I remember Rachel, my 22-year-old friend in high school. She was shy but hardworking when it came to doing our homework back then. “I gave way for my older brother to finish his studies and become an architect,” she said. Well, my friend Mark just turned 24 and became an architect—a professional one, too.
Rachel wore loose maong pants and our PE T-shirt, and carried a heavy bag filled with books and God knew what. She was a good friend. My other friends were so excited to experience life after high school. We always went out for food and drink, and Rachel always declined politely.
I knew that for four years she did a lot outside school. Stints at a fast-food chain, constantly telling their landlord that rent could not be paid at the moment, and caring for her sick mother were some of her stories. Those were stories that gave me a glimpse of her life and what she did for a living. She told us that graduating and eventually getting a job were what she wanted for her family, and it didn’t matter if her graduation came a little later than expected. She was the oldest student on campus and we were proud that she was part of our batch.
When graduation came, Rachel wore the brightest smile. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time!” she exclaimed.
* * *
I remember the second Smokey Mountain—a catchy name for a pile of garbage so high a country full of civilized rats could be living underneath it. It’s a “mountain” where makeshift houses, stores and schools collide with the scenic atmosphere of rotten leftovers, decaying animals, spoiled food and such.
I set foot there once for a feeding program. As a volunteer, I was upset and in shame over what I saw. We were working in such a horrible place that no one, except the people living there, dared plan to return. Just the thought of how much garbage there was still overwhelms me. That memory of Payatas in Quezon City is still vivid, pungent, in my mind.
When our feeding program ended, I strolled around to take pictures for our project. I came across two kids, a boy and a girl, wearing tattered school uniforms. “I’m hungry,” the girl, Elena, said. “I don’t have any food here,” the boy, Kurt, replied. Upon hearing their conversation, I told them to go to our tent and ask for lugaw. They happily ran off, leaving me with a smile on my face and looking at the school where 40 or more students were listening to a volunteer teacher. I wondered how they were coping with this environment day after day, and, more importantly, I wondered about their safety. (A landslide occurred here some years back, by the way.)
This may be the average story of every “normal” family living in Payatas: A child wakes up to the noise of dump trucks. The trucks are not there to collect trash from their home but, ironically, to dump trash in their home. The child asks his mother what’s for breakfast and gets the same answer every day: “Nothing.” The father has to work as a scavenger; he scours, or should I say he braves, the garbage to find scrap materials. He brings the stuff he gathers to a nearby junk shop, and is rewarded with a few pesos.
And as all of this is happening, elsewhere another child is crying because her mother won’t buy her the newest phone or the latest Taylor Swift album. Her sister is angry because classes have been scheduled on Saturdays. All she wants to do is hang out and spend her money on trivia. On the other hand, her brother is complaining of hunger: There’s plenty of food on the table but not one dish he likes.
If only the rich kids know that what they don’t want is what other kids crave.
* * *
No, the children living in the slums can’t complain about mobile phones, food fads, or music albums. There is no one to text or take a call from, only their father telling them that their “dinner” of salt and rice is ready. There is no album to listen to, only the volunteer teacher who tells them to memorize the ABC. And if there’s food on their table, they will gladly give some to others, not throw a tantrum when they can’t have what they want.
They can’t complain. There is just no food on the table. In fact, there is no table! The poor ones crave what we take for granted—complete meals every day, better shelter, decent clothes, a normal life, and more importantly, better education.
But life goes on. We have to drift past these things. We understand that it happens to some of us.
I once recorded my late mentor’s speech at a ceremony: “That is the problem with our school. Business is still business. If you can’t pay, you can’t learn. That’s the policy. That is the problem with the society. Academic achievement doesn’t guarantee a job. Graduating and having a diploma can’t magically give you money. You should work for it, earn it. We should not be content with what we have. Human nature wasn’t born that way. We should grab every opportunity, good or bad, for the love of learning and do something new. Something new that can change us for the better. Something that each family needs. Something that each individual in this room needs. Change for better tomorrows. Take the leap of faith. Grab that chance of a lifetime and by grabbing it, you, my friend, will experience change.”
Well, he later “grabbed” the roasted pig dripping with fat and died the same night of a heart attack. Talk about irony.
I am thinking of Rachel—where she is now, what course she is taking, what future awaits her. I am thinking of Kurt and Elena—if they have had lunch, what they are learning in school, if they’re safe in their home. I am thinking of the rich kids crying because they want candy for dinner, the poor ones giving thanks for a rare meal enjoyed by the whole family. I am thinking of my late mentor and his speech.
Education is a powerful word with a deep meaning that needs deeper understanding. If education had been given to Rachel early in her life, she would have been successful by now. If education had been given to Kurt and Elena and to other poor children in general, they may find the means to move to another place, start a new life, and hope for better days. If given to the rich kids, they would be gobbling what’s on their table and being grateful for it. If given to the right people, it can change us for the better. It can be the change that each family needs. It can change each person reading this piece. It can bring change for better tomorrows.
I just have to grab that chance and I will experience change. I just have to take the leap of faith.
Education is priceless. But upon reminiscing, one finds that it is deceptive as well.
Christian Viñas, 16, is studying computer science at National University.