Good luck, Philippines

All was quite on the streets of Manila, and some neighboring regions last night.

At least, I think so.

Like everyone else, I stayed at home mindful of the curfew imposed from 12 to 5 am. Staying home, lest I be picked up by the police because I have no business straying outside at that late hour.

And again, just like everyone else, the question on my mind is; what are we heading on to?

The one time that I had forgotten to bring my camera was also the one time that I really needed to use it. Sweet irony. I was in Ayala when every establishment piped out the blaring message through the speakers that we were to evacuate the premises immediately and go to our respective houses. The cause was evident; outside, members of the police, as well as the armed forces, were steadily marching to Ayala avenue. It was a not-so-colorful display of green fatigue, dark blue swat uniforms and navy blue police uniforms.

All around me, people were filing out of the city, clogging the transportation routes, and some being left stranded. The faces of the people all registered one thing- silent panic. The air was rife with uncertainty and the desire to get away from the center of commotion. It looked like a scene out of a doomsday movie, with the mass evacuation of people. Only, instead of running and screaming their heads off, they were walking silently.

The events that transpired during the next few hours was something straight out of history books. The blatant disrespect for human rights, the curfew, and now, the metro will be steadily filled up by soldiers.

Some would think that Trillanes and company's action was made in the best interest. But in doing so, did they put our futures on the line? Would we be better off if they had not acted at all, in the first place? Is militarism really the answer to the problems that have been plaguing our country? Or would the government impose it's own answer upon us?

I've watched Dekada '70, and boy did it scare the hell out of me.

These are uncertain times. And only time will tell how things will turn out.

The Twenty Peso Picture

Twenty pesos.

Roughly equivalent to US 40¢.

It could buy you a fare on a bus and on the train.

A bottle of water.

A pack of breath mints.

It's not really much, but when you're poor and starving, it means not having to sleep on an empty stomach.

It may mean that for another day, you survive.

But when you're really itching to get home on a rush hour, with people jostling you to get to the handful of buses, twenty pesos is not very high on your thinking list. That is, until harsh reality jostles you too.

And that's when I saw him, selling garlands on the street. A thin, frail-looking boy of about seven or eight. Or (one could not really tell because of malnourishment), for all I know he could have been in his teens. Vague though his age may be, I'm fairly certain of what he looks like. He was skin and bones, wearing dirty rags that would not even be fit to wipe the floor with. Weaving in and out of traffic, he had his back to me. And I could see the plethora of fungal infection that have made a patchwork of the skin of his back and skinny legs. The tangled weave of hair, dirt, lice and nits on his head. And the numerous scars on his body, a testament of a life lived on the streets.

I stood there, gazing at the child. Thoughts of how one so young as he, could have such a wretched life. At twenty-two, I haven't yet worked a day in my life. And here is this boy who is barely waist-high, facing the hordes of vehicles in Manila rush-hour, trying to sell Sampaguita garlands that have wilted hours ago. Making the dangerous street his playground. And playing a game of life and death.

In all my thoughtful preoccupation, I didn't notice that the boy was near me, trying to sell his garlands to the lady next to me. She didn't want them, the garlands. She's not going to buy. And yet, the boy was still persistent. He has to sell them all, he says. She relented by taking a chocolate bar from her purse and giving it to the boy. He didn't look happy, money would've been better.

He moved on to the line.

To me.

And that's when I saw his eyes. When he looked at me, he did so with eyes not of a child, but of someone else. Someone who was jaded. Who had faced the trials of life, and had lost all hope. The eyes that shouldn't be in a child's face.

He asked if I would buy his garlands. His voice, raspy and hoarse.

I stood there, transfixed by what I was seeing. A face hollowed by hunger.

My shock must have registered in my face. And he realized that I won't buy from him. He moved on, towards the far side of the line, and continued hawking his garlands to people who don't care to buy.

That's when I thought of the twenty pesos crumpled in my pocket. I thought of giving it to him, and in return, he would give me permission to tell his story to the world. I have seen pictures of vagrants and poor people in photo sharing sites. And yet, I didn't move. Also, aware of what I would do. To feed on the wretchedness of a child's life.

I couldn't do it.

I watched him walk away, still clutching his garlands. Not one of them had ever been bought. Maybe he would try again in a different place, or maybe he would walk home, to whatever part of the street home was. And try to sleep off another night with only a chocolate bar to hold off the hunger.

As much as I want to bring his plight for the world to see, it was not my suffering that would be seen. It was his. And no amount, especially a mere twenty pesos, would be able to justify what I would do. Taking away his anonymity and childhood with a twenty peso picture.

I wanted to show the world his image. The image of a child's miserable life, that shouldn't be his in the first place. I wanted to show the world that he is the future.

But now I understand.

He is not the future.

I am.

