Yellow Umbrella

This young boy looking no older than seven years old, loiters barefooted in the rain on Tomas Morato Avenue.

He waits playing with a loose red brick on the sidewalk in front of him, rain quickly collecting, making a puddle where he passes the time by dropping the brick over and over again.

He waits for a patron in one of the restaurants that he himself has probalby never stepped foot in.

He waits, umbrella in hand for a passenger from a jeepney or taxi that is caught unexpectedly in the downpour umbrella-less. And even if he were to walk on the tips of his toes hold the umbrella with his arms stretched to the sky, he still probably wouldn't be able to hold his yellow umbrella above the head of an average Filipino.

He waits for a private vehicle to assist in parking or to hold the traffic for them on the busy street.

He waits for the pocket change for his small service...he continues to wait.

Tomas Morato is perpendicular to the street I live on. It is home to multiple restaurants, coffee shops, and places to "gimmick". Every time I get into a taxi bound for home I say, "sa Scout de Guia Manong, malapit sa Tomas Morato" [Scout de Guia Manong, near Tomas Morato] and the driver will almost always know exactly where to take me.

I sometimes order food or coffee in these nearby establishments, especially when Tita Lina or Kuya Nonong aren't selling food in their makeshift canteens. I always see these boys when it starts to rain on Tomas Morato, who knows, these are probably the same nameless faces I see selling sampaguita at nightfall.

When will I ever get use to seeing this? Will I ever become numb to the stark contrasts of wealth and poverty? How can the rich and the privileged ignore this everyday? How does this boy survive day by day?