POVERTY USED AND ABUSED

It's Blog Action Against Poverty Day, and it's brought to mind so many things. Central to these thoughts would be how poverty seems to be the most used and abused condition.

Behind every campaign, crime and policy, on either side of law and morality, poverty is the ready answer, reason and rationale. And who are its greatest victims? Children. Always the children.

Sad.

***

Can anyone really tell me what poverty truly is? Or where it comes from?

Is poverty solely a lack of material comfort? Or is it a lack of spiritual wealth manifesting as a lack of the material kind?

There are a lot of philosophical and metaphysical discussions all over the internet regarding "How To Increase Your Abundance", "Be Open to More Money" or "Be a Millionaire While Being A Couch Potato". It's pointless to tackle them one by one because whatever they're selling boils down to us (people who want more abundance) buying their program and making them more, well, abundant. You have to admire these people, seizing an opportunity to provide people for a means to reach their dreams of gold. So they make gold!

I get spam mail like that and as always, there's a catch. Fool's gold for the naive, incredibly stupid or incredibly greedy.

There's also that South African/Arabian/Singaporean/Alien Banker/expat/businessman/wife of dead politician who would email you about millions in US Dollars or Pounds that has to be transferred and can they please use your account? Of course you have to provide your personal info and bank account numbers. And YOU shell out fees.

Whatever. Scam central, hello?!

Internet sweepstakes also lure people into buying entries with the promise of sure winnings. But the only thing you'll win in the end is a huge credit card bill. It's true all over the world, in whatever way, the house always wins.

***

There are so many ways people all over the world invest in exploiting our common concepts of poverty. In or out of the net.

For me, I am not afraid of being scammed via internet. I'm not stupid, naive or greedy enough to bite into promises that sound too good to be true. Nothing is taken away from me.

I am afraid of poverty, however, when I step out of my house.

I see beggars everywhere. With children. Some look like they haven't eaten in days, some have a blank stare and some don't look like their beggar parents at all. They're either too beautiful or too different.

All in all, those faces, those eyes haunt me.

I know, because I've heard stories and watch the news. Children disappear everyday and babies are stolen from parents, caretakers and their own homes. They are never seen again, bought and sold like meat into gangs, syndicates or slave rings.

Sometimes, very rarely compared to those who are never heard of, there is the odd survivor who is meant to be found to give a call for action against this particular problem. These survivors are found in other far-flung cities, maimed, starved, beaten and abused, enslaved by criminal syndicates to pose as beggars' children to increase chances of larger alms. By some incredible blessing, they are found and restored, but not without having sustained injury and often permanent physical damage. Some have been found crippled or blinded by their captors. What more can we say about their mental, psychological and emotional health? Who can say that the only injuries they have are what we have seen? What about those who have no words for the horrors they have endured?

I fear poverty whenever I walk out of the house. I fear that its fingers will reach up and curl around my own child's leg and yank her out of my life. I fear that this little ray of sunshine would be taken from me, her mother, to line some dirty bastard's pockets. Bad things happen to good people. I know things happen for a reason, but my heart refuses to stop fearing.

Where do people get off doing this? Is there no conscience left in their souls?

This knowledge also conflicts me.

I want to help these beggars but giving alms only seem to aggravate the mendicancy problem. I want to help them maybe get a good dinner at night, but don't want to perpetuate the grim cycle. Or maybe they're really hard up and they have valid reasons, being victims of circumstance, to be standing at the corner begging for mercy, but how can we really know? How do we tell the really needy from the ones who are just exploiting poverty as we know it?

And I'm a mother. How can I resist another mother asking for help for her child? How can I risk shaming her in front of her little one by denying her? But what if she's in on exploiting the child? Do I want to be party to that?

I am scared of poverty, more so because I am scared of what kind of person it is driving me to be.

I'm not particularly well-off and we do try to make ends meet. But there will always be something to spare for those who need it. After all, RF and I always say that we'll give what we can spare for someone who needs it more than us. But, that doesn't include beggars.

We've come to the agreement that though it may be heart-breaking, it's best to give them food or clothing even. Rather than money, you wouldn't be sure would really be going to see to their own comforts.

