"What a bold statement to start with," my conscience told me.
I started this day all energetic and excited as I bound to the National Labor Relations Commission, a government body that is like the Public Attorney's Office, except it provides Pro Bono assistance to people who can't afford an attorney on issues about labor.
As I entered the building and reach the designated floor, my first instinct was to ask someone where I can find the room of the attorney I'm about to interview. There was a very cute lady of no more than 4ft. that appeared on my vision as the elevator dinged. Yes, I did recognize the imperfection- the lack of height- and felt guilty about it. But when we were inside her office as she seated on her majestic hard earned throne, I felt for sure that I'm not anymore taller than her, and moreso I strongly believe we weren't equals—her being the better person than me.
Because of non-disclosure commitments, I cannot share the atrocities of the interview. But I think I am free to say that it's about the Judiciary system. Needless to say she answered smartly, had some powerful opinions worth mentioning, even covered angles that weren't given space for. But all in all the depth of the survey isn't all too radical and flexible in my opinion to bring out all the nuances. Like for instance, this opinion of hers that I can't put on paper because there isn't a question that seeks it, "We have a really good law. A really good system. We Filipinos are really good writers. But apparently these are all in paper. Apparently we champion on theory crafting of how to dos but lack the transcendence in practice."
But I must say, I was captivated when we went on the off-the-record talk. It created an endless vacuum storage of inspiration when she said, "I see fire in your eyes and you are still young, you should always keep the idealism there." It is depressing though when she added, "If I have a choice I'd delve more on research or social work career, but sadly we need to be economical so here I am a creature of law." So as a parting message I just told her, "But ma'am who knows, maybe you can pursue that in the near future. This country needs more honest people like you." It left a smile on her face. And that was a priceless picture to see on my part.
So I exited the premises around noon, the sun is high, but my morale is higher. I was so moved that time that it made me think that nothing can bring me down today.
I HAVE NEVER BEEN WRONG IN MY LIFE.
This is an illustration of the second part of my journey. So I purposely took my lunch at SM North EDSA because according to my plan of action this starting point will produce the perfect route that will efficiently maximize the effort, time, and transportation cost in the challenge of finding my respondents. To be honest it really did. The trip to Bago Bantay was flaccid. Finding June St. was a walk in the park as well. It really helped when you ask people and they are so helpful on your cause simply by starting somewhere along the lines of, "Kuya pede po magpatulong". This further reaffirmed my spirit that time.
It was when I arrived at that Mendez Road where my world started to change. There, at that long stretch, I have to find a person. An accused person of a criminal case. The task was not the problem. In fact, that is part of my job. I'm not even perplexed by the high sunlight and the black back of my backpack that joined forces in creating a mini greenhouse over my body. Or the long perimeter that i have to cover. Upon reaching the end of it, I failed to find what I'm looking for. The street number that I'm suppose to find was 300 something. The Mendez road only has near 200 or less. The local TODA at the end had to somewhat procure a meeting just to give me a concrete possibility as to where I can find my respondent. One old person exuded that it is probably on the NCP area. I didn't bother to ask until someone bluntly said, "
Sa skwater yata yung hinahanap mo. Naku mag-iingat ka roon." In my mind I just smirked on the thought. As if he had something to do with alleviating their problems.
Somewhere along that long line was a very narrow
eskinita and if what I hear was right, I just had to follow it until I reach a half court. This wasn't my first time entering such place. I never had a fear going in because in my mind we're all just people, equally vulnerable. And if it so happen that something bad occur,
edi malas ko.
The fear is there. I don't even know what case my respondent faced. Maybe because I had to meet an attorney, and I am practically overdressed for this place so stares are imminent. But still, that didn't stop me from asking the typical topless dudes. They just point me to narrow spots to narrow spots. Every corners I had to be wary so I won't step on dog poo. Or is it really totally from dogs alone? I'm starting to get uneasy.
From my peripheral, I can see some teenagers on a corner lighting something like a cigar that they pass around. Probably pot. But that didn't bothered me at all until I saw an almost flesh and bones that can't even be a 12 year old. Are they that oblivious of the fact that they're shaping this child's future into a world of chemical dependency? Or worse, maybe he isn't actually less than 12 and that he is so malnourished that he is actually the same age as these people... which is more bothering.
I also witnessed a senile woman being bathed by presumably her grandkid on the narrow aisle of pseudo-attached houses which happen to be the actual and only road i need to cross to move on . Her monotonous stare into the wilderness and the flowing water on her hair reminded me of the beautiful history of our sexual films. Or in colloquial terms--the infamous Seiko films. There was a time in Philippine cinema that anything with water, whether the doing 'laundry in the river voyeurism', the 'taking a bath tease', or the cliche 'we got wet in the rain found a barn in the middle of nowhere sex', was very prevalent before. I think it was Hilda Coronel who started this phenomenon, I even heard a joke on TV that she was a the '
Basang Sisiw Queen'. And believe me, I'm not sexually assaulting the senile woman in my mind, it's just that, it was the perfect phrase I could think for her that time-
-basang sisiw, on its unsexy non-titulage kind of sense. Pitiable, to be blunt about it.
