The Philippine Online Chronicles

How hard is it to be kind that a day has to be set aside to commemorate it? Has this virtue -- which forms the bulwark of society -- become a thing of the past? And I used to think Filipinos have such an excess of kindness we can be a donor country if kindness were only a "commodity!"

As I look back to days when we didn’t have windows and doors (though we did have a big-ass dog, named Fuji, after that bulky Japanese mountain), and when I was left to the care of the neighborhood kids as a child, I found that it was easier then to come and go as I please. We didn’t have any state-of-the-art turntables nor black-and-white television sets inside double-door cabinets, but apart from having no need to protect property was also the absence of the fear.

No fear from those who would rob your or your family of life, or land or property.

The spur of unbelievable killings, the conclusion of which we are all watching out for these past weeks, from Given Grace to Ramgen have left me rubbing my eyes, feeling like a bit player in a horror telenovela with each live news update. Each incident makes me wonder what inner compulsion triggered each despicable deed – for every logical explanation seems to me so implausible that I find it nearer fiction than truth.

A stroke of real love

Kindness cannot be giving the other cheek all the time, else you will one day see yourself a victim of abuse- that you vehemently brought upon yourself.  

An approach that is kindest in the long run would be the "progressive" type. The type that some might see as borderline brutal, just like letting go of an errant child – so she can have a proper sense of how the world works and learn to walk on her own for the sake of her own full-circle development.

Teaching a man to fend for himself requires first a thirst for something more, something better. Take for instance Roach and The Pacman. The guy from General Santos went from carbo-loading with instant noodles to eating bulalo in his US estate and having a whole team jog with him while training in the land of milk and Wall Street money.

That said, kindness then should have a purpose; not just a drive-by coin doled out on Christmas day. My mom disagrees with me on this one, always saying that if you can help, give without needing to remonstrate.

But being the subjective person that I truly am, though always trying to be less of the same, those who shove an envelope on my lap as I am seated on the bus, tap a groovy clave on makeshift rototoms while seated on the jeepney entrance platform, hum a pleasing tune of the guitar by the mall, would all be scrutinized under my piercing (yet tantalizing) eyes.

The need to qualify. I can’t help it. I am its prisoner. I check first if the disability is real. Sometimes I feel that they’re beggars by day and moonlight as carnival contortionists. Believe me, if you feel like you’re being scammed, then most likely, your guess is right.

But the International Day of Kindness must have made an even softer spot in my heart this month.

Simple everyday kindness

I was taking out the garbage, when I came across this kid, a boy. No slippers, but relatively more hygienic than the typical street child. It must have something to do with my being a father, because I’m usually very uptight, especially when it comes to these things.

For all I know, he might be staking out my house, figuring out our schedule, or where I keep my cell phone. Or, God forbid, about to ask me for money.

He didn’t. Only went about his business, quiet as a bubwit.

I spoke to him, politely telling him to put the trash in order, after rummaging for what he needs, which are, obviously, plastic containers. I then went inside the apartment, and upon finding an empty 1.5 liter soda container, went back outside, and handed it to him.

I wanted to give him the dish rack, the monobloc chairs, everything cast in polyvinylpyrollidone. But in my mind I knew my wife would kill me when she got home and found the baby and me watching TV, our bellies kissing pavement.

A simple gift of kindness doesn’t take much depending on the recipient of your benevolence. Should the creature be worthy? If it’s someone you know, then all the easier. But what if you come across an ingrate, would charity still cross your mind?

Curbing violence

You wouldn’t believe I had a pre-pubescent pup show me his Johnson when I wouldn’t give him my food – the snack I needed to tide me through an hour and a half worth of being sandwiched in a jeepney on the way home. I told him his breath stunk of adhesive solvent, which it did, and he thought we should duel by fistfight at which I demurred and instead asked him to go get circumsized. The rest you already know.

He’s just a kid, I said to myself, and unjust vexations would be more than enough. Which brings us to the next point.

Limits of violence, also a form of bestowing kindness. Each of us has a potential for brutality. And what would hold this brittle webwork of our Filipino society is for us to exercise limits of violence.

Comparable to praying, in the sense that you meditate a response to a specific altercation-inducing event before you leave the house everyday. I find this very effective, being composed and having the grace to remain patient as I go about my daily business. Diverging from that habit means acting wise guy to the Metro Manila Development Authority “Stopper” (recently found out that there’s such a job description in their ranks as this), being dubbed an ass (The nerve of that guy! I’m a prick, not an arse!), and bringing your wife, baby, and other relatives nearer a nervous breakdown.

Limits. If you think you don't have brakes, I strongly suggest that you ask yourself:

1. How do I react to stressful situations?
2. Do I need a gun?
3. (If you own a gun) Do I know where the safety is? How will I prevent the other people in my household from gaining access to it? What body part of the “enemy” do I shoot? Could I live with killing a live human being of flesh and blood? I mean, seriously?
4. (If you have a baseball bat) Am I a baseball player? Do I even know the rules of baseball?
5. If it came to protecting the ones I love, from other people, from other relatives, or from themselves, how far am I willing to go in terms of inflicting physical injury?

Limits. People. Restraint. We need to have these tattooed on our cerebral hemispheres.

Personally, the worst I can go is a fistfight, possibly use an arnis too, but no hitting the vitals. Maybe only the vital statistics while trash-talking. Nobody dies of that. But that MMDA stopper was turning bluish-gray, starting to necrotize, the way I tongue-lashed his ass. No, I don’t have a problem with authority. Only with a non-authority wanting a quick buck.

Because, like my main man, Francis M, sang: “You can’t talk peace, and have a gun.” Take that, Moro Islamic Liberation Fund, I mean, Front. Take that too, Military Expenditure Allotment, by half a sky higher than the Education Budget. Woozah.

Photo: “beggar-c2” by Martin Sordilla, c/o Flickr. Some Rights Reserved