I am the future, and all of us privileged enough to help kids like him. It would be a long time before I would be able to help the way I really want to, by taking kids like him out of the streets, and into better lives. I wouldn't even know if he'd still be alive when that time comes. But I know that I would help him and others like him.

I was never meant to take that picture.

But this is the least that I can do to help him, wherever he is now.

Try

This is the world where everything is not as it seems.

When we were kids, it's okay to believe in fairy tales. In a kid's eyes, the world is full of color and hope. Thunderstorms always give way to rainbows. The wicked witch would melt in the end of the story, and handsome prince charming would come in the nick of time to save you and whisk you away in a castle and live life happily ever after.

But then, life could be misleading. And sometimes, the model may vary from the actual unit sold.

Oftentimes, fairy tales do not happen. Prince Charming, could be eighty years old and balding, he may have a desk job and a minimum wage. He could be stuck in traffic and not come on time to save you from the evil witch.

We start out, full of wonderment, of hope, trust and faith.

Then life happens.

And everything becomes upside down. As we grow older, we see life for what it really is. And the more clearer our vision gets, the more we want to return to when we were children. Where life is shielded from us by fluffy clouds. We grow up, become heroes in our own battle. The battle to save ourselves from us. As imaginary playmates get replaced by real ones. We are acquainted with the game that life plays. And for the fortunate, see that the real ones are not so real after all.

And then I see him standing there.

Always, someone stands out. The one who makes you think twice about your ideas. The one who sees you as a kid, but treats you like an equal. The one who gives you perspective. He, who gives you your purpose.

The one who makes you want to make a difference.

Even though, you're you. Scarred, vulnerable, and hanging by a thread, it's okay. That's life.

For him, you'll still be the one.

What was done in the past cannot be undone. It's already written. But I can start a new life with him.

My star, my perfection.

Who makes me want to be a better person.

And all I can do is try.

It Only Took a Minute

A lot can happen in sixty seconds.

In a minute, the cells of an oxygen-deprived brain will gradually disintegrate and die. A significant unit in the human brain, lost forever.

In a minute, three hundred babies are born around the world. Every minute, fetuses are also being aborted.

It takes roughly a minute for your glands to secrete hormones that could trigger orgasm.

But one minute is like a drop of water in the sea, compared to a year.

One year in our lives is made up of 525,600 minutes of experience.

But you only need one minute for a whole year of your life to flash before your eyes.

June 19, 2007
11:59:00 PM

One minute before I turn twenty-two.

I step outside in the front lawn carrying a mug of hot cocoa, a stick of cigarette and a lighter. I stand near the gate and look around, trying to see if anyone else is awake at our house, wary should anyone catch me smoking. I can faintly hear the television in my mom's room, but I know she's already asleep and had probably forgotten to turn it off.

In a minute, another chapter in my life will begin. I'm still me, still in the same old house that we moved in when I was in high school. Yet, in that same year, a lot of me has changed. In a year, I've seen the highs and lows of humanity. I hung out with a crowd who could afford to never work a day in their life. I marched with throngs of people, shouting for equality and deliverance of the stigma that has been unjustly put on our heads.

I felt a rollercoaster of emotions. I felt the tension of having to prove my mettle in an exam that would determine my future. The elation of finally proving my worth and seeing the proud look on my parents faces. The utter despair of having my dreams yanked out of my grasp and held dangling, just out of my reach, by the very people who swore to uphold the tenets of my profession.

Thrice have I loved. Feeling the exhilaration of a new love, the pursuit of a meaningful relationship, the joy of finally belonging to someone. And the feeling of being lost in a sea of bliss and overwhelming emotions. But houses built on sand come crashing as the tide rolls in. thrice have I love in the year that passed in my life. Thrice have I also lost.

In one year, I've weathered conflicts, losses, intrigues and loneliness.

In one year, I've also found hope, family, courage and belongingness.

June 20, 2007
12:00:00 AM

I lit my cigarette, taking in a lungful of nicotine. I feel it travelling down my throat, and the usual lightheadedness that accompanies a drag of cigarette smoke. I look at it, the cherry glowing brightly, reminding me of the temporary escape that it offers to someone who has only to keep it burning. I realize it has been a year since I first inhaled my first smoke. A year of saying that it hasn't gotten into me, of hiding it from my family as if it's the one thing that I would never be old enough to do. I drop it to the ground and promptly crush the cherry against the sole of my slippers. I pick up the remains, still fresh and looking as if it has never been lit at all, and threw it as hard as I could outside in the street.

My next 525,600 minutes begin.

Everybody Deserves a Chance to Fly!

Sometime during the night, I lay in bed and wondered if I ever made the right decisions in my life.

Did I have regrets?

If i were given a chance, would I change something about it?

I used to say that I don't make mistakes. I make lessons. Looking back, I think that some of those lessons, didn't quite rub off on me and had to be repeated for emphasis. The thing is, you promise yourself that you woudn't repeat the same mistakes again. And yet, here you are doing the same thing over and over again.

