Borong Borong

Let me tell you how I learned empathy.

I was probably three years old back then.

My parents were in Manila; I lived 

with my grandparents in Pola, small town,

by the bay, lush mountain, sweet bananas.

One day while playing on the street, I met

Borong Borong, a boy older than me 

by a few years. He had a scooter, which

was made of scrap wood and junk steel wheels,  which

he used to roam around town for errands.

Now, my Grandma asked him to come one day

To get some stuff from the market on his 

scooter; he asked me to come along with 

him. I gamely obliged riding on the

platform, while he stirred and pushed as we rolled.

So, Borong Borong got the stuff and we 

went back home to Grandma who was  waiting.

She was so happy when we arrived and 

she handed him a coin in gratitude. 

And I protested as she didn’t give me 

any, not even a poor “mamera.”

But Grandma told me Borong Borong was

an orphan, and the coin is for hot soup

for him when he gets hungry when there is 

no one to feed him and he misses his 

mommy. And I don’t know what hit me but

I cried so hard and pressed my face on the 

wall, surprised that Borong Borong, jolly 

fellow with the wooden scooter, had no

mommy or daddy. And until now I 

regret why I felt I wanted that coin.