“This is not the day I was looking forward to. I certainly did not expect that it would end like this because I’m not good at saying goodbye. Downhill, I was desperately trying to hold back tears. I had been taken in as an employee without any expectations of what lies ahead in this encounter. Now that it is over, I begin to see the justifications of a thoroughly planned life. Everything is falling into place and the answers to some personal questions I dared to raise when my life seemed to have fallen are revealed.”
“Perhaps the reason why I never had a younger sibling is for me to have a wider space in my heart for children like them. Perhaps, the early conclusion of my mother’s life is to make me realize that there is more to parenthood than providing but it’s also about raising my future children well. She was able to do that.”
“And to chronicle my experience here, I am thinking of completing one of my unpublished manuscripts. For over a year now, I was wondering why I never tried to submit it for possible publication. For one, the dedication I’ve written was dead. “For all street children.” It sounded right but I was waiting for a life to be embodied in it, and since that entity is born, I am going to make it come to life. I hope that it will make it to the paper and that the insights holding it together will be rightfully captured for other people to ponder upon.”
Those are my final words following the reflection meeting we had as the activities of my two – month contract came to commence. A reflection meeting is an in – depth initiation of a relevant experience into a person’s life by sharing it to others amidst the mists of tears, the glint of anger, the threat of sadness and the embrace of happiness. This kind of meeting, I guess, is a determinant to the kismet of the humane quality of man.
This is how it all began.
For three years now, every summer, the Child and Youth Wellness Center of Saint Louis University is leading a group of Psychologists into an exploit of service to a certain institution dedicated to the welfare of street children. The service is animated by a week of assessment procedures and another two weeks of a developmental camp. This year, I am lucky to tag along a nine – man team to work as a Psychometrician and as a Facilitator. The former would mean that I will administer a few tests to some of the children for assessment purposes and the latter entailed a facilitation of a structured group dynamic activities to the same kids aged 5 to 17. Such activities included Self – knowledge, trust development, enhancement of interpersonal skills, emotions particularly anger, and most importantly, the family. Alongside those, the camp also offered play therapy and counseling as its primary service.
As I immersed myself in performing both functions, I discovered the entity behind what they call ‘batang kalye.’ The succeeding part of this emo – trailing experience is lifted from the personal experiences embedded in my thoughts. Meet the kids then on their own reality scope.
Configuring the Sunset
I define rest as a self – inflicted benefit arising from one’s love of self. For all of us there, it was bound with the artistry of nature magnificently captured by the sunset. With each day’s progression of uncovering the children’s lives, tiredness continued to accumulate and only the feeling of togetherness can ease it away with the blessing of the sun. So come dusk we were out to the grounds running for the spread of colors across the horizon. As for me, after assuming a photographer’s bearing to document the remaining natural beauty ofManila, I join them and quietly wonder that if the sun can communicated its emotions to entities called humans, how will it do so? The improbability of it happening is so far but I know: it will deliver by changing its color. Knowing that empathy should be an operational emotion among humans, how will it react to the existence of street urchins?
Look.
A blue sunset could be the children’s aborted innocence personified by the Abused Child. He is the recipient of a misplaced sexual drive or an aching hand that destroys the physicality of human form. In God’s design, only the sky has the body tainted in blue, isn’t it? With the proliferation of cases such as this, it seems then that an emerging margin of our society’s composition has found a new way to define ‘satisfaction’ and ‘protection’ in the light of a weakening moral standard.
Violet: the feeling of aloneness brought to life by the Abandoned Child. He was just not taken care of the most basic way. When you count his lamentations, it reveals a gazillion of apathetic background. Some people are not over with childhood that they choose to satisfy their personal luxuries first before cooking dinner. Thing is, after the luxurious indulgence, nothings left for cooking.
Black is the purity of knowledge the Orphaned Child illustrates. It was never his fault to lose his loved ones. In one way, a man’s life is never like that of a vampire. Immortality comes with the price of chaos. Death is real but it always comes around at the wrong time. So we come and go and leave only two kinds of memories: the good and the bad ones. To which the Orphaned will identify, it is not our job to choose, but it is our duty to ‘be there.’ That’s why tomorrow was incepted.
