The day my parents left me for the second time on the other side of the world, i was crammed into the back of a Jeepny with about twenty people to whom i owe my life. My brothers and sisters in soul. My parents got out at the petrol station, we rolled away back down the Quezon city highway to my small humble home in Payatas. The following was an emotional scribble in my notebook. I thought a lot about leaving it at that, But now i have decided these are the rawest emotions i have felt and they should be shared.
Soul; The immaterial entity that is identified with consciousness, mind and personality.
I was meant to have an older sister. Ella would of been her name, She would of been there to fight my battles, until I grew big enough to wrestle her to the ground and strike fear into the boys she brought home. With time i naturally would of grown protective over her. Worrying when she wouldn't return home, not yet able to understand the tears shed over her early heartbreaks.
My sister, if she had been given the chance, would of been beautiful. A fact Which undoubtedly would of driven me wild. The unbearable thought of her being gawped over, as the the intellectual rebellious heroin my father would of made her. Still With the soft caring and understanding of my mother. I do not regret the way life has been given to me. Although there are times, when i cant help but wonder what life would of been like with Ella around. Always there to warn me of the traps and pitfalls of girls i should of just avoided all along. My parents always eager for me to learn from my own mistakes but always there to pick up the pieces without so much as an 'I told you so.' Which if Ella had grown the way I imagine her too she would of been more than happy to give me that coined phrase.
Ella had always been told to me simply as the name i would of been given if i was a girl, it wasn't until i was 15 and going through similar situations only much too young, That i learnt more of the story. The thought of being the only One had settled in long before then and i knew no different. Although sometimes I could see the glint in my mothers eye, knowing we would never have the same bond they would of had. I often felt guilty growing up in my "awkward" years. I could never speak to my mother about the things that sunk me to my lowest. She gave me no reason to ever feel this way beyond my own subconscious presumptions and reservations of guilt. Always so caring and warm, she would start to cry if i got even so much as a well in my eye. When I was smaller she would kiss my tear stained cheeks and spit out exclaiming "they have gotten so salty!" This would receive a giggle of approval from me and with it the problem would float away. I often feel selfish to Have been the only one of that felt that love and share those tenderest of moments. I'm sure now If my mother had her eldest daughter, they would cry and wail, cleansing their souls until they sparkled again. Something I could never do, I saw too much hurt behind her tears.
My Father was always hard on me, though he had a soft touch, he would never lay a finger on me. I, like most other boys though sadly not all, viewed my father as a kind of hero, as if he knew no wrong words to say and he could never be broken. Never showing fear or distress, it wasn't until he had to say goodbye to me for a year and he was to leave his son on the other side of the world that i saw him cry. A dawning realization and relief that he was still human, not only that but that he was proud. He had always wanted the best for me. I knew that. Although somewhere along the line hormones made it difficult to believe at times i still always knew it to be the truth. He put ideas into my head, that he wanted me to make my own. To create my own opinions and believe in them wholeheartedly. Whenever I was lost I would find my way to the 7th step of our staircase, where he would be waiting for me through the banisters in his big leather chair. we would talk for hours about everything. It was rare for me to admit that i had allowed myself to get lost. But, on these rare occasions when i was totally out of my depth, he would always know everything i needed. I would always think then why it had taken me so long. With Ella i know he would of done the same, only with a slight air of protectiveness but always wanting her to learn her own lessons. To be free and wild but always at home in heart, ready to come back and spill all. In return be rewarded with those those perfectly worded home truths of our Pops. That is of course if i wasn't already filling our space on the stair.
They both would of taught her how to care, the way they did me. To never want to hurt and always understand. To give hope and make a difference no matter how big or how small we would of been looked over with pride from the two people i owe all things. I know now they are proud because i took all the training we both would of got and used every part of it. Gave away myself for a year of selflessness on the other side of the world for something I really cared about. Spending my time with people Who need it and most importantly cherish it. Now half way through they come to visit. They meet the people who have taken me as their family. My brothers and sisters with whom i share that same willing to care and understand for people even when they themselves have so little. Now my parents look to them as their children. I don't feel jealous, it fills me with a warmth. The guilt has slipped away, because i know now That Ellas soul lives on within all of them. I have the kin i had long lived without, and my parents all their children.If only in soul but then no other way would be so perfectly complete.
