The nights when the power is out

Walking into the guarded subdivision, that lies as a sanctuary, after months living day by day in danger. I’m often met by a sudden shift to complete darkness. It takes twenty minutes to walk from the road, to the house I am so kindly allowed to take refuge in. I arrived at the guard house when the beacon died and I was met by complete stillness. I cautiously take small steps trying to find my way home. The sky coming to life with thousands of tiny lights that have never shined so bright. I stare up as I walk, trying hard not to loose myself from the set path. Counting stars and loosing count as soon as I have started. Pretending I have a giant pin and striking the sky letting through new tiny lights. A little game to play to pass the time. I pass dark empty windows, that slowly one by one flicker with the orange light of a naked flame. It takes longer to get home, but I dont mind I love to listen to the silence, until it is broken by wildlife or a distant murmer of life on the outside. I feel no fear I know all the things that scare me are outside and still illuminated. Right now im safe within my dark little world. Step by step easing my way home to smiling candle lit faces.

Turning the corner, there stands the house. I enjoy the nights when the power is out. Everyone leaves the house, in hope of the odd cool breeze. They sit on the grass talking and laughing waiting to get back to the lives they were leading. It is as if times stops and we remember all the important things. We have recently gotten into the habit (when our world stops dead.) Of groping in the dark for blankets and escaping to the cool grass of the garden. Laying out the blankets and taking small adventures to get beer. Lying and drinking. Star gazing and laughing. Time stopped but we go on living. Taking the time to remember; all the little things that have been filling our days. Feeling grateful to each other for sharing it together.

Sometimes when the power comes back on we go in and turn it back off. We play pretend not wanting to give up the moment we have made. Forever Longing for the utopia we create when time stops. We lay for hours or until the beer runs out. Laughing and remembering That these are the moments that keep us sane and give us hope when life chooses not to go your way. We live in a world of people who feel so independant. They all move so fast but when the power stops, the worlds batteries run low and the earth lies still. We realize how much we need each other And the moments of nothingness to remind us how much we have.

5 Deaths In 2 Weeks is Bad for my mental health

Its strange. In my life before, especially growing up in England. Death was always a subject avoided. Before I came here I had only ever attended one funeral, and that was of my grandpops. To whom I was incredibly close, I remember crying the whole way through and for months after. Now that I am here, I have been to over 20 funerals. In the last 2 weeks, I have had five people either I knew quite well, or were close to people very close to me, be taken away. Death is natural and is accepted here, there is no great mourning, no wailing or gnashing of teeth. The life of the person is enjoyed and it is a culture I have grown accustemed too. It does put a whole new perspective on the whole process, death may be the end but it is the end of what we all hope to be completely fuffilled lives. Although the last two weeks, it has not been so easy to see things this way. I have grown used to peering into the coffin at the wake, mumbling my apologies to myself and quiet hopes of a fuffilled life. Seeing an old witherd face looking back, a face that looks as if it has lived if not always a perfect and easy life but still a long and prosperous one none the less. Looking around a room full of the people of whom he has given life or have had the chance to be a part of his life. If only it were the same for the last two wakes. I saw no wrinkles no withered signs of full life. Young faces barely older than mine with no signs of endless age old wisdom, but merely the hope that is lost on the life they could of had. Looking around the room. I see not one person brought into the world by the two young men lying at rest. Just alot that shared life with him, like myself. Those who enjoyed all the moments they had, however few they may have been. They were enjoyed.

This is part of the life I chose and i would not give it back for anything. Although sometimes it is hard to get a grip on what life is giving me. I struggle, I never claimed to be a super hero, saving the world. I’m just doing my bit however I can. I am but mere mortal. I cant help but break down and cry, when I think there will be one less person to say hello too. As is life it comes and it goes. The important thing, is is too enjoy the parts in between. Most importantly; Too fill those parts with people for whom you love and love you. It is for that very reason, I have been to so many funerals this year. I have filled my life, with the most incredible people and taken all their problems as my own. Which may at times seem foolish, but in the end its all just too rewarding and perfect for words. When talking to junior about all this, I mumbled “I dont know how to cope. I have never had this many people die on me before.” He simply smiled and said “Thats because your family has never been this big before.” It was true. Though I may have lost more than I would like in the last two weeks. I still have so many left. To pick me up and work through everything together. Exactly as what we are. As a family.

If all it costs me is my mental health.

Then its a price I’m willing to pay.

All the best people were

stark raving mad anyway.

Our escape Pt1

With the thought of death still pounding softly in my head. I spent a lot of Friday sitting reflecting, trying to ignore the warm patches that moistened my cheeks. Everything is made better as the sun slowly sets and evening creeps in. The van arrives and with it brings 12 of the people I hold closest. One of which my ‘Ate,’ my big sister who has just got back from manila bounding in with her usual unbelievable energy and bright smile. They bring in sleeping mats, pillows, a guitar, three large cool boxes full of fish from a day of hard work and a crate of beer. I suddenly know they are all I need to get right in my mind again. They will pick me up and set me back on my way, as we venture off on our get away.