Lastly, red is the confusion spun by The Foundling. His life journeys along the characteristic experience of absence. He was found that’s all. No IDs, no memory, no family and with nobody. You’ll know when a child is a Foundling because when you look into his eyes, time has frozen.
Change the sunset if you want but their kind of children truly makes a portion of our existence. By knowing them, I am able to see how lucky most of us are because we have a home, we know our birth dates and our addresses, we have our memories, and most of all, and we have our family intact. For you readers, take the children’s lives as a starting point to cherish whom you have now and to analyze how our predecessors (and even now) have unfairly designed our notches of living. The wealthy can have it all but down to the base of our social hierarchy, they have nothing. So can somebody write a book abut living my life to the fullest when I just can’t? Can somebody offer me an anti – materialistic philosophy knowing that even embrace was deprived of me? What about the insignificance of money when I need it badly to buy food? Maybe you’re assertive about a happy living because you’re not walking on my shoes. This is my ordeal. This is my life. Come on! You’re kidding!
The Written Book
You might have figured the kids as they are called but the life they’ve been through is yet a stranger to you. Based on the activities that we have facilitated, I have come up with the life they could have lived before they were taken in for shelter.
Activity – The Self: This is the beginning of their lives. Imagine them in the dark after they have found themselves alone. Imagine how they could have coped by tracing their hands along the lines of uncertainty in the streets, be extending their hands on the stream of flowing people and how they have endured the pain of indifference offered by a supposedly charitable heart.
Activity – Angry Alex: This is the initial feeling brought about by loneliness and being alone. This is where they cried to lament the awareness of their isolation, this is where they begin to understand that man is fundamentally alone and this is where they begin to crack down the depths of their hearts desperately trying to search for the presence of a family. This is where they wait…and wait…and wait.
Activity – Interpersonal Skills: This is when they discover that they are not alone. This is where they get acquainted with the experience of friendship because as they wander around the made -up face of the earth, some paths meet giving rise to the crossroads. At this point, they may find comfort knowing that their suffering is also being shared by others like them. That’s their kind of friendship at first glance: a relationship of identification streaked by sorrow and overlapping with solace. The deeper it gets, the better they feel.
Activity – Trust: From the relationship they share with their new – found friends, a feeling of security and strength comes about. By deriving strength, the purpose of holding on is realized. However, nobody can let them feel that way without trust. It’s the element which lingers around the belief of friendship, the certainty of company and the presence of faith. For where faith is, hope resides.
Activity – Rock Families: When hope comes into them, it means that they have been carried by a loving hand. It means that the Heavens have worked out their plans. It means that they are no longer the meat of the smoky barbecue grill called ‘lansangan’. In short, they had been admitted to a shelter. For once, their longing for a nicer life has been granted and the fact that they are in a shelter means that they have found the real solace of a new family. I remember facilitating this activity. Towards the end, I asked the kids if they wanted to know a secret. Well, since it’s a secret, they had surprisingly huddled around me (whoa! You bet they know what secret means) so I rode with their style. After the secret leaked out, they broke off like a school of fish swimming away from ‘that’ mean shark. Were they disappointed about the value of the secret I told them? I guess so because they muttered about how corny it was. But it’s a reality: they know that at the institution they’re in, they’re one big family.
When A Sunflower Grows on A Hill
That evening of our reflection meeting, our Director told us something about letting go. Upon his hand, a kite made by one of the children was anchored. He let it up in the air and let it take pace with the wind. “This is how we let someone go.” He unrolled the remaining length of the string, let the kite soar higher and without much ado, he let it go. For a second, the kite seemed to linger, but with the wind blowing, it let itself be taken away. From that came my resolve in calling this article Saranggola. From that, I also learned a few but significant things:
First, just like the kite, children take us to a flight into the unexplored world of imagination. I forgot how I did that when I was a kid but through them, I got the chance to maneuver my mind around the place I was once in. We played, eaten and laughed together as if time spelled eternity. Every moment with them was worth a lifetime’s exposition of the simplicity of man’s existence. Imagine how powerful their world is?
Second, the kite’s string symbolizes the extent of love we can unroll and impart to others. The longer the string we unroll, the greater the love that we can embody. This is accommodation and connection. How much can we give?
