This is my first article published in the Youngblood column of the Philippine Daily Inquirer. “Bibo Kid” came next.

PLEASE DON’T HARM ME
(As originally written)

Don’t harm me. Please.

I only have a few peso bills in my wallet. Please do not take away my mobile phone for I have no money to replace it. Yes, this is a laptop. But it is the company’s property, not mine. If you could bear to see me lose all the important files that I myself cannot imagine losing and work for a few months without compensation, then here, take this.

Four months ago when I moved near your place, I had this recurring fear of ending up one day as another victim of a transgression that my own fellowmen could inflict. Forgive me for fostering this thought. Every morning when I pass by your area in front of that wretched shanty, I see you staring at me. Your filthy shirt must have been deprived of laundry for months and your hair has grown thick with dirt and dust. When I go home late at night after a strenuous overtime, I see you loitering within the vicinity of what we technically call our neighborhood.

Among the habitual bystanders, you are close to being the most destitute. You cannot even afford a bottle of beer. While most of them drown themselves in alcohol and laugh out loud with their hollow stories, you stay there silently in nothingness. While others have a shelter of their own, although in impoverished condition, you remain homeless. When I go home even late, you are already in your subconscious mind with your limbs folded as you lay on that cold and rough cement. That old dilapidated shanty is not even yours.

You must be 28 years old, or maybe 30. Despite lack of proper nourishment, your body still appears to be capable of work. What has happened to you and to the rest of these people? Your eyes show a hundred stories on poverty and your constant struggle to sustain a seemingly hopeless existence. And I am bothered by the choices you have to make to feed your empty stomach. I fear you. I fear them.

One Thursday night, my roommate who has the same work as mine came home frenetically. It was about 2:30 a.m. She was shuddering in fright as she told me how a man forcefully attempted to grab her bag. She screamed loudly as she sought for help. Alarmed, the culprit ran away in a flash to save himself.

If the purpose of the crime is just money and material belongings, then the damage would be easier to patch up. But what if merciless violence is employed to pierce an agonizing wound that no amount of material wealth could heal? The daily news headlines constantly make us aware that we live in an environment where safety is gradually becoming a strange word.

You might not believe me but my heart grieves when I see you suffer. You see, I couldn’t even bear to see myself in your shoes. My heart bleeds when there is nothing significant I can do to help you. A piece of bread and a few coins would not even last for a day. It is either you cannot depend on meager alms or there are no alms to depend on. The paycheck of other people is not even enough to provide for their family. You need a job that would make you self-reliant.

Unfortunately, I am just a 22-year-old mediocre employee and I cannot offer you any job. In fact, I know a number of jobless college graduates who are seeking the same assistance. I honestly do not know how to help you but I can be sure that there are things you can do to help yourself.

Can you see that old man with a fish ball stand over there? How about those kids who go from house to house to collect used empty bottles? Do you spot the peddlers roving around amidst the intense heat just to sell their goods? I am not sure how much they earn for a living and whether they eat three times a day. But I’m proud of their efforts and their unceasing struggle to survive.

I do not know your life story. Whatever happened to you in the past, there is no way you could ever change it. This is now the world we live in, whether we like it or not. This is what things have become. This is what we have become.

To a certain degree, I fear those suspicious-looking people I ride with in a jeepney or in the MRT. I am dubious of the taxi driver when I go home late at night. My heart beats twice faster when I pass by the drunkards as I walk to reach my place every time our area is closed to vehicles. I am vigilant of the people around me whenever I go to well-populated areas.

We live in a terrain of suspicion where one has to be extra-cautious. Otherwise, we might find our wallet missing or our house robbed. We might be kidnapped or raped. Or even worse than that. It upsets me most to know that the people who could do these to us are people belonging to our own heritage and the place where the crime could happen is our homeland.

Yes, I fear you. And I fear them.

Nevertheless, you ought to have my gratitude. Everyday when I whine about how difficult my work is, you are a constant reminder of how fortunate I still am. You taught me to be grateful for what I am and for what I have. And my faith is strengthened every time I say a prayer hoping that I would arrive home safe and sound. My trust in Him is the only shield I have.

Although I try to convince myself that you have no intention to do harsh acts on other people, I cannot help but cleave to this suspicion. Please, don’t harm me.

And please do not look at me like that. I won’t get your knapsack.

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