The way of the Filipina Heart
The Filipina Heart is one that is caring, that has compassion for the needy and the sick. It is a heart that is not just loving, but generous as well. Although there are a lot of poor people in the Philippine, there are many people who have the natural capacity to care for the others even at the expense of their own time.
Visiting the sick and the poor is an act that many Filipinos do especially during Christmas. They visit people whom they do not know, not to solve the social problem of poverty, but to simply give joy and a little bit of laughter to the poor and sick, especially to those who do not have someone caring for them or for those whose lives revolve around nothing else but the daily work they do to fend for themselves and their family. We hope that the following short narration will help every man see a part of their own selves through the Filipina Heart.
Narrations about the Filipina Heart will not be understandable unless accompanied by stories that illustrate what the Filipina Heart is all about. Below is a true story contributed by a writer named John Carlo. It talks about the Filipina Heart. John Carlo can be reached via [email protected]. Here goes his story:
I'm sure every one of us has had those experiences, when you go into something, expecting nothing, then something remarkable happens and you just can't get over it. Well, at least I'm certain I have one. It was the day when I first serenaded a girl. Two Filipina Hearts singing to a Filipino song. Let me tell you what happened.
The date was December 1, 2001. On that day, our high school freshman class was scheduled for an outreach trip to a children's hospital near our school. It was a well-slated trip, except that just the day before, I was still with my family in Tarlac, about two hours away from Manila. Having to leave my family and the pristine environs of our province for the activity made me upset, as did having to wake up at 4:00 AM just so I could catch a ride to the city. And, when I had finally arrived, humidity, noise and smog replaced the cool, crisp Christmastime atmosphere I had envisioned. Obviously, it wasn't the quaintest of moments.
In the hospital, two nurses guided us towards the children's quarters. Canned goods and instant noodles in hand, we were split into groups and assigned rooms to visit. My group was assigned to the place where prematurely born infants recovered. There were about three incubators in that room -- all of them contained tiny, shriveled bodies with tubes connected to their mouths. The sight appalled me, but I was surprised when I saw the smiles on their parents' faces. "Have you eaten?" a kind faced lady asked me. "We've got some dried fish left here if you want."
"Oh, thank you ma'am, but we're not hungry," I replied in the most polite way I could manage. I was beginning to feel a little embarrassed because we were there to give donations, but they were the ones offering us lunch instead. Talk about big Filipina Hearts.
Handing the children's parents our donations felt rather awkward. They weren't asking for it but we were required to hand them out. They would always politely decline to accept my donations, but after I explained my predicament, they eventually accepted, but not without a blushing face and a warmhearted expression of gratitude.
I decided to go around after about half an hour. I passed by a door left ajar, and I looked in. There were two beds inside. In one bed lay a young girl fast asleep, and in the other, a girl with the brightest eyes I've ever seen. But what I saw after I approached her was horrifying.
The lower half of her body was only skin and bones. The nurses must have noticed the look on my face when they said that she couldn't feel anymore from her tummy down. I then looked at her. She was about twelve, with short, black hair and pale brown skin. Her smile stood unwavering and for a moment I actually forgot she was sick. Her eyes were without the slightest trace of self-pity. Hers was a cheerful heart.
Just then, one of my classmates suggested that I sing for her. I usually would have spurned such a thing, but that time it was different. It was a privilege for me to sing to someone like her. From a young Filipina Heart to another, I chose "Binibini". The Tagalog word means "Lady" in English? I thought it was perfect for her.
I cleared my throat.
"Binibini, sa aking pagtulog, ika'y panaginip ko... (Lady, when I sleep, you are in my dreams)" because I knew that I'd always be dreaming of a better life for her. She knew the song. She opened her mouth to sing, but no sound came out.
"O kay ganda, o kay gandang mag-alay sa iyo (O how beautiful, o so nice to offer you something)" because that was exactly what I felt. She clapped. It was lovely. Two days before Christmas, I returned to the hospital to visit her bringing with me a dozen donuts. I didn't remember her name nor the disease that afflicted her. I tried looking at the room where I had seen her but she wasn't there anymore. I asked the records office, the guards, but I couldn't give any information about her, so they couldn't help. Despondent, I sank on the nearest bench. I made plans for that day. She was supposed to be surprised upon seeing me, I was supposed to act like the perfect gentleman, and maybe we would have talked for a few hours before I asked her where I could visit her when she got well. She was supposed to enjoy the donuts.
It was a melodramatic sadness I had in my chest back then, knowing that I would never see her again. But as I ate the last of the Bavarian donuts I was supposed to give her, I thought, maybe the groaning of two hearts at once is enough to last me a lifetime.
So I wiped my hands, took one last glance at the room where she once lay, and thanked the guards as I walked out. From one Filipina Heart to the rest of the world, that's my story.
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