My feet dragged me away from the terminal. It was past ten in the evening but instead of riding a public vehicle, I found myself walking, ignoring the people around me. Exhausted from more than twelve hours work, I could not believe the energy running in my veins. Along the way, I saw a physically disabled man, his right leg-cut. In the blink of an eye, I realised how blessed I was in all aspects...
I continued walking with little steps while my mind drifted away. I was singing random songs but my mind was already occupied of so many thoughts about my family, my career, my friends, my personal dreams. The past few days had never been harder. I was battling my way out to support my family in any means I possibly can. Sometimes, I get tired, I tend to give up. I feel like failing my own happiness if I can not make them smile especially my mum. However, I must admit I do have my own limitations but my deepest desires to give them a more comfortable life (at least) kept me going stronger.
Funny that you can not depend on the people you are closest with and that hurts particularly if they start to misjudge. Irony of the ironies, the people you know who are certain and can be able to help are obviously not the ones you can rely on.
Life goes on, like my walk becoming a marathon- a journey of realisations.
Fifteen minutes passed, I stopped for few minutes then I looked back. I've walked a bit far, and the destination is also far from where my eyes could see. If I stop in the middle of it, I won't be able to appreciate the beauty and silence of the night and so I moved...
Same thing in life, either you stop and lose all your dreams or fight your own weaknesses, aim for the finish line and celebrate its glory. For me, I am choosing the latter. I have not reached that finish line yet but I have achieved a lot.
I can still see that little boy from the hills dreaming his dreams, and that was fifteen years ago where the struggles started. The place was dry, houses placed side by side, children playing all day, adults lining up on the single water station...that was Bulao. When strong rains hit the area, it hits more the boy's house, leaving the floor and all clothes wet. It was a pity living on that for more than 4 years, but the family stayed long for survival. His mother did all kind of works, from accepting laundries, planting gardens, selling vegetables to the neighbourhood, and asking help from different people while her children, all glued to their books, studying hard to finish school regardless if attending the whole day class would mean no food in between breaks.
Of the most notable memories was selling sweetcorns. Before the crack of dawn, the boy's family has a share on the harvested crops already-owned by the neighbour. They will cook these on two big cans-cans you see on bakeries. All throughout the day, the whole family is subdivided into groups and will have their own routes, selling the hot sweetcorns under the heat of the scorching sun. At the end of the day, the capital will be paid back to the owner and the remaining for family's necessities.
The routine went on like this, sweetcorns, vegetables, banana queue, and others.
Fortunately for that young boy, he graduated second in the class on sixth grade-lucky enough for someone who just started on his class last quarter of the year already.
After the graduation, he had to prove his worth to make it to high school. He knew though that he did not receive the most complete education in grade school as he was jumping from one school to another year after year. On the entrance examination day, he finished anyways and waiting his turn for the interview. The teacher spoke english so fluently, he felt like his tongue backing out of its root. He wasn't so well versed in the language, was never trained to speak like one. Then his turn came, he was simply asked-why do you want to study on this school? The response came quickly, thinking that time he has nothing else to say- "to learn more." Short as it seems, he saw the teacher wrote down "I" on her notebook. Few weeks later, he was enrolled to the pilot section out of 25+ sections...
The hardships elevated to secondary years too. To study is to labor the pain of not eating. To study meant ten pesos a day. The hopes sometimes falter but never gone. To make his way through the secondary school, he went home usually past seven in the evening for he has to clean the comfort rooms first. Disgusting as it was, that has been the boy's life for a few months....
His brothers did the most unthinkable too. They worked picking up garbage in a polluted river. Everyday was a challenge. The whole family had been used to coffee matched with one pack of bread known as 'pianuno' or 'ube'...
Happinness came out of the small things. Then was the time when they drink water from the water jug, stains filtered only by a shirt or towel placed atop the jug...
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