The Flight of the Rocketman

The pleasure is all mine
To get to be the generous one
Is the strongest stance
-- Pleasure Is All Mine by Bjork

On my way to work, I bought myself a regular yum and spaghetti meal from Jollibee so that I would have something to eat later while working. On my way up to the MRT station, I saw this child, dirty, ragged and begging and I just walked away. Struggling with my ice tea cup, I decided to give it to her. But I saw the hunger in her eyes. I've never seen a child so hungry before. I began shaking all over as I walked away. In my head I kept hearing her say "thank you, thank you" though she was too stunned to say a word. I rushed back and gave her and her younger companion (her sister maybe?) my hamburger and spaghetti. They accepted it with open arms, smiling faces but the hunger in their eyes were not satiated.

I should have felt better, should have felt ecstatic and joyous for having been in a position of generosity and found myself capable when push came to shove. But I only felt worse. Was this all we could do? Wait for the proper time when we are in excess before we can begin to give?

This is totally out of character for me, this feeling of hopelessness and this social concern. I've always been a selfish person and other people's problems are not my own unless they are someone I care about. The plight of the poor and downtrodden are none of my concern. I have enough troubles as it is trying my best to not become one of them.

I've been out of the mood lately. I'm just thinking that I'm no longer making enough to support myself. Because of the promise I made, I bought a ticket to Bacolod for Christmas but is unable to buy a ticket back. I can't afford it. I might just end up there. I might just stay there with no means except to borrow money, again, just to get back.

And to get back to what? An empty house? And I mean that literally. All my things are on the floor because I have no money to buy a cabinet. To more bills waiting? Am I to come back to my daily grind of 24-7 working, just to make it at the cut-off line from survival and poverty? And what of my dreams? The stories in my head? Are they to remain there to gather dust while I try to find time to pursue them?

Will I ever have time to pursue them?

And here I am bothering about how to pay the rent, how to keep myself fed and a return ticket to Bacolod and there is these two young, dirty, ragged girls at the steps of the MRT station, hungry, tired and cold.

I don't feel bad because I am selfish. I feel bad because someone is in worse conditions than I am and I cannot allow myself to be concerned. I am not strong enough to give up everything to fight the good fight. I don't have the sincerity to take someone else's cause as my own. I believe my power is in my ability to get messages across; to try and become an artist that people will seek out, listen to and try to learn from.

Or that is what I want from myself. Yes, in other words, I wish to practise mind control. I want everyone to hear me out. And maybe, get this message across.

If you can read this, if you can read the poems I write or the short stories I write, if you can watch the film that I hope to write and/or direct and hopefully, maybe even star in, then you are still lucky because someone out there is in worse shape.

And giving that burger and styrofoam container of spaghetti only delays the inevitable hunger that will creep in, day in and day out. How often do they get to feed in a week? To think I'm the only one who had the decency to give them something would be foolish, but there are so many others.

This is so out of character for me. I'm sorry. I'll be back to normal again by tomorrow.

Hopefully.

When in doubt give
In doubt give
-- Pleasure Is All Mine by Bjork