Third, on all strings, one end is always connected to an anchor: our hands. This is the heart we have for children. The grip we invest is the strength of our foundation towards the establishment of our love for them. It’s up to us if we’ll make our influence long – lasting and pervasive for other people to learn that mentoring is the anchorage of life’s greatest principle for a meaningful future life.
Fourth, the ‘pull’ of the string is memory itself. We bade goodbye but only to the proximity of physical evidences. The memories are alive and will continue to grace us with inspiration and greatness. We remember.
Fifth, the process of uncoiling the string is the stages we undergo to forget ourselves and make it available for other people. Lose it, as they say. And finally, releasing the string is the knowledge of hope. Somehow, the sun is shining for all of us at the bend of the road. With the children in mind, I know that the future holds unquantifiable horizons of greatness.
These realizations drove me to a crying spell during that evening. Yes, I cried and I didn’t mind because I knew how I’ve felt that time. For me, the tears were signs of learning that I never had. They are the words in the testament of my struggle for a meaningful life. On our way back toBaguio, I didn’t stop wondering about the exceptional reasons why the children are subjected to such a design of life. I never got an answer. Leave that as on of Life’s mysteries – the offering of the future that even astrologers are desperately trying to precisely guess. But this is what happens when a sunflower grows on a hill: we transcend ourselves and we fly. We think that we do something for its own sake but it isn’t exactly like that. We plant the seeds to make this world a niche of goodwill and a cradle of hope – for the hopeless, the sad, and most of all, the lost people.
Oh, ever wondered what happened to the letting – go – kite? Well, it got stuck at a transmission tower on a mountain top nearby. But is sure did a lot of fluttering around while I was sniffing. Literally: letting go is never forgetting. We don’t need books to do that, do we?
The Fact
For every crime, there is a victim and a suspect. But this is no ordinary crime because history is with it at the making. So far, the victims are the children themselves and the all eyes are on three primary suspects.
Poverty and Unemployment. It’s the never – ending controversy in the country. The talk of alleviation only borders around job generation as the solution. But hey, there are a lot of them around. A lot really. So much for the job you’re plugging about. If jobs would generate money, we shouldn’t be blabbing about earning ‘barely enough.’
Laziness. Some people complain of poverty but they never did make a real effort of getting out of it. They tell you life’s like that and they leave everything to divine intervention. It doesn’t work that way because life is not like that. We have to move an extra mile to gain a better stance in our lives. It’s when we moved a lot and yet we arrived at nothing can we say that life sucks and living is not for everybody to enjoy. For the mean time, we do everything because we see hope. But don’t snag wallets please. You’re taking the easy way and I bet you’re making your life more miserable by gaining weight for such a heavy conscience.
The Bad Parents. They played their cards in a way that the ace of spades was out first. Who can blame them? Their decision as out of desperation but still, it doesn’t justify the children’s existence. Unexpected children are a different case. Don’t do it if you’re not ready for what’s to come. Save yourselves a little respect by controlling your throbbing desires because you know your lips will get livid when a child has been created. To do or not to do. Be intelligent.
Those are the bad side. Thing is, I recognize the good parents and I would like to give them the merit they deserve. Why would you be ashamed of bringing your child to a welfare institution if you know you cannot really take care of him? Life has it that misery loves company but be aware of the best quality as the patty in between: love(s). Don’t drag somebody to a life where you came to first. And with this acceptance of truth, the good parents are working hard to save some sustenance because “they want a better life with their children in the future.” Doesn’t that sound like a fairy tale?
Saranggola: The Story
Then he woke up screaming. It was that dream again – the nightmare that haunted most of his nights. His playmate’s brother and his hurtful wails. The paramedics. The crowd. The blood. Could it be real?
He hugged himself to ease the overwhelming shivers racking his body. It’s Christmas Eve. He prayed to be back in his slumber once more for at his whereabouts, he felt nothing but the damp breeze. Not a minute passed when he heard a familiar voice speak to him.
‘Kuya, laro naman tayo , o.’
‘Kuya, plastik po. Piso lang.’
