Prejudice

I have an issue with street children. If I can avoid them, I will. I see in them the sad future of this country : dirty, sick, drugged, disgusting and aimless. I hold the sight of them in contempt, especially when they are in a church. Inside the church last Sunday, upon seeing two boys in soiled clothes, my thoughts were "someone was going to be robbed of his or her wallet," and " why were they here."

I cannot blame myself for those thoughts. I have had experiences with street children, and they are not exactly nice ones. Solvent-sniffers, pickpockets, mendicants are the words I associate with them. I personally find it ironic to be thinking this way since I devote one weeknight every week as a volunteer in a street children center in Alabang. I teach them to read, help them with other academic homework and devote time in their activities. I do this with passion; my co-volunteers' fervor must have rubbed off on me big time. I am enjoying my selfless time with them. This has been a great opportunity to do something good, a far cry from the self-centered life I have been living. To begin with, the kids in the center are different from the ones in the streets. At the center, they take a bath daily, go to school, learn about God and show politeness and industry. They were once street and abandoned children who had been living a life of hope.

Other than being a selfless act for me, why do I do this? I believe in the mission of the center. It aims to transform the lives of these former street children. When I look at the older residents of the center, I find it hard to see a single trace of their former lives. They have transformed into caring and responsible individuals.

But that very image of transformation made me reflect on my prejudices against the street children. If those center kids were able to change, why can't the ones in streets? Further thinking  has made me realize that it is not completely the kids' own doing. Their parents, families and even the government should be blamed, too. The only fault I saw in the kids is that they did not choose to be helped.

I was sinning inside the church that Sunday. It was un-christian and wrong. I was quick to ask forgiveness from the Lord, and towards the end of the mass, I must have said "Forgive me, Lord" countless times, and  noticed that those two impoverished-looking boys went to the priest to kiss his hand.

It was a wrong judgment when I should'nt be passing one.

Badjao kids sing and dance for money in Zamboanga

Bed

My bed, which I purchased when I was 20,  has been a witness to several moments in my adult life: moments of joy, sadness, comfort, rest, ecstacy, warmth, security and love. The moments are mostly good that's why I just love my bed although it's not the most comfortable one in the world. Nevertheless, I know what the value of a good and useful bed is.

Together with my co-volunteers in Don Bosco Alabang, I recently visited a street children center in Bulacan. Hardly any trace of street life can be seen among the kids, mostly boys, of St Martin de Porres Children Center now. They are beautifully housed in Spanish-style houses, fed thrice a day in a Batanes bahay-na-bato-inspired dining area, and educated in a nearby public school. But the center was not like that initially. The boys had to content themselves with sleeping inside non-working buses donated by Baliwag Transit. Sleeping on buses? That's not new to me. However, to sleep in buses for more than five hours every day is a totally different thing. For the kids of St Martin, sleeping in buses was much better than spending their nights on the streets.

Whatever their reason was, whether to dispose off a rotting vehicle or to practice genuine altruism, Baliwag Transit did those boys some good. Equally important to the comfort that any bed does is the care given to the kids in the hours they are awake. I met the likes of Ate Kaye and Sister Nazareth who look after the street children and orphans of Bulacan. I was happy there were people like them, but I was also sad to see many parentless and abandoned children. The presence of the social workers and the religious who devote their lives to the children makes up for whatever love and care the families of these kids fail to give. The heart, no matter small, could never run out of room.

It is through the demonstration of love for these children that my faith in humanity refuses to go away. It is also through this love for children that I have met wonderful people who took that trip with me to Bulacan. We braved a looming supertyphoon that October weekend, yet we  successfully delivered messages of hope and care.

We got back home tired and late at night already, but we felt rewarded. At home, I tucked myself comfortably in bed knowing that the kids we met would be doing the same. The bed buses now are just remnants of their past, and so are the streets. It would be good if it is kept that way.

The actual buses now serving as a 'storagebus' of sorts