You have the cold, wet nights where there’s nothing but a flimsy piece of paper to shield you from the dampness, or the blistering hot days where you’re too afraid to take off some of your clothes for fear of losing them. There are the stares you get from people who pretend like they’re not bothered by the fact that a broken husk of a man is splayed out helplessly on the street, or the remarks they make when you think you’re not listening, or even when they think you are. What a bum, they’d say. He should get a job, they’d comment. They’d lament about the state of the human condition, of society and pretend that it actually affects them.

But that’s not the worst of it. The worst is when people genuinely don’t care. The suits that walk past on their phones, not even giving you the briefest of glances. They wouldn’t even notice if that homeless man who had been living on the corner of King and Lonsdale for the past five years just vanished one day. Gone, as if he’d just fallen through the cracks. It happens more often than you think.

But for all this, for all the horrible circumstances the destitute are put through, there are glimmers of hope. There are things to admire, and there are things to be grateful for. The first, which you might think strange considering what I just told you one paragraph ago, is the people. For every ten rotten eggs you might encounter, there’s a kind soul who is more than happy to take some time from their busy day to help you, buy you a meal and just talk. You don’t get to talk much when you’re homeless, and even when you do any dialogue is usually preceded with plenty of ‘pleases’. So the simple act of talking, something that so many take for granted, is a rare occasion and a true gift for many of the drifters and the beggars who call the streets of your city home.

There’s also a sense of freedom that can never be emulated unless you yourself are homeless. No amount of money can buy what a homeless person has: nothing. And with no possessions comes no responsibility, (funnily enough) no debt, no one to look out for except yourself. This freedom can be at once the subject of envy and pity by many, but no-one can deny the allure of it. Of course, there’s still stress. There’s always stress, regardless of who you are, because stress is a part of life. You worry about whether you can find shelter for the night. You worry about the weather, about being arrested simply for staying too long in one place, or where you can get your next meal.

For some of us, being homeless is a transient thing, as we pass through our different stages of life and progress to bigger and greater things. For many, though, we are destined to remain as we are, living off the land and human generosity as best we can, until we finally succumb to a simple, easily treatable cold during a harsh winter, or simply waste away under the gaze of an uncaring populace.

It’s a sobering thought, isn’t it?

In September of 2008, I was asked to accompany The Home Foundation to Moldova and Turkey to document their trip to the orphanages of Moldova and to the human trafficking hub of Istanbul. While walking through the streets of Turkey, we came across this child sitting alone in a very busy street begging for money. She couldn’t have been more than 4 years old. I’m regularly haunted by the pitiful sound of her begging cries.

This trip impacted my life in many ways and each time I see this photo it just serves as a reminder of that trip. The people walking by ignoring her, a painful reminder that we do the same thing to homeless people here. We walk by, avoiding eye contact because we don’t want to face the reality that these people are in need… hungry, homeless, cold, in need of our help. We don’t want to help because it is an inconvenience or will take away from our lunch money or our ability to buy another luxury. Shame on us. Shame on me and shame on you for ignoring genuine needs of hurting people.

*stepping off my soapbox* ~ Just wanted to share that and admit my guilt in ignoring poverty so many times… not every time, but many times. I wish it were inverted and I could say that I rarely ignore it instead of rarely responding to it.

Don’t step out of lentil line at the shelter just yet, you bums!
There’s a brand spankin’ NEW crisis on the horizon!
::: Woo h .. oh wait. Not good … :::

NYU economist and all-around financial fiasco forecaster Nouriel Roubini
<————-
has just issued a code-red high-alert that the Federal Reserve and other money managers are fueling a massive new asset “bubble” that will someday go KAPLOW BIOTCH and steal your savings, render you blind and take away all your TP after giving you the 100-day poops.
::: poop! :::

The Roubinator says the Fed is holding short-term interest rates near zero *NO!* and investors and speculators are borrowing big bucks on the cheap *ACK!* and using them to pick up all kinds of Wall-Streety type shit like stocks, bonds, gold, oil, minerals and foreign currencies – which sounds all *GREAT!* because that means prices go up and mega money can be made which is a big ol’ slice of *SWEET!*, right?

