Hazia’s Reflections

Homeless…

One night during dinner, my good friend suddenly spilled her tragic tale which happened a long time ago. It seemed that when she was a teenager, her family was ‘chased’ out of their home, the house where her siblings and she grew up and lived all their lives.

Her mother married her father when she was 30 and he was 60, she was the second wife. Naturally my friends’ step-siblings were much older. Her father passed away many years ago. The house belonged to the second wife but due to its ideal location, the first wife’s family wanted to turn it into a shop lot. My friend said that they refused to move at first but succumbed to pressure later on. Family ties were severely broken following that incidence.

The experience must have shaken them badly for right after they finished studying and started working, each of her 4 siblings rushed to buy a house. That was top of mind to them, after all those years of being ‘homeless’.

It was a huge coincidence that my sister in law was related to the first wife family. Of course she was too young to understand what happened back then. Nevertheless, I had a tough time keeping the secret, I could not mention to her that her ‘disowned aunt’ and I were very close friends. Luckily my friend decided to tell her herself a few weeks back:)

Wealthy…

Polygamy was nothing unusual in my family two generations ago; it is unusual to the present generations though. Both of my late grandfathers practised polygamy, my mother was among the children of the first wife, so no major problem there where properties were concerned. However, my father was among the children of the second wife, hence, it was a different case altogether.

You see, my late paternal grandmother married a tycoon when she was only 12. He may have showered her with wealth during his lifetime but most of his properties went to the first wife family after he passed away. My father was only 8 then and hardly remembered him. I put the pieces together from the stories that I heard from my uncle and older members of the family.

Unfortunately, though my late grandfather once owned a huge part of my hometown, my father grew up poor. He had to work to support himself from the time he was in school right until his varsity days. When we were studying, he used to ask my brothers and I whether we have enough money. This was because he knew what it felt like to be penniless which happened when he was doing his degree in Australia.

All in all, I have to say that looking at my father now, it was difficult to believe that he was ever poor. Like my parents always said, ‘Money doesn’t change who you are. Having lots of money doesn’t automatically make you a somebody. You have to earn it.’

Poverty…

Hmm…all these recollections have surely jived my memory of ‘Paraiso’, a song by Philippino group, Smokey Mountain. I first heard this beautiful melody and heart-gripping lyric during an AIESEC international students’ conference that I attended in Manila in 1995.

The agenda covered social responsibility where Smokey Mountain in Tondo, Metro Manila was used as the main case study for poverty. This ‘unique place’ consisted of a huge garbage dump where homeless people and street children scavenged for cans and scraps to sell and earn a living. The song captured the sentimens of such a child.

I didn’t get to visit it at that time but I hope to do so the next time I’m in Philippines; it has been developed into a proper housing area not too long ago. I also remember that one of the Australian delegates who climbed the mountain was allergic to the soil. He wore sandals, his feet became grossly swollen a few hours later, he couldn’t walk. That was how polluted it was and we couldn’t believe that people actually lived there.

Paraiso

Return to a land called Paraiso
A place where a dying river ends
No birds dare fly over Paraiso
No space allows them to endure
The smoke that screens the air
The grass that’s never there
And if I could see a single bird, what a joy
I try to write some words and create a single song
To be heard by the rest of the world

I live in this land called Paraiso
In a house made of cardboard floors and walls
I learned to be free in Paraiso
Free to claim anything I see

Matching rags for my clothes
Plastic bags for the cold.
And if empty cans were all I have, what a joy
I never fight to take someone else’s coins
And live with fear like the rest of the boys

Paraiso, help me make a stand
Paraiso, take me by the hand
Paraiso, make the world understand
That if I could see a single bird, what a joy
This tired and hungry land could expect
Some truth and hope and respect from the rest of the world