I bumped into an old classmate of mine from high school one rainy August Monday while walking along Morayta Avenue just in front of the Far Eastern University Campus at the University Belt in Manila.
"Hey, it's you! How are you? How's life?" said he.
"Er, aah, I'm Ok and you?" I answered.
"Small world, huh?!"
"Yeah, so wazzup?"
After the familiar questions and answers when you suddenly bump into some old acquaintances we decided to have our snacks at A&W and update each other with our lives. He had a Burger and Coke while I had fries and Root Beer. We talked about the good old days and what we have become, our plans for the future, our classmates, movies, and girlfriends- every topic that comes to mind.
I learned that he's now connected with a Non-Governmental Organization (NGO) and works as a consultant doing some charity works with children and out-of-school youths in one of their centers in the slums of Tondo district at the heart of Manila.
He invited me to join him on my free time and see for myself the conditions of our poor countrymen.
To make the long story short, I visited him on the site and was horribly appalled at the poverty that I have witnessed.
Most of the children who are at the center are walking barefooted, naked from the waist up, some have no teeth and many were terribly emaciated. They look rather old for their age. In a low voice, my former classmate informed me that majority of children no longer goes to school and instead help their parents in collecting whatever things that they could salvage and sell to some Chinese Junk Yard Owner from the horrible Garbage site known as the Smokey Mountain.
So, I decided to give my time to my fellowmen and eventually went with my classmate on his numerous visits to the shanties that was home to the most impoverished people of Tondo and their I saw and experienced first hand the things that I thought were just the product of propaganda by some enterprising activists on this side of the world. Things that I only saw on TV or read in the papers but thought nothing of it until today. Their homes were mostly nothing but made of old corrugated GI sheets and old Boxes of Cigarettes probably salvage in the dumpsites.
Many are lucky if they could have three square meals a day. Everyday my classmate and I would walk through the narrow alleys that could only fit one person and the stench of the garbage and the murky Esteros* filling the morning air with a dedicated and determined look on our face to really make a huge difference in the world.
I was really amazed that he knows by heart all the names of the people living in that maze of shanties along the Pasig River. I admired him for his heart and dedication on serving his fellowmen. But I am not like him. And will never be.
I could not stand the sight of the children suffering especially Erning, afflicted with Polio since he was three years old and was limping around while going on with his daily activities. I was a witness to his daily suffering. He would be out of his Barung- barong* at five o'clock in the morning everyday without fail limping while trying to keep his balance on the narrow Bamboo Bridge while fetching a gallon of water. I watched him do his thing from afar and decided that I have to do something to help him.
On one particular cold August morning, I saw him again laboring his way trying to cross the makeshift bridge; I decided that this would be the day.
It rained hard the night before and the river was swollen with murky water and so was the Estero.
I met him in the middle of the Bamboo Bridge.
He looked at me.
Our eyes met.
The next thing I remember was my right foot holding him down the dirty water as his limp frame struggled in vain...
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