The endless vacuum storage of inspiration endlessness' was questioned when I saw this heart throbbing incident. There was a poor kid, maybe two or three of age, sitting ass first on the street with no underpants exposing his little prince in all its glory. He was crying real hard. Sobbing. Crying. Sobbing. And this image presumably his dad, judging from the looks is probably drunk. Maybe mommy was doing chores and daddy who is playing tong-eats with the bro's was left to take care of him. This father image that appeared in front of me had to pick up his spartan slippers and hit the kid. "
Tayo!", the man exclaimed then hit again. "Tayo!", he repeated then hit again. "Tayo" louder this time and it started to feel like the worse choir music of all. Him screaming, the sound of him hitting the child, then the cries. "Tayo!", with his last uttering the kid cried for mercy as he clinged at his father's feet. He was then carried by his father... at least he did. Nurture him at least. Little did he know, he probably messed up the psychological state of that kid forever. I wanna punch him, believe me I do. But I remember I was here for a living--not for a dying.
From a far I can totally picture the classic view of a Filipino wake. Tables with all sorts of card gambling. Kids running around, excited for the festive event that is only festive on their perspective. The nostalgic sound of chips of numbers being shaken on a bottle and the person shaking picks up one from the tip and say it out loud then suddenly from a far one will exclaim, "Bingo!". The familiar image distracted me from the fact that this is already the half court they we're talking about. Everyone was so busy on their businesses that I had to observe and prospect who am I going to ask. There was a slouching guy over the benches who will probably be shaken when I approached him as he lazily dwells with whatever, while gnawing a toothpick. I'm pretty sure he heard the question but he just stared at me blankly. Someone from a nearby table answered for him. She then pointed me to another wormhole of narrative that I'm not anymore excited to see. I'm pretty sure my feet are aching, but I don't feel anything that time. My soul had left me.
There seemed to be a congregation of mothers happening at the place where I was told to go. When I asked one female who is somewhat in a distance from the group, one rather overheard us and asked who I was looking for. I uttered the words. She just told me that no person of that name is from there. She seems to be in the know of the whereabouts of people. And before I approached them she was discussing something to the group. Then it hit me as I've said to myself, "Don't tell me this is a family development session?" A compulsory meeting that discusses government generated topics such as a basic but important matter of how to use a condom which is required amongst 4P's beneficiaries, a
CCT project of DSWD. As I've observed more, I just reaffirmed that indeed it was a family development session. And amidst the soul draining encounters, It made me smile knowing that just last week I was in Agusan del Sur doing research about this. I was one of the converted fools who even in this sea of skepticism towards the government, as a usual bandwagon these days, happen to witnessed of one project that in theory, if maintained and improved, will in the long run alleviate this poverty. All in high hopes and spirit of course.
"Poverty is a sin!" an ambiguous image of a man in blue button down shirt wrapped in coat appeared on my mind as I opted to ride the bus home. His hair brushed upward in some smooth slippery substance. In silence I just lamented all the harsh things I saw today. Like a cinematographic style my imagination was playing real actual experiences I just saw while again this imagery of the man that keeps uttering same words pops to my head as well--poverty is a sin. It was like the scene in Lost in Translation, where Bill Murray had to excruciatingly repeat the commercial catchphrases of the scotch he is holding. Poverty is a sin.
Am I going crazy for imagining such things. Maybe not. Maybe I was angry. Yes, I was full of anger. I'm angry to myself. I loathed all the people in that pit for one second. I branded them. I branded the people I've tried protecting. Protecting from the cold judgements of people not experiencing their pain. Protecting them from narrow minded elitist that blames their lack of effort in alleviating their own suffering as if they can root everything on effort.
Do I blame people like him for being so hateful to the poor? Truth be told, I want to remove the gut of this guy and feed it to the pigs. Would that make a difference? Yes, one less bullshit this world has to face. But that's just one. In statistics there is a significant and an insignificant difference. Him dying is as insignificant as his points of view in life.
Poverty is really ugly. It's depressing. Its reach is as deep as its core. All these wrongdoings that can be related to poverty, makes poverty a sin. It should be eradicated. But at the end of the day can we really separate the people from the slavery of poverty. Morally, we should. Poverty creates poor people. Poor families. Crying babies on the street. Future psychopaths. Dreamless environments. Hopeless cyclical notions on life. Jealousy. Hatred. Killings. Sorrow. Rinse. Repeat. This is because of poverty.
I do not delve on the origins of it. It is indeed a long debate. I can't even give you a concrete answer as to what is plausible to do to stop it, like for instance 4P's is pretty cool to me, but still there are thousands of things in question. Am I looking for the culprit? Should we for instance hate the Revilla's or the Estrada's who are in question to have stolen a huge amount of money from the people--from the poor people? It's up to you, but to me it's not what I'm fighting for right now.
Yesterday I read that Miriam Santiago argued that all taxpayers should be the ones who vote. Why? Maybe because to her the poor are incorruptible. Partly its true. But are we really that inhuman to even remove the slightest power a vote can do? The 1 vote is to 1 person ratio irregardless of social status, race, gender and what not? The law had given the Revilla's the benefit of the doubt, why can't we to them. You can call me a Marxist. A Neo-marxist. A commie. Or whatever it is you want to call me. Just please, all I'm asking is can we please not condemn all poverty wrongdoings to poor people. After all, what have we done to soothe the suffering?
