As I waited in line to pay for a loaf of bread and four packs of instant noodles, I couldn’t help but think of those who can barely buy a kilo of rice or maybe half a dozen eggs. I looked around and saw grocery carts filled with a week’s sustenance. I looked at people’s eyes and mostly saw privilege, as I was inside an upscale grocery store. Then it hit me.
As soon as the provincial government of Negros Occidental and the local government of Bacolod City pronounced a four-day “timeout weekend,” I started to think of a grocery list enough for the set number of days. I wanted to make sure I had enough to get by. I also wanted to make sure I wouldn’t go beyond “enough.’’ Checking my kitchen counter made me realize I only needed to buy a few more.
A few more is what I need to reach “enough.” I wonder if some people share the same level of need I have. Half of me wonders the other way: What about those who are barely near enough? What about those who have nothing but desperate pleas and woes? What about those who have lost all specks of hope and faith? What about those who have lost the battle fighting the war?
Sometimes my privilege holds me back from moving forward. It bothers me to know how I am doing my best to thrive in these trying times, yet many families out there can hardly make both ends meet. It pains my heart to see jeepney drivers resorting to begging for alms on the streets, as well as small-scale entrepreneurs shutting down their businesses. It troubles me to see college students clinging to a knife’s edge on the internet in exchange for school funds. It hurts my soul to know that the loved ones of some COVID-19 patients are left unaware of their demise for days.
When you have opened your eyes to reality, it seems closing them is a sin. When you have heard the cries of people, covering your ears would seem insensitive. You can’t unsee poverty, suffering, and affliction when you have seen them. On the other hand, you can’t deny the existence of inequity and injustice just because you haven’t experienced them. You can’t deny the existence of harsh realities just because these realities don’t resemble yours.
What provide a ray of light and a beam of hope into my life at the moment are charitable people who have gone past their privileges to reach out and initiate mobility. I see random acts of kindness and generosity from strangers on the internet. I see organizations, modest or established, selflessly empowering the last, the lost, and the least. Above all, I appreciate privileged people who have built accessible bridges instead of towering walls. At least, humanity is not failing. It is still thriving in murky waters.
Sometimes I begin to wonder what the future holds for humanity. There is an end to civilizations. Who would have thought of the Roman empire crumbling to ruins, and all other empires that have faced oblivion? I would never wish for our existence to be wiped out because of an unseen and unforeseen virus. I would never envision a future where a cough or a swab would define a person. I would never hope for medical facilities to shut their doors and declare full capacity — although this is happening right now. I would never want to see frontliners scarred for life.
I know the sun’s fuel is enough to sustain 5 billion years of human existence. This fact alone is a silver lining. The world has weathered cholera, Spanish flu, yellow fever, and other pandemics that had seemed hopeless then. The world is yet to conquer the arduous fight against COVID-19, but I hope I would still be there when the battle is over.
As I waited for my turn to pay at the cashier, I thought of how the weight of injustice and poverty was outweighing the heaviness of the laptop and books inside my backpack. I also knew that my load could never compare to the struggles many other people carry on their shoulders.
As I headed home, I noticed the glow of the golden hour. Is the sun setting down on us? Are we fading into dusk?
* * *
Rebo Jyhad Aguirre, 23, is an English teacher at St. John’s Institute (Hua Ming) in Bacolod City.