THE VAGRANT KIDS

    I recently rediscovered something I wrote one day back on September 8, 2008, on a forgotten blog site. After successfully recalling and entering the password today, I stumbled upon this particular blog entry. Reflecting on the experience that prompted me to write it is truly nostalgic. Allow me to share a passage that resonated with me:

    My Encounter of Two Vagrant Kids on my Commute to Work (Sep 8, 2008)

    For nearly a year now, my mornings have been spent commuting to work without sufficient resources to replace my worn-out car. It's been challenging, requiring adjustments like arriving earlier due to relying on public transportation. Moreover, navigating through heavy traffic near the construction site of a flyover halfway along my route adds to the difficulty.

    One morning, after rushing through my morning routine, I waited in vain for a taxi to get to work on time. The early hours were scorching hot, with the sun already blazing in the 8 a.m. rush. Unfortunately, luck wasn't on my side as no taxi approached. Instead, I opted for a tricycle to take me to the jeepney terminal. At the terminal, I patiently waited for additional passengers to fill the seats on both sides of the jeepney. Finally, the engine roared to life, and we began our journey.

    Seated on the far right, I found myself lost in thoughts, occasionally daydreaming and stealing a moment of rest. As we traveled about a kilometer, I glanced over at the school where my 9-year-old daughter attends. She had risen earlier than I, managing to reach school on her own. I couldn't help but wonder what she was doing in her classroom at that moment. It saddened me to think about her having to switch from a good but costly school due to our current financial constraints. The same situation applied to my second child, now in second grade. When I asked her how things were going, she lamented that her classmates struggled with English pronunciation. I reassured them both that we hoped to return them to their former school next year when our situation improved.

    As the jeepney approached the construction site of the flyover, it slowed down, forcing me to exercise patience. Near the intersection, I noticed two young, dirty children, approximately 4 and 7 years old, a girl and a boy, respectively, trying to board the jeepney. The boy carried a tin can to drum for money from passengers. Initially repelled by their odor, like others, I kept my distance while the driver shooed them away. In my mind, I wondered where their parents were and felt a sense of disdain.

    However, as I looked closer at the little girl, she met my gaze with innocent eyes that reminded me of my own two-year-old daughter back home. In that moment, I was overcome with pity, realizing it was not their fault to be born into poverty.

    Shortly after, the frustrated driver scolded the children again, urging them to find another jeepney. The boy defiantly reached into his pocket, pulled out his hard-earned money, and insisted they could pay. This only provoked the driver further, who snapped back, "Keep your money. How can you afford to pay when you can barely eat?" There was a brief silence.

    Looking around, I saw passengers of all ages and backgrounds who seemed indifferent to the children's plight. Moved to help in my own small way, I reached for some change to give them. However, before I could, they had already leaped off and onto another jeepney, disappearing into the crowded streets.

    The jeepney crept along the bustling streets at a sluggish pace. Suddenly, it paused longer than expected in front of the mall, presumably to pick up more passengers. Anxious about being late, I was about to urge the driver to move on when I spotted the two children across the street once more. It struck me then that these little ones faced far greater hardships than my own, yet they bore their struggles without complaint. This poignant realization transported me back to my own childhood.

    I grew up in a neighborhood where poverty was a daily reality for many children, who became my playmates. I vividly recalled accompanying them with a sack slung over our shoulders, scouring villages for tin cans and plastic to sell at junkyards. My mother often wondered where I earned my money from. While some viewed these children as societal nuisances, they were simply trying to survive. They weren't begging out of choice but necessity, to eat and live, just like any of us. The stark contrast between their struggles and the extravagant lifestyles of the affluent people I encounter through my work was glaring.

    Many of these wealthy individuals live in opulence, often spending beyond their needs. Meanwhile, these poor children survive hand-to-mouth, learning to beg at a tender age. The disparity troubled me deeply. I wished that even a fraction of the wealth enjoyed by the affluent could go towards sheltering the homeless, comforting the sick, and feeding the hungry, especially children like the two vagrants I encountered that morning.

    I longed to help, but my current means were limited. If only I were wealthy, I thought, I could make a significant difference. Yet, I prayed that wealth, if it ever came my way, wouldn't blind me to the needs of others, as cautioned by Jesus in the Bible. His words from Matthew 19:23-24 echoed in my mind, reminding me of the pitfalls of wealth and the importance of compassion: "Verily I say unto you, that a rich man shall hardly enter into the kingdom of heaven. And again, I say unto you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God."

    These words served as a sobering reminder. If I were to become wealthy, I prayed I would use it wisely, not for self-indulgence or vanity, but a fraction of it should help uplift the less fortunate.

    Let's have a heart to these little ones because their innocence teaches us how to become a child of God.

Luke 18:15-17

    "People were bringing even infants to him that he might touch them; and when the disciples saw it, they sternly ordered them not to do it. But Jesus called for them and said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it."

Matthew 18:1-5

    At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, " Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?" He called a child, whom he put among them, and said, "Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me."

    The truth remains: we are not solitary beings in this world. It is populated with fellow humans like us, each striving to survive. In this regard, we are no different from those little kids I encountered. We navigate our paths through life, seeking what we need to sustain ourselves. Some find prosperity, while others struggle. But amidst our pursuits, have we ever paused to reflect on how our lives have become consumed by the pursuit of money?

    Take a moment to look back at the trail we've blazed. Do you see the clutter? It accumulates as we race through life, often forgetting that it's not about reaching the finish line first. The journey itself holds more significance than the destination.

    One harsh reality we face is that from the moment we become aware of our existence on this earth, we also acknowledge our eventual mortality. Our journey through life is about living, while its end serves as our ultimate destination. Thus, winning the race becomes inconsequential; what truly matters is how we live our lives.

    There is no greater and nobler pursuit than taking time to consider others and share what we have. The joy and fulfillment derived from such acts nourish our souls. For while worldly riches and prestige may fade, the spirit endures.