Ya, not so much.

‘Cuz *SHOCK* it can’t last.

Eventually the Fed’ll have to raise rates, peeps’ll be panic-selling their stashes all over the gat damn place and the next big cash crash’ll come down harder than Amy Winehouse after another Blaaaaaaaaaake breakup!
::: FFFFFWOP! :::

“The Fed and other policymakers seem unaware of the monster bubble they are creating,” the economical extrasensory insists. “The longer they remain blind, the harder the markets will fall.”

RUH-ROHS!
Time to flex your beggin’ hands, hobos!

SOURCE

I had $5 on me and was looking for a cheap lunch. At a light be-boppin’ to a song on the radio, I see a beggar holding a sign,

“Hungry, anything will help”.

I feel a twinge of disgust and I look away like so many of us do and turn up the radio.

“If he spent half as much time looking for a job as he does panhandling, he wouldn’t need to be out here.”, I think.

“Pretty judgmental on your part don’t you think?” I hear in my head. I know who it is and I am immediately shamed. I knew instantly what He wanted me to do.

“But all I have is a single $5 to eat lunch on”.

“Give it to him” I hear.

“Crap.” (I admit, it’s not the greatest attitude to have when ‘blessing’ someone.)

And as I do, the man barely looks me in the eye, embarrassed by his predicament. He doesn’t even look at what I give him. He simply mutters,

“Thank you.” and moves away as if I am the one who has leprosy.

As I drive off I see in my review mirror the guy open his hand and see the $5. He smiles and clutches the money in his fist and pumps it like Tiger Woods just made an 18 foot put. He folds up his sign, jumped on his sorry excuse for a bike and rode over to the Wendy’s across the street jumped off and literally ran in the door.

“Eric, you don’t know the reason he is out here. He may have a legitimate reason or he could be scheming, you don’t know. You don’t need to know, you just need to obey and trust me. Besides, it’s not for you to judge him, that’s my job.”

I took the turnaround and went back to work. I didn’t quite know what to think. I felt ashamed that I had those thoughts about him without knowing anything about him. I felt incredibly good about being able to give to him so that he could go eat but at the same time, I was honestly a little miffed as well. I was hungry too and now I didn’t have a dime to buy lunch. I was confused.

I really was trying to take what He was teaching me to heart but it was tough. I’m not that nice of a guy or open minded when I’m hungry.

“It was my last stinkin’ $5! I’m carrying ones from now on.” I grumbled. “Just being honest here God. You asked that I give my last $5 to someone so that he could go eat. Umm, HELLO…I need to eat too. You obviously care about him but what about me?” (side note- sarcasm gets you know where with God)

As I walk back to my office, my boss calls out from the conference room for me to come in.

“What now?” I think. The only time he calls me into the conference room is to bust my chops about something. I walk in and I see a spread of food on the table fit for a king! Catered by everything Pappasito’s offers.

“The executive meeting ran long so everyone just left and didn’t eat. Take what you want” he says.

At that very moment, I understood grace.

I serve a great and loving God. Thank you God for your provision, in spite of myself.

Your humbled child,

Eric

Ubud – Bali ( Indonesia )

Mazar-e-Sharif, Afghanitsan, 2007: War widwo begging for alms outside the Blue Mosque in Mazar-e-Sharif in northern Afghanistan.

When I came out the back door of the church, I immediately saw him. I stood their watching him for a moment before he noticed me. When he did notice me standing there, he did not acknowledge my presence. Instead, he tried to act as if he had not seen me or I him. But I knew that he had seen me because he picked up the pace of his activity. He hurriedly tossed his last bag of trash into the church’s dumpster, hopped in his car and sped away. In broad daylight, he had just stolen space in our dumpster for his trash.

Why did that guy feel the need to use our dumpster? Maybe he does not have the money to pay to have his garbage picked up curbside. Perhaps he did not have time to go all the way over to Oak Ridge highway to the convenience center where there are dumpsters with ample space provided by Knox County for residence of Knox County.

