the sampaguita girl

it was the night when i should have followed my heart. sadly, i did not. now, i will regret it forever.
especially if i don't find her again.

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when you pass by the street near the cultural center of the philippines, especially at night, you will most likely see these little girls and boys selling the sweet-smelling, dainty sampaguita flowers stringed together and being offered like garlands to drivers and passersby. these children, who should have been enjoying a good night watching their favourite cartoon show on teevee in the safety of their living rooms are instead facing all kinds of dangers out on the streets trying to make a living.
robbed of their innocence, their right to enjoy their childhood, these boys and girls, in worn out clothes and sometimes without sleepers, some as young as four years old, have learned to tell sad stories just to sell sampaguita to strangers. if you decline, they will follow you until you finally give up, and out of pity, shell out whatever little money you have in your purse and buy those tiny, little white flowers with a strong scent especially at night, held together by a tiny string that's almost invisible. like rosaries.
some of them will even dance on the streets, while taxis, jeepneys, cars, pass by. unmindful of the dangers that lurk each time they do so. they will knock on your car windows with their pitiful eyes and pale hands, dangling the perfumed sampaguita on your face. if you hesitate, they will speak in such a sad, innocent voice. pleading.
"maawa na po kayo. bili na po kayo. pang-kain lang po namin."
whose heart won't melt on such a plight? on such an angel knocking on your heart?
what's ten pesos, twenty pesos anyway if it can help this child go home early so she can sleep. so she can eat. so she can go to school.
why deprive her of a beautiful dream at night -- that she is a lovely princess in a beautiful gown like cinderella or snow white or sleeping beauty or belle.

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i have bought countless times from these kids. especially when i walk to my flat from ccp just so i could ease the guilt that i feel every time i see them on the streets at almost midnight.
sometimes, if i have extra food, i would give it to them. always telling them to share it with others.
like obedient children, they would always reply: "opo kuya."

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but that night, unfortunately, i was sulky and petulant. i just got a word that a would-be employer had changed its mind about the terms of my employment that we had earlier agreed on. to make matters worse, i forgot to bring my wallet where i usually put my bills. so i ended up counting every penny inside my coin purse just to pay the cup of cappuccino that i ordered at my favourite coffee shop near manila bay.
i was so embarrassed because i held the line. there was a long queue. people coming from dinner from nearby restaurants would usually drop by around nine to have tea, coffee, latte or cappuccino while smoking and exchanging gossips, small talks, business deals, news with their friends or families. but not me. i usually go there alone, first to stare at the sunset, or if i missed it, just to sit outside and enjoy the sea breeze and the conversations from other guests. oh, you wouldn't believe the tales of woes, of sins, of horrors, my favourite topics, by the way, that you can hear from others.

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after finishing the cappuccino, i decided to go home. but i was still in a bad mood. i couldn't shake the feeling that i had been had by this would-be employer, whom i chose over two other offers. i was hoping then that by the following week, i could already fly overseas and start a new life, a new work, a new adventure and fashion a new me to suit the new surrounding.
but.
there's always a but. in my life. i don't know why.
so i decided to walk, even if it was drizzling and i had no umbrella, hoping that walking would help calm my nerves. that the exhaustion would help me sleep well later on.
i crossed the street from harbour square to the ccp complex. it was nearly ten in the evening. the fountain was already on, and droplets of water carried away by the wind would sometimes fall into my skin, in addition to the rain drops. i didn't mind.
there were very few people and cars on the streets. even the usual horde of vendors were nowhere in sight except for a few children selling cigarettes and sampaguita.
once i reached the corner of vito cruz and roxas boulevard, i stopped. the green light along roxas boulevard was on. a little girl, about six years old, in an old dress, her long hair tied to the back, suddenly appeared in front of me, giving me a fright.
"kuya bili na po kayo ng sampaguita," she said, interrupting my reverie.
i looked at her. she looked sad. she was a new face. i had not seen her before. i had passed by the same route almost every time i was going home from harbour square that i already knew the faces of the children selling sampaguita.
when i didn't answer, the little girl added: "kung hindi po kayo bibili, pahingi na lang po kahit piso."
"aanhin mo naman ang pera? ibibigay sa tatay at nanay mo?"
(some friends have told me that these kids usually give whatever money they earn from selling sampaguita to their parents, who in turn, use the money to either buy alcoholic drinks or to gamble. i didn't know if it was true. but that night, in a bad mood, i was convinced that whatever money i would give to the girl will just end up being used by her parent to buy beer or to play cards.)
"hindi po, ibibili ko po ng tinapay kuya. gutom na po kasi ako eh."
by then, the light had changed to green. so i crossed the street. the girl followed me, but i ignored her. then i saw her running ahead of me. i followed her with my eyes. i saw her stopping at a corner where an old woman was selling cigarettes, candies and some bread. she bought a piece of bread. suddenly, i felt guilty. so i decided to buy her a burger, fries and coke at a nearby fast food chain. when i got back, she was no longer there. i asked around, but nobody seemed to know her.
still feeling guilty, i gave the food and drink to another kid who was also selling sampaguita.
that night, i could not sleep. i kept seeing her face. her sad, pleading eyes. her voice. and the way i behaved, the way i reacted.
why was i so callous? why did i behave that way? the child had nothing to do with my problems.
"hindi po, ibibili ko po ng tinapay kuya. gutom na po kasi ako eh."
i cried. then prayed. asked for forgiveness.
but sleep remained elusive.

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the next day, at around seven in the evening, i dropped by at another fast food chain and bought two pieces of fried chicken, a burger, fries and a soft drink. then i carried the food and walked briskly towards ccp, where i last saw her. but she was not there. i asked other kids, even the older ones who looked like their grandparents, but they did not know the girl.
so i decided to just give the food to the other children.
i kept on coming back, always with food taken out from the nearby fast food outlet, or a bag of bread that i bought from seven eleven, or a sandwich that i made at home, but there was no her. one time, after dinner with my friend, we walked towards ccp hoping to finally find her. i was carrying another bag of bread and sandwiches.
but she was not there.

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was i just hallucinating?
was she just a figment of my imagination?
a projection of my depressed self?

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each time i passed by ccp, i would always look for her. i would pray that i would see her again so i could make it up to her.  but she was nowhere.
then the guilt would come back. the memory of that night. of how i rejected her. she must have been so hungry at that time, so sad, so humiliated.
"kung hindi po kayo bibili, pahingi na lang po kahit piso."
what's one peso? or even five pesos? or even ten pesos? if i could afford to buy a cup of cappuccino that costs more than a hundred pesos after dinner, or leave a fifty peso tip at a restaurant?

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at night, before i sleep, i have learned to include her in my prayers. whenever i find myself inside a church, i would pray for her and then ask for her forgiveness. when i see a child or an old woman selling sampaguita, even if i had just bought one, i would still buy one.
ah, i would probably carry this burden, this guilt, this self-loathing until i see her again -- the little sampaguita girl who helped me realize that some people have bigger problems that they need to overcome each day, each hour of their life.
that for some of us, one peso can already fill a hungry stomach.
most of all, she made me realize that children, no matter what their situation in life is, will always tell the truth.
sampaguita girl, i wish i can see you again so you can feel how sorry i am.

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(the photo above was taken from the internet. no copyright infringement intended.)