Young hearts: A journey seeking calidad humana (2nd Prize, national essay writing contest)

Calidad humana is a quality that allows ordinary people to be great, and yet human — someone ideal because he has in him aspects of humanity that soften the heart and strengthen the soul, all at the same time. This person strives to be the best despite any trials, and all through love — love of living, love of work, and most of all, love of others.

I decided not to highlight on the great people of whom we know so much of already. Instead, I talked about young Filipinos, who have made an impression on me with their acts and qualities. In particular, I dwelled on a young girl whose kindness, perseverance and sense of self, despite all trials, taught me that calidad humana is something fostered while young, on the path towards a remarkable life.

To me, calidad humana is a sight not too rare in the Philippines. So many in this nation have good hearts; in fiestas, birthdays, or at the arrival of visitors, Filipinos always strive to cook the best meals and wear the warmest smiles, despite any troubles on their end. Many choose to become OFWs to earn a living for their families, battling with loneliness in the hopes of giving loved ones a better future. In Filipinos lies the inherent need to please and to be happy despite all trials — Pinoys always find a way to find cheer, to love and to work, and to find satisfaction in the simplest things.

I believe that attaining calidad humana is a process — a sojourn in the great adventure that is life. It is through constant perseverance that personal strength is acquired. As Rizal worked to create great Filipino youths in his time through his novels and his life, we too can foster the growth of good qualities in Asia and the Philippines by example, by education, and also by practice. The more we work hard to achieve our goals whilst not being shrouded by the darkness of envy, pride or greed, the more we think of the welfare of all, and the more we resonate these views through the written word, and then through actions, the more we will be able to create a world that is filled with those who believe in the spirit of calidad humana. We need only to get on the road towards this end, and climb through every mount with zeal.

My final note: I have changed the names of all the people mentioned in this story to protect their identities, and I have translated all Filipino dialogues into English in a way that maintains the essence of their meanings. I only hope this story moves you; inspires you, and presents to you the strength hidden in young hearts. 

Essay Proper

“No thank you, miss. Please don’t give me money if you won’t buy my flowers. I don’t want to receive anything without working for it first.” The words caught me off guard, coming from the shirtless boy selling sampaguita outside.

“Really?” I couldn’t help but exclaim. I had not expected his answer. The child’s rejection was quite uncommon, and the first time I had ever witnessed that sort of reaction to an offer of money. My friend’s mother was caught off guard, too, and was compelled to ask, “Who taught you that?”

The boy replied, “My mom — she said you have to work hard to get what you deserve. You’re not supposed to rely on free things.”

I was as baffled as my friend’s mother, and as the driver hung the sampaguita flowers we chose to accept on the front view mirror, I mused upon that boy, his views, and the values that he learned as he sold flowers in the heat.

For years to come this image would remind me that there is more to rising out of poverty than misery — that one learns perseverance there, humility, work ethic and discipline. The memory inspired me to explore the secret to this phenomenon even more. It would, later on, teach me more than I could imagine, and more than I could ever forget.

*      *      *

“Come on, guys!” chirped our leader, Ana, “Let’s do this!” It was 6:30 in the morning, and, our small group was too groggy to give a coherent response. All six of us sat quietly in the waiting area, wearing yellow t-shirts with the words “Nurture hope, and paint a smile!” printed on them.

In high school, I was a member of the Social Action Student Staff (SASS), an organization with the aim of instigating social change in our community, especially amongst the impoverished youth. Every Saturday morning, assigned members of SASS were tasked with going to a small barangay in the San Juan area to tutor underprivileged elementary-level students in the district, in a program called Teach to Reach.

Before we left, Ana took the time to give us a few reminders. “Avoid taking out your cell phones. The kids tend to grab them and try to take pictures with them. Don’t wear jewelry; try to be simple. Be patient if they’re acting up, and remember that they volunteered to be tutored! They could spend this time at home playing so it may be hard for them to concentrate on studying.”