Sometimes, I am ashamed to say that I try to ignore them. I am angry at how they make me feel. At how they make me slide my eyes away from where they stand, refusing to meet their eyes. I'm even angrier at the well-dressed people with clean, well-dressed children in tow, who pose as lost travellers who found themselves short of fare to go home. The people who use these children's plight try to take advantage of the guilt and conscience of other honest, tenderhearted, unaware people. Then you see them the next day somewhere else, saying the same lines. How can we be angels of mercy and charity when what we are up against is a great poverty of the soul? I am ashamed of my anger and angry at the shame.

I know the answer would usually be as long as you give out of the goodness of your heart, it doesn't matter where your money is taken or if it is used for the intent it was given. But how can you not care? Knowing your money will not be feeding the sad urchin you gave money to, but lining some fat syndicate's pocket DOES bother me no end.

I am scared of poverty and how it has become a monster to be reckoned with. It seems to me to be a huge, smelly, lazy giant with many dirty, hollow-eyed grim children at its beck and call. And how capable it is of turning me, us, you, into monsters as well.

I don't know what can be done to stop it and stop it good, never to rear its ugly head again. I don't know how we can reach out to each child in the arms of a pretender to give them back to their heart-broken parents. I don't know how to reach those who truly need help and rescue and separate them from the scammers and the thieves.

All I know is, I want this never to touch my child.

***

What really is poverty? Where does it come from? Where will it end?

Is it poverty that drives us to deplete our stores of humanity and decency? Or is it a lack of goodness in many souls that enables poverty to manifest on our material plane in such soulless proportions?

Oona's Growing Up

Oona's becoming more and more pilya.

Oona with an electrical cord (NYAAA!).
Don't worry, that's not the business end of it. She also doesn't put it in her mouth.
Plus she's well supervised. So lay off the lecture, self-righteous people! Get off my blog!

Of course, she's still as lovable as ever, and getting more so everyday. She's also developing a sketchy sense of right versus wrong already, but I'll be darned if she actually knows what right or wrong really means. Sometimes she thinks it's a game, until her plans (like opening the kitchen cabinet doors and going through the bigas) is foiled.

She knows that when Lola or Yaya Rina says "No" or starts shaking their heads, it means that whatever she's doing is, er - unadvisable. She merely takes it as a suggestion though. She somehow knows how to get around them by appealing to their tender-hearted natures with a sad, saaaad face.

She'll also appeal to her doting father with the look. I think all babies have that innate ability to look at you and make your insides melt at will. Ooh, POWER!!!

(<--- That's the "I am not amused" deadpan/blank stare.)

She's also developing a few impish tricks of her own.

An example would be, whenever she wants to go to the space behind the sofas (forbidden because we put the electric fan and the cables there, out of her reach), she'll "accidentally" drop a toy there and point to it. As soon as you move the barricades to pick up the toy, she'll make her move! She'll scoot past you on her little butt like greased lightning, laughing all the way! (She can toddle but she can't crawl on her hands and knees.)

Of course, she'll cry at the tragedy of being picked up and put out of harm's way when she's noticed. She'll sniffle a bit but she'll try the trick again...and again...and again.

I think the only way to counter the look is by developing the voice. It's a mother's most powerful tool, next to mom's the stare. Since the stare only seem to affect older kids than Oona (it varies or so I've heard), the voice seem to be a good alternative to develop.

I'm not so hot on spanking my kid, I mean jeez! She just turned one. I'm not about to yell at her either. But I figure we have to aggressively start her on discipline for her own protection. It's about time for her to learn that not everything is safe for her.

So far, when I use the firm tone in the voice she seems to be responding. She'll shake her head and pull her hand away from whatever dangerous thing she's bent on examining.

Then she looks at me. She grins.

. . . And does it again.

Sigh. I have an adorable imp of a daughter.

***

It brings to mind the blog series I wasn't able to finish. The last entry was about how we were just given the news that Oona, then called the Bean, was not attached to my womb securely. There was a threat that we could lose her.

***

The Clinic Chronicles: Part 6
Keeping The Bean

“It’s going to be okay.” The doctor said as she patted my hand. “Just keep on drinking the medicine and taking it easy, alright?”

