The Millennials of Mahalo
ma·ha·lo /ˈmäˌhälō/
- a Hawaiian word used when thanking someone.
You could think of plenty of exciting ways to spend your Saturday: snorkelling, BBQ with the family, going on a date, etc. But waking up at 3AM is NOT one of them.
But on an early Saturday morning, before most people would be up for the day, I found myself at Tagbak terminal with a friend and several other contemporaries.
They were a pretty eye-catching group: a bunch of millennials ranging from early 20’s to possibly mid-30’s, slugging big backpacks and other camping gear. That, along with the stacks of boxes, coolers, and gallons of water, would make one wonder where they’d all be heading.
It was my second time with Mahalo, an outreach group dedicated to sharing not only gifts to under-privileged communities, but also the Word. Many of their faces were already familiar to me, as I recalled our island-hopping and camping adventures in the previous outreach activity. There were new ones too, at which I offered a warm smile (I hope). I was never really that good at meeting new people; but being with them, I told myself I’d try harder.
“Hey, how are you? Have you eaten yet?”, asked Lester, the budget master. His face was the usual bright, shiny example of a happy camper at 4AM in the morning.
You could call him Mr. Congeniality because he has his way with new folks. He’s the kind of person that can crack jokes and break the ice without even trying. In a later talk with him, I would find out that he’d always wanted to be known as the ‘Budget Travel Guru’. With the way that he plans and accounts for every last cent in these activities, I’d say he deserves the title.
I gave him a shy smile as my eyes darted from his face to that of my friend’s.
“Yes, we’re good.”
“Good for you. Make sure you register while we wait for the others.”
Then he was off to make other arrangements. As long as he’s around, I know everything will work out well, I thought to myself.
Soon enough, more and more people arrived (by private cars, taxis, and PUJs). Everyone was then talking, laughing, eating, and patting each other’s backs. Most locals were still sound asleep on their beds; their day won’t begin until about three to four hours later.
“Have you registered? You’ll be in the first van. Follow me” someone ushered us to one of the white vans that was hired for the occasion.
I wondered how anyone can be so energetic and lively so early in the morning.
A Generation of Givers
As part of the millennial generation (albeit an older one), my friends and I are all too familiar with back-to-back gripes on our various issues. Labels like ‘self-entitled’, ‘lazy’, and ‘narcissistic’ are not alien to me. I have no answer for that (and I admit nothing). However, perhaps one of the many standout traits of Generation Y is a sense of charity.
In a 2015 survey conducted by MasterCard, 1 in 5 Filipinos donate to charity, with children’s health and education receiving the most donations. More than just giving money however, the millennial generation will also volunteer their time, energy, and other resources to causes they really believe in.
A 2016 poll showed that this willingness to give even extends to the workplace: with two-thirds of the millennial respondents preferring to work for a company that gives to charity. This has led to many businesses creating and/or being part of social responsibility programs.
More than simply attracting the talented Gen Y populace, I hope that such companies really are into the spirit of giving. But what if your company doesn’t have a sense of social responsibility? Or what if you’re swamped with school/work/family/social obligations? Can you still find time to help?
I had the same predicament not too long ago. A desire to lend a hand was burning within me — but I couldn’t seem to find an adequate vessel for it. Between work and well, more work, can the average millennial still find ways to make a change?
When I met with Mahalo in 2016, I thought it was Fate that led me to them. Or maybe it was the other way around? I’m not quite sure. But my prayer for change was definitely answered when I timidly said ‘YES’ to being part of their giving team.
They were freelancers, nurses, teachers, government workers, and office employees. They had families, children, friends, and personal obligations to take care of. But today, in a semi-cramped van on the way to Estancia, we were all excited about ONE thing: to see the bright, happy faces of the children and seniors of Barangay Alipata, in Sicogon.
The name is probably familiar to you. Before there was Boracay around the late 80’s, there was Sicogon Island Resort. Famous for its stretches of pure, white sand shorelines and pristine waters teeming with kelp and corals, it was the destination of choice for folks — and celebrities — who wanted a getaway AWAY from it all.
Located in the municipality of Carles, Iloilo, the three barangays of Sicogon are an hour away by pump boat ride. The jump-off point, Estancia port, is more or less a three-hour ride by commute. It wasn’t that far, but I and the rest of the gang decided to get some shut eye nonetheless. We had a full day ahead, and a little nap should make our energy reserves last longer.
