Manila is a hypocritical baptism of fire to the Philippines. Hypocritical because momentarily I feared that the next month of my travels would be spent in places which mirrored this reckless, harrowing capital city; it was not. A baptism of fire as there is no respite in Manila – mocking gazes clung to our skin wherever we walked and sneering faces appeared around the corners of mysterious lanes.
As we wandered the filthy streets, a 3 year old child attached himself to my loose trousers, chasing my gaze while holding his tiny hand out in front of me. My mind fought against itself, silently questioning my morals as I held my gaze straight ahead, focused on some imaginary attraction in the distance, all the while praying the boy who was clung to my leg would lose interest and search for another victim. I despised myself for being so heartless; so detached.
The concept of detachment is something which I really mulled over during our months in South East Asia. I think that Western society makes it so incredibly easy for us to be detached; detached from issues of poverty – because I personally have never had a young child cling to my leg and beg me for money at home, detached from issues of meat consumption – because the majority of our population buy our meat packaged and ready for consumption, rather than choosing the chicken/duck/pig straight from our gardens and butchering it ourselves, and detached from third world development because we are already too comfy curled up on our cosy sofas with a glass of wine in hand. It becomes increasingly difficult to be detached when these people, these animals, these issues are standing right in front of you…screaming at you to listen, to pay attention, to take action. The issue with this is that the moment I stepped back into the comfort and ease of Western society, I started to feel that detachment creep back in and cloud the corners of my mind – to cloud my decisions once more and I have to fight everyday to disentangle what is right from what is simply easy.
Back in the dark streets of Manila, mothers with newborn babies nestled in their arms hovered next to our table with hands outstretched towards us as we absentmindedly munched through another meal. Mothers lie at the side of busy roads, inhaling the nicotine rush from their cigarettes with blanket scraps surrounding them as their daughters run between cars banging violently on the windows, pleading yet another far away gaze to be caught by their empty one. It broke my heart. Their faces haunt me now as I become immersed once again in the consumerist nature of Western society. In a culture which is constantly plaguing us with adverts insisting we buy more materialist items, convincing us daily that we won’t look, feel or be right without the latest item. Meaningless consumerism is something I feel pretty strongly about – especially after spending so much time with those who live such a minimalist lifestyle. It’s an issue which is deeply rooted in Western society and something that I want to write a full blog post on so I will leave it there for now.
Manila is a dark city, infested with crooks who take solace in your naivety of the winding lanes of the city and lurk in shadowy corners. Beggars meet your gaze at every turn, every shop corner and a breath stifling level of pollution attacks your lungs as vehicles jam together trickling along roads at a snails pace. We spent a few days in Manila on both our arrival and our departure from the Philippines and I can say with certainty that I would try to avoid it at all costs if I ever ventured back to the Philippines. As is with all travel destinations, this was simply my experience of Manila and I have no doubt there are many individuals who revel in its manic streets and have the ability to confront the suspicious, sneering faces.
Do not ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and then go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive. – Howard Thurman
Be weird. Be wonderful.