A moment in November 1999
I wearily returned to Manila from Bicol province, enduring a grueling 9-hour bus journey that left exhaustion etched deep into my bones. As the stormy night unfolded, I dove into the demands of work, the chaos around me reflecting the inner turmoil I felt as I applied makeup and changed into my skimpy outfit.
Another eight hours dragged on as I fought to stay awake, listening to the off-key singing of drunken karaoke patrons in a dimly lit bar adorned with string lights, its air thick with the smell of cigarettes, beer, sweat, and cheap cologne.
Exhaustion weighed heavily on me as I skillfully fended off the hands reaching to touch me. The smile plastered on my face was a facade, revealing how easy it is to fake emotions when you feel nothing. I was neither happy nor sad, just numb, like a blank canvas waiting for a purpose, a reason, or an explanation.
Come morning, the storm, as if exhausted by its own rage, began to wane. I found myself wondering if storms have a place to rest when they’re weary, for I had none. Driven by desperation, I made a humble plea to a co-worker. She took me with her. Her neighborhood was not one of comfort; it was a waterlogged tableau near Araneta Village, a squatters’ haven by the river.
In that inundated expanse, a malodorous symphony of sewage tainted the air, and the landscape morphed into a desolate sea of discarded dreams. The so-called houses, more semblances of shelter than abodes, were patched together from discarded relics of urban decay. Yet, amidst the squalor, a paradox of wonder unfolded.
As my senses were assaulted by the stench, my heart remained resilient, a stoic witness to prolonged impoverishment. The once-sensitive nose became immune, but my mind is still sharp. Amidst the squalid reality, I stood awestruck by the inadvertent engineering marvels and the ingenuity of the destitute.
These ramshackle structures, cobbled together from society’s leftovers, stood as defiant monuments to resilience. In the aftermath of a storm that sought to sweep away the remnants of their existence, these humble dwellings persisted, a testament to the unwavering spirit that defied the odds.
As I stood before these humble dwellings, it felt as though they were looking back at me and without saying a word, countless stories were told. A profound connection stirred within me, as if I were a student standing before an old, wise master, humbled by the resilience etched into every crevice of these simple homes. In that moment, I was overwhelmed with admiration for the indomitable spirit residing within these structures.
Tears glistened in my eyes, not from sadness but from a profound gratitude that surged within my heart. Even amid such hardship, Beauty had revealed herself and smiled upon me.
Unaware of the moment I was experiencing and perhaps thinking I was upset, my co-worker gently patted my shoulder and said, “Ayos lang yan” (Everything is going to be okay). I smiled and nodded in agreement. Two months before the turn of the millennium, who knows what lies ahead? And yet I knew, I felt it, everything will be okay.