He was not the first person to toss their garbage into our dumpster and he will not be the last. Every time I see someone doing it, I remember a night long ago in inner-city Louisville, Kentucky. Patti and I were in seminary. We had not been married long, less than year I believe. We lived in a small, two room apartment on the third floor of the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel. I was taking the trash out to the dumpster and as I stepped out of the back door of the building, I heard something move in the dumpster. The sound frightened me significantly. I went back in the building. The trash could wait until morning. I did watch from a window as a man climbed out the dumpster and made his way into the night.

Which brings us to Bartimaeus, the blind beggar on the side of the road as Jesus and his disciples are leaving Jericho. The dumpsters make me think of Bartimaeus because he is beggar. He stays alive by collecting what others toss his way, what they can do without. He stays alive with a coin here and scrap there tossed his way. What is the purpose? So that he can do it all over again the next day? What kind of existence is that? It is the kind that is not well thought of by most of us. At best we pity people like Bartimaeus, at worse we have scorn for them and their willingness to live off the efforts of others, not willing to work for their on bread like the rest of us.

What we almost always fail to see when we see people like Bartimaeus is what they might reveal to us of ourselves. Why the pity? Why the scorn? Why do we find their plight so heart-breaking, so repulsive, so moving or so frightening? We think we are asking questions about the beggar, but if we listen a little deeper, we hear the beggar answers questions, not about himself, but about us.

Amazingly, if we pay attention to Bartimaeus, we discover that he understands something way ahead of the rest of us. Bartimaeus gets it. He cries out to Jesus and calls him the Son of David bestowing on him the Messianic title as Jesus and his disciples leave Jericho and make their way to Jerusalem, the City of David. How is it that a blind beggar sitting on the side of the road can see what no one else can see before anyone else can see it? For all we know Bartimaeus might have climbed out of his own dumpster that morning. How can he possibly know that the King is coming, that Jesus is the one. Have mercy indeed.

There are many like Bartimaeus who in their own way sit beside the roadways of our lives. What would they say to us if we listened? If we responded to them with something other than pity or scorn, what might we learn about ourselves and God’s calling on our lives?

Lyon. walking out of a smoky cafe in this trendy town, a lady with new high boots . suede, medium wood hills, a light camel colour with brown zipper that climbs from her ankles to her knees. fall. she steps out of the cafe holding her matching bag and her posture as if shes the new queen of Rue St Vincent . Women seem to be happier with new shoes. proud of their new walk. their new thrill of their new conquest, of small steps, of smaller feet.

Avignon . 3 polish girls and a cigarette are sharing a table left to mine. coffee and cigarettes goes together in France, like mussels with white wine, they complement my appetite of words, a random Provance tourist who happen to like blue sky and clear air. the 2 older guys from the table on my right chat in loud english (one with an obvious american accent and the other of german origin, but could be scandinavian too) about Sarcuzi and his choice of women. they long for those blonde young students , capturing their peeping eyes through the smoky fumes merging with the fumes of my hot cappuccino.

Paris. we walk fast through the wide boulevard leading to Gare st Lazare. the Parisian street wish to sleep before the new week rises from behind new big clouds of fall. the corners of the pavement are covered with yellowish leaves that compliment my hair . you hold my hand tight. dont worry I wont go anywhere. Im yours.

Paris 2. same boulevard. a woman with tired face is sitting there looking at those last passengers of the weekend. holding their lust and their hopes and a bag of good bread. she sits there with plastic bags surrounding her, seem like a whole day shopping to me. she wears white training pants and a coat . her tired wrinkles matches her tired badly colored hair, she has several golden bracelets and white sports shoes.Her current sit is a temporary chair made of a box. a few coins shine from the little handkerchief lying next to her feet. I wonder about what it takes to become officially a beggar. too much shopping ?

