Outside looking in

I was stuck at an unusually long red light on my way home this evening when I noticed him.  A child of no more than 7 years of age was sitting on the ground with his head against a lamp post, yawning, while lazily toying around a paper cup with a few coins in it.  It was quarter to 11, and for a second I wondered why he was still up, begging at this hour.  Then I realized that maybe he didn't have some sort of dwelling place to go back to.  

I wanted to call him over for a talk, but what was there to say?  So foreign was his experience to me, so unreadable his countenance. Surely, many more emotions are embedded in his expression of fatigue.  How could I possibly engage in a meaningful conversation with this boy before I'm off to go? How could I possibly assuage his pain - for certainly he was in pain - before the light turns green? Money was just a quick-fix, and I longed to do something more for this kid.

I guess you really feel it when someone has been staring at you because suddenly, his sleepy eyes turned towards me.  Labouring for an ounce of strength, he stood up, approached my window, and looked in.  I rolled it down and what did I do? I gave him the quick-fix: spare change...lots of it...all the coins in my wallet I poured into his cup, hoping the quantity could compensate for my lack of words and my lack of resolve to do anything else. Then the lights changed, and I sped off.

---

All my life I've regarded less fortunate people as those who will forever remain on the outside looking in.  Looking in at what?  Looking in at my life and at all those who live in comforts similar to mine: the charmed life cushioned by money, cuddled by education, and creamed up by manners.  The lifestyle defined by cars, buffets, and pastimes.  The social stratum that reveres everything they cannot get as essential.  And what else can they do but peer in?  Peer in and beg for alms – spare change accumulated to avail their next meal.  Anything beyond the meal is much too far into the future for them to think about and fathom.  Their goal is simply to survive today.

But say, I get stripped off of the money cushion.  Instantly, the cars, buffets, and pastimes are relinquished – along with everything else that characterizes my lifestyle.  And nothing would be left of me but my so-called elite education and so-called good manners.  Useless assets!  Put me on the streets and tell me how my knowledge of Management principles, exposure to Literature, and immersion in Philosophy could help me get through a day?  Enlighten me: what's the use knowing how to eat in a fine-dining setting when there's nothing to eat? 

Truth be known, I haven't - in my entire life - washed and ironed my own clothes.  I don't know how to change a tire, cook real food, or remove a red wine stain from fabric.  If, God forbid, my mom dies tomorrow, I wouldn't know what the fuck to do...about anything...everything.  I'll be lost.  

The kid who I gave spare change to: he wasn't the one outside looking in at me.  I was inside looking out at him...looking out at life...and not having the slightest idea of what it's like.

21 October 2009

21 October 2009 - The weather in Metro Manila was partly cloudy and slightly windy with a 30% chance of rain.  Temperature high is at 32 degrees, low at 24.  The feared typhoon Ramil with its 175 kph sustained winds is said to be around 500 kilometres north east of Aparri, Cagayan; it is expected to make landfall tomorrow afternoon...


Tomorrow afternoon, right.  But today, for me - well, in me - the storm has already arrived, which in actuality is a violent tempest, raging as I wake up at 10:15 am with a hangover, saying the Lord's name in vain (Oh my God! fuckfuckfuck!) because the staff meeting in Makati started at 10. I check my mobile phone and see a text message from the deputy bozz: "Where you? GT's talking about your stuff."  So I reply, "Running late. Sorry. On my way there."


On my way there, right; on my way to the banyo more likely.  I was imagining deputy bozz's eyebrows akin to two lighting rods clashing against each other, and the lecture he'll give - an endless downpour of words about work ethics.  Baah.  I leave at 10:45 after the quickest shower in history, arrive at UCC Fort at 11 (by some miraculous twist of fate, traffic was extremely light) and find that my officemates - supposedly united in our vision to help improve our country's competitiveness in Science and Technology - are talking about...acupuncture. What the.  When GT saw me, his face broke into a smile as he said, "Right on time. I was telling them that my wife could give all of you acupuncture sessions. You know what, if you let her stick needles into your ears, you'll lose your addiction and will finally be able to quit smoking."


Quit smoking, right. Who said I even wanted to quit? The effects of my vice - now, that's a storm I wish would never come. Hehe.  And needles in my ears? No way, sir!