The D Spot

Last Friday, my mom told me that Monday’s contestants for Wowowee were parents of students taking up law and medicine. I thought she was joking when she suggested that we go for an audition. No way! I told her, I would not let myself be Willy’s object of cheap fun, let alone sing or dance on national (and international) television.

Since I was home and awake at noon yesterday, I was half watching while my mom was comfortably seated watching and calling my attention to join her. This segment was one of the segments that I paid attention to because it touched my heart. Each contestant had a story to tell—inspiring stories at that.

There was a jeepney driver whose son is in law school, while a tricycle driver has a son in medical school  There was a retired employee whose daughter was taking up medicine (the girl happens to be my daughter’s classmate in grade and high school in St. Theresa’s College). Another mother was the wife of a doctor, whose daughter was taking up medicine (how I wish she had not joined and let those who have less in life taken her place instead). Another mother was a housemaid who has a daughter in law school.

I was so touched with the sharing of the tricycle driver, the jeepney driver, the housemaid and the retired mother on how they all had to work so hard to send their children to medical or law school, and to meet the expenses. I know how expensive it is to send a child to law school, as I have a daughter graduating from law school this April, and some friends who have children in medical school. How expensive the books are, let alone the tuition and fees. Even photocopying of reference materials cost a lot. How expensive it is to commute from home to school, or take board and lodging near the school if the home is very far. How uncomfortable it must be to study with poor lighting, cramped quarters, little food, or insufficient reading materials. What sacrifice it must be not only for the parents, but for the medical or law student as well.

I felt so humbled—while I sometimes complain of how expensive it is to send the children to school, how hot it is when not in air-conditioned comfort, etc., here they are, tricycle driver, jeepney driver, household helper and all, who probably earn only a few thousands—not complaining, but making do with what they have.

One could see on their faces traces of hard work—skin burnt, skin wrinkled, bodies bent, teeth a-few, they look older than their age. They don’t easily give up—parent and child supporting each other, giving each other words of support. They cried, and they laughed, and they talked of their dreams, their hopes and ambitions, not letting poverty get in the way. And I cried, and laughed, and listened.

These are the people to emulate—these parents and these students. If only all the other people stop wallowing in poverty, stop making poverty an excuse for their inability to rise from their seemingly helpless situation, stop making poverty an excuse to crime, if only those who have more in life learn how to share what they have, if only the government does its share not only with lip service but serious action…if only…I have so many may ifs.

I am not really a fan of Wowowee, but sometimes Wowowee makes some sense—it is not only the anaesthetic to the harsh realities in the lives of Filipinos, but a source of inspiration to many.

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