We all nodded along, but admittedly, I was nervous. I was a new member; my Filipino was only subpar, and I had only ever taught anything to my younger sister. Would I screw up on the first day? I didn’t know yet, but my desires did overcome my fear. Four years had passed since the boy on the road, and since then, I was eager to discover more.

I had little time to think more as we took a ten-minute jeepney ride to the venue. Soon, we found ourselves approaching 15 laughing kids, who were chasing one another in the courtyard outside the barangay hall.

As we filed into the room, I observed how compact the place was. Two low long tables took up most of the space, with small monobloc chairs for the children to sit. It was difficult to move, as there was no defined aisle in between. The walls were plastered with posters typically found in classrooms; the Lupang Hinirang, human body parts, how to be polite to strangers. The volunteers had to stick to the sides as we inched our way towards the blackboard in front. I felt much like a traveler does when he first catches the scent of a foreign place; first hears the odd language; and first sees the view.

The kids settled down and found themselves seats; it was time for introductions.

“Hi, I’m Kat.” I said, and in unison they cried out, “Hi, Ate Kat!”

I was glad to have heard the chorus of fresh voices, but my heart was pumping rather loudly and the sweat still stuck to my palms. Though the faces appeared harmless, I was still afraid of much; I had no map, I had no compass, and not a clue what to do next. It was then that I felt someone tugging my hand, and I looked down to find a young girl, with a large pair of brown eyes, looking expectantly at me. “Ate, sit with me!”

I was taken aback by the burst of energy, but I followed diligently. “Hello,” I managed to say, “What’s your name?”

“Christina!” she exclaimed, her voice full of energy. Then, she grinned at me, wide and uninhibited, and it almost felt as if I had somehow bumped into an old friend. “You look nice. I want you to teach me!”

It was wonderful to find such a kind stranger, let alone one so full of cheer. I asked, “Shall we do some math?”

She gave me a thumbs up and said, “Okay!”

And just like that, I had a guide for my journey. I could not help but smile.

*      *      *

Two months had already passed since the first Teach to Reach session, and already I had grown familiar with most of the children. I was still closest to Christina, however, and her concentration as she worked on the exercises we gave always encouraged me as a tutor. Her smiles, saved especially for when she succeeded in answering all the numbers correctly, were wonderful to see. I had also managed to learn more about her than her academic capacity — she liked the color pink. She was always in the mood to dance to the latest hits, especially if the moves were featured in ASAP and Eat Bulaga. She loved winning games. She wanted to be a doctor someday, or a teacher.

Most of the children were often noisy and restless, prone to talking amongst themselves and doodling on their exercises. Very few paid attention all the time. So, in order to keep the children interested, we decided to try out setting a play day, instead of the regular English and Math combination, we prepared games, with candy as prizes for all.

We had just finished playing a game of pass the message in the play area outside, and the children were eating taho one of the members bought for them. As everyone slurped on their snack, one of my fellow org-mates asked one of the children, “Who do you think is talented here?”

The child replied, “Christina is; she can sing!”

“Christina, come sing for us!” We all began to call to her, as she looked down at her cup, “Your friends say you sound beautiful!”

I observed that she was shy about it, and not wanting to upset her, I thought of retracting that statement and saying something like, “No, never mind, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” when she suddenly straightened up, opened her mouth, and began to sing.

Her voice was indeed beautiful. The sounds of the rest of the world seemed to fade to the background. As she sang “To Love You More”, I could almost imagine the headlines — Christina, the wonder girl with the voice of a diva. I let my mind wander, conjuring up ideas for how she could climb her way to the top of show biz, stand atop the mount of success, then look back and remember her old little tutor. 

I couldn’t help but say what I thought out loud, “That was so wonderful. Why don’t you go and become a professional singer? I think you could do it; imagine, being famous!”

She looked at me then, with a glint in her eye that seemed beyond her years, and said, “It’s hard to earn a living like that. Our life is difficult as it is. I want to help my family. I’d rather study — if I study I will better succeed.”