When I closed my eyes, everything around the van was shadows of mountains and little houses. By the time I opened them, the large expanse of sky was divided into swirling pinks, purples, and gold. I thought everybody else was asleep — except for the head of the Medical Mission team, Argie, who couldn’t catch some even if he wanted to (he was sitting right in the middle of the driver and the other passenger).
He turned around and handed me candy. I smiled and silently muttered ‘thanks’. The gesture made me remember what I had forgotten to bring on this trip. Drats.
When we finally arrived, I was feeling lightheaded, confused, and hungry.
Estancia port, like other places embraced by the sea, is busy during the early morning hours. There were big trucks and small trikes carrying fish and other cargo. Locals were bustling to and fro. It wasn’t that hot yet, but the surrounding activity and the summer sun was making everything else feel warmer. We must’ve really looked like tourists, as a few would smile as they passed us by. I gave a quick nod to an old man who gave a toothless grin, as he hurried on with buckets of fish.
“Now what?” I asked Nile, my comrade and ex co-worker.
“I don’t know. I guess we’re supposed to wait for instructions” he replied, taking out his camera to get a few quick shots. He was serious about his new blogging career.
I saw Lester and Tutang (Kristine) talking with two men with serious faces. She was the brains behind Mahalo.
A small, quiet girl who shows plenty of grace under pressure, she’s like a still pond amidst a chaotic jungle. I knew she was taking care of things. The men were no taller than us, but something told me they were in-charge. We watched them as they came nearer.
“Hi guys. This is Kagawad. He’ll be with us for today” Tutang introduced a broad-shouldered man in a green shirt. I shook hands with him.
Maybe it was the hunger or my inappropriate white long-sleeved shirt on a humid summer’s day, but I didn’t catch the rest of what Tutang said. A few members gathered around us as she introduced another man who would lead us to the boats. Then, she left.
“What did she say?” someone asked.
“I think we’re supposed to follow this guy to that building over there, where the boats are”, I pointed to the tallest structure in the area, not too far from where we were standing.
“How do you know that’s the correct building?”
“Well, you can’t miss it. It looks pink.” I shrugged, got my bags, and followed the man in the green shirt.
“Your faces aren’t familiar. You didn’t go with Tutang last time?” the man asked as we walked on the side of the narrow streets.
The scene was like in any other province: small shops everywhere, one prominent gas station, one resort, an ubiquitous barangay hall, and a couple of trike drivers trying to be friendly.
“No, we didn’t. They were doing a scope of the area. They went first. You were with her and Lester?” I replied.
Manong smiled. “Yes, I was with them. We had a lot of fun. We took them swimming and diving”
I beamed at him. I was never good at small talk.
The walk was shorter than five minutes.
Behind the salmon-colored building was some sort of dock that had narrow, concrete steps leading down to the two boats that would ferry us to the island. In about four long strides, Manong was already on the boat, carrying my black duffel bag of snacks.
It would take us about 45 minutes to an hour to reach Barangay Alipata, one of the three barangays in Sicogon. I remember my stepmom warning us about huge waves and unstable seas. Had it been any other day, the weather might’ve prevented us from even getting this far. After all, it was raining not a while ago. But at that moment, everything seemed alright. As I took my seat on the boat, I watched the clear blue sky with its few wisps of clouds.
It was going to be a good day.
The Sky Was In Their Eyes
“…just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” — Matthew 20:28, New International Version (NIV)
Our boat had to dock some meters away from the shore, just to be safe from the huge rocks that lined the water. Several locals were already on the beach, a few adults and a LOT of children, possibly containing the excitement at seeing strangers (I’ve observed that although shy at first, children tend to like the company of adults). The cool saltwater was welcoming, too — until you slug around it with an 8-kilo camping bag on your back. Then things start to get tricky.
But like they say, ‘help will always come to those who ask for it’. Manong (a dialect term for an older gentleman) saw my pathetic attempts at trying to balance myself on the rocky beach, with the water up to my thighs. Although I didn’t say anything, he extended a hand, his other arm already slinging my black snack bag. I smiled shyly. So much for being an adventurer, I thought to myself.
