It rained today. I feel great as everything goes humid. I love feeling the sprays of mist in the air. The drizzles gracefully paint everything to a refreshing shade of green. Oh how I love the rain! It makes me feel great inside.
Rain can bring up lots of emotions. It can make you smile, laugh, or sigh. But do you still remember back when we were kids? Back when we were supposed to believe that the rain are a angel's tears? It was said that they y because of mischievous kids like us. I don't know about what you have always thought about rain but for me, it is one of the best weather there is. The best time for all. ALL?
Yep. That's what I always believed in, until a while ago. I was standing outside Roxas gate, listening to the gentle splattering of the rain on the concrete road. Suddenly, the usual everyday stream of jeepneys and vehicles became an extraordinary sight for me. I was lost in a mist of thoughts when I saw a liitle boy on the middle of the road. Soaked from head-to-foot. I thought he was just crossing the street. But in fact, he was guiding taxi cabs to park on certain places. Then it hit me -- he IS WORKING!
The thought of that little child, not than ten years of age, shrouded me. I shifted my gaze to the students pouring out on the gates when someone nudged me. It was an old woman. Begging. I could have cried. I can see that she is cold. Her scratchy clothes were thin and flimsy. I'm wearing my uniform, it was of thick cloth but I can still feel the coldness sinking in my skin --- How much more for this poor woman who have barely a dress to cover her?
I remember my childhood days. My childhood dreams. A dream. I once dreamt of building a huge house. Here, I would place all the beggars and street children I could find. Sort of DSWD thingy. This would be their home.
As I think of these people, I realized that they came from their own different generations but they are all a product of that disastrous monster called POVERTY. I felt my pockets for pennies. But I have none but two pesos. I gave it to the old woman. And she looked at me differently. In her eyes, I can see gratitude and a message which says that it is the thought and sincerity that counts. She left before I could utter a single word.
This is me. Studying at a "prestigious" university. I study, not only to earn a diploma and tell the whole world that I made it through college. I study. I prepare. I prepare for my dreams. For my dreams are hope. The youth is our hope. I wish to call my fellow youth to open their eyes to the cruel whip of fate. Let us not waste this precious opportunity given to us. We must think about those who 't even have anything. We are young, reckless, and hard-headed. No one can change it but US. Only US. It is in US that'a what our future would be like.
Let the rain give you the image of tears. Tears of joy. Of pain. It is in us to declare it as we want. Let us make these tears a symbol of happiness. For as long as the rain pours, may it be a storm or a gentle shower, somewhere in the mist, lies the message of God.
Rain can bring up lots of emotions. It can make you smile, laugh, or sigh. But do you still remember back when we were kids? Back when we were supposed to believe that the rain are a angel's tears? It was said that they y because of mischievous kids like us. I don't know about what you have always thought about rain but for me, it is one of the best weather there is. The best time for all. ALL?
Yep. That's what I always believed in, until a while ago. I was standing outside Roxas gate, listening to the gentle splattering of the rain on the concrete road. Suddenly, the usual everyday stream of jeepneys and vehicles became an extraordinary sight for me. I was lost in a mist of thoughts when I saw a liitle boy on the middle of the road. Soaked from head-to-foot. I thought he was just crossing the street. But in fact, he was guiding taxi cabs to park on certain places. Then it hit me -- he IS WORKING!
The thought of that little child, not than ten years of age, shrouded me. I shifted my gaze to the students pouring out on the gates when someone nudged me. It was an old woman. Begging. I could have cried. I can see that she is cold. Her scratchy clothes were thin and flimsy. I'm wearing my uniform, it was of thick cloth but I can still feel the coldness sinking in my skin --- How much more for this poor woman who have barely a dress to cover her?
I remember my childhood days. My childhood dreams. A dream. I once dreamt of building a huge house. Here, I would place all the beggars and street children I could find. Sort of DSWD thingy. This would be their home.
As I think of these people, I realized that they came from their own different generations but they are all a product of that disastrous monster called POVERTY. I felt my pockets for pennies. But I have none but two pesos. I gave it to the old woman. And she looked at me differently. In her eyes, I can see gratitude and a message which says that it is the thought and sincerity that counts. She left before I could utter a single word.
This is me. Studying at a "prestigious" university. I study, not only to earn a diploma and tell the whole world that I made it through college. I study. I prepare. I prepare for my dreams. For my dreams are hope. The youth is our hope. I wish to call my fellow youth to open their eyes to the cruel whip of fate. Let us not waste this precious opportunity given to us. We must think about those who 't even have anything. We are young, reckless, and hard-headed. No one can change it but US. Only US. It is in US that'a what our future would be like.
Let the rain give you the image of tears. Tears of joy. Of pain. It is in us to declare it as we want. Let us make these tears a symbol of happiness. For as long as the rain pours, may it be a storm or a gentle shower, somewhere in the mist, lies the message of God.
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