Sunday 28 March 2010
Saturday 20 March 2010
They come from places you dont wanna go
An hour back in the most dangerous resort in manila (it certainly Is no Butlins but at least the entertainment and the company is better) he decided it was time for a haircut. He and his big brother not by blood but certainly by soul, walked the broken streets up to the market were you could get a neat haircut, close shave finished with a hard massage all for pennies. Standing outside the barbers, his shorts showing off the ink set into his leg that he was so proud of. It attracted the attention of some young boys, their shirts three sizes to big and the walk that had an air of arrogance that said, they could not be touched. "Hey Joe what you doing?" one said in his best faux American accent. He replied in his best attempt at native tongue much to their shock and amusement. Watching the eyes pry over his left leg, he asked them if they liked his tattoo? Apparently they did, as within seconds they were pulling up shirts and closing fists to reveal theirs. The 6ft 3 English boy stood with a smile at these young boys they, so eager to please and seem like real men. They asked him why he was here, he got into the usual stories of working with the youth there and living in empire. "Empire?" they said with caution. "Our rivals are from empire. Are you in a gang Joe?" I said I wasn't but I knew plenty of people who were. Not to feel outdone they went on to tell me about their gang, they had joined last year when they were 14 and one was 15. As if we had known each other all our lives they spoke about how hard it was, they had no real families of there own, so looked to it as brother hood "where we come from if you aint in a gang your dead" the large boy said who seemed the eldest and wisest knowing that the gangs were not something to show off about but a way of life, The younger still caught up in the O.G lifestyle feeling like tupac. The statement from the younger proved this perfectly "and it keeps our pockets fat." But these boys would never have t shirts made of their faces. They would live short lives, either finished by drugs or the violence that had brushed up against them, leaving scars that of which they were also eager to show him. what they would have was a lot of people they looked too as older brothers who would use them to do the dirty work. The law changed last year; that a young man cannot be charged for murder until he is over 16. The consequence; bloody thirsty thirteen year old's who think the money will solve everything. As well as a lot of older brothers, who would be more than happy to make them believe so. He left a head full of concerns of what the nightfall had in store for the lost boys, and if he might ever see them again.
Some nights later, he sat in the dark corner of a night swimming session, just outside of the city. With his family of youth whom held the most shining souls amidst the tarnish and rubble of urban decay at its worst. It can become easy to be desensitized by Payatas. Surronded by youth who had so much hope, committed to making a better life not only for themselves, but for their whole community. It becomes easy to forget there is still so much suffering and so much violence. All with no justice, the police too scared to go there and a council security who would be found at a bar, taking big lugs of whiskey in the times they were needed most.
The sounds of splashing, cheers and excited laughter floated through each of the dark huts until it reached his. Across from him sat one of his closest brothers, a brother it had been so long since he had seen. Everyday when his brother had not appeared he had thought the worst, but now here he was. They sat both clutching the necks of a strong Filipino beer, smoke creating a dull haze between them. The young man stared through a fence where the perimeter stopped leaning his head on the mesh looking down towards a distant camp fire next to the river. "You know what that is?" the brother asked him signaling towards the flames that had his eyes fixed. "Its a fraternity haze. When gangs introduce new members they take them to somewhere like that and well..." he stopped. Fearing he was just struggling with his English the boy encouraged him that it was okay to talk Tagalog he would be able to work it out. The brother smiled politely and shook his head "no its not that... you don't want to know, what they do." He poured beer straight in his mouth taking large gulps, followed by a long drag. As he spoke the smoke billowed out with each word, almost distracting from what he said "before you know i was in a gang." The boy nodded, he had not known but somewhat suspected. "Before i did a lot of stupid things." The English eyes looked to him reassuringly his pale face gleaming in the dull light "but that was just the past right?" the boy said trying to conjure a convincing smile. There was no reply, Brother leaned over and picked up the Marlboro box, sitting dead on the table in front of them. Pulling out the silver paper, he made a few very concise folds and rips. The pale face sat watching in bewilderment taking long hits from the neck of his bottle. Waiting for some kind of explanation eventually it came.
"You know what this is?"