“Are you from Mahalo? The school is this way. Please follow me”
“Manang, do you have new bags for us?”
“You guys brought a lot, thank you!”
“Hi Manang! Are you going to our school?”
The kids started trailing behind us, as we paced ourselves on a slightly uphill climb towards the small elementary school. We paused to catch our breaths once we reached a concrete road, half-done, but was still usable. I looked at my team mates, their faces shining with sweat and anticipation. A few of the locals helped us to carry our things. Everyone seemed eager to help, and were smiling from ear to ear.
Barangay Alipata Elementary school reminded me of a smaller version of my public school back in Manila: with classrooms for each grade level, a common playground for all the kids, and children being allowed to wear basically any kind of footwear.
We huddled ourselves and our things into one of the classrooms (apparently that of Grade 1) as we wiped off our sweat and prepared for the day’s events. Tutang took the floor.
“OK guys, please give me a moment while I give you your assignments” a paper in hand, she called out teams and team leaders, along with assigned tasks.
“Cris, where are you?” I heard her voice from behind the group. I raised my hand. “Here!”
“OK, you’re with Mariane” I nodded. She continued giving out instructions.
“Did you get your assignment?” a short, pretty girl with copper hair approached us. She was grinning.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Did you?”
We laughed.
“Why did you say yes when you didn’t get what you were supposed to do?” she had a wide, warm smile. I recognized her from our outreach activity last year. Everybody called her Mayee (short for Marielle). I shrugged as an answer.
“I make it up as I go, I suppose…” which is partly true.
Nonetheless, I slowly made my way towards Tutang and the swarm of people around her. Maybe if I could get a glimpse of that paper in her hand, I would know what I needed to do. I recalled I was supposed to be with someone. My eyes searched the crowd until I found her.
“Mariane? You’re with me, I guess” I motioned for the shy girl in blue shorts (or maybe it was a skirt?) and a ponytail. She knew me from a few days back at Tutang’s place. We were helping each other pack the school supplies inside envelopes.
The Mahalo team was introduced to the rest of the faculty, parents, and children at the school’s open grounds. Although it was only 8.30am, the heat was starting to feel unbearable. But the kids didn’t seem to mind as they run around and posed for the camera. After a few words of welcome, a prayer, and a couple of worship songs, the program proper began.
Small teams were assigned per grade level. Someone would share the Word with the kids, while two would guide and assist for food and games. Mariane, Nile, and I were with Grade 1. As everybody else dispersed, I raised my hand to call out to my, er, kids. They obediently formed two lines and followed Nile to look for a place where we could all sit down. When nothing else seemed available, we hesitantly took them to their classroom.
“This is our classroom!” a little girl yelled, excitedly.
“Is it? Well, excuse us that we had to use it for our bags then.” I tried my best to give a warm smile as I cleared a few of our things.
“Is this your seating arrangement?” I asked, as the children plunked down on their chairs.
“Not really, but we want to sit like this”
Mariane and I smiled at each other. I took Nile’s camera as he began the discussion. I would later learn that sharing the Word was added afterwards because Mahalo’s founders wanted to share more than material gifts.
‘We wanted to share something eternal, a gift that would last a lifetime’, shared Mads, one of Tutang’s closest friends. She also hosted the day’s outreach activity along with Princess.
Nile showed one picture after another.
“If you could have the gift of eternal life, what would you want to do?” he asked the small, eager faces.
“Clean!” shouted a little man from the back. We roared with laughter.
“You would clean if you could live forever?” Nile asked, teasing.
“And wash the dishes, too!” a girl from the front proudly added.
I watched their faces and saw that they were all serious despite their smiles. These were the kids who grew up helping their parents with their chores. In fact, most of them probably weren’t allowed to go out until they finished cleaning the house. I sat next to a boy who said nothing the entire time.
“Is he shy?” I asked the more active girls sitting up front.
“His name’s Jess, and yeah, he is. He doesn’t say much” volunteered the taller one in pigtails.
“Is that true? Are you shy?”
Jess nodded without looking at me. But I could sense a smile coming soon.
Mariane and I took care of the snacks, and then led the kids outside for some fun and games. The organizers prepared plenty of prizes for a sack race, a fruit relay, and a paper dance. The heat was becoming unbearable, but the children didn’t seem to care.