She smiled rather shyly, and I realized then how brave she always was; a grin on her face, from ear to ear, despite her troubles. I realized then, that perhaps climbing mountains was not so simple as that; and at such a young age, she had even more obstacles to face than I did. When I was a child, I thought possibilities were limitless, and I could be a writer or explorer or superstar anytime I wanted. She however, did not have the privilege of a life like mine. Already, reality had set up a wall blocking her way, and she has had to knock down this barrier using only sheer will, and personal strength. She had managed to teach me something that day — how, often times, life is not so kind to sojourners. Some are lucky enough to find a way to the top of the mount so quickly; so much so they forget how hard it could have been to make it up the slope, how easy it would be to slide back down.

*      *      *

“Ate Kat, ate Kat!”

I turned towards the source and smiled. Christina waved at me from the second floor of the public school.

“What are you doing here, ate?” She asked.

“I’m helping with the feeding program.” I said, “Want to come and join us?”

By the time I hit junior year, SASS was juggling many other programs, dividing the members so they each visited all of them. I was part of the feeding program that day; we had gone to schools to feed underweight children special formula, which would help them reach target weight. After, we would play random games with the children.

As soon as Christina reached the ground floor, she gave me a warm hug. We had not seen each other in a while since I was reassigned. I scooped a bowl of noodle soup and handed it to her.

“Why aren’t you part of the program?” I asked her.

“We all had to go on the weighing scale to get in, and only the most underweight were accepted. I don’t mind, though. I’m much healthier than the others.” I glanced at her bony arms and legs, the gauntness of her form and her hollow cheeks. I couldn’t help but think about how small she was for her age.

A little boy that passed us stumbled and fell to the floor with a thud. The others that chased him snickered and taunted him. “You’re so slow!” one said, while the other remarked, “You’re way too weak.”

Christina helped the boy up, and glared at those who made fun of him. He thanked her quietly, and went back to running away. She turned to me and whispered, “They’re mean to him because he’s smaller. I don’t like that.”

I agreed, “That’s why the older kids like you are here, right? To teach the younger ones to be good.”

She grinned, “Right.” She suddenly appeared to be worried about something; “I haven’t seen you as much in Teach to Reach. I miss seeing you there.”

“Aw,” I said, “but that’s because I have other commitments with SASS, too.”

She stared at her feet, “Fewer kids are coming to tutor on Saturdays; some parents don’t have the time to bring them there, or don’t want to spend any more extra for anything; some others have given up on studying.” She looked at me then, with a determination I did not expect, “But I won’t give up.”

I could not help but be proud. Since I met Christina, I had caught glimpses of her attitude towards life. She worked hard to achieve her goals; she had vision and foresight. She had talent and intelligence; she had a sense of wisdom that set her apart from her friends. Yet, this was the moment I had come to know that Christina would almost certainly find success and fulfillment. This was when I had seen that spark alight. Every hero, on his quest, undergoes a baptism by fire — trials, tribulations and villains. Christina had faced so many dark adversaries already, and yet she had not surrendered. She looked upon the road with a mind set to surge towards the horizon. I realized then that the great men and women of history could possibly have been like this once; hungry for more than a bowl of food, eyes locked on the hopes of a glorious end, hearts yearning for goodness in the world.

I could only beam at her and say, “I never thought you would quit. And I hope you never do.”

*      *      *

Every road must come to an end. Senior year had come and passed, and it was already time for goodbyes. It was my last day in Teach to Reach, my last as a member of SASS. I watched the children as they played outside, and couldn’t help but think I had somehow grown so old on the way to the finish line.

I felt someone tug at my shirt, and turned to find Christina, smiling shyly up at me, “Hi, ate Kat.”

“Hello,” I said, “I’m graduating now. I’m not sure we’ll see each other again.”

She nodded, “I know. I have a gift for you,” She held out her hand to me, and gave me a pad full of star stickers. “I never got to give you Christmas or birthday gifts. Now, at least, I have a goodbye gift to you.”