"it looks like a pipe" he replied trying not to seem completely ignorant. "Yeah 'brud a temporary pipe...this is our secret okay? Everyone knows I still smoke this but I don't sell, I don't push. Just one in the morning and one at night." He was justifying himself, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a baggy practically filled with bud. Curiosity got the better of the young man and he asked "how much did you have to pay for a bag like that." "15 pesos" was the reply he smiled knowing it was not what was expected. They laughed "Back home thats like 30 pence. In London a bag like that would cost you like 25 pou- 3000 pesos...that's crazy man." "The pushers here they are desperate. They know they cant charge high prices no one would buy. They need that money. they need it usually to feed their kids. There are expensive drugs. Bad drugs I used to use them but that was before...you know..?" he stopped failing to think of the word. The boy went through a list of bad drugs until he was stopped by "yes! thats it!... Heroin I was an addict before Josh. Im telling you this, because I trust you and I know you care about me and about my family. You know my family? my daughter? When she was born I wasn't around. I was in rehab. I wanted to sort myself out for her. The first time i saw her she cried. She wouldn't come near me, wouldn't believe i was her father. The drugs weren't nice but they were an escape, I have done five robberies and three hold ups before in my life. I remember one time, when i was younger, I had no house I was high on drugs. I went out and slept under a bench. I had no where else to stay. I stayed there from 7pm to 7 am. When i went into rehab my father was dying, he died 2 months into my rehab." The boy, had never felt more like a boy in his life. So small and ignorant, never to of felt the same hurt this man had growing up. "I'm sorr-rry" he said almost silently. "No its okay like you said it is the past. Now I have two beautiful daughters and a wife who loves me. I still have friends who do things like that. Are in gangs. They say to me here take this money, but i wont because i know where it has come from and I don't want a part of that anymore. My brother's are in prison now... but just because they are stupid. Some of my friends are dead. I remember a few years ago, one of my friends was doing lots of robberies. People didn't like that. So they wanted to kill him, they came down to my house and they said 'where is he?, where is he?' I said I didn't know. I stayed in my house that night and about midnight I woke up to gunshots. In the morning I found my friend dead...head shot." The boy sat, as his brother, his protector. The man who always seemed so happy and constantly had him laughing. Raced through the facts of his life a mile a minute. All with a slight wry smile, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "You know the shooting on Christmas eve? And on new years eve?" He said he did and that he remembered how horrible it was thinking about a family without their son at Christmas. So close to somewhere he had been only a few hours before, still only a 15 minute walk from where he was then, laughing and having fun. "My friends they were there. Some died. Some did the killing that is there life. They don't get holidays." Taking the last few hit's from his temporary pipe. He pushed it through the mesh, wincing and coughing."Let's go back and have some fun" he said with a smile that said so much; That i know i can trust you, that I know you understand and that I know you want to help. The response didn't come, it went unsaid they both knew. So with that they finished up the beer, composed themselves.His brother, his Kuya leading back to the source of the laughter and happiness. Leaving the sadness of an unforgettable past, in the dark corner of a swimming resort. The boy who had now been there for 7 months was starting to feel as if he was one of them. He had certainly made to feel so. He knew that there were somethings he could never understand or change, but he would always do his best to make the futures better, no matter what it took.
Some nights later, he sat in the dark corner of a night swimming session, just outside of the city. With his family of youth whom held the most shining souls amidst the tarnish and rubble of urban decay at its worst. It can become easy to be desensitized by Payatas. Surronded by youth who had so much hope, committed to making a better life not only for themselves, but for their whole community. It becomes easy to forget there is still so much suffering and so much violence. All with no justice, the police too scared to go there and a council security who would be found at a bar, taking big lugs of whiskey in the times they were needed most.
