I was reminded of a little girl selling cigarettes on an empty mayonnaise bottle roaming around the neighborhood during the summer some twenty years ago. While her playmates were busy setting up a little Friendly Sari-Sari Store operated by ten year olds with candies, crackers, chips and iced water for the thirsty jeepney drivers, she was out on the streets screaming "Palit mo ug sigarilyo!!!!"
I don't really know why she had to do that. Maybe because she felt the need to go out of her way and not just sit back and wait for the first customer. Maybe selling was a career at the age of seven. Maybe it runs in the blood, or maybe she just had fun doing that. And when I looked again, zoomed in the lens of my camera on the man selling hats, I remembered, some twenty years ago, that little girl was me.
"It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn’t interest me where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair,weary, bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children."
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