Yesterday, I attended mass at Guanella Center, a school and a shelter for indigent people with disabilities.  The gym where it was held was packed; families occupied the off-white plastic chairs lined up facing the altar.  It was much like any other mass, except a blind girl did the second reading, and, right in front of the altar, there were men, women, girls, and boys in wheelchairs and some seemingly in their own worlds.  What caught my attention and triggered a reaction was this man wearing an orange shirt, in a wheelchair, with a semi-permanent pained expression on his face.  During the entire mass, every time there was a song playing, he sang with all his might, his head tilting backwards, almost like he was struggling with all his might to let his voice out in song.  And there I was, standing silently, choosing which songs I would sing.  Papuri sa Diyos played and his head was rocking back and forth, his face an undecipherable picture of pain and immense joy, and all his energy going into giving thanks and praise.  And there I was, standing silently, holding back emotion, a little bit stunned.

There is so much to be thankful for.  There is so much we take for granted.

In this world, anyone can truly be happy.  One just has to choose it, cherish it, and be thankful for it.

Different worlds exist here in this country.  Worlds that speak different languages, worlds that are worlds away from each other.  People wake up to divergent realities everyday.  Antithetic, in most cases.  Five hundred pesos could mean a scrumptious snack for someone in one of the brighter, lighter worlds; to another, it could mean being able to enroll in a class or dropping out of school; and to another - one in a world that seems to be in constant freefall - five hundred pesos could mean a child’s existence or demise.  And this is the reality we all face here: many things that mean life or death to people of one world are things that do not mean anything to people of another.

Our worlds seemingly never clash.  There is often a bullet-proof glass between their eyes and yours.  A bubble surrounds each one of us.  We can breathe the same air and occupy spaces right next to each other, but we remain inhabitants of contrasting worlds, and we remain busy with our own lives.  Apathetic, blissful in ignorance - if you happen to belong to one of the better worlds, or suffering and struggling to survive - if your fate is much worse.

The world of the disenfranchised right next to the world of the powerful.  The voiceless cluelessly hearing the clamor of the influential.  The rich in their cars passing by the poor in their slums.  The educated climbing the ladder of success, and that one who is still scavenging for five hundred pesos to enroll in a class.  The greedy and the desperate.

Perhaps different worlds do need to exist, perhaps it is just the way societies are built.  But these worlds need not consist of people lavishly thriving in excess and, at the other end of the spectrum, people in dire lack of the necessities to live.

I’m home and am meeting different people and having conversations filled with new information, different information.  The world that is opening up to me now is so much different from the world I grew up in many years ago.  I am aware that conversations I have with certain people are conversations I can never have with others.  (Or perhaps I have yet to try and push.)  My eyes have been opened wildly the past weeks I’ve been here, and I know ‘tis only the beginning.

There is so much I want to learn, experience, and understand.

A typical Saturday morning in a popular restaurant chain in Makati: to my front, left, and right, a group of friends - one group seems to be having their regular breakfast meet up, while the other two seem to be coming from a sleepless night of partying. Diagonally to my left, a pair of Caucasian females, talking over coffee and pancakes. At nine on a weekend morning, the place is curiously alive with stories and sleepy remembrances of a fun night. I sip my milkshake - the perfect breakfast for a morning to be spent alone. This is the first time I’ve done this here - go out by myself to find my own spot - and I must say that I am liking it so far.

Earlier on the train, a family of four was struggling to stay on their feet while the train was moving. I gave up my seat to the mother and her infant, and the father stood right in front of them, groping for something to hold on to as the train busied itself with its stops, and a young girl about the age of seven or eight had her arms wrapped around her dad’s waist, looking like she’s holding on for dear life. They were clearly not regular train riders, and they were doing their very best not to stumble and fall on the other passengers. Another stop, and the infant’s milk bottle falls to the train floor, and the family laughs. Their family is together, on an ordinary Saturday morning, and they couldn’t ask for anything more. I smile with them, as the father picks up the bottle and the mother looks up at me with a simple joy in her eyes.

And then suddenly, back to breakfast, from my diagonal left, a little head emerges, stares at me, and as soon as I meet his gaze, he pops his head back in to hiding. I indulge the little blond boy in his game of peekaboo. He must be bored out of his mind, as his mother’s friend laughs quite hysterically across him. The exchange of innocent heartfelt smiles with the little boy makes my breakfast a lot more satisfying.

I sometimes wonder if dealing with everyday inconveniences and annoyances like the overcrowded train rides and filthy flooded streets is easier for me because I am dealing with them as a result of my own choice.  My choice to come back home, my choice to leave a life of comfort and conveniences, my choice to deal.  It isn’t far-fetched to assume that having to experience these inconveniences everyday - for every single day of your life so far - would - and could - only lead you to want to be away from it all.  If you do not know a life aside from this difficult life, why wouldn’t you want something else?

On lighter things, work is great.  Everyday, more and more, as I get the hang of things, I look forward to being in the office and being around my officemates.  I am finding the joy of productivity and camaraderie once again.

My Red Boots, Manila

I left the house wearing my trusty but not so baha-friendly sandals.  Thankfully, my orange bus did not break down and survived the waist-high flood along España.  Yes, waist-high.  I told the passenger beside me, “Kailangan na ng bangka dito.” [“We need boats!”]  I remembered my eldest brother’s life-changing story of walking from Taft to Muntinlupa in the same conditions.

I got to Manila and managed to get on a sidewalk without having to wade through murky water or cross a narrow plank.  C and I had dinner, walked around, and, thinking about the flood awaiting me on my commute home, he bought me these red boots.  These lovely, amazing, wonderful red boots.

I actually had fun walking around and through the Manila baha.  I wondered why people who have probably experienced this baha a hundred times before haven’t invested in a pair of boots.  I think P300 is well worth not risking some serious infection from having your feet swim in that flood water.  And I don’t think it’s because people can’t afford it - I got mine in a department store, I’m sure you can get a pair from Divisoria for P100.  It’s just a couple of cell phone loads worth.  Oh well.

Tonight was tough in terms of commuting.  Can’t say I didn’t learn a thing or two.  Goodnight!

Blue Shirt, Bus from Quiapo to City Hall

Star Wars Kids, Quiapo, Manila

Sign Maker, Quezon City

I am learning, day by day, that there is some structure to this urban chaos.