Tuesday – God,
it’s so early! I groan to Him. My alarm beeps at 6:30, reminding me it’s time
to rise. Nooo… I want to roll over and go back to sleep. It takes all my willpower
to climb down from my bunk and dress for digging. After quiet time and
breakfast, a group of us heads for the work site. It is now 8 a.m. Two minutes
after stepping out of the YMC compound, I’m sweating. Twenty-five minutes into
digging, I look like I went swimming in my clothes. Latest discovery? In the
Philippines, I drink the more water in one day than I did in a whole week at
home. Three and a half hours in, lunch comes as a welcome respite. Digging
resumes at 1. Three hours later, we call it a day. Thoroughly filthy, I head
straight to the shower. After, I head to the church next door to hang out with
local kids who are playing basketball. Collapsing onto my bunk that night, I
fall asleep before the first song on my iPod has finished playing.
Wednesday – I groan
in agony when my alarm goes off at 7:15. Everything hurts – my hands, my arms,
my shoulders, my back. But I’m determined to help dig for a full day again. My
resolve only lasts until lunch. This, the second morning, was the hardest. I
bail after lunch and take the afternoon to recuperate and end up going with
Malou and Annalyn to the market for fruits and vegetables. I play photographer
again at the basketball games that night, have dinner, then hang out for a bit
before heading to bed.
Thursday – When my
alarm goes off at 6:30, I tentatively stretch. Ok, muscles aren’t quite as
sore; maybe I can dig for the whole day today. At the site, Cameron pauses by
me as I’m shoveling and comments, “You’re kinda slow today; I know you’ve got
more than that!� He considers me for a moment then asks, “What’s the matter?�
When I tell him I’m tired and sore still, he says a quick prayer for me.
Miraculously by lunch, I have more energy and my muscles have lost the majority
of their soreness. Hallelujah! I finish out the day strong and even have enough
energy to play soccer at the church with some of the boys that evening. This
night, there’s room for me in the group that goes to Santa Lucia to hang out in
an alley with street kids, orphans and prostitutes. As I link arms with the
14-year-old prostitute Rose who jokingly calls me her sister since we look
similar, I wonder how these girls can contain such joy and life. And as 9-year-old homeless orphan Samwell grabs
my arms and wraps them around himself when we sit on the curb, I wonder how
these kids can hold such love.
Friday – For the
first time in what seems like forever, I wake up with energy and no soreness.
This day, I have no problems working for the full day at the site, shoveling
and hauling buckets of the sticky Filipino dirt. I don’t think I’ve ever been this dirty and smelly. That evening, I catch a
glimpse of my back in the mirror. Those are some ridiculous tan lines I’ve
acquired over the course of four days! No wonder people keep thinking I’m a
Filipina. Tonight, I stay up late hanging out with the group from Hong Kong
that’s leaving in the morning and watching movies with the three boys who live
here at YMC.
Saturday – I sleep
in. Which means after seven (but I still get up before eight). I spend the
morning reading and relaxing until boredom hits and I go looking for Chris, the
20-year-old maintenance guy at YMC. He lets me help him wash one of the vans
then follow him around, helping with odd jobs he’s been assigned. That
afternoon, my plans for shopping are foiled. But it all ends up working out, as
I continue helping Chris and hang out with the boys from the street. Tonight, I
recruit teammates Emily Rae and Laura to accompany me to the home of some other
American volunteers/missionaries. We enjoy a roasted chicken before swimming
and hanging out for a bit. When I get back, I have a conversation with one of
the boys that leaves me wondering, “Why me, God? Why did you choose me to be
born in America, into a loving and supportive family who has been blessed with
more than we need? Why am I so blessed and often unappreciative when others
have been beaten, unloved, unclaimed, and abused?�
Sunday – Laura wakes up early and I wake Rene
to help guide us around the public market. There is so much STUFF! I’m
overwhelmed by the material-ness of it all. As we ride the jeepney home for
lunch, my bags in hand, I ponder how much milk the money that I just spent on
my jeans could have bought the hungry baby of an 18-year-old’s older brother,
or how much food I could have bought for a few of the small boys who know my
name and always call out greetings of “Hi, Tita Ruth!� as I walk past. After
lunch, four of us girls accompany Annalyn to church at Victory in the
Greenhills Mall. I laugh to myself at the irony – the sermon series is about
money and the topic this day was stewardship. How fitting. Yet I continue
shopping and buying more things after church concludes. I wonder if I can
justify it since over half of what I bought was Christmas presents for my
brothers. Traffic creates a long ride home and I wolf down dinner before
heading next door to the church to hang out with the guys and watch basketball.
While there, I finish drawing a tattoo for one of them and begin another. Back
at YMC later on, I wander into the kitchen to find a group of squadmates
deciding what animals we most resembled. Apparently, I’m a lynx. Can you see
it?
Thus ends the first week in Manila. Full of life and lessons and new adventures. I can’t wait to see what this coming week will bring!
