, his first instinct is to either check his pocket for coins or to ignore the call for help. But to my son's point of view, the little boy needs a slipper because the pavement is cold and his feet might get hurt; common sense.
I told my son to give the boy some coins as for the moment. I handed him the coins and he happily gave it to the little boy. In the back of my mind, I've decided to add slippers to the things I will give to the poor beggars this coming December. I Will bring my son with me, since his vision is obviously keener than mine.
My son bade goodbye to the little boy. That night, as my son played in the playhouse, I was playing with my thoughts of childhood and innocence; and have decided to live young again.
If all people are children, having a naive philosophy in the way things are perceived, then we can easily see that the problem in the world is simple. We can easily see that the street kids are hungry and homeless. We can see that the old people in the streets need shelter and comfort.We can build a world based on common sense. But that's far-fetched from what we have right now; however I saw a small glimmer of hope one Saturday evening.
Like other Saturdays, My wife and I brought our son to a video rental shop. We rented a Dora vcd and my little boy asked if he can play in the McDonald's Playhouse just beside the shop. As we got out the double doors, my son was greeted by an Aeta boy.
The little boy, like other unfortunate Aetas, seemed malnourished. He wasn't alone, a few steps away from him is his family; His mother begging for money while feeding a baby in her bossom. Three sleeping children, whom I assumed to be the little boy's sibling, shared the spot.
Innocently, my son greeted the little boy back with a smile. He walked towards the little boy patted the little boy's head (he does that a lot to babies) and asked why the boy wasn't wearing any slippers or shoes. The little boy did not reply, but looked at his feet instead.
Imagine my surprise. My son saw beyond the difference in skin color, hair and language. He saw what was necessary.
If an adult sees the little boy asking for help, his first instinct is to either check his pocket for coins or to ignore the call for help. But to my son's point of view, the little boy needs a slipper because the pavement is cold and his feet might get hurt; common sense.
I told my son to give the boy some coins as for the moment. I handed him the coins and he happily gave it to the little boy. In the back of my mind, I've decided to add slippers to the things I will give to the poor beggars this coming December. I Will bring my son with me, since his vision is obviously keener than mine.
My son bade goodbye to the little boy. That night, as my son played in the playhouse, I was playing with my thoughts of childhood and innocence; and have decided to live young again.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
The beggar who was richer than me
I'm not performing well lately. My back hurts from excessive computer use. My eyes see things overly bright. My mind is tired of pushing thoughts on things I don't like to think right now. My cheeks sagging into a frown. I feel ugly and useless. But as I pass by on the bridge before going to work, I saw this old foreigner beggar again. Her left foot bruised from some skin illness, her hands carrying a bag of empty C2 plastics. Just before she takes out the garbage I offered a 20 bill. She looked at me, smiled, shook her head and continued her routine of collecting plastic bottles from the garbage bin.
She seems alone with no one to talk to, and yet she is dignified to work without anyone's help.
Stricken with guilt, my day seemed to brighten up.
She seems alone with no one to talk to, and yet she is dignified to work without anyone's help.
Stricken with guilt, my day seemed to brighten up.
The Longest Jeepney Ride Home
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 sheeps in my dreams. The jeepney room wasn't full and wasn't empty. I sitted 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 strucked 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.
The jeep stopped in front of the municipal hall. The place wasn't well lit, but the image strucked 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.
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