I just nodded and thanked her as Mr. F helped me out the door. I wanted to escape so badly but needed to keep as much dignity I could muster.

Can you imagine how it’s like to swing from ecstasy to utter despair in the space of a few minutes? I could be schizoid for all I know, but given the circumstances, I would have a legitimate excuse. I now felt like a baseball bat walloped the back of my head, my throat was too tight, and my heart was too big for my chest.

It amazed me how these doctors could take on that kind of responsibility. They literally have their patients’ lives in their hands. They could make or break a person with a few words.

How do they handle it, facing mortality every day?

I think Mr. F and I just went on home afterwards. It was exhausting: exhilaration and the dregs in one unbeatable combination. We just ate something to dull the headachy feeling and talked.

We knew we wanted to keep the Beanie Baby, as the sprout was now called. I’ve stopped smoking (cold turkey since the day before), stopped drinking (last drop of alcohol was the week before), and we agreed that I’d have to stop the helter-skelter pace of my work life.

Curled up on our comforter, we cover random stuff, basically musing about how we would be parents. I wondered which of us would be the disciplinarian and the devil’s advocate. Of course, Mr. F claims to be the spoiler.

“You would be the Supreme Court. I’ll be the Court of Appeals!”

I scoffed at Mr. F.

Right. Like that’s going to happen.

***

Of course now, she's as rambunctious as they come and RF is the spoiler! Hehe!

Time flies so fast!

THANKFULLY BLESSED LIST: OONA

As promised.

There, but for the grace of God, go I; as the adage goes.

I was feeling terribly down yesterday and because I refuse to totally succumb to a black mood, it got me to counting my blessings. I'll be posting this as a series as it's too long to post in one go!

1. My child.

Oona was an unexpected Christmas present.

Every time I see her antics and her four-toothed smile, I can't help but feel wonderfully, totally blessed. While maybe it's true that a child at her age can't help but love the people she's with (if they are capable of categorizing things like this at this age), babies and children in general, seem to have that infinite capacity to love.

They're so intense.

A smile, brilliant as the sun, as good as yells, I LOVE YOU! All caps, bold and underlined. With little flashing lights and a big red arrow. It's as intense when they cry, of course. But it's amazing how, when you're the focus of that smile, your whole world stops, flowers bloom and sappy as it's getting, but you can swear that angels laugh along with her.

PARTY PREPS: THE CHURCH THING

Picking out the church was easy.

St. John Bosco Parish was a stone's throw away from our house. We liked its simple, peaceful ambiance. There was none of the garish, overwhelming religiosity we aren't too fond of.

On the practical side, there was a parking lot near the entrance and no steep stairs. The church wasn't so big either so it wasn't going to be a long walk to the front pews or anywhere we needed to be. It was perfect for our older, arthritic relatives who we knew would want to be there when Oona was baptized at the church font. After all, they've been waiting for this for a long time now. Tradition, tradition.

Waking up early for us non-morning people wouldn't be a problem either as it took all of ten minutes to walk from the house to the church. Squeezing in an extra few minutes of precious sleep on a weekend would be great! It reminded me of childhood grousing when Sunday church was mandatory. Hehe. Tradition, tradition!

Officially on paper, we were only able to have two principal sponsors, one living just around the corner and another who could arrive early for the required seminar on Sunday before the mass. We weren't sure if proxies are allowed.

As per requirements, we had to book two weeks before the Sunday date we wanted (the only day baptisms are done). As luck would have it, the schedule fell on a long weekend (when everyone's supposed to be out of town) so we weren't even sure if all the godparents could come.

I was too chicken to ask if we could add more names to the church list of godparents later on. I'm sorry to say that the lady in the church office was so forbidding and dismissive that I just wanted to pay the fees and get out as fast as I could.

At home, que horror! I found that Church Lady botched the schedule on the receipt by TWO DAYS. I was afraid we'd get kicked out of the church if we showed up and we weren't on the registry. We had to go back to have it fixed, and I had RF talk to her instead. Her kung-fu was no match for my Mr. F!

