I start my daily routine at 5:00 AM when most of the people are still sound asleep. I would walk around five and a half kilometers to reach Umapad Dumpsite. Not even a typhoon could stop me from doing this daily regimen. After all, I have seven young mouths to feed. I'd rather get wet than hear the hungry sounding stomachs of my three girls and four boys.
All of my children are schooling. I feel that education is the only escape I can provide them against this hell that we are right now. When I was their age, I did not mind my studies. I saw no sense in scrambling numbers trying to figure out products and quotients when at the end of the day I and my brothers would still go the plantation to harvest pineapples.
I was born in Mindanao, specifically in Manolo Fortich, Bukidnon. As glamorous as it sounds, the place is actually of no single glitter. Most people live on a one-day-one-eat scheme. Kids spent their days not in school but in large pineapple and banana plantations doing hard labor to earn a few centavos. We do not have a functioning hospital in our community. It was like, when you suffer an illness, the best that you can have is to implore the heaven that you get healed.
I lived in Manolo Fortich, the entirety of my teenage life. I think I have harvested more than a hundred thousand pieces of pineapples that now I can't even think of smelling one. Maybe it's true that when you have too much of something, you will start to dislike it.
When I turned 23, I decided to seek better opportunities in Cebu. I packed up my stuff, which translates to two shirts, one puldoroy, and a dog tag that my grandfather gave me. He said that it was a gift from an American friend during the second world war. It was a treasure that he wanted me to keep and give to the next generation of our kin. It's the only treasure I have with me up to now. Well, at least, I am not that poor enough not to own even a single treasure.
The first time I arrived in Cebu, I marveled at its modern look. It was so chic to a probinsyano like me. I've never seen such a vast crowd gathered in one place. It was all good until the harsh reality of life slapped me. I tried looking for work, but everywhere I go, they'd ask me for a high school diploma. I don't have one. The truth is when I was in Mindanao, I never cared for my education. After all, why would you need to know how to divide large numbers when you are only earning a few centavos for a hard day in the plantation?
I started sipping my coffee and ate two pieces of pandesal. The shanty which the eight of us lived was still shrouded in darkness. We do not have electricity. We couldn't afford such a luxury. My children are fast asleep except for Lando, who must go to school early as he is a working student.
After I was done eating, I rolled two empty sacks, got my kalakay, and started heading to the dumpsite. You would barely recognize me in my scavenger costume. My entire body is generously clothed. I walked unceremoniously but filled with hope that I might hit a pot of gold in the dumpsite. I mean it. I am tired of this life. I don't care about myself anymore; I can't bear it looking at the suffering faces of my children.
Two trucks arrived, and the witch hunt for plastic and tin cans started. There were 8 of us who would typically come early in the dumpsite. When we are not scavenging, we are the best of friends. But when we start collecting sellable trash, it's a different story.
The minutes of sorting trash became an hour, and the hours became a day. Filled with exhaustion, I walked towards the junk shop where I would sell my sacks of plastic and metal scraps. That day, I did not hit the pot of gold I was expecting, but I was fortunate enough to have 49 pesos in my pocket. Half a kilo of rice would be 23 pesos, two packs of noodles at 16 pesos. I still have 10 pesos that I saved to give as baon of my kids for the next day.
Just a few blocks to the slum area where I lived, I've seen many people gathering. The smoke is still rising mightily to the sky. There was a fire, and it was a humungous and devastating one. I ran as fast as I could.
"My kids! Help me! I need to find my kids." I shouted in despair as I struggle to navigate through the crowd that has gathered.
There was nothing left. It was like a vast football field, but only that everywhere you look was filled with ashes and debris. I started crying. I was baffled, but then a familiar voice came to my ears.
"Pa, naa sila tanan sa Gym. Tana adto ta." It was my son Lando who, after hearing the news from his friends, rushed to aid his younger brothers and sisters.
It was the best feeling that I have had in my life. Knowing that my kids are safe filled my heart with joy. Maybe, I did not hit the pot of gold in the dumpsite, but still, I was blessed for my family is safe. It was at that moment that I realized that it is not money that can bring us genuine happiness. It is seeing the people we love safe and sound. Material things may provide us comfort, but you can never put a price tag on true happiness.
I am Ondo, a scavenger, a fire victim, a widower. I don't know what's left of the thinning pages of my life, but as long as I live, I will forget all these to focus on the one best thing that I could do… being a father.
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