Je tiens à les embrasser tous. femmes et les villes

And here I was thinking there was nothing lower than a eunuch beggar in India, I guess I was wrong. Chauthmal Raigar, has cut off his genitals so he could join the eunuch community. Raigar was even poorer than the enunch beggars so when he saw how much they were making he wanted to be part of it. Raigar befriended a group of eunuchs and began going begging with them. After a successful Hindu festival begging trip he went back to his home and cut off his manhood. Good luck with that!

people walked by as he was unnoticed. his hands were searching for a coin someone tossed on the ground. the heavily textured stone blocks on the floor were still wet from the rain as he kept touching and feeling.

The sun’s heat was radiating intensely to my windshield, though it’s cooler inside the car that I was driving, but we couldn’t barely ignore the hot temperature outside. Traffic  jam , beggars, noisy revving of engines . That  is the usual Manila street traffic that we Filipinos  already accepted  as mundane way of daily life. We were on our way to an appointment with group of office-mates for a client presentations. As the traffic light signed, Stop, three juvenile beggars approached our lane as if they were coordinately moving toward us, to the car  in my left and to the car in my right . One of them approached my side and tapped my left window to catch my attention. When he knew he got my eyes, he gestured his hand putting something in his mouth repeatedly(for food I think). That’s the usual hand sign, other beggars usually do, the windshield-wiping tricks, others have to wiped your side mirror for alms.
I don’t know if you are with me or not, but personally more often than not, I give them coins. Amount differs from what their handicap is and what are they begging for. For blinds I usually give 3 to 5 pesos, for older beggar usually I give them 1 to 2 pesos. I rolled down my window and handed him a peso coin. My companion inside the car uttered to me, “You should not gave anything to any of them. Usually they belong to beggar-front syndicate , they are doing it as modus operandi or illegally raking money out of somebodies misery”.

I  slowed down and weighed what my friends told me. Whatever they have told me I am certain why I am doing it.I muttered something, and then  - -“Actually, for those kids I was more worried for them if they left empty handed. Think of what will happen to them if they left with nothing and their mob boss came, they may beat him to a pulp.” “I don’t care what they shall do with that coin, its just a penny for me”. Though my self sometimes need that amount. I understand that other  generous rich people in a luxury car doesn’t handover money out of rolled down window, but they maybe doing the proper charitable channels thru DSWD then to them. But for me it is just my part, after all it just a penny that’s all I can give. I see things differently in life(especially in that situations), if other is seeing me as a victim of a false begging tricks, and think Im an idiot, I don’t really care.
Without any care of euphemism, I expressed my side to my companions, why I am doing it that way. “Im doing it as act of kindness and I don’t want them to leave empty handed!, How is that?” ,”You see, you guys making fun in sharing SMS text joke and forwarding it promptly to your friends  if you find it funny . If you, happened to be friendly you will have at least 20 sendings for you to cheer them up. It may cause you 10 to 20 pesos depending on Cell Networks.”, “Do you know that jokes have certain appeal, that it may not fit every other humorous  appreciations. Let’s say for 20 messages you sent, 10 are happier and cheered , and made you feel glad being the first to show them the jokes, which of course originally not yours.The other 10 perhaps had already heard that jokes or they just haven’t  found it hilarious. That ’s a shameful waste 10 pesos , which are gone and vanished through thin air of cell networks. “And who, were tricked now? Tell me?. There was a brief moment of silence inside the car. I have probably touched their ego.

I just dont know why people are doubtful to share a penny to beggar who apparently needing one, but spend to share  funny SMS text like crazy , striping all the address book of their mobile contacts yearning to laugh with them. – I suddenly recall one facebook note shared by my friend Cherry Lomarquez Paradox of Life vs. the book of Ecclesiastes writings of staunch atheist and comedian George Carlin’s thoughts about what the people of today. I would like also to add something to her note—That we are becoming smart but not witty. We are becoming affectionate but too picky. We shout that we are Christians yet we are showing the secular opposites of our religion.We’re too cautiously paranoid but leaving one of the fundamental reasons why we are here. That is to help one another.

After spending two weeks with my parents, Kodiak came home severely lacking any sort of manners or pride.