The sounds of splashing, cheers and excited laughter floated through each of the dark huts until it reached his. Across from him sat one of his closest brothers, a brother it had been so long since he had seen. Everyday when his brother had not appeared he had thought the worst, but now here he was. They sat both clutching the necks of a strong Filipino beer, smoke creating a dull haze between them. The young man stared through a fence where the perimeter stopped leaning his head on the mesh looking down towards a distant camp fire next to the river. "You know what that is?" the brother asked him signaling towards the flames that had his eyes fixed. "Its a fraternity haze. When gangs introduce new members they take them to somewhere like that and well..." he stopped. Fearing he was just struggling with his English the boy encouraged him that it was okay to talk Tagalog he would be able to work it out. The brother smiled politely and shook his head "no its not that... you don't want to know, what they do." He poured beer straight in his mouth taking large gulps, followed by a long drag. As he spoke the smoke billowed out with each word, almost distracting from what he said "before you know i was in a gang." The boy nodded, he had not known but somewhat suspected. "Before i did a lot of stupid things." The English eyes looked to him reassuringly his pale face gleaming in the dull light "but that was just the past right?" the boy said trying to conjure a convincing smile. There was no reply, Brother leaned over and picked up the Marlboro box, sitting dead on the table in front of them. Pulling out the silver paper, he made a few very concise folds and rips. The pale face sat watching in bewilderment taking long hits from the neck of his bottle. Waiting for some kind of explanation eventually it came.
"You know what this is?"
"it looks like a pipe" he replied trying not to seem completely ignorant. "Yeah 'brud a temporary pipe...this is our secret okay? Everyone knows I still smoke this but I don't sell, I don't push. Just one in the morning and one at night." He was justifying himself, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a baggy practically filled with bud. Curiosity got the better of the young man and he asked "how much did you have to pay for a bag like that." "15 pesos" was the reply he smiled knowing it was not what was expected. They laughed "Back home thats like 30 pence. In London a bag like that would cost you like 25 pou- 3000 pesos...that's crazy man." "The pushers here they are desperate. They know they cant charge high prices no one would buy. They need that money. they need it usually to feed their kids. There are expensive drugs. Bad drugs I used to use them but that was before...you know..?" he stopped failing to think of the word. The boy went through a list of bad drugs until he was stopped by "yes! thats it!... Heroin I was an addict before Josh. Im telling you this, because I trust you and I know you care about me and about my family. You know my family? my daughter? When she was born I wasn't around. I was in rehab. I wanted to sort myself out for her. The first time i saw her she cried. She wouldn't come near me, wouldn't believe i was her father. The drugs weren't nice but they were an escape, I have done five robberies and three hold ups before in my life. I remember one time, when i was younger, I had no house I was high on drugs. I went out and slept under a bench. I had no where else to stay. I stayed there from 7pm to 7 am. When i went into rehab my father was dying, he died 2 months into my rehab." The boy, had never felt more like a boy in his life. So small and ignorant, never to of felt the same hurt this man had growing up. "I'm sorr-rry" he said almost silently. "No its okay like you said it is the past. Now I have two beautiful daughters and a wife who loves me. I still have friends who do things like that. Are in gangs. They say to me here take this money, but i wont because i know where it has come from and I don't want a part of that anymore. My brother's are in prison now... but just because they are stupid. Some of my friends are dead. I remember a few years ago, one of my friends was doing lots of robberies. People didn't like that. So they wanted to kill him, they came down to my house and they said 'where is he?, where is he?' I said I didn't know. I stayed in my house that night and about midnight I woke up to gunshots. In the morning I found my friend dead...head shot." The boy sat, as his brother, his protector. The man who always seemed so happy and constantly had him laughing. Raced through the facts of his life a mile a minute. All with a slight wry smile, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "You know the shooting on Christmas eve? And on new years eve?" He said he did and that he remembered how horrible it was thinking about a family without their son at Christmas. So close to somewhere he had been only a few hours before, still only a 15 minute walk from where he was then, laughing and having fun. "My friends they were there. Some died. Some did the killing that is there life. They don't get holidays." Taking the last few hit's from his temporary pipe. He pushed it through the mesh, wincing and coughing."Let's go back and have some fun" he said with a smile that said so much; That i know i can trust you, that I know you understand and that I know you want to help. The response didn't come, it went unsaid they both knew. So with that they finished up the beer, composed themselves.His brother, his Kuya leading back to the source of the laughter and happiness. Leaving the sadness of an unforgettable past, in the dark corner of a swimming resort. The boy who had now been there for 7 months was starting to feel as if he was one of them. He had certainly made to feel so. He knew that there were somethings he could never understand or change, but he would always do his best to make the futures better, no matter what it took.
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