I've been working in Metro Manila for six years now and I swear the metropolis is taking a piece of my soul every single fucking day. From the retarded shit I post in this here blog and all over the internet you may surmise that I am one nasty fucktard. What you don't know is that I wasn't always a misanthrope. Nope. Once I believed that human beings are basically good. Once I believed that we are all potential heroes waiting for our shining moment. Not anymore.
Believe it or not, I have a soft, wet spot in my heart for street kids. I always feel bad for little urchins driven into vagrancy by poverty. My heart especially weeps for those who shake their plastic cups at me whenever I'm running down the steps of the Quezon Avenue MRT Station. Sometimes I find them sleeping on the cold, dirty steps and I wonder what they dream about.
I'm not so naive as to give these kids money, though. I know that they have handlers. I know that it's all a scam. Even so, these kids are still genuinely poor and hungry. They deserve better in life. That's why one day I decided to do my share to ease their pain. I decided to give them food instead.
So there I was, descending the steps of the MRT station. My eyes fell upon the sorry sight of a dirty little girl. She was perhaps nine years old. As I saw her, she saw me. I could've sworn I saw the spark of hope in those eyes dimmed by pain and sorrow. As I walked towards her, I thrust my hand into my bag. Finally, I stood before the soiled angel. She looked up at me. The beginning of a smile lifted the corners of her mouth. I pulled out the bag of chips from my bag and gave it to her smiling.
She threw the chips back at me. The little cunt asked for money. I caught myself before I could sink the heel of my Caterpillar boots into her face.
Don't get me wrong. The street kids are still in my heart. At least they were there when I last checked the dusty jar of formaldehyde under my bed.
I love Metro Manila.