To be honest, I was expecting breathing space when I left One Serendra. I was recently transferred to another property - Park Terraces. As it it turns out, I had more room to think and be independent in One Serendra.
I haven't been able to write as much as I had been doing in the past year - I'm about to reach my boiling point. Factor in the heat wave we're experiencing in Metro Manila, and it made me just want to drive away from everything and wander off.
Kim and I have both been feeling the stress from the past few weeks of work.
Yesterday, we drove around and did errands. I dropped off a pair of pants I bought from Marks and Spencer and had it repaired at my mother's seamstress. I had them take off a couple of inches - my pants length should just be 32, which Marks and Spencer didn't have at the time. Didn't want to let go of the pair since the fit was immaculate so I bought it.
We then went to Estancia because of Debenham's Blue Cross Sale. Yes, merchandise was at 70% off, and I was able to buy underwear, 10 pairs of socks, jammies, and a John Rocha shirt all for PhP 3,300.00. I'm glad that they still text me information regarding their sales.
I was supposed to meet up with my high school friend who's a painter to pay him for the commission work that I had done. He joined Metrobank's painting competition last year, and he's joining again this year. Last year was at my behest, and he got through the semifinals, which made me so proud of him. I really hope this year he wins! I'm super excited at the painting I had commissioned. I have to find a copy of my poem though, the inspiration for the painting.
Back when I was in first year high school in the Ateneo, I was a writer for Hilites Magazine. I wrote a poem and submitted it to my editors. The poem talked about my experience on a rainy afternoon on the way home from school. I was sitting comfortably at the back of the van, the driver was up front. We were queued up to turn left at Aurora Boulevard, we were in the Katipunan service road.
A street child approached the van, he was drenched. He tapped at my window, his hands held up, asking for change. He was rather small - just a toddler, almost a boy, his arms barely made it up to the windows of our Nissan Vanette (I suppose it was the Hyundai Grand Starex of its generation, all the rich families had their children driven around in it, that was before the SUVs became all the rage).
It made me question so many things at that time. Having grown up a bit sheltered, I thought my classmates and I were all normal, that everybody was just like us. And here was this little boy, perhaps no older than my baby brother who was in Prep, sleeping next to me in the van, and he was exposed to the cold, to the rain - while we sat in our climate controlled van, not feeling the heat, in fact enjoying the cold crisp and fresh air, oblivious to our surroundings.
I could not imagine my brother being so derelict. When I got home, I wrote.
What I wrote got featured in the magazine. It was placed in the back page of the magazine, with an image of a boy with his hand open, palm up, asking for alms.
Lately, I've been noticing so may street children, every time Kim and I would drive on our way home. It breaks my heart, because I cannot imagine how their parents can bring them into this world without thinking of how they should be cared for - do the math, and you will realize how expensive it is to have kids, which in itself should be a deterrent for many, and yet here we are with impoverished heterosexual couples just churning out babies and leaving them to fend for themselves.
Kim and I decided that we will adopt. I remember a discussion I had with my mother when I was about 11 or 12. She asked me if I wanted kids of my own, and I answered, "I would rather adopt a neglected child than bring one of my own into this world. I feel I could make a bigger difference in this world if I were to change at least just one person's life for the better." (Yes, my response would have won the Miss Universe competition, but I digress)
One of these days, I will go back to the high school, and see if I can go to the library to check if they were able to save a copy of the magazine. I'll copy the poem I wrote, and have a plaque made to go hand in hand with the painting that I had my friend create.