We didn't add more names to the church list anymore. We agreed that paper is just paper anyway and the more important stuff regarding Oona's platoon of fairy oddparents were already taken care of. They all know what it's about and that was that.

Yes, we'd rather Oona grow up to think and decide for herself what spiritual path she is called to follow.

For now, however, living in a predominantly Catholic society has its downside. Without the required certificates from the required ceremonies to give you an identity, you're prone to run into a lot of legal hassles. Rather than let Oona experience that, RF and I go through the SOP's.

Make no mistake however, our spirituality is just fine.

We believe that all blessings essentially come from a good place. The ceremony in church is given its meaning and its power from the people surrounding us, regardless of creed, predilection or physical proximity, to mark our child with blessings from their hearts.

And thus, may I not be struck by lightning with this posting.

Party Preps: THE GODPARENTS . . . er, ODD-PARENTS

Most of our friends are oddballs.

Nevertheless, we love the few that have lasted this long with us and whose level of intimacy with our lives are on the blackmail-able level. Hence, the term.

Zoning out on cartoons every so often didn't hurt either.

As inspired by Nicktoons, "The Fairly Oddparents". I think Ninang Rei would be the one with pink hair, being the pink-haired lez type. Heh!

We take the duties and responsibilities of being second parents quite seriously. For us, it means that if the entire genetic family was wiped out, leaving the kid as the only survivor, we'd be comfortable in the afterlife knowing people who are virtually family will be raising her. Pretty heavy, huh? We believe in the traditional Filipino values that dictate the role of the godparent: ensuring that the child grows up into the best person he/she can be, in mind, body and spirit.

Anyhoo, we sent the godparents' invite months ago. Of course, everyone said yes. We know not everyone was going to make it to the day itself, schedule and geographical impossibilities being the reason, but knowing Oona will be occupying a special place in their hearts and minds was enough.

Party Preps: Oona turns One!

So it's been a year since I went to the hospital, getting pissed at the driver and cracking up the nurses' station with my drug-induced stand-up comedy routine. God, I should be stoned more often. I was never wittier, funnier and never had a much more appreciative audience than when I was in labor.

Now, a different birthing is going on as I attempt to put together Oona's First Birthday Party and Baptismal at the same time and at the last minute.

And nope, we are not chinese.


THE BIRTH/CHRISTENING DAY

If I had a dollar (wag naman dime lang, para sosyal!) for every time I had to explain the practicality of holding the joint celebration, I'd probably have enough to cash in for the restaurant downpayment. It's been explained to me that it's mostly the Chinese who usually does this. Tradition and practicality reasons.

We just figured it was more convenient. Otherwise, we'd have just celebrated the birthday and waited until she's old enough to choose her own spiritual path. Really. However, family tradition will not be denied. Hence, a Baptism along with the birthday.

It doesn't leave a dent on our liberated views on spirituality after all. It wouldn't hurt to "officially" invoke divine blessings for the child. Besides, RF and I came from Catholicism and we've so far survived.

We also think of it as thanksgiving for Oona's first year of life on this Earth. She has given us so much joy and touched so many other people's lives.

Love Makes The World Go 'Round

Mec tagged me with this blog award.

Behind the award, is a wonderful story of love and survival of a little boy given another chance to live through a heart donor.

Please help raise awareness for Organ Donorship in the Philippines and abroad.

I am tagging the following people and giving them this award for being great Moms, Dads and Human Beings: Pheng, Den, Jonas, John and Johnny.

Borrowed Pixie Angel

Sometimes I look at Oona and wonder if she's really mine.

I know she came from me, fruit of my womb...the scars I have are way too itchy to be ignored and proof that she inhabited me for 9 months (not to mention the poundage I still have to lose!). But sometimes, she's just really her own little person, if it's possible to see such self-possession in someone less than a year old.

Apart from having borne her and continuing to nourish her, I wonder if I really have any contribution at all to this little amazement.

Of course, the words of a certain poet ring true.

I suspect, many more times in the future will this prophet's words echo in my head, the last never more true than the first time, as my little girl marches steady into the fulfillment of her being with those twinkling little stars in her eyes and that mischievious sunshine of a smile.

On Children
Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let our bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.