The First few hours are filled with excited hurrying about the house. Some cooking in the kitchen, while others preparing and setting everything to make the weekend perfect. As soon as everything has wound down and everyone is well fed, we retire to the comfort of the porch table and slowly take down lugs of beer laughing. The more beer that’s drunk, the more we laugh and begin to talk of fond memories shared together. I go soft and sentimental realizing how much i am going to miss all of them. They have all been a crucial part of my time here and excepted me as family sharing time with me. This would not be where the memories stop, the weekend would bring some of the best memories and more laughter. Most of all hope right when i thought there was none. As the beer ran dry we parted for the few hours sleep we could manage, before an early start. Setting out on the road was to be our escape. As we walked inside the boys turned to me saying; “We will make this weekend good for you josh, because this is our last chance for a big party. We owe you so much and this is our way to say thank you. We don’t have much but we give all we can.” I was overwhelmed and completely touched. It was sad but true but I felt no sadness only excitement of our greatest adventure. The overwhelming feeling of gratitude towards everything they did for me for those very reasons.

The morning did not bring much but a weary head and a hangover. I scrambled for my bag picking up a pillow piling into the van with everyone else. All as heavy lidded and sleepy headed. I crawled onto the floor of the van and crawled in a ball falling asleep dreading the 6 hour drive but secretly smiling inside knowing what was to come.

RIP

Yesterday brought the safe return of my Kuya, my best friend and brother. Junior and I have been travelling and working together for the last 10 months. The last three weeks were the first time we had been apart through out my time here. It felt strange not having him around to laugh endlessly with watch old kung fu movies with followed by conversations of how he is going to become Bruce lee and frequent talks about our hopeful yet failing love lives. He stayed in manila for the election and reading stories of rioting and death from previous elections i opted a safer option. Though my head still full of worry for his safety which he would wave away with texts saying; “Dont worry I always look after myself Im your big brother that’s my job.” It was true, he had very quickly become protective over me and I appreciated it to no end. Besides who am i to argue with someone who thinks they are going to be like Bruce Lee?

The excitement of being reunited soon passed. He came bearing sad news from home. Our friend had been shot down five minutes from our house, two nights before for pocket change. He lived in one of the narrow streets that ran behind our house. He would often come and sit out on the stoop with us, on the nights he was not working. He was riddled with bullets walking home from work. The saddest thing is he will get no special mention, I doubt if he will make the news. It is also doubtful the men who did this would even be caught. He will just become another statistic of wasted life in the town that no one dares go. Another reason for the rich too look down from their large houses and say “oh isn’t poverty terrible.” Junior graphically explained how Raymar stood up for himself but was ended by a shot to the neck, a shot to the head and a shotgun to the back all for less than bus fare. The police never came, deemed it a lost cause. His younger brother only a year younger than me went out after the men who shot down his brother but it was already too late. I dread to think what would have happened if his brother had found them. His wirey 17 year old frame being far from bullet proof and only in his mind was he invincible, wrought with thoughts of vengeance. I sat shaking, tears streaming down my cheek. Knowing that when I returned to Payatas the place I called home and I went around to see how everyone was. There would be one less person receiving me with a smile and one less person to fill me in with stories of our time apart. One less person to school me in basketball and one less person to welcome me home. As i think on it now i don’t even remember saying goodbye. Missing the chance, not possibly knowing it could be the last. So here it is; Goodbye Raymar our memories shall forever live on.

Sometimes I feel like

Im in over my head.

Perhaps its just time

to tuck into bed,

Longing for a kiss

on the cheek, goodnight.

Thinking perhaps I have

reached my peak, tonight.

There was only ever

so much i could do.

Forever biting off way

more than i could chew.

A penny for my thoughts

sadly wont suffice.

A lack of sleep

becoming, my only Sacrafice.

I put myself in

way over my head.

For a greater cause

to those rarely fed.

Looked down upon

Are those easily forgotten

Left under the bridge

the souls left to go rotten.

Roaring empty tummys

The sound of a statistic.

How can leaving them in pain

not seem so sadistic?

Sleep Shall not come

My demons won’t allow it.

My heart running slow

no love left to power it.

Now stuck on the other

side of the water.

I rarely have the

strength to exit my quarter.

Fearful of the dread

that the night may bring.

Grateful are the dead

who will suffer no king.

By the sea....

After long weeks in manila I get low. When I come back to the province, I feel the luckiest man alive, to have my friends who take me off to their quiet fishing village. The place, where the money is sparse but the smiles are in abundance. They remind me how good life can be and they don’t even realize. Always welcomed with choruses of “Kuya Josh” by children who come and wrap themselves around my legs. Refusing to let go, until I have swung each upside down and left them all a giggling heap on the sandy floor. I am fed and mothered within an inch of my life by all the ladies of the village. They teach me how to cook on small coal burners with children dangling from my neck. We recline in the comfort of the Bamboo hut escaping the heat of the summer. Strumming battered guitars and singing songs until the sun makes nothing but rippling orange light off the water.

