8/14/2019 Lonesome Road to Poverty

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Poverty is rancid to the tongue of someone not accustomed to it. It is an inescapable truth that the mindtries to ignore but which the senses cannot overlook.

It has not always been like this – for me to search every corner of the house for coins just to buy a stick or two of cigarette to complement a pretentious dinner. How tenacious we can become when confronted withhopelessness, to cling to our fantasies of wealth while we try to ignore the noise of our homes falling into disre-

pair.Having found the sum of three pesos, a man can almost cry to think of the contrast between a once con-

stant ve-digit bank account and a jingling pocket of nicked coins.When you nd almost every aspect of your life turn to “zero”, you become xated to the empty shells

that once you thought dened your life. There is that empty garage where you once parked your beloved car – which once was so tightly entangled with your ego, there is that worthless checkbook that before governedyour concept of the passage of time, an empty refrigerator with containers of milk and “fresh” orange juice butnow hold nothing but water, empty ngers that once held Dunhill’s but now crave for anything that would pro-duce tobacco smoke.

I don’t know how this miserable predicament ever snuck in on me; or perhaps I just want to spare myself from further mutilation of my self-conception. But like most things in life, what is done is done. It is in thisstate that I decided to roam – to go on a quest for cigarettes at 1 o’clock in the morning with only three pesos.God knows where I’ll nd a store that would still be open, but with such a craving, whether I’ll nd one or not,is a question for the heavens. With not enough money to even catch a tricycle, I knew it would be an affair strictly between me and the dark sky. Perhaps I was thankful, in that I would be relieved of the burden of somuch worry; the cold air brings clarity to tired minds. I wondered what would become of men like me wheneven contemplation had a price.

The long walk, the nagging craving that brings a smoker’s legs up to speed, the cool silent air and the

desolation of the streets I found to be a reection of the reality that I had always feared but suddenly become thelife that I am now living.A tricycle roared past, leaving a trail of smoke that blanketed my path. I used to sneer behind the wheel

of my Sentra at the dusty drivers of those noisy contraptions. I used to think that there was just too many of them on the road. Now, I envy them in that their legs are not as tired as mine, and that they surely would havemore than three measly pesos in their pockets. Tomorrow, when I beg relatives for food, they – the dustydrivers, would leave their homes and drive off to put food on their plates and eat with their pride intact. Timedenitely turns the tide on everything, especially over the fate of men.

My sorrowful heart jumped for joy at the sight of a small carinderia along the highway. It may seem pa-thetic, but to lessen just one pain among many can feel like a blessing for a person riddled with frustration anddisappointments.

The LonesomeRoad toPoverty

8/14/2019 Lonesome Road to Poverty

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