You looking at me?

Today was a lovely day.

And if you could, please go back and read that fist sentence in the worst/best Irish accent you can muster. I put worst before best because “the worst Irish accents are always the best.”

Except the robot woman who tells you what floor you’re on in elevators/lifts. She is just creepy. I don’t know why all the lifts have to talk here.

My day started off with a lack of courage. I needed to get out to the Liberty area to snap photos of strangers wearing fancy clothes for a “street fashion spread.” It seemed like a fun idea when presented to me as an alternative to writing a real story for the Liberty newspaper. On the other hand…

I don’t think the Liberty area is exactly known for its fashion. A dying market place and middle to lower-middle class housing maybe, but not fashion. Now, whose idea was this?

There is an art school in the area filled with brightly dressed, preening parrot-like students, but I consider the use of them cheating. They don’t actually live in the area.

Well, I allowed myself a few of them.

Overall, the day turned into quite the adventure.

It lightly rained at first, but then the sun peaked out and really brightened everything up.

I had picked up a Cannon Rebel SLR yesterday from a Missouri friend. Taking advantage of the snazzy camera, I took pictures of anything remotely interesting without confining myself to the fashion assignment.

At one point I took a picture of two locals walking down the sidewalk. One was carrying an ottoman on his head and made for an interesting picture. They started to harass me a bit for taking the photos. I should have assumed this would happen judging from their Irish thug uniform of matching cotton track suits. Yes, I guess track suits are considered masculine here. As long as you shave your head as well. Having a Hibernian Husky at your side is a bonus.

“Hey, he’s taking pictures of us!”

The audacity of it. They told me I couldn’t just do that and tat I wasn’t “in Africa anymore.” They then alluded to me carrying things on my head as well.

It was very strange. I don’t look very African. I mumbled something with my American accent, which they did not understand completely. I believe the ensuing confusion allowed me to pass.

The same street had small children who would leap out from behind objects and scream as I passed. I would jump every damn time.

Another strange thing I came across was a horse obviously geared to pull a carriage, but with no sign of carriage in the vicinity. It was munching on a small patch of grass behind some apartments. A small crowd of about five to six people was watching it eat. I asked if they knew who’s it was and they replied no. I asked if it was strange that it was here and they just shrugged their shoulders. No one acted like the horse was out of place and most of them went back inside.

There is no way the horse could survive on the tiny plot of grass behind the apartment complex. It was already tearing up the one spot it was standing on. I snapped some photos and left. Though, none of the pictures came out well because the horse refused to face me or show me its side.

I knew I was hanging out way too long on Marrowbone Lane and trying my luck. This was the place where my Florida counterpart in Ireland got an attempted mugging in broad daylight.

“It was the stretch with the barbed wire across the top of the wall,” she said when I asked exactly where it happened. I must have passed that thing a dozen times.

One photo I got in the area was very enjoyable. I found a couple who were carrying an old stereo around, trying to find somewhere to throw it away. The man was more dressed up, so I decided to use him. He was very purposefully suited in Converse and indie clothing. They were very surprised and laughed when I asked to take pictures. He even held the stereo over his shoulder for me in some ’80s rapper pose.

Most people politely declined to have their photo taken. There were a great many “no’s” that in another time in my life would have been devastating. Others ignored me like a common beggar or pesky solicitor.

“I’m not a solicitor!” I yelled to one well dressed women who refused to make eye contact.

I later was told that solicitor can mean attorney in Ireland. I guess I sounded really crazy.

Another man tried to give me two euro, thinking I was begging. I cannot lie. I was tempted, but did not take it. I finally got through what I wanted to do and took some photos of him, though, he was adamant that he was “not so much in the face.”

It’s ridiculous trying to decipher some quotes through heavy Irish accents. Even when I ask for them to spell a word, the way they say the letters has an accent. It’s frustratingly amusing.

In the end, I think I got about five people to comply with my photoshoot before calling it a day. I had already gone out on another day with a Missouri friend and gotten the same number.

