“The earth is falling down because the Lord is angry,”
announces the padre. “The Lord is punishing all of us for
our mortal sins. Let us pray for forgiveness and give offerings
in praise and thanksgiving.” The congregation line up with
their offerings of fruit, flowers and money and place them before
the altar. Solemnly, they go back to their pews to pray.
The offerings didn’t help any. Mount Pinatubo erupted later
that afternoon sending a rocket of volcanic ash kilometers up
into the earth’s atmosphere. The ashes from the blast blocked
out all rays of sunlight and blanketed the entire area. Disoriented
and terrified from the giant explosion, I wondered if the world
had come to an end.
Mother quickly gathered my shaken brother and I together, while
Father loaded up the cart with a few of our possessions. He managed
to get some clothes, beddings, plates, a rice pot and our small
radio, before hitching up the carabao. Slowly, we moved out onto
the narrow dirt road heavily covered with ash.
From a safe distance, we watched helplessly as the lava flowed
from the mouth of the volcano engulfing everything in its path.
The hot, molten rock consumed our rice fields and our little shack
ignited into flames. The lava destroyed the twenty sacks of newly
harvested rice. Six month’s work gone. I looked on in disbelief
as Mother and Father cried over the destruction of our livelihood.
I knew that we were not going back there ever again.
Cramped together at the government evacuation site things were
a bit better. Father managed to sell the carabao and his watch
so that we could afford bus tickets to Manila. It was a difficult
decision for him, but Brother and I looked on the brighter side
of things and talked about our new life in Manila.
"Do
you think Aunt Virgie lives in a big house," asks Brother.
"Sure she does. Everybody in Manila lives in big houses,"
I say to him.
"Do you think she has a color television and a karaoke?"
"Of course she does."
"I
know what I'm going to do when we get to Manila," Brother
says excitedly. "I'm going to go to the big air-conditioned
mall and buy tee-shirts and shoes, and eat lots of candy and watch
movies."
"Is
that all you can think of? Yourself?" I say to him.
"Well, what are you going to do?"
"I
have big plans. When we get to Manila, I'm going to finish my
schooling, find a job and make lots of money. I'm going to take
care of Mother and Father so they don't have to work so hard anymore.
Maybe with some of the money I'll earn there, I can buy a new
watch for Father. All important people have one," I say proudly.
The
next morning, Brother and I are the first ones to board the bus.
We’ve never been on one before and a rush of nervous excitement
run through my veins. I hurry to get a window seat. I don't want
to miss any of the interesting sights along the way. The bus pulls
out of the depot, leaving behind the waste and destruction of
Pinatubo. We head towards our new life in the city.
The drive from Pampanga to Manila is long and hot. Ash is everywhere
and everything looks drab and gray. Everything will be better
in Manila. I think hopefully to myself. As we drive, the roads
become wider and the traffic and pollution thickens. I lean across
and ask Mother if this is Manila? She nods her head. Shocked by
the scene I slump in my seat. It looks nothing like what I imagined.
"Why
has the bus stopped?" I say perking up again. I rise up from
my seat to get a better look. " We're stuck in traffic."
I say leaning out of the window.
"Uggh!
What is that awful smell?" Brother says in disgust.
"I think it's coming from the river," I say.
The
incessant honking of horns and the vendors hawking their wares
make me jittery and nervous. As I look out of the window, my eyes
have opened to the poverty and despair of the city. There are
lots of little rickety, cardboard clad houses cluttered up against
one another. Clothes hang limply out of windows. Every shack has
a television antenna fixed on top of it, and rotting garbage is
strewn all along the riverbanks. I see naked children with bloated
bellies playing in the filthy water with debris and dead animals
floating in it. Despite all of the misery, I am amazed to see
many lily pads with pure white flowers floating on the river.
How do they survive in that? I ask myself, as my dreams dissolve
into disillusion and dismay.
Brother hasn't said a word since we crossed the bridge. I try
to cheer him up by telling him things will get better once we
arrive at Aunt Virgie's house in Payatas.
We arrive at the station and then we take a jeepney going there.
It is even worse than what Brother and I witnessed at the Pasig
River.
"Aunt
Virgie lives here?" I ask incredulously.
Payatas
is a huge garbage dump and all the people there live from the
garbage they can find.
It is difficult to breathe up here. I can taste the burning plastic
and rotting garbage on my tongue. Standing numbed, Brother and
I watch the dump trucks coming and going continuously. They empty
their large loads onto the smoldering mounts of burning plastics
and other toxic waste. Even before the garbage hits the ground,
masked adults and naked children begin to trawl through it.
"What
are they looking for? Brother asks. Has somebody lost something?
"No." I say. They are probably collecting metals and
stuff to sell."
Like worms, many of the small children wheedle their way through
the mass of masked scavengers and burrow themselves in the newly
dumped garbage. They scavenge for food. I watch fascinated as
they sift their way through the vile waste and with blackened
hands bring the rotting discards to their mouths. One small child
has found a half-eaten apple. He picks it up and another child,
much bigger than he, tries to take it away from him. They fight
like hungry dogs. The bigger child wins the apple and he tosses
it into his sack that is swung over his back. He continues looking
for more scraps as the smaller child is left alone crying. My
mind spins at this human degradation and decay. I cannot tolerate
the overpowering stench of the rotting garbage and burning plastics.
I heave and throw up.
Aunt Virgie doesn't live here anymore. We found out that she and
her family died along with hundreds of others last year when a
huge section of the dump collapsed on their homes. They must have
sinned too. I think to myself. Sick and disillusioned, I make
my way down the smoldering dump back to the congested streets.
"What
are we going to do now? asks Brother. Where are we going to live?"
Father tells us that he learned at the evacuation site in Pampanga
that people without homes could go to the Manila Bay sea wall.
We take another jeepney and head out from Roxas Boulevard. People
are everywhere, living in makeshift shelters like the ones I'd
seen earlier along the Pasig River. It's OK here though. At least,
the air is fresher.
Night falls and the city turns very beautiful with the many lights.
My family and I make our way down to the wall. Mother unpacks
our pot, makes a fire and cooks some rice and dried fish. We eat
in silence. After eating, Mother washes up. Brother and I roll
out our mats and stretch out. We gaze up at the stars.
“Is
God angry with us?” he asks.
I don’t answer him and roll over on my side. I say a silent
prayer to God before sleeping, asking him to forgive us for any
mistakes that we ever made.
Over the next few months, things don’t get any better for
my family and I. Life is very hard. We all live cramped inside
a small shack without sanitation, just like the ones at the Pasig
River and Payatas. Father built it out of bits of corrugated iron,
cardboard and pieces of wood that he scavenged at a nearby construction
site. Each year, there is another mouth to feed and Father rarely
has any work. Sometimes if he is lucky, he can pick up fish in
Navotas and bring to the market in Pasay. After some time, he
gives up looking for work and the little money he earns, he spends
on drinking and gambling. Everyday he gets drunk and when he comes
home, he beats Mother, my siblings and I. I’ll never forgive
him for the time he tied me to a tree and whipped me. I did nothing
wrong. I did nothing wrong. I was so hurt that I felt my soul
leave. After that, I had to run. I couldn't take anymore of the
beatings and the shouting. I had to get away from him.
The streets are my home now. I beg, scavenge and sniff glue to
survive. I miss Mother, Brother and my siblings. When I'm high
on glue everything is good. I am happy. I feel I am in control
of my life. My problems and loneliness are forgotten. My life
is like it was before the eruption.
Dear
Lord, please forgive us for we have sinned
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