Problems of women

Isaw her across the hospital, a tall, somewhat beautiful woman wearing red lipstick and a black and white pantsuit.
She was very thin, anorexic, I would even venture, and she was actually half-sitting on the ledge of a plant box looking extremely distraught. There was something extremely tragic about her. Her eyes had a faraway vague look, as if she was thinking of something that filled her with grief.

I wanted to stop immediately and approach her, asking, "Excuse me, how may I help you?" I looked at the clock; I had no time. I was headed for a class and could not be late. I wanted to call out, "Will you be all right?" But she didn’t know me. You don’t just shout out to a total stranger in this country. What could be bothering her, I wondered, as my car proceeded in the direction of my class.

What was her problem? Was it life or death? Was she told that she had cancer and had only a few months to live? She could have looked that way. Or was she told she didn’t have cancer and didn’t have to worry? What would I do if I had time? Would I dare come up to her and hug her, which is what I felt like doing? Would she take that well and fall apart crying in my arms or would she consider me intrusive and slap me? "Dear lady, you look so sad, " I would probably say, if I had time. "May I just buy you a cup of coffee and try to make you just a little bit glad?" But I cannot, I am late for class.

Besides I don’t know her, don’t even know why the sight of her pulls so much at me. I am Filipina and there are unspoken rules of behavior for us. For one thing we do not approach total strangers and hug them. We leave them alone to laugh or cry or do their thing. Why bother with them? If they are total strangers and we take them under our wings, there is bound to be abuse. I promise you.

I have a car but I don’t drive. All my life I have had a driver. I’ve never learned to drive because of two accidents I experienced on the road. The first one was with a friend. I should have said "husband" but that marriage is annulled, so he is just my friend. We were going to the beach one weekend. I was pregnant with my second child. Driving down the highway, a little boy suddenly ran across from an ice cream cart where he had bought an orange popsicle. He hit the car then flew off. To this day I can still see his face.

We picked him up, brought him to the hospital. He did not die. I think he had injuries, but not serious ones. We, however, took that seriously. We were insured but nevertheless we felt much more involved than we should have been. It was the first accident. Next thing you know they were asking for pancit and a birthday cake. It was the boy’s birthday, they claimed. Then they asked for more and more things until finally we said enough. We had to disengage and refuse to talk to them or they would squeeze us dry.

Then another similar accident.

This time a little girl who ran into the side of the car and got her leg caught in the back wheel. This time it was a driver and I was the passenger. We brought the girl to the hospital, turned over to insurer. Got letters from her father saying that she would always walk with a limp when she was a dancer, claiming all sorts of damages, forcing me to just stay away and let the insurers handle everything. But I felt guilty and never forgot her name. Twenty years later I saw her name on an employee list of a big company I worked for. By this time I had reverted to my maiden name, so she could not identify me. She walked perfectly well and continued to be a dancer. Her father was lying in his claims.

This is our culture. When we see somebody moved by our plight, we decide he or she has money and we try to take advantage. We give more and more sad stories. We wait for more and more attention. And when she begins to feel it, we make bigger and bigger demands until the person who began with so much sympathy and compassion needs to slam the door in our face.

I think we need to change our culture, but I don’t know how. All I know is that I saw a thin, almost anorexic woman, fiftyish, looking tragically miserable and she moved me. I can’t get her out of my mind, but at the same time I am grateful that I was off to a class that day and could not stop. Otherwise, where would we be now? Would we be friends? Or would I have to slam the door in her face? Please send your comments to lilypad@skyinet.net or secondwind.barbara@gmail.com or text 0917-8155570.