“I know this game! I played it before with my older sister” the girl in pigtails exclaimed, her eyes looking up at me.
“Did you now? And did you win?” I asked as I bent down to her level.
“I-I can’t remember” she replied, twisting her body slightly to avoid me. I laughed and patted her on the head.
“You guys will win this one.” I assured her.
Well, we won ONE game: the paper dance. Who knew kids can dance better than adults under a scorching summer heat?
“Okay, before we go for lunch, I want to see everyone dance! I’ll give a prize to the best one!” Mads said on the microphone. Soon enough, children from all grade levels flooded the open field, each one dancing to their own beat. I think a couple were twerking, too.
As promised, Madz and Princess began showering them with sweets: there were lollipops, chocolate-covered marshmallows, chewy candies, and more. I couldn’t see where my kids were, as everyone scrambled to get as many sweets as they could fit into their tiny hands.
“Do you know where our kids are?” I asked Mariane.
“Oh, there’s one! I could barely tell them apart” she confessed, smiling.
“Yeah…this is why I could never be an elementary school teacher” I agreed, as we started gathering the group for lunch.
The food was a wee bit delayed, but as soon as the young ones have eaten, everybody gathered once again for the giving of school supplies.
While receiving notebooks, pens, and crayons may not seem so exciting to an eight-year-old, it does solve at least a long on-going problem in the Philippines: the lack of proper resources for students, particularly in public schools. Although public schools don’t necessarily charge tuition fees, other expenses in the form of uniforms, projects, books — and yes, schools supplies — prevent young minds from even getting formal education. Whereas 6.38 percent (DepEd results 2011–2012) drop out of school as early as elementary, some don’t even enroll at all. Others are forced to go back to class with nothing.
Poverty has been a HUGE issue in the country for years. For many families, education could provide a better way out. As the children received their plastic envelopes filled with notebooks, pens, erasers, crayons, and pad paper, they impatiently open them up to check the goods. The school supplies were more than gifts — they were hope.
I look at my First Grade kids as they breathlessly compared notebooks with one another. It seemed that everybody wanted to use their kits at once.
“What’d you get?” I asked my little sweaty pig-tailed girl.
“A princess” she replied, proudly showing three notebooks with Disney Princess characters on them. Two other girls came at her side, their eyes sparkling with merriment. For a moment — just a nanosecond — I think I glimpsed a shade of blue in them.
Hope.
Beyond Goodbyes
“The reason it hurts so much to separate is because our souls are connected. Maybe they always have been and will be. Maybe we’ve lived a thousand lives before this one and in each of them we’ve found each other. And maybe each time, we’ve been forced apart for the same reasons. That means that this goodbye is both a goodbye for the past ten thousand years and a prelude to what will come.”
― Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook
After the many photo ops, it’s time to hug and kiss goodbye. It’s the bittersweet part of any Mahalo outreach activity.
The children’s parents came and took their hands. I walked towards the First Grade classroom where Nile and Mariane were. From the doorway, I waved and smiled as several kids passed by on their way home, some with parent or sibling in tow.
“Thank you, Manang!”
“Come back here again!”
Would we though? I wasn’t sure. But it doesn’t matter: whether we come back or not, I know their faces are forever etched somewhere within me.
We haven’t eaten yet, but for most of us, we hardly felt it. It was about three (or almost?) when the entire event came to an end and the lovely children all left to deal with tomorrow. Everyone was tired, hungry, but happy. I know because I could only keep looking at their faces.
Becoming part of Mahalo taught me a couple of things — the most important of which is that, service to others will always fit your schedule. You could be a busy banker or a tired homemaker, but when it comes to lending a hand, as long as you’re willing, you’ll be surprised at how Fate conspires to make it possible. Faith is a huge thing, my friends.
“Guys! Food!”
Somebody called from the tarp –covered grounds. The thought of fresh seafood snatched me from my silent reflections.
“Where are we going after this?” I asked Nile.
“To the island” he said, so sure of himself.
They were freelancers, nurses, teachers, government workers, and office employees. They had families, children, friends, and personal obligations to take care of. But today, as we gathered around the tables to eat together, we only had two words in mind:
