The art of giving

What is charity these days?

For some it’s a reason to dress up in their Saturday’s best donning diamonds as big as gobstoppers with purses so slim they can only fit lip gloss and not even a checkbook.

For others it’s a tax shelter. Need I say more?

For others it’s a way to atone for one’s sins. As if giving a small percentage of their wealth will take them off Lucifer’s VIP list.

Growing up with my grandfather, we had a sign in front of his house that said everyone in need was welcome to come in. And, true enough, I would meet from day to day people from different walks of life seeking aid, advice and sometimes just comfort.

There were no galas. There were no accounting sheets. There were no sins to be bleached. My grandfather just gave his time and ears, a great gift for the aggrieved parties. There were no TV segments, no “casual” day-in-the-life press releases. His logic was that giving was as natural as breathing: you don’t make a big deal out of it.

 When Ondoy hit, people’s characters came out of the dark. I was in London when the devastating calamity happened. It seemed so far away, so surreal; as my friend messaged me, “It’s like a Michael Bay movie.” I could not sleep. I messaged friends asking how they were and their plans to help out in relief missions.

 The following tugged at my heartstrings (I hope by now you’ve noticed my fetish for sarcasm):

“I’m too depressed to do anything.”

“The barangay captains will just steal my donation.”

“It’s too much, there’s nothing we can do.”

“Did you see how many pets died in the floods?”

“One word: Leptospyrosis.”

“What storm?”

My friend used his Reva to go around flooded sites and plucked people from their rooftops. Some friends decided to focus their energies on helping their staff members who had been affected by the flood. My driver Henry lost his house. His family currently lives in a tented facility. He considers himself lucky. And from what I have seen so far, he probably is. He is now relocating and we’re happy that they are together and safe. 

 The calamity has turned into a sick business opportunity for some. Rents are sky high. They allow up to three families in a one-bedroom unit. There is the political maneuvering of donated goods. If politicians receive a donation they will give it to towns where they have a strong hold. Then there are the bulimia-inducing PR stints done by celebrities and politicians alike.

 It’s true that charity begins at home. We need to tend to those who have tended to us before we can look further. How sick is it to ball up some cash for a benefit and let the woman who tends to your children silently fret about her children in a refugee camp?

Giving is not just about material needs. Following my grandfather’s example, giving comfort is way underrated. Sometimes a hug, holding a shaking hand or simply conversing with them about their provinces before they came to Manila, gives them enough warmth in their bellies. Although be careful who you take with you. Flinching socialites and wiseasses need not apply. For example I was enthused to see some dogs were in the camps giving much-needed love to the children and my friend remarked, “Tomorrow adobodog na yan.” The kid, of course, lost it and cried.

Visiting the sites made me realize the beauty and resilience of the human spirit. They were smiling and laughing despite living in a four-by-four portion in the refugee camp with their kids cramped inside. I met a woman with leukemia who excitedly spoke about her sister going to school. It made everything in shallow draManila seem so small. So trite.

This is what giving is. It gives back.