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.
