A Father Who Creatively Captures His Kids

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Guilt Post

Late this afternoon, some areas of Metro Manila experienced heavy rain which was slightly reminiscent of Ondoy, especially for those rendered paranoid by the damages and trauma caused by its onslaught. 

I was on my way home, sitting comfortably in the back passenger seat of our car with my sisters—having been picked up by them from Greenhills after running some errands for my father—when my little sister’s yaya (nanny) exclaimed, “Andun pa rin siya o! (He’s still there!)”  I saw a very young sampaguita vendor, probably 7-9 years old, shivering in the middle of Connecticut street, and immediately, I felt pity for the little boy, as any normal human being would. I answered, “Bakit andiyan pa yan? Asan mga magulang niyan?” (Why is he still there? Where are his parents?) I wanted to roll down my window and tell the kid to go home and that staying in the rain will give him pneumonia, but the stoplight changed to green and our car moved on, leaving him behind still shivering and warming his cupped hands with his breath.

I spent the next ten minutes stuck in traffic imagining different scenarios of the things I could have done. One had us picking up the boy and giving him a ride home, while my sister would lend him her jacket to warm himself with. Another included me handing him a 100-peso bill after a touching pretend-conversation where I learned that his mother would beat him if he returned home without earning anything.

As our car passed by McDonald’s at Wilson street, I was momentarily distracted by the ironic possibility that they might have to undergo another months-long renovation if ever the rain is yet another Ondoy, but was suddenly pulled back to my musings with the morbid thought that the boy will have no chance of surviving that at all. Again, guilt came a-creeping. 

Why am I writing this? Maybe I want to appear as someone who cares.Maybe I want people, who, on some off-chance are able to read this, to think of me as someone with patriotic, idealistic, halina’t-maki-baka tendencies. Nagmamaganda. Nagmamalinis.

No, I don’t think so. Writing about this incident, if anything, only casts me at a bad light.

The real reason is selfish. I’m writing because I feel guilty. All this post lacks is a list of all the excuses I can think of to defend myself and my character.

I’m guilty not just because I didn’t do anything, but also because it didn’t take much for me to forget. Upon catching sight of our home, all thoughts about what I just saw was easily pushed aside and replaced with shallow ones—I was excited to try on something I just bought, my sister was asking me to make her some hot chocolate, etc etc etc.

We’re all tired of reading about poverty. We’re all used to the sight of street children. We know a number of them die every day hungry, penniless, dirty. Over-saturation has made us indifferent. 

I am trying really hard to avoid a didactic tone in this post. Who am I to preach diba? I even deleted a sentence which started with, “We’re all guilty of this..”Nandamay pa ko.

Thoughts like this are what probably made me inclined to join socially-oriented organizations and activities ever since I was young. Perhaps I viewed my involvement as a way for making up to the many street children I shooed away. Even the job I’ll be starting on this week involves some sort of community-interaction. I remember someone, probably my father, once telling me that when you do acts of charity, the fact that it is for charity should not even cross your mind. Doing so will only make you feel warranted with the recipient’s gratitude, making you that person’s “hero,” and dragging in a twisted perspective of your intentions. This, too, I am guilty of, but I digress.

I don’t know what I’m aiming for with this post. I haven’t even the slightest idea what its thrust is. I am also not calling anyone to action. (It’s good, though, if somehow it does inspire someone. Sige lang!) Maybe the reason I am writing this is for me to have some sort of “permission” to start forgetting about it. Maybe I have convinced myself that writing about this incident will allow me some sort of pardon.

I don’t know. 

What I do know is that I’m hoping there’s someone out there who is a better person than me. Someone who will actually do something in that situation, who will help out the little boy and get him out of the rain; Maybe someone who will not just go home and write a blog post about it, in order to pass a bout of guilt and insomnia. ♣ 

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