It was raining hard when I saw him again. He was covered with plastic (like a white garbage bag wrapped around him,) with a big basket slung around his one shoulder and an umbrella resting on the other. The tone of his voice never changed. For the past 12 years, he had the same call for “Balooooooot!”
When I first noticed him, we were new in the neighborhood. It was a rainy afternoon and I was looking out the window when I saw this man in the midst of the flooded street, calling out “Baloooooooot!” And I felt very sad when I saw him. There I was all warm and safe, while this guy was trying to make a living despite the heavy downpour. In an instant, I felt helpless. I wanted to do something for him but how could I? Buy a balot every single time he passes by? Even I don’t eat that (just the yellow portion pala).
For the longest time (3 times a week for I-can’t-remember-how-long,) I felt sad everytime he passed by the house shouting “Balooooooot!” All I could do was pray deep inside of me, actually asking God to keep that man safe, and to bless his family also.
I left Dagupan and took college somewhere. I never came home as often as I should have even while I was already working, and missed out on some people and events I left here. But when I came back, there was only one person who reminded me of my past life. That was the same man who shouted “Balooooooot!” He never changed, except that he got older. And sadly, I still can’t do anything for him but to pray, like I always did when he passes by, for God to give him a long life. He made me realize the purpose why I went back to school. Maybe next time I can do something na; if not for him, at least for the others. (Blog.)
