Jayme's Journal

I asked myself this question as I sat in the cold taxi cab on my way home. I had just come from a meeting with my boss and my colleague, tired from a taping day, my feet painful from hours of wearing high heels.

We were brainstorming our topic for our next episode when the conversation drifted to the rich and the poor. They told me that the rich, with all their wealth and resources, should help the poor.

I disagreed saying that it’s the government’s job to uplift it’s poor citizens. It is not the rich people’s responsibility to help them. I thought that the adage, “The rich get richer, the poor get poorer” is only true for those who believe it.

“Have you been to the slums lately?” my boss asked. And I said no. I don’t go to the slums. I avoid slums.

Suddenly, memories of my past coverages flashed before me.

The crowded, noisy and garbage strewn eskinita, where you can’t tell where one house ends and the other one begins.

We were looking for a teenage father as a case study for a story. A thirteen year old kid who impregnated his playmate. He ended up working as a pedicab driver while his young wife fed their baby am (rice water).

Then there was the woman living in a dark cramped room, suffering from a disease that now escapes me. She was our case study for a medical intervention story. I’m not sure if she ever recovered fully. After our shoot, we didn’t contact her again.

Case studies. That’s all they were. And I cringe when I realize how exploitative that sounds. How uncaring I have been.

When did I stop caring?

It always goes back to that single point in my life. The moment when I thought I was doing something worthwhile, pursuing my real purpose as a young journalist.

Despite the risks, I believed I was doing the right thing. Only to see justice die before my eyes. A horrifying death that killed whatever idealism I had inside me.

I tried bringing it back, lighting the fire again. But the depression and the stress of trying to save the world was too much. I gave up.

I moved on. For myself.

I thought maybe I could fulfill my purpose in another way.

And then, my life took a surprise turn. I became a mom, I became a wife. Suddenly, I had my own little world to care for. How can I care for anybody else?

“The people in the slums, they know better. But they can’t do anything about it,” my boss said.

I’ve always believed that people should be able to help themselves. After all, haven’t we heard those success stories of people who rise from the slums.

But when I remembered all those case studies, all those people who can’t get out of the cycle of poverty, it hit me: They DO need help.

You can’t save them. But you can help them believe that they can live a better life, they deserve a better life. They have it in them, they just don’t know it yet. You can help them, help themselves.

Compassion

“We’re all in this together,” my boss said.

I pondered her words as I arrived home and threw my heels on the floor. I went up to our room and hugged my girls.

My girls who can eat what they like more than three times a day, who have more clothes than they can possibly wear, more toys than they can play with. My girls who can freely move around in a spacious, clean,comfortable and safe home. My girls who can study in a progressive school.

And I think of all the children, the same age they are, who lack all these things and so much more. And who’s to say they don’t deserve them?

I am far from being a billionaire (at least not yet), but I am not helpless. I can help and I know better.

I thought of my boss’ summer project, the one where I volunteered to help teach underprivileged kids about self-esteem, setting goals and fulfilling their dreams. And I just realized, the Universe has, once again, given me the chance to do what I love to do. A chance to fulfill my purpose.

I care.

Thank you Mam JJ, for reminding me that I can. And I do.

Posted on: April 5, 2011
Posted in: Floating thoughts
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