The Two Kids in the Jeepney
It was the silence that suffocates you. The silence wondering who will be the brave one to step out and help a complete stranger — a stranger you were completely disgusted with until a few minutes ago.
Note: The conversation was in Filipino — only translated to English. The original conversation can be seen italicized.
I clutch my bag, holding it closer to my body and covering both zippers. I curse internally at the first thing I notice: two kids seated next to me on the jeepney ride. Everyone with me was doing the same thing: putting their phones in their bags, gripping them a little tighter than usual. With robberies and modi so rampant in the lives of Filipinos, it was normal to hold on to our bags with a wee bit more security whenever we see a person asking for alms, or directions, or when some kids ride a jeepney.
They both smelled of sweat, or dirt. It probably has been days since they took a bath. Who knows? And who am I to judge for that matter?
“Kuya, bayad ho.” I said, passing my fare to the driver. To be honest, I don’t remember where I was going. All I knew was the thoughts raging in my head, “I have to be careful. Wear your bag securely. Put your phone inside”
I sneak a glance at the two kids. Their clothing reeked of sweat and dirt, They weren’t wearing any face masks. I shifted my eyes to the people in the jeepney. There were only a number of us in there. All of us had the same feeling: a sense of distrust, and to be frank, disgust.
And then, they started talking.
“Are we almost there, kuya?”
“Malapit na ba tayo, kuya?”
“Yes, we’re almost there. We’re going to stay at Buendia first. We can take a bath there.”
“Oo, malapit na. Doon tayo sa Buenda titira muna. Pwede rin tayo maligo doon.”
“Is it far?”
“Malayo pa ba?”
“No. We’re almost there.”
“Hindi, malapit na.”
The older kid was lying. All of us knew it. It was still a twenty-minute ride before they reach the area.
We clung to our bags tight, refusing to let down our guard.
The driver then pitched in with their conversation.
“Where are your parents?”
“San magulang niyo?”
“They left us.”
“Wala po. Iniwan po kami.”
And that was when our hearts broke. The emotions passed by quickly. The sense of distrust was replaced with feelings of sadness and pity, followed by guilt for being so disgusted by them.
We wanted to do something. Maybe give them some food or some money to help them get through the day.
But we didn’t. With so much that has happened in the country, we were too wary to let our guard down.
“Do you have any money for food?” the jeepney driver asks.
“May pera ba kayo pang kain?”
“No, sir,” said the elder brother, pulling his little sibling close to him.
“Wala po.”
Our hearts shattered even more.
Silence. And it wasn’t the silence where everyone was minding their own business in the jeepney ride. It was the silence that suffocates you. The silence wondering who will be the brave one to step out and help a complete stranger — a stranger you were completely disgusted with until a few minutes ago.
We eyed each other stealthily. No one has loosened their grip on their bags, but everyone knew this wasn’t an act. All of us were waiting in the dead air, anxious about who will make the first move.
But it wasn’t us who made the first move. It was the jeepney driver who did.
“Here is your money for the fare. Here’s some more money to buy food for you and your brother.” The jeepney driver said, reaching for the coins and some bills and passing to them.
“Balik ko na pamasahe niyo, it din, bili kayo ng pagkain para sa inyong dalawa.”
“We will. Thank you!” said the kid.
“Opo kuya, salamat po.”
I don’t know how the other passengers felt that day. But I sank further in guilt. As part of the middle class, we have had our struggles, but we are so much more comfortable than we could have imagined compared to the kids. And even though our hearts longed to help, the world has scarred us enough to take in every movement with suspicion. Yet, the jeepney driver, who is probably, in the same class as them, did not hesitate to help.
And there, I see two sides of the same coin. (1) The ability to sit and do nothing, even when those in need are struggling, (2) and the people who are willing to sacrifice a little bit more, just so those in need won’t have to suffer more than they deserve. How cruel is humanity, and yet, how kind is humanity.
Maybe, in another life, I would have helped the two kids out without a second thought. Maybe in a parallel universe, their parents wouldn’t have left them, and we wouldn’t have seated with them on the jeepney ride. But one thought that has haunted me for months was my ability to help them, but didn’t. And I am the one to blame for my lack of action.
