this story originally appeared in the philippine daily inquirer on January 4, 2011.
MEET SONIA. She’s 8 years old. She is an angel.
It was just another afternoon in the bukid. I met Sonia and Tore on my way to the store to buy native coffee. They were fetching water for the night’s consumption. I asked if they were going downhill to get gabe and tubed (gabe shoots), because I wanted to tag along.
“Oo, Ma’am… Ayaw lang pagdugay, Ma’am noh? (Yes, Ma’am…Please don’t be long, okay?),’’ Tore said.
So I hurried off to buy my native coffee, stopping only to accept the jackfruit Kuya Cadong offered me to bring home. Upon arriving at the staff house, I immediately placed the langka on the table and called out to the girls from the veranda. I was all set for tubed—and then some.
The walk downhill was filled with questions, mostly coming from the three girls (Langga decided to come along): “Unsa imong apilido, Ma’am? Mukaon ka ug sayote? Nganong mu-uban man ka sa amo, magkuha pud ka ug gulay? (What is your last name, Ma’am? Do you eat sayote? Why do you come with us, will you also get vegetables?)’’ Childhood.
To which I responded with my own questions: “Kinsa inyong uban pagbalik dinhi sa Patag gikan Dumalogdog? Daghan kaayo inyong mais didto noh? Unsay ngalan sa imong Papa, Langga? (Who accompanied you to Patag from Dumalogdog? You have abundant corn there, right? What is your father’s name, Langga?)’’ Adulthood.
Accompanying these girls in the afternoons to gather tubed provides a vivid contrast between childhood and adulthood. They are indeed children when they walk uphill at a slower pace. I am an adult when I tell them plus and minus are simple mathematical operations. Their ages are 8, 9 and 10. I am 21.
What struck me most on that particular afternoon, however, was a question from Sonia that I think would change my life forever: “Maluoy ka ug mga tao, Ma’am? (Do you pity people, Ma’am?)’’
I was dumbfounded. I had to stop and catch my breath. Tears were already flowing down my cheeks when I answered yes.
I pity children like Sonia, Tore and Langga who have to look for food themselves, going far downhill and climbing back up. I pity them for having to go home every weekend because they have nothing more to eat, walking along ravines and crossing the river five times—all in two hours! I pity them because young as they are, they take on adult responsibilities and do not live normally like other children I know.
“Ako pud, Ma’am, maluoy ko ug mga tao,” Sonia said. “Maluoy ko sa mga tigulang nga baho ug sa mga bata nga walay candy…Ihatag nalang nako sa ila akong candy kay wala man ila. (Me too, Ma’am, I pity people… I pity old people who smell bad and those children who don’t have candies. I would just give them my candies because they have none.)’’
“Dawbi, wala na dayon imo? (So you will no longer have your own candies?),’’ I asked, trying hard not to let my voice break into a sob.
“Sagdi lang (It doesn’t matter),” she beamed.
Climbing back up, Sonia insisted on carrying the bag of gabe and tubed with three more firewood sticks that she intended to give to me. I offered to help her but she firmly said, “Dili ko, Ma’am! (I will not allow it, Ma’am!)’’ So I just let her be.
Sonia is 8. I am 21. Many times children and adults change places.
