i hit the warm tropical air walking out of the air-conditioned mall. rather, it hit me, and i was drowning in the suddenly very heavy air. i felt much like a ghost walking through a brick wall, and ghostlike, the fragrant smell of sampaguita flowers came uninvited. uninvited, too, were the little children, perhaps no older than five or six, the wild wingless fowl forever forbidden to fly, birds of the street that dart about between cars and people selling leis at two for ten pesos. it was a strange playground game, with life as the ante. the rules were simple to me. they had to convince passersby to purchase a lei or two. if they win, they get to eat for another night. if nobody buys, they go home hungry.
out of guilt, annoyance, or self-righteousness, since one can never really tell what truly motivates, i approached one little girl in torn putrid-green shorts. i bought four leis and quickly gave twenty pesos. it must have been guilt.
in walking away to enter a fast food restaurant nearby, i was followed by a little girl, perhaps a sister of the others, in a stained red-and-white checkered dress, garments only slightly cleaner than her face and hair. i was valiantly trying to explain that i did not want to buy more flowers. she told me that she was not selling flowers. she just wanted to eat. i sighed, and on a whim, took her inside the fast food place with me. the mall security looked at us strangely as we entered.
i do not know where my sudden generosity came from (most likely it was guilt), and i am not sure if what i did can count as charity. since i really do not know what my motive was, then perhaps in the grand ethical system of heaven, what i did had no merit. then again, i have never been one to be too anxious about what heaven thinks; there is already too much to think about on earth. the child probably has no idea why i bought her supper, and i doubt she will remember my valiant work of charity. she will grow, darting through cars towards whatever god or nature has reserved for her, and i shall most likely never see her again. what will become of her, i do not know, but at moments of sadness i think she will grow to be a young woman with whatever hopes and aspirations are still possible for those who live in the world of the street.
what good, then, i ask the cosmos, has my kindness done? what good has anyone's help done?
i no longer have the strength to care so much about so many people. i certainly do not have the strength to rescue everyone i meet and lift them out of poverty, although every sinew in my body aches in rage and frustration (and guilt, annoyance, or self-righteousness?), whenever i see that i do not have what it takes to change the world. not even in the life of a little girl, one girl, can i cause enough change, and i wonder what good i have really done in my life.
then, i remember what i learned in history class about warfare. in the past thousands died fighting and pushing for a hill that would be lost to the enemy another day only to be regained on another. there was still the hope that if this hill was taken, perhaps tomorrow the next hill will also be won, and so on until the war was won. is it a vain hope?
i do not have the strength to change the entire life of that girl, but that's a war i cannot fight. yet the little battles for this hill, that ridge, this point, or that meadow keeps the balance of the war and avoids defeat. i console myself, hoping that in that act of buying food, i have done my job in keeping the balance of the war. yet a small consolation it is, a meek act of faith, or what the "enlightened" call convenience, to believe that what i did was truly all i could do or be expected to do. in this world (and how i say "this world" as if i were longing terribly, wondering if there truly were another world to come!), we are all flightless fowl darting here and there, forever forbidden to have wings. with that as our fate, we can only do what we think is the best that we can accomplish in the lives of others.
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