When night falls and the tide is slowly easing away from the shore, the boys take me out fishing under the moonlight. We take each fragile step through the mud, the sea brushing my ankles as we fill the night with innocent laughter. The lights of home slowly fade to glowing pinholes. There is nothing but us, the moonlight on the water and all the life under our feet. We walk until we find crabs or water deep enough for fish, the boys laugh as I jump In fear of attack from tiny fish. My inexperience their favorite joke but each in turn patiently show me how its done. After hours of laughter and elbow deep in salty water, I have caught small fish by hand and wrestled with crabs the size of my head. Enough for us to have a large net full of life asking to be eaten. We salivate on the walk back thoughts and coversation filled with cooking the creatures that caused our net to buldge. The lights of home still burned and slowly grew as we got closer.

We sat around the water pump, the laughter never dying as we washed our bounty. Looking upon the smiling faces of the boys who took pride in having me there at the weekend. I felt myself filled with genuine happiness something that i knew would never be the same back home. Thoughts are often plagued by having to come home and all the things i will leave behind. Even Manila beyond the gangs, the rape, the murder, the drugs, the desperation. There is still so much happiness and so much hope. So much good within the people who are constantly told they should be miserable because they are poor and live in danger.

Simple things bring the biggest joys, I may not be changing the world but I AM changing lives and having mine changed a million times over.

These lines from a notebook.

I stare at the clock on my phone as the numbers slowly shift towards midnight, junior still not entering our small house in Payatas. My mind cannot help but be filled with the worst, as it flits towards the stories he had told me of his friend who was shot down on his door step walking home. Through the wooden windows I hear the distant familiar sound of gunshot's the same as it had been every night for the last 3 days. The morning bringing news of death, close to friends home. My mind flits to those friends out of contact without a phone and the warzone ever raging so close to their sanctuary of home. It flits to the boys I met walking to a friend’s house, standing either side of the road throwing up gang signs and letting out their jeers to the white boy brave enough to live day to day in the place forever crying for help in its narrow dangerous streets. The place the police will never go and you have to pay triple to get taxi even close. Their young adolescent bodies already covered in everlasting identity of the brotherhood they belong too. The stories they had told of being paid to kill since the age of thirteen. Escaping the justice system like every other system that overlooks them. They show off each tattoo on their young bodies and explain significance each more and more somber. I feel nothing but desperation for these boys. They were of course young and felt invincible, a feeling I knew all too well when I was the same age, but as I have grown I have learnt how this could not be any less true. They were caught in the attraction of a brotherhood and having money. But at the cost of lives their and own others just like them. The likes of which who lived less than 15 minutes away and could be found just as easily. They told me of broken families and various reasons for not making it to school. They would never have a future unless someone made a change for them,this a thought that ran through my head with the force of a ten tonne truck standing nervously talking too them. Even through their cockiness and naïve belief of invincibility, they were all lost boys that past days sitting in groups and acting the way they feel a gangster should from what they have picked up on from American culture. Only the nights were very real. The nights filled with hazy intoxication and on those fateful few days a rain of bullets any of which could end them before they have even started. Already living the life of murder, drugs and gang rape I sadly reflect on my own childhood and how different everything was. I am plagued with guilt.

I feel constantly compelled to reach out to them to take them to a safe place, even only for a few hours. I invite them down to the center to play basketball. With the games finished and usually resulting in me having circles ran around me. Bottles of coke and whatever the afternoon bbq’s have to offer are shared accompanied by laughter and stories. It is only a start but brings peace of mind to know they are are in that time and the knowledge that I may be able to get through to them help them towards a better life away from it all. Encouraging them to only speak in English which just induces coin American of thug life. It’s a start. They could have a future that didn't leave them forgotten and just another statistic of youth that were deemed hopeless and left to kill each other everyone deserved a slice of the same.

I moved out to my stoop looking out for Junior and breath in the thick stifled air in hope it would clear my mind. It didn't. Only reminded me of the man who had stopped to talk the week before as i sat in the same place though this time without my brothers. It had been one of these brothers who had lived the life of those boys and knew all the faces who hadn't been so fortunate. He called out to a man walking quickly with his hat pulled down low, shifty eyes sent in our direction skeptical and defensive. He came and spoke with an old friend, showed off new bullet wounds and told their stories none of which were fairy tales. The thoughts and memories became too much so i went back into the house hoping he would return soon knowing i would not sleep until he did.

As junior walks through the door with a smile completely puzzled to my worried look I let it fade and smile never able to share my worries of a world he is already far more used to than I.