Long-ass Overdue Post On Orphan Kids and Pong Pagong.

Two Saturdays ago, our friend Sheena celebrated her birthday at, of all places, The Haven for Children in Alabang. It’s a center that houses boys who have been orphaned or have dealt with various types of abuse, among other things.

She used to work for UNICEF so this should come as no surprise. I mean, every Christmas for the past couple of years or so, we’d get cards from her saying that a donation had been made in our names, to which I would always react with anger and frustration, leading to the said card which I received being torn, the throwing of bottles, the breaking out of a small and manageable fire, and the words "BUT I WANTED A GODDAMNED CD" echoing within a three-block radius.

So Tintin and I met up with some of our friends at the center at around noon and started organizing art materials (a drawing book, crayons, a huge-ass pencil, and a small-ass sharpener) which we would be providing to the 80-plus kids there.

Unfortunately, the huge-ass pencils couldn’t quite fit into the small-ass sharpeners, so we scrambled and forced them suckers in there, and made sure that they were ready for an activity which involved the kids coming up with the best caricature of the celebrant. This, of course, resulted in fucking blisters on our fingers, but it was all worth it, because most of the drawings they made were funny as hell.

The kids were also treated to a lengthy magic show and some contests by a couple of clowns (Literally. I mean, "clown clowns," not in the derogatory "ass clowns" sense.) Most of my friends were mingling with the kids and took part in the games, but I just sat by the sidelines, doodling on one of the unused pads.

The clowns mistakenly referred to Sheena as "Ate Shena," as in "Ate Sienna" from Batibot so I drew Pong Pagong and, sensibly, a Ninja Turtle when we wrote our greetings for her.

As the activities were taking place, some kid sat next to me. I asked him why he wasn’t playing with the rest of the boys, and he just stared at me for a while. This kid had scabs all over his body, from scalp to toe. He began talking by telling me that he suffers from epilepsy and he said that his name was (The DSWD wouldn’t allow us to take pictures with the children, so I presume that we aren’t allowed to reveal their names as well so I’ll just refer to him as) "Matt Damon." He then raised his hand and asked for a high five.

Little Matt Damon went about his business mostly by his lonesome but we always bumped into each other throughout the afternoon: he came to me when he wanted his pencil sharpened (Shut up pervs), I gave him his food, and he would ask for more high fives on several occasions.

As the day was drawing to a close, I saw Little Matty getting some water from a jug a few feet from me. Some other kid (who was pestering me throughout the day, trying to take my 10-peso bracelet) then approached him, started shoving him, spat at Matty’s arm and ran away. WHAT THE FUCK. Matty and I were both in shock, and I just found myself staring at the drool as it plodded down to his elbow. Fortunately, another person saw what happened and handed Matty a tissue.

I can’t totally blame the other kid, though. Obviously, he wasn’t raised well, which would be a circumstance as to why he’s in the Haven in the first place. But it was one of the most heart-wrenching things I had ever seen and I didn’t know how to react.

And it kind of sucks that I now feel attached to Matty, knowing that his future seems bleak at this point, especially considering his medical condition. But with the great care that he’s been receiving, I’m hoping, I’m praying that he gets better. I already made a promise to myself that that wasn’t the last time I ever set foot in that place.