So this is what it feels like to have a heart that is broken.

How can I possibly explain the emotions, the feelings, the thoughts that came into my head after going through immersion this past weekend. It's almost impossible. It's almost like trying to write the perfect story... But you can't, because you don't have enough words to say, and it's like you can't put it down to paper.

But I'll try. This experience deserves that at least.

I can safely say that we went to the most dangerous immersion site of our batch: Barangay Isla Puting Bato deep in the heart of Tondo, Manila. The urban poor. The spot that most of us have heard the most horror stories about.

And all of those stories, as it relates to our area, were true. And then some.

Almost every hour, and most of the time in the evening, soldiers, guards, and Barangay Tanods would walk along the streets, making sure that no one was making any trouble. The problem with the place is that there are a lot of people who are addicted to shabu, and when they're under the influence, in the terms of the tanods, "wala silang sinasanto." They can just whip out a gun and shoot you on the spot. Also, a lot of drug pushers wander the area at night, and offer drugs to passersby. If you reject them, they think that you're a spy for the police, and proceed to stab you. Also on the spot. Because of this, all of the leaders of the Barangay watched out for us, and gave us a bit of special treatment, because unfamiliar faces in the barangay were usally assumed to be the enemy. But despite that, we had to be extra careful, leading us to have to return to our homes when the sun sets, and locking up by around 8pm.

The first night we were there, I couldn't sleep, so I was listening to what was happening outside. Soon, I heard the sound of running and screaming. Apparently, the police caught someone they suspected to be a drug dealer, or under the influence. I heard the man screaming, begging for his life. And probably for the first time in my life, I was scared for my safety. I was scared that it was possible that someone could just barge in, and do whatever he wanted. In fact, there were a lot of "akyat-bahay" among the people, meaning that if there was a blackout, they would just climb up houses and take whatever they could find. And in fact, without going into detail, there was a plot to do that to 2 of our groupmates. I just thank God that that was avoided.

But all that ended as soon as I was introduced to my family, most especially to my 'nay: Nanay Lorna. Mothers from different houses in the area picked one or two of us to stay with them in their house, and I was the last one to be picked. As I entered the house, and saw her for the first time, I couldn't help but smile. She had the sweetest smile ever, and was always cheerful to me, even though I knew she was really busy running the house that doubled as their house. Their house was really, really small. It was probably 1/2 the size of a classroom in ateneo, and I think even that's being generous. Their bathroom was infested with rats and cockroaches, so we had to take a bath in front of the house, with a drape covering the front. In their makeshift 2nd floor, the family slept on the floor, and there was a constant fear that eventually it would collapse, as it was made out of makeshift boards. In the evenings, I slept in a monoblock-like bench, that was too small for me. I tried every imaginable position to try and sleep, but it was almost impossible for me. Because of the rats that were everywhere. I counted at least 5, and in the evening, in pitchblack, I could hear them running around, and I could see their silhouettes as they ran around, jumped in and out of bags and and plastics. Needless to say, there was no sleep for me.

It was strange. On a "no way things can worse than this" scale, this was probably at a 2 or 1. But for some reason, I didn't care. I got to know 'nay Lorna and 'tay Berto, as well as their 4 kids. I played with them, talked about school, and just being kids. When I was with 'nay, we talked about her background, and she also wanted to know about me.

At first glance of the house and the settings, I asked God why he put me in this position. Why me, why did I have to have the smallest house to live in, why things were so difficult.

As the days went on, it began to be clear to me. God wanted to show me what true love was like. Not romantic love, or sentimental crap like that. True love. Love that overcomes all obstacles and borders. Love like taking care of the children even while managing a tindahan. Love like offering food when there isn't enough. Love like offering space in a house that doesn't have any. Love like offering someone to be a part of their life.

'Nay Lorna showed me this. She taught me that you don't need material possesions to be happy, or to feel loved. They may work in some situations, but when everything is stripped away, and there's only one another left, that kind of love is special, something that can never be bought, or replaced.

In my last evening, the barangay experienced a blackout, and everthing was pitch black. 'Nay Lorna went down to where I was staying, and lit a candle, because she didn't want the rats to go around and pose a threat to me.

And as I said good bye to her, she looked into my eyes, tears already welling, and said probably the most painful line anyone has ever said to me.

"Pasensya na sa pagkukulang ko."

As I'm writing this right now, the moment, the emotion is just causing me to break down again, remembering her look as she said this to me. I wondered how could she possibly think that she wasn't enough. After looking out for me for 3 days. After offering me food when there wasn't enough. A place to sleep in the evening. A bright smile. Coffee in the morning. After offering me love.

Love. sometimes we take this for granted, don't we. Because for a lot of us, we tend to equate love with other things at times. Even I'm guilty of this.

I saw the love of Christ in her.

I saw how someone can love someone else, even though they were just a part of their life for 3 days.

When I got home, I washed my hands in a faucet, with flowing water. I used a bathroom. I washed my feet. I cried. I knew that 'nay Lorna was still there in Tondo, along with her family. She didn't have flowing water, a bathroom, and excess water to wash her feet with.

It's just not fair. That those beautiful people have to be in that situation, while others are living comfortably, even though they don't deserve it. So many times, it seems like our problems
are the end of the world for us. But I guess that we have to always remember that in whatever situation we are in, there is always someone else who is suffering even more than us. It doesn't mean that our problems are less important, but now its just a matter of putting things in context. And realizing that everything can be dealt with. I know this now.

The overwhelming question after every immersion is "So what now?" What can I do? I don't know the answer to this, honestly. I don't think I can change the world, or solve world hunger and poverty.

But I know that this trip was the beginning of something for me. Forget that this is supposed to be a school project or whatever. This goes way beyond it. A journye of a thousand miles begins with a single step, as they say. Idealism be damned, I want to make things different.

It's funny, I'm not sure if 'nay has electricity yet in their house, and here I am using the computer to write a story about her and her family. Maybe telling others about my experience will help me find the answers that I'm looking for.

I just hope that the world will listen.

"I thank my God everytime I remember you."