I see, I feel, I learn, I am
But back then, I was looking at things as a young, very enthusiastic, messianic, as kigao would say, single person, with only myself to worry about, wanting to contribute something, anything to change the world. Some ten years or so ago, when I was working directly with beneficiaries, I guess I became immune-- so used to all that poverty I was regularly faced with it, and so busy with trying to do something about it that there was no time for emotions. I was regularly faced with how the world is unfair, with pain, with other people’s loss.
Then something happened to me over the years as I became a mom of two, the levels of working shifted to a higher, more regional work. Career shifts have made me forget how it is. Meetings were held in hotels more and more. I stopped dealing with on the ground focus group discussions. Sleeping in tents became less work-related or because I had to be with the people but fun, your choice camp outs. I started complaining about the state of hotels, whether their food and facilities were good, and picked on what they lacked, took what they do have totally for granted.
In between these shifts, I went to India.
I didn’t really feel much like a foreigner. The environment was not new to me. The women were not. They made us feel so welcome and one of them. Except for the different language, I did not feel like an international delegate. Maybe the presence of many Filipino women, and hearing your own language from time to time more than made me feel really comfortable at the conference.
Then we went to the public assembly. Thousands of women came to celebrate women’s day with us. That is, assuming that they know what they have come there for. Some brought their kids, because either they wanted to or they had no other choice but to bring them.
It was while staring into the eyes of a 12-year old girl, two years older than my eldest daughter when I had to fight back the tears. I was sitting comfortably beside her and her mom, maybe in her 40s or 50s, after the usual what is your name, what country are you from initial introductions. When she asked if I can support her education, I had to hide my reaction which I hope I was able to do well. I thought I answered her well also, telling her of our local partner there who can probably help with her education. They tried to invite me for dinner but I refused very politely, using our convoy as an excuse.
We were with the Dalit women. Those that they consider untouchables in India, yet abused and raped at night. The Dalits are the lowest in their caste system. Lower still, because they are women. There were no opportunities for them. Their fate is sealed because they have been born in that family. Society has boxed them to be untouchables.
I sat on the plane on my way back to Thailand, grounding myself, wondering why all of a sudden emotions were flooding me and I felt like crying over something I thought I was immune to. I know it sounds corny and unoriginal, but as a friend once said, the truth usually is. I couldn’t help thinking how lucky my kids are, how lucky we are for having so much.
Years ago, I never felt better off than anyone. I was one of them. But then, years later, I forget. I am ashamed of myself to have forgotten. Now I find myself looking at the same issue, except now with an added layer of something I have never really faced: the caste system, my heart is heavy.
My circumstances and perceptions have changed. I saw a woman my age, but seemingly ten years older with life experience and pain. I thought: I could have been her. My kids could have been hers.
I drank myself sick when I got home.
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