By Raoul Suarez
“Sa A. Bonifacio lang ako, Noy! Sa may A. Bonifacio lang!
This is what the little old lady said to the jeepney driver before she got inside the vehicle. She said it as if she was screaming for help. Loud. Booming. Repetitive.
She was a tiny woman, presumably in her late 80’s. A bayong clutched in one hand and a long black umbrella in the other. She wore a checkered skirt and a t-shirt that must have come as a freebie from a Chinese hardware store. A knitted cap covered her gray hair. She had sad eyes that looked away in the distance.
The passengers moved so she could occupy the seat nearest to the exit. One passenger, who was also seated near the exit, assisted her and helped her with the things she was carrying so she could sit comfortably. She kept on repeating where she needed to get off. She apologized to the passengers and said it wouldn’t have been a far walk if only she were younger. The A. Bonifacio she was talking about was just a block away from where she took the jeep. She apologized again and said that she used to be very nimble back in the old days, but now her strength was failing her. She kept on asking the driver to drive at a slower pace and she also requested him to make sure he dropped her off where she needed to go. The driver slowed his pace and assured her that he would take her to her destination.
It was a very boring ride. Slow and silent. The jeep came to a halt right in front of A. Bonifacio. It’s a small elementary school situated beside the Chinese Temple right across the Tanza Church. The driver told the little old lady that this was her stop. She asked again if it was the place. He answered her with a loud yes; loud enough so she could hear it from where she was seated. She apologized and said she had hearing problems. She also said sorry to the other passengers and told them that she couldn’t read.
She scrambled for coins so she could pay for her fare. One of the passengers held her wrinkly hands and stopped her from doing so. Everybody in the jeep pulled out money from their pockets and were all trying to pay for her ride. She cried and said thank you. Her eyes were teary from the gesture. A curly haired man, who looked like he was in his late 40’s, assisted her so she can alight the jeep safely. He walked with her to the gate. She gave him a hug, thanked him, and touched his hair. The jeepney driver waited until she was all set and then drove off when the passenger, who assisted this little old lady, got back to his seat. It was a very silent trip home.
It’s these little things that matter. Little acts of kindness. Little lives touched. It usually happens in a short span of time and when we least expect it. Today, it happened in this small city filled with people who have big hearts. Today, it happened because regular people decided to do marvelous things for other regular people on a regular day. These are the little things that can kindle the soul. These are things that we usually overlook. These are the little things that matter.
I have been passing by A. Bonifacio Elementary School every day for almost all of my life as far as I can remember. It was just there like it always was. Just a building. Just a school. Nothing special. Nothing noteworthy. Not until today.
