Anthropologist on Foot

After the workout, too tired to even put back the treadmill in place, I decided to head inside for a shower but on my way, I again saw Mang^ Temmy, now with an assistant, working on our roof. They were painting the undercover white.

I couldn’t help but look up again and stare at their grim and tired faces, their paint-splattered hair and skin, and stick-think frames. I couldn’t imagine that a small and seemingly insignificant piece of our home would entail a lot of hard work. I wanted to deny the pain of realizing it, telling myself, “It’s their work anyway.” Then I took the long-sought shower.

It took me longer than expected.

Upon opening the heater, I wonder who had it installed. When I adjusted the flow of the water, I wonder who assembled the pipes to make them fit just right. When I brushed my teeth, I couldn’t help but think who made the sink so clean, the mirrors so clean, and the drainage free of weird things that’d make the routine less convenient.

Every single piece seemed to be puzzles of a universal truth that people comfortable in their lives inevitably deny. I wanted to face it, yet afraid, too, of carrying the moral burden the truth shall cause. Am I that young not to care?

I feel I’m caught in between the battle of struggle in this life. I couldn’t help but feel pity when I see the many faces of poverty around me, when I drive to school, when I sit in a restaurant. Yet at the same time, I also feel guilty for letting myself enjoy these luxuries in the face of hunger and homelessness in this country. As much as I wanted to break free of these necessities-turned-luxuries for the majority in this developing country—having three meals a day, having a car, owning a house to call home—I feel like a Hamlet, an Ivan Karamazov, crippled by the decisions I have to make. I couldn’t unite the fact that while I am here sitting on a soft couch and thinking of the next book I am to read, there are people who are physically tired yet spiritually inspired to toil hard every single day to “just get through the day.”

I am so aware, so moved by this truth, yet I am immobilized by my comforts, my interests, my future, that I am not entirely ready to give these things up.

“Oh, you’re through?” as I saw Mang Temmy and another carpenter heading to the kitchen.

“Will eat a bit then will burn more bones. This is my destiny anyway.”

I waved my hand, bowed my head down, knowing that this time, I shouldn’t let myself fall into defeat.