thursday morning

I was standing by the side of the road, waiting for the van that will take me to the office. This was inside a Camella Subdivision, where the houses are mostly large and there are cars parked in front.

I was idly counting tricycles when I noticed a small woman walking towards me, with three little girls in tow. I thought the woman was old; when they got closer I saw that she was much younger than me, but she was a bit haggard. The three little girls seemed 2, 3, and 4 years old. They were all freshly bathed and had clean clothes, but mother and children did not look like they lived in a house with a car out front.

The three little girls all looked like they did not want to walk. The smallest was actually stamping her foot, and the other two were frowning mightily. As they passed me, the mother cheerily said that if the girls wanted bread for breakfast, they'd better walk. She saw me looking, and she flashed me a little conspiratorial smile. Her smile said, "You know how kids are." I gave her a little "I know" smile back. I saw her eyes take in my going-to-the-office clothes, nice shoes, and pretty bag, then they passed on.

I looked at their backs. Given another set of circumstances, the three little girls would have had fun growing up together. I imagine they'd go to school together, borrow each other's bracelets, and be close pals, giggling over the same handsome movie stars and having the same kind of music in their iPods.

But in reality, if my guess was right about how they lived, there's probably very little chance that all three would finish high school. In reality, there may be days when they're still hungry and there's no more rice in the pot. Maybe the mother stays home to take care of the little girls, while the father drives a jeepney or a tricycle, never earning enough to allow his daughters to dream of iPods.

It is a source of wonder to me how the marginally poor can live in railroad shanties, with a dozen children they can barely feed, and grin and say "God will provide." Three little girls are not too many, but to a couple with a sole breadwinner, three may be too much. I have two children seven years apart, my husband and I both have jobs, and sometimes I still worry about my two-year-old's university tuition 12 years from now.

But at seven in the morning, with a fresh day ahead, it is difficult to contemplate the issue of poverty and overpopulation and children who may want, but cannot, go to school. It is hard to imagine the reasons that would make a woman choose to marry young, bear children every year, and raise her children to grow up like her.

And maybe I was wrong about them. Maybe the woman had an SUV in the garage, and maybe her youngest kid would one day be First Lady of the Philippines. But the encounter provoked a thought, and is now worth a blog.

The woman and her three little girls were now further up the street. The smallest girl was now skipping, perhaps at the prospect of her breakfast. From a distance, they look beautiful in the sun.