So after having enough fun, I went to meet my Floridian counterpart so we could walk back to my flat and watch a movie. Coming from the Liberties, it was a strange route and I was excited by the adventure. It’s refreshing to come across a familiar place from such a foreign angle. I found some old parks with old churches covered in ivy as well as some other pleasant detours.

I eventually found her, we walked back to my place and watched some Indian film that was what I considered, a grittier, severely more depressing version of “Slumdog Millionaire.”

I then went upstairs to my previous Brazilian roommate’s flat (he moved there yesterday) for a dinner party. Some Brazilian girls from the second story were there as well as his French friend, new Polish flatmate and all of us from the third floor.

Awkward hilarity ensued. Going into details would probably ruin the humor but I’ll do it anyway.

One point that seems particularly stupid once explanation is my Brazilian roommate being too drunk and his inability to quit using bananas as a conversation starter. Miscommunication due to English being a predominately second language also helped the mis-purposeful comedy night move along.

The grand finale was the discussion over my old Brazilian roommate’s abstract painting of him receiving oral sex from a girl he knew. Him and his French friend kept dropping hints to the Brazilian girls as to what it was. The realization on their faces and the later discussion completed the night for me.

I wish some of it could have been filmed for a motion picture comedy. That way I could heartily laugh at the most awkward moments without the room looking at me in confusion. I was practically holding in stifled laughter the entire dinner.

Now, I should go to bed. Thanks for reading.

Habang isinusulat ko itong blog ay uma-aligid na naman ang mga chopper dito sa Baguio. Kanina pa yan sila. Paminsan minsan ay may mga jets din. Siguro ay nag lalanding sa matagal nang sarado sa commercial flights, na Baguio Airport.

Kanina din lang ay bumalik ang internet connection na nawala simula gabi ng Biyernes. Sa kasagsagan ng malaki at malakas na bagyo ay malakas ang internet. Akala ko ay walang patid at walang humpay ang internet.Invincible. Basahin nyo aking naunang blog.   Yun pala, dalawang araw kaming nawalan ng linya sa himpapawid.

Sabi ng kaibigan ko na ka chat ko kani-kanina lamang sa facebook. (Sa facebook talaga dito ako naunang nakasagap ng mga bali-balita. Ako yung tipong tao na nag-boycott na sa kawalan ng katotohanan na bagama’t hindi na naaayon sa etiko ng mga tunay na mananaliksik ang media lalao na sa ABS-CBN.) Sampung litro na lang daw ng gasolina ang binibigay ng ibang estasyon ng gasolina. Pila pila ang mga bumibili ng gas pangluto. Ngayon ay sarado na daw ang petron sa may bandang BGH. At lahat ng gasolinahan. Hindi na nakabili ang mabuti kong kaibigan na si Dina. Kagabi ay kumain si Papa Edmar sa labas. Wala na daw manok. Manok pa naman ang paborito niya. Kagagaling nya sa baba. Dahil semestral break ay nagbakasyon. Isa sya sa daan-daang naglakad sa nasirang daan sa Marcos Highway para lamang maka-uwi sa Baguio. Sabi ko nga, “Hayy, Tito Edmar, ang saya naman ng lakad mo sana ay kumuha ka ng picture para may documentation naman.” Sabi niya eh nasira naman daw ang camera niya. Bukas papasok ako at pagbalik ng mga kasama ko magtanung tanung din ako sa adventure nila. Sabi din ng isa kung housemate dito. Sarado na ang KFC sa Session Road mga 1900H pa lamang kahapon.

Habang sinusulat ko ito ay uma-aligid na naman ang mga chopper at jets. Kaya paminsan minsan ay napuputol ang pagsusulat at pag-iisip para tumakbo sa labas at tumingin sa himpapawid. Nakakahingal. At nakakainis din ng malaki at makapal na ulap. Naku gustong gusto ko talagang sumakay ng eroplano. (Next week na naman, yehey!) Nakasakay din ako ng huey. Proud akong isipin na siguro isa dun sa mga piloto ng chopper mga naging estudyante ko. Mabuti pa sila. Bibili din ako ng chopper or private jet ko. At aaralin ko ring maging piloto sa sarili kong sasakyan.

