I was not aware of what was happening until I lost my source of food.
It was a bright, humid day and my children were all but full. We did not understand what was happening in the world. All we knew was that one day, the streets were empty. The stalls where we used to beg food from were closed. There were no people. It was heaven to my ears, being someone who was always inevitably listening to the roar of cars and the buzzing, endless chatter of people. It was quiet. Too quiet. For some time, I allowed my children—all six of them, from two different fathers—to come out and play. It was an opportunity to rule the streets for once and not care about the hostile misgivings of the people around us. There were no crazy-eyed vendors to bother us and chase us away. For the longest time since I was born, I was at peace. Maybe, we could live like this for a while. Hope found its way to my mind. If only we had someone to get food from then perhaps this scenario would become a paradise.
All thoughts of happiness shattered when I heard the muted thuds from the distance. My instincts immediately pulled me from the scenario and brought me to my children, who were thankfully gathered in one place. I knew we were lucky enough to get away but I could not say the same from the unknown person who was left to be beaten by the authorities. I did not look back but I could hear the person plead.
“Sir, maaawa po kayo. May anak po akong papaaralin sa pasukan!”
The authorities heard no words from the apparent ambulant vendor. Watching from the sanctuary the underbelly of the bridge, my children and I saw the men in caps and brightly-colored vests take the old man away. My children all scrambled in fear. We had no idea what was happening. Questions raced through my mind as I paced around my favorite spot on the street. I wonder, why were they taking the poor vendor away? It was not unusual to take people away in this area, but judging from the emptiness of the streets, I just felt there was no need to. Maybe something was up. Either way, I knew I had to go back to my home to at least protect myself and my children from these raids. Only one could ever guess when the authorities would pick us up and send us somewhere.
I found myself walking to a familiar place, a karinderya at the end of the street. This was where we got most of our food. The old man who worked as the cook was the only person who would give us something to eat.
My stomach was growling as I pranced my way to the old stall. Peeking into the windows, my heart sank to my stomach upon seeing the commotion beyond the frothy curtain. Yellow-jacket personnel like the one who took the poor vendor this afternoon. A couple of them and a man who was wearing a complete gear as if he was walking the road filled with poisonous air. He looked like a giant toothpaste tube with glasses.
They were talking to Mameng, my benefactor’s old, loud wife. As usual, Mameng was loud, furious even. But not because her husband had given me food to bring to my children but because of the long, cylindrical bag that was sealed shut. She was starting to sound like me whenever I elope with a new man. But hers were the wails of sadness. She was even angry at the authorities, who stood there trying to calm her from an arm’s distance.
“Misis, mag-quarantine ho muna kayo ng 14 days. Huwag po muna kayong lalabas ng bahay. Baka po makahawa kayo. Hindi niyo naman kasi dinala sa ospital itong si Mang Ige. May magpapa-swab test po sa inyo bukas. Salamat po.”
The black bag was soon taken away and it felt like it also took something from Manang Mameng, as she was there red from the bottling anger that I could sense. The night ended and I knew from now on food was something I have to fight for even more.
I came back to my family’s bridge, after fighting for scraps that I found in the garbage. I was beaten, tired, and most of all, worried that the old man was nowhere in the house anymore. Maybe he left and the patrol just took his things in the bag. Strolling down, unprotected from the invisible circumstance these people seem to worry about, I saw two men flashing their torches towards my children.
“Pito daw dapat ‘yung pusa dito! Nasaan ‘yung isa?”
“Ayun yata oh! May dala pang pagkain! Baka ninakaw pa ‘ata iyan! Hulihin na natin baka magkalat pa ng sakit ‘yan! May COVID na nga eh!”
I knew I had to run but my kittens were at the mercy of the captors. They all screamed for help. Biting my tongue, I tried to look as big as I could, hissing at the sweat-sheened tanod who was trying to get a hold of me.
“Kakagatin mo pa ako ha!” The giant pulled me from the ground like weeds and gripped at the scruff of my neck. Immobilized, I was cramped to the back of their jeep, my children following.
“May aampon ba sa mga ‘yan?” The driver asked his pal as soon as he got in.
“Sinong aampon d’yan?!” The other bellowed in laughter. “Dadalhin ‘yan sa munisipyo. Euthanize ‘ata.”
“P’re, malas naman ng mga ito.” He commented with a laugh.
But we were not. As soon as I felt the poison coursing through my veins, I caught a glimpse of my children, all accepting their fates like I was. What was waiting for us at the other side was bliss compared to the hell we would be leaving at the hem of our society.
ABOUT THE PRIZES
In solidarity with the Filipino community affected by COVID-19, the Ateneo Art Gallery in cooperation with the Kalaw-Ledesma Foundation, Inc. has organized the AAG x KLFI Essay Writing Prizes to support writers affected by the crisis. With the theme “Thoughts and Actions of Our Time: Surmounting the Pandemic,” writers were encouraged to submit essays that reflect on or discuss the turmoil, struggles, initiatives, and expressions of hope during these trying times.
Through this Prize, the Ateneo Art Gallery hopes to extend assistance to artists and writers in its capacity as a university museum highlighting the Filipino creativity, strength, and resilience during this difficult period.
After receiving more than 100 submissions for the competition, six (6) winning entries were selected by a panel of jurors for each of the student and non-student categories. Writers of the winning entries received a monetary prize and their essays will be published by the Ateneo Art Gallery in an exhibition catalog accompanied by images of shortlisted works from the Marciano Galang Acquisition Prize (MGAP). Essays are also published in the Vital Points website, the online platform for art criticism developed by AAG and KLFI.
View the online exhibition for MGAP and the AAG-KLFI writing competition here.