The sight of her wasn’t unusual for me anymore. Since this country got poorer, the selling spree used to be undertaken by grown ups was taken over by kids. She was around six years old, thin and dressed down. Her skin was burnt by the sun and she had cataracts on her left eye. At that time of day, she’s supposed to be at school. If not, she’s supposed to be playing with other kids her age. True enough though, in today’s world the young become the old because the old die young. The little girl was in the marketplace playing by selling those plastic bags – at a young age.
I shook my head no and the little girl hurriedly disappeared from the crowd.
I am one of those people filling up the jam on the lane every morning and on one occasion, I saw a group of kids sitting in a file at the edge of the sidewalk. One of them particularly exuded the perfect visual catch in a busy morning: bulging red eyes, yellowish skin and a plastic bag stuck in his mouth. I thought he was doing ‘Ako Ay May Lobo’, but a closer look revealed otherwise. He was actually sniffing.
I was passing the time on the lakeside one afternoon contemplating a life of satisfaction and neediness when suddenly, from behind me, sprung two kids with their magnetic brown hair singing a Christmas song on Valentine’s Day. It was more of curiosity than amusement that prompted me to talk to them. ‘Sinong mga nanay ‘nyo?’ , ‘Saan kayo nakatira?’ , ‘Ilang taon na kayo?’ Whatever their answers were, it sent me frowning for they replied in a dialect I never understood.
As a child, I was able to feed my curiosities and to discover my environment. I was able to play and experience what they called school. It was years later when I’ve learned that play and education are a kid’s rights and that it’s fulfillment is about the speed of life we’re confronting. Since it becomes faster everyday, those people who can’t cope with its demands are left behind and their inability to meet the changes that it brings is reflected upon their children. The marketplace, the churchyard, the sidewalks, and even the restaurants eventually become their playground. The nursery rhymes they sing could be the dialect they speak while conversing in their ‘play’. The begging spree they do could be their hobby and textbook, and the time outdoors are the supposed school hours they spend to be educated about the hardship of life.
Parents, on the other hand, might have something to say about this too. It’s because living in this country means the poor getting poorer and the rich getting richer that their children are working without a resume and a permit. Parents who are barely able to make ends meet would love their children to be on better grounds but first, working at a young age so all of them could eat. The dreams come later.
We can still see them around. At daytime, they roam the city streets in search for a shoulder to tap. At night, they mine the trash bins and sleep just about anywhere where there is comfort.
I wish not to involve myself with this matter. If I drag myself in, I won’t escape the challenging eyes of my critics because there’s not much that I can do. I only have my pen and paper and if these would suffice, I’d like to write about the biggest contrast I saw.
You’re walking on the street wearing a tailored suit matched with a pair of shoes endorsed by your favorite movie star. You didn’t bring your car because the coding scheme determined its fate. Just in case you didn’t notice, somebody is drooling behind you over that bulging hind pocket.
Along the way, you met a little boy. In his eyes, you are the sun because the aesthete materialism highlighting your body emits such a glistening light. You looked back at him and you noticed the physicality of your society’s opposite equivalent. His hair is undone with some streaks of dirt spread all over it. He’s put on a torn shirt and a dirty pair of pants. A pair of worn out slippers are enslaved by his feet. For the first time in your good life, you wondered about his yearning. Your emotional hammer knocked upon your status barrier.
Tell me, what would you do?
He was still perspiring when he went back to sleep. It was all clear to him now. He, holding his playmate in his arms while his brother was crying. The crowd looked on with their faces encompassing all unpainted emotions. The paramedics came and he stood. He started to walk away and never looked back. One by one, his tears started to fall as the sound of Christmas carols filled the air. He looked at the glimmering lights on the giant Christmas tree and he knew that somewhere, a soul is saying,
‘Kuya, laro naman tayo, o.’
‘Kuya, plastik po. Piso lang.’
Thanks for the Memories
As I left the office on my last day of service, I knew my mind has undergone a cognitive metamorphosis. This is one of the marvels of life. Therefore, as I move on to another level of living and learning, I would like to express my utmost gratitude to the staff of the SLU Sunflower Children’s Center, the SLU Guidance Center and the SLU Center for Culture and the Arts. To the kids of the institution that we served: I’ll always miss you and you rock! Finally, my greatest thanks go to His Highness for including childhood as a part of life. That way, we may call our little entities, ‘children.’
Thank you to Heri Santoso for the featured image.