A Boy and His Toy

24 June 2014
Lola Elena's home
Tinabilan, Palompon, Leyte


Yesterday, I was preparing to go to town to do some errands and buy some food. But Ivan, our child neighbor, had been frantically crying from their house. It was so loud I can hear it from my room.

Ivan lives with his widowed mother and two sisters. But that time, he was left only with his younger sister. Ever since his father died, his mother usually leaves them all by themselves because she had to work at the town. That morning, Ivan was calling his mom and was just crying incessantly.

As I dressed, I was pained by the shrill sounds he made. For minutes, no one attended to him. I would have wanted to turn a deaf ear to what I hear. I have a lot of things to do. And I know that if I will allow myself to be bothered, I will really be bothered. But his house and my grandmother's are too close, it is only separated by a wall. I cannot deny that a child was crying. So I asked one of my grandmother's companions of what could be happening at our neighbor's house. She said that probably Ivan's older sister caused him to cry - you know, what siblings usually do to each other.

So I tried not to mind Ivan and convinced myself that it was just some petty children's feud. But Ivan just kept on crying. So I finally went to their house and asked his sister (who is probably just only nine years old - too young to look after her own brother) what happened. It turned out, their other sister purposefully hid Ivan's new toy because she was not given a new one the other day.

Then it suddenly hit me that this is not just your typical 'children's fight.' And this is NOT how siblings should be usually treating each other.

It's easy to condemn and get angry at whoever when we hear news of injustice, oppression, and greed. But do we even do something about it when we see it happening in our own homes or our neighbor's? While it's admirable that we think of the "others," let us be mindful: humanity starts at home. Hence, all humanitarian work should start at home.

Despite my and my grandmother's small talks with Ivan, he kept on crying. I can see how he felt powerless over his older sister's ill treatment of him that morning. Just so that I could go ahead, I offered to bring Ivan cupcakes if he stops crying and gets some rest. We were already worried that he might get headaches because he was crying long enough.

At the town, I told myself I should not have bothered. The children might grow too fond of me and that I would feel responsible for children who are not my own. I saw how they would often ask for food from my grandmother because their mother didn't leave them enough. I was afraid they would ask for more.

But when Ivan gave me that smile when he saw me after he finished the cupcakes (which only costed me a dollar), I was glad I bothered. I was glad I cared. And if he cries again and I would be compelled to give him another round of cupcakes, I am hopeful that I have left to a young boy a lasting impression that he should not be treated badly simply because his dad died a little too soon.