Story: Wheelchair (Assignment 5)

My first month here in Polomolok was new to my senses—the smell of the gutters, the noise from the vehicles, the heat that is much pleasing than anywhere else, and the people walking around doing their stuffs in the market.  As I look into the sky from where I sit beside the road, I could remember my youth.  I could still remember rightly my childhood that I would really wish to forget.

I am Sean.  I was raised in Cebu and we are nine in the family.  I am the only child born with disabled limbs.  Because of poverty and lack of awareness, I was not able to go to school.  In my early age, I was exposed to in street life.  My mother let me help sell buko juice in front of the church.  I was happy—I did not care about the people around me.  I only need my mother to be glad because she showered me with love more than anything and she let me feel it anytime—for her, I am not different.  On my fifteenth birthday, they gave me a wheelchair donated by charity program.  That was the best gift I had ever received in my life.

My mother died a month after.  I could not bear the grief that pained me inside. Days after she was buried, my father decided to give me to his sister in Polomolok—I was forced. He threw me words that hurt me—that I am useless, palamunin, and basura. When I came to my aunt’s house, I was a bit surprised to see how small the house and the fact that her children still lived with her that time.  I thought days would be better with them but I experienced worse things.  They let me sleep outside the house, rain or shine; I could only eat if they were done eating and sometimes, there was none left for me; every day, I hear painful words from them; and the most painful thing, they ruined my wheelchair—my only wheelchair and the only remembrance left from my mother.  All I did was to cry placidly all the time.

One day, my aunt’s children left her leaving her apos to her. My cousins all decided to go with their significant others.  Knowing that my aunt is jobless and helpless, I encouraged myself to go back to where I started—in the streets: this time, not as a vendor but as a beggar.  I gave my first collection to my aunt and she hugged me.  She expressed her gratitude to me by saying an apology to everything she had done.  I had not noticed that time had passed—days, months, years.  We had no news about where my cousins were.  I was keeping money for myself hoping to buy a new wheelchair.

One day, a van came—persons came out and tried to get me.  I was so nervous that I had not uttered a single sound to react.  Inside the van, I kept on asking them why they arrested me; they replied nothing.  Minutes later, the van stopped.  When they opened it, and I saw a beautiful place that, I have not seen before.  There were people talking, singing, dancing, and doing other things, which I could not describe.  There were also many foods, which I enjoyed.  I looked around and saw many persons who are like me, some without hind limbs, some with pollo, and others were senior citizens.  Some were asked to give their experiences and feelings in front of the stage and I was astounded that their experiences were like mine.  There were also some who experienced worse than mine.   Before the end of the program, people gave us new wheelchairs.  I felt my tears run down my eyes when I sat in my new wheelchair.  As I caressed the chair, I remembered the hugs of my mother.  That memory made me cry a lot and the only words I expressed was “thank you...”