Every road must come to an end. I knew this well. Soon, I would be on my way to another place, and Christina would be, too. But that parting gift was perhaps the loveliest material thing that I had gained from my experience in SASS; it told me, more than anything, that she treasured our friendship as much as I treasured hers. I leaned down, hugged her tight and whispered in her ear, “You’ll always be one of my favorite students. I hope you always study hard as you do now, that you’ll never say yes to bullies. Do keep singing and playing, too. Most of all, I hope that you will keep doing your best everyday. To me, you’re unforgettable already. I hope one day the world will know that too.”

As the members and the children say their goodbyes and parted ways, one of the parents arrived to bid us farewell, “Thank you for always helping out here. I think you’ve helped them learn so much.” She glanced at the students as they chased one another in the play area, “You know, some of the parents were nervous when this began. They thought you would judge us, because you are all so much richer than we are.”

A few of us mumbled, unsure of what to say, but Ana said, “We hope we never made you feel that way.”

“Oh no,” The mother exclaimed, “I hope you don’t feel as if you have done anything wrong. In fact, you’ve done the opposite. You’re all kind to our kids, and you look after them so well. We hope you know that we couldn’t be more grateful.”

There were many things I wanted to say in return. Most often, though, in those deep, sweet moments that close a chapter in our lives, we forget we have tongues. I simply nodded, said thanks, and got on the jeepney.

“Goodbye!” The children said, waving their hands vigorously in the air, “See you again!”

We all could not help but smile at the sight — a gaggle of noisy kids, sending us off into the real world as the jeepney drove away. Years ahead, I was certain I would not forget Christina, or what I had learned from her.

“I’ll really miss them.” Ana said wistfully. She was a senior too, and I would be surprised if she did not feel a bit aggrieved.

“We’ve done our best,” I said, patting her on the shoulder.

She grinned at me, “I only hope we’ve done enough.”

*      *      *

It is Christmas time again, and as with the past 19 years of my life it is a time filled with parties, gift-giving and general glee. I am in the car again, on the way from one reunion in the Fort to another in Greenhills, tired from having laughed all throughout supper time rather than having eaten, and gearing up to do the same on the other side of Manila.

Outside the sky is dark as midnight, despite the fact that it is only 30 minutes past five o’clock. The homes lining the road have yet to be lit up for the night; the faint outlines of the cords that hold the sparkling Christmas lights are still visible in the bushes. The stoplight is flashing red. The traffic is heavy, as always, when holidays are coming up. Then again, there is always traffic in Manila.

A tap on the window takes me out of my reverie, and I find myself eye-to-eye with a little boy, as tall as I am sitting in my car, his breath fogging up the windowpane and his clothes tattered. “Sampaguita, po,” he calls.

“I don’t have change,” I mouth apologetically. This sight is common in the streets of EDSA; nevertheless, it is sad to witness every time. I remember Christina and her skinny form, and I can’t help but see her in this boy. As I turn to check for coins in my wallet, I remember that I have leftovers from dinner. I quickly take the plastic bag with the food inside, roll down the window and hand it over to the kid.

“Merry Christmas!” I say to him.

He replies with a big smile, “Merry Christmas!”

As the lights outside turn on I watch the boy sit by the island on the road, open the plastic container and offer a piece of chicken to the boy beside him. The sight warms my heart.

All over the Philippines, there are children just like him, knocking on doors and hoping for the best. I know because I had learned from them, as they had learned from me. I had watched them refuse free things; I had witnessed the warm smiles they gave to stumbling newcomers, and I heard the songs they sang for them. I had spent many weekends watching them grow up, struggling with them as they strived to fulfill their hopes and dreams. I had walked the path with them, and though we have since parted ways, they had left a mark in my heart that would remain until the end.

I turn a last time to see the two children, eating together, and I wonder at the strength that lies beneath their worn-out clothes and thin bodies — their adaptability, their resilience, the beating of their hearts in these noisy streets and their courage in the midst of this crazy, wonderful world.

I tell myself to remember, and remember well, the calidad humana lies within these little beings — that first stranger in Laguna, Christina with her smiles and these two boys at the height of the yuletide season, with nothing but flowers in their hands, sharing what little they have with each other in the lighted dark. I think, then, that there is so much to hope for if these young hearts could fill the earth.

The traffic light turns green, and we speed away.