Ayon kakapagod tumakbo palabas at pabalik. Nakalimutan ko tuloy kung ano pang dapat kung isulat.

Kanina nagising ako sa text message ni Mika. Tanung siya kung may internet connection ako. Reply ako na wala. Ikaw? Wala din daw siya. Pareho kami two days na at buong Baguio daw walang internet connection.  Binuksan ko ang internet ko mga ilang minuto nagbakasali. At last!

Finally, may internet connection na. Ganun din ang mga status message ng mga ka facebook ko na taga Baguio. At tsaka ko nalang din nalaman na may panic buying. Yun din ang sabi ng media sa tv. Ano pa. Dalawang araw na akong tini-text ng Auntie ko. At ngayon ay tinatanong kung may stocks ako ng pagkain. Yung media talaga! Sige na nga. Punta na rin lang ako sa market. Yun din naman ang plano ko kagabi. Mag tingin tingin ng exotic fruits.

Sumakay ako ng taxi. Nakalimutan ko na dapat ay mag jeep pala ako para maka-ipon at para naman kahit papano ay makatulong kay mother nature. Pero anjan na yung taxi at gusto kung kumain ng jollibee pancake. Mga 1030H na eh hangang 1100H lang ang pancake.

Tinanong ko si Mamang driver kung sarado pa ang mga main roads paakyat at palabas ng Baguio. Sabi niya malamang ay medyo matagal pa ma repair ang Marcos Highway dahil malaki ang pinsala nito. Maraming mga turista ang nadaanan namin. Paano kaya sila makauwi? Siguro ay maglalakad ang mga ito. Totoo din pala ang nasa facebook may mga turista na na stranded.

Kumain ako sa jollibee ng pancake. Na guilty ako sa plastic at styro na kinainan ko at ang magiging kontribusyon ko sa pagkasira ng kalikasan. Bakit kaya hindi man lamang maisip ng jollibee na gumamit ng ibang lagyanan na hindi nakakasira kay mother earth. Ang jollibee talaga kulang sa environmental consciousness! Bibili pa kaya ako ng stocks ng jollibee?

Dumaan ako sa SM supermarket. Ang daming tao. Normally hindi ganyan. Dumaan lang ako. Ayaw kung pumasok na maraming tao. Ayaw ko ring gumastos na di oras. Picture-an ko kaya para pang blog. Hwag nalang. Pababa ako ng Session Road papuntang market. Patingin tingin sa mga nagtitinda ng mga newspaper. Gusto kong bumili para maghanap ako ng trabaho. May classified ads po ba Manang? Puro bagyo at pinsala at mga namatay ang nasa headline. Mga more than 200 pala ang namatay dito dahil sa bagyo. Marami ang nag evacuate kaya pala nanghingi ng mga donation ang mga SLU students para sa kanilang mga evacuees. Masaya naman ako na ibinigay ang mga hinanda kong mga damit at sapatos. Pero syempre kulang lang yun na tulong. Hindi na lang ako bumili ng newspaper. Sa internet nalang ako mag browse. IT era na ito eh. At sayang lang yung paper. Ilang kahoy kaya ang pinutol para doon.

Pagka daan ko sa may Pizza Volante. Nakita ko na naman si Manong. Siya yung sinulat ko dati. Buhay pa pala si Manong. Pinagdasal ko siya noong kasagsagan ng Bagyo. Pero ngayon na nakita ko siya sa Session Road na nakaupong tulad ng nakagawian niya at namumulubi, nalungkot ako. Nalungkot ako kasi naaawa ako sa kanya. Nalungkot ako dahil ilang bagyo at init ng araw siya ay nakahandusay sa daan na parang walang nagmamahal. Gusto pa ba talaga ni Manong na mabuhay o kaya napilitan lang siya? Naisip ko gusto kung katayin ang mga mahal niya sa buhay na nagkaladkad sa kanya dito sa daan. Ano kaya si Manong noong bata pa siya? Siya ba ay may mga tinatagong kasalanan at binabayaran niya ang mga ito sa pamamagitan ng pag-upo sa Session Road bumagyo man o umaraw? Sana hindi. Sana Lord, kaaawaan niyo naman siya.

