I saw the sign.

WHAT are you taking? WHERE are you going?

I waited for the right time, because I knew that it will come. I decided not to make up my mind on anything, and it has already been almost three years now, three years of eagerly waiting for the answer. A lot of people have been asking me about it, and although most of them do not really care whether or not I tell them, I have been, in a way, feeling very bothered about my frequent vacillations. The so-called panakip-butas replies have emanated from my mouth from time to time, modifying themselves to suit a human conversation, and at the end of it, everything said and done just seemed like a cornucopia of surrealistic ideas that only indecisive people can manufacture instantaneously.

But today was totally unexpected. In hindsight, I processed everything that I was told, everything from the first word to the last, from the controlled facial expressions to the choice of words, from the nod of the head to the widening and the slinting of the eyes. From the wry smile to the relaxed disposition, from the invisible aura that tells me to “try and not be afraid, because I believe you have a good shot at it.” Clearly, the little body languages spoke louder than words themselves. Never have I felt so much butterflies in my stomach swirling around like a merry-go-round. Is this it? I asked. Is this really it? I asked again.

Really, I did not expect to receive such an insight. I was there for the main purpose of getting a general feedback. Not a commendation. Nor an answer to the long-awaited sign that I have been eagerly searching for quite a long time now.

As I closed the classroom door, left the world to be in the comforts of my own solitude, I then have realized that I have gotten it. It was worth the wait. The sign has finally arrived.

I smiled.

Plight.

The Ted Failon inside the television set was announcing something about tap water now being used as fuel for car engines. As the Ted Failon disappeared in a split-second, and was replaced by a beautiful girl scantily dressed in a bikini endorsing a bottle of mineral water, I heard my dad say ‘Yan, mas maganda ‘yan, tubig nalang ang ipa-pang-gasolina natin sa kotse; tingnan natin ‘yang OPEC na ‘yan. Maghihirap din sila.

And I thought, Yeah. True, true. I wonder when will power and authority be ever put to good use. Be ever used to help the hungry, the sick, and the suffering. Malacañang’s image casts a dark diabolical shadow over my imaginings of shanty homes and homeless Filipino children. OPEC and UN logos bounce off from island to island, sinking each one of them into the depths of the sea. Sure, my imaginations can sometimes go too surreal. But the penurious fragment of my whole existence suddenly voices out its sentiment: STOP IT.

This afternoon, two children were outside the gate of the house, black and unsightly because of the dirt that has smudged their bodies. It seemed that they haven’t taken a bath for days. They were holding onto the rails of the gate: their eyes filled with hunger and forlorn, the surrounding outside the house seeming like a juvenile prison cell. They asked me if they could have any empty tin cans which they could sell. I said “NO”, because I didn’t know if there were any. I was the only one inside the house at that time. “Dong, balik lang mo unya ha, Wala man gud si nanay nako, wa ko kabalo kung naa mi,” (Just return later, my mother’s not here, I don’t know if we have any) I hesitantly replied.

And they left. But as I went back inside, one of the little boys came back, asking, “Kuya, naa mo bugas?” (Kuya, do you have rice?) And I looked at him, shook my head, closed the door, uncertain if what I just did was right.

I haven’t really thought of it; the millions of my kababayans in constant plight, scavenging the mountain pile of landfills in search for a few cents’ worth of garbage; selling their bodies across the dark Manila streets out of poverty; selling their eyes, their kidneys; crossing the violent seas in huge cargo ships; leaving their families and their honorable college diplomas behind to work as domestic helpers in Singapore, Hong Kong, and in other parts of the world.

It is painful to know that such sacrifices have to be made by them, because there are people who refuse and refute the act of sacrifice.