As a student, repeating the same lessons over and over again means that you've hit a flat learning curve and you now have to re-examine possible reasons why you haven"t improved. In life, when you repeatedly do the same mistakes, you're called a masochist.

But, why do we do it?

Why subject ourselves to the hurt and humilation?

I guess... I'll have my answers when I do stop doing those things that I said I wouldn't do anymore.

Stranded

Sometimes, it takes being stranded, to help you get unstuck on a life rut.

Yesterday found me inside an fx, which is in the middle of a traffic jam. While outside, the rain battered the windows of cars and made a veritable flood of rain water in the streets. I stared out the windows, and the flood (which now looks more like a river) would likely keep us there for a while. When you're in the middle of the road and stuck in a flood of rain water, you notice a lot of things that you'd ordinarily let pass by. Like how the rain's beating down the windshield. The way how some people are out in the rain and can't get a ride, while I'm safe and warm inside the fx. How children are playing in the flood water and practically having a good time, unmindful of how many infinite number of bacteria they're soaking like a desert sponge on a drop of water. I continue to watch the children as they continue to frolic amidst the infectious soup of flood water. All of this, one notices when you don't have anything better to do.

I watch the rain as it continues its assault on our vehicle. And I remember my childhood, the innumerable times that I felt happy running around our lawn and soaking up the rain. How I would run outside when I hear rainfall and trip over myself while taking my clothes off. How me and my friends have a good time playing in the rain. Sometimes, when I look back on these things, I kinda wish that I could go back to being a child. When I was a child, things were much simpler. The only decision I had to make was which Flintstone vitamin character has more flavor and if I want to risk my existence and cross the line in Patintero. The only budgeting I did was on how many ice creams I could buy with ten pesos. And the only heartbreak I got was when Rio got trapped in a block of ice, for loving a mortal in a Maskman episode.

As I was stranded, and got nothing better to do, it got me to thinking about a different kind of stranded. Right now, my life is flowing like mosquito-infested stagnant water. Here I am, pushing twenty-two in a few weeks, and still I haven't got nothing to show for it. I'm about to retake my boards to prove to everyone that I didn't cheat on my first one, so I'm not earning for myself. And yeah, I still ask my mom for gimmick money. How pathetic is that? Right now, the decisions that I get to make will not only affect me, but other people's lives too. And the heartbreak that I must face is far more intense (and real), than a person turned to ice on a TV show.

I'm stranded. Because I don't know which road to turn to next. Because I'm still here, but I so desperately want to escape. Because he's moved on to have a new life with someone, while I haven't moved an inch ever since he left.

And I don't know which way to turn to.

But luckily, the driver does. And I was snapped out of my reverie as the cars started moving again. The rain has stopped pouring and was now reduced to a drizzle. The children continue to play amongst the flood, while some are being called home by their mothers. Commuters are now hastily trying to get a ride to their own homes. While our vehicle moved forward, inch by inch, through the flood, until we finally cleared it.

All of these, you notice when you're stranded.

The Call, The Forgotten, and One Vote For Me and Baby

I got the call.

No, not that call. I'm not gonna run off and join the seminary, if that's what you’re thinking.

No, the call that I got was a little more perplexing than that.

That day, I woke up, to find that I have a text message in my phone. So, naturally I opened it up. It was just a one-liner text that read: "answer the phone. I'll be calling." it was from Japoy.

Flashback!

Japoy: beh, I think we should cool off muna.

Me: why? May problem ba tayo?

Japoy: wala naman. Na guiguilty ako kasi na neneglect kita. I feel like I should enjoy my life first. Marami akong gustong gawin, and dapat gawin.

Me: naiintindihan ko naman na marami kang inaalala eh. Kailangan ba talagang mag- cool off?

Japoy: oo. Alam ko kasi kung pano yung feeling nang ma-neglect. Ayaw kong madama mo yun sakin.

Me: sige, susuportahan kita dyan. I love you.

>End Flashback<>

As usual, me being my paranoid self, thought of a hundred different scenarios why he couldn’t have tried to reached me. The most prominent, being that I was just his "rebound guy". You know, that guy you hook up with to get over your ex, but you don’t really have feelings for. The one that you leave as soon as you and your ex have patched things up and are together again. Yeah, I felt down in the dumps because of that.

>Fast Forward<>

Ouch.

And then the poll would decide whether Japoy and I would be together or not. Kinda like COMELEC would make Japoy make up his mind about me.

If only that were that simple.

When I signed up for love, I signed up for the whole package, even the heartbreak. But this constant confusing feeling he has for me is driving me crazy. It's like one minute, I know where I stand in his life, and the next I don't. so confused.

Right now? I don’t know who the hell I am in his life.