Pagdating ko sa market. Walang gaanong paninda. Hindi tulad ng dati at sariwa at masagana ang mga paninda. Syempre nakakita na naman ako ng exotic fruit. Binili ko at kakainin ko pag hinog na. Bumili din ako ng lettuce na pagka mahal.  Sana lang makarma si Manong. Sumakay din sya sa panahon ah.

Totoo pala na may panic buying dito sa Baguio. Naki-usyoso ako at syempre bumili narin. Sana marami tayong matotohan sa leksiyon ng mga bagyong dumaan. Sana.

Sana nga lang.

A lady beggar taking a short rest by the car. Looking at this photo eventhough I could not see her face, kinda gives me an insight into her mind. I could almost feel her desperation, broken dreams and broken promises and so on. So sad, so tired physically and mentally. This reminds me of Erykah Badu’s song “Bag Lady” , well kinda like it if your talking about “excess emotional Baggage”. [click the link to listen] http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mP2h4vhipF4. This photo was taken at the parking lot of Corniche Commercial Center in Balad, Jeddah on October 4, 2009.

একরাশ আলো কালো চোখে জ্বেলে সে বসেছিল রাস্তার ধারে…

চারিদিকে electric জোনাকিরা তখন দপদপ করছিল আমাদের রঙ চড়ানো অবয়ব জুড়ে। কেউ লাল, কেউ নীল, কেউ সবুজ। কলকাতায় মা দূর্গা এসেছেন, সবাই সুখে চলমান অথবা ভিড়ে দন্ডমান। সে তাও বসেছিল রাস্তার ধারে। ফিকে হয়ে যাওয়া সবুজে ধূসর ময়লার আস্তরণ। দিনগত অভ্যাস ছিনিয়ে নিয়েছে আবেগের ভগ্নাংশদের, সে শুধু এক হাত বাড়িয়ে নিস্পলক চেয়ে আছে আমাদের অহং-এর দিকে তাকিয়ে। হয়ত তার কিছু আসে যায় না, এ পুজো তে দু’পয়সা বেশি এলেও না, পয়সায় যে আর কিছু পাওয়া যায় না। ওরা দেয় এক টাকা, আমি দিই পাঁচ। এক চিলতে হাঁসি টা কি প্রাপ্য আমার? আমি দেখি না, তার পরিস্ফুট বক্তব্য লজ্জা দেয় আমায়। আমি এগিয়ে যাই রাস্তার ধার ধরে, অপেক্ষারত বন্ধুদের দিকে…

“একবার পিছিয়ে যা, দেখ মেয়েটা বসে আছে রাস্তার ধারে। সত্যজিৎ রায়ের ছবিতেও বোধহয় কোনো ভিখারিনী এত সুন্দর লাগেনি…”

বন্ধু ঘুরে আসে পিছন থেকে।

“তুই না, মাইরি, পারিস ও বটে…”

রাস্তার হলুদ আলো পড়তে থাকে ভিখারিনীর গায়ে। না আমারই ভ্রম, ওরা যে অসুন্দর।

The new mayor of an Indian town is refusing to give up begging – because he’s making too much money.

Dharmveer Bhoora, 56, says he makes so much money from begging he can subsidise town council projects in Khaikheri, northern India.

On a good week, the veteran pan-handler – who has never held a steady job – reckons he rakes in more than £350.

“The money I make from begging provides for my family and sometimes the whole town,” he said.

“I am responsible now for looking after the development of the village and part of the money I make out of begging will also be utilised for undertaking developmental projects in the village.”

He added: “I am very grateful for every small bit of money that anyone gives to me while begging and I am sure it will make some people feel good that they are not just helping me and my family but also my whole village.”

bron: www.ananova.com