poverty

my experiences are far less worse than what others’ had gone and are going through . rwanda, haiti, cambodia, north korea, iraq, darfur. these war-torn countries have kids too. trying to enjoy life in an environment adults keep on messing up. also in cubao, manila and makati. kids living in the streets. what does the future holds for them?

 

i wish after reading this we will be more sensitive on others’ feeling especially the kids. we had been kids once and we know that what happened on those particular years of our lives laid down the foundation of the paradigm we look at the world now.

 

here now is my story.

 

i grew up with nothing in excess. material things, i mean. we use gas lamps at night (3 small bottles at most to really brighten a room). that had remained until college. it was only 5 years ago when we truly had a real electricity connection. and i don’t live there anymore. we never owned any television set or whatever electricity-runned appliances. a battery-operated radio is all we’ve got.

 

 

the 50 cents

 

remember that i was a kid (date period – late 80’s).

i took 50 cents from my mother’s wallet (kids, don’t imitate this). it was all that was there. i bought 2 pcs. of small bags of chips which i shared with my friends. a few minutes later, mom was making so much a fuss about it. unknown to me she had already talked to my friends before she confronted me. i was trapped. no use denying. but i’m pretty sure it was not so much about my action which angered her. it was more of losing the 50 cents.

 

 

the missing pencil

 

one day, i lost my pencil. i was in grade 1. not telling her the reason, i refused to go to school. but she was adamant that i should go. on the way (i always walk to school and on that particular day she accompanied me) she learned about my reason. upon learning my excuse, my mom got very angry. in her anger, she searched for anything she could hit me with.

i ran back home.

when she reached the house, i was there, and she was holding a “balagon” (kind of a vine which really stings if it hits you). she stripped me of my clothes and started whipping me. i was 6 years old then. still makes me cry whenever i remember.

 

but i don’t blame my mom. i don’t hold any grudge against her. my guess is no one could equal the love she has for me. there were times in my adult life when she was the only one who stood up for me. i don’t want to shed a bad light on her with this stories.

she’s far from perfect, alright. but she did what she can. i don’t know what made her do it. probably, she had experiences in the past which triggered her reaction. or maybe she just want to instill in my young mind how important education is (she never finished school).

 

but i learned at those times the importance of money. and that we weren’t rich. i learned to value and care for my things.

 

 

poverty affects not just the outward appearance. it affects even the upbringing of an individual. his way of interacting with others. the quality of his soul. it affects his everything.

my childhood memories

 

what was i like when i was a kid?

 

i was prompted to ask this question after watching a playful little boy on the jeep with her mother (27 apr 2008, on my way home from bulacan).

 

i remember my “bus rides” when i was little. my mother and i would go to sorsogon to visit my sisters. they were “adopted” by a school teacher. in exchange for their schooling, they were to stay with her. she’s single which means no family of her own. she was a little stringent (i learned that later – matandang dalaga kasi?).

 

sorsogon is an hour and a half (two at most) from our place.

 

i always look forward to those bus rides. my mom would complain about physical fatigue after the trips. she’s exhausted because most of the times i would stand on her thighs to have a view of the roads ahead (lucky for her if we got a seat in front). i enjoyed watching the scenery. i think at a young age i was able to memorize the twist, curves and turns of the way. sometimes i count the bridges we had passed through. i don’t have motion sickness. i think i never really sleep on those travels. i was always looking out for what could be new and different from the last time we passed. i can tell now that i developed my inclination to travel on those rides.

 

one time, we got stranded in sorsogon because of a strong typhoon. when we finally reached home, our house was toppled down by the strong winds. all that was left was the roof. it was like the body was taken away and the roof remained lying in dirt. i remember i have to crawl my way in to see if there could be anything of our things that could still be salvaged. we keep our clothes in boxes. in a small house like ours we did not have cabinets and even rooms (much like studio type houses these days). but we have a kitchen. and a cot (papag).

 

the whole time i was there, our house had undergone renovations (i guess, once in every 5 years) and major repairs. this is the beauty of bahay kubo. the looks of the house could be transformed with such an ease. the trouble is, it’s not as strong as the houses made of concrete.

 

 

i have two more childhood memoirs to post. entitled poverty and revelation. the first will explain why i make a fuss about the poor’s misery so much (because i’m one of them?). and the other, if you know me, will shock you.