The Incredible Heap

article shared by APA FELICIANO (Mukha Ad Batch 21)

written: Jan. 26, 2011

I was mentally and emotionally prepared to shed buckets of tears for the outreach program for Caritas because the word ‘outreach’ evokes a dramatic response to the marginalized. Needless to say, I was not physically prepared to see and sort a mountain of untouched donations from kindhearted individuals who never thought twice of sending in used underwear and sleazy thongs.

The incredible mountain of donations seemed like a segment pulled out from the reality cable show “The Hoarders” and it felt like snakes would slither through spaces anytime. We were attacked by cockroaches, rats and dung but all these were buried by the treasure that we found. There were a costume set for a rockstar, beaded gowns, lots of snow particles and foams, and the endless stream of decent clothes.

Had I been alone, I wouldn’t be able to finish even a part of the task given to us, nor would I be encouraged to do the sorting. But I had companions to laugh with, friends who I’ve spent countless of Sundays with and people who knew the value of charity and love so a task this hard became an easy feat. We laughed, we joked around, but more than that we tried our best to fill the sacks and clear the area. Maybe in time the land would not only be the visible thing from inside the camp, but sunlight would hopefully start to filter in as well.

It wasn’t the kind of outreach I was expecting, more likely because the kind of fulfillment was an entirely different feeling from that of looking after kids who are lacking in so many ways for just a day. Filling sacks and piling them together in a humongous heap was a physical activity, some sort of a child’s play for adults who can put in some effort to help an institution that badly needs a set of helping hands. The typical drama-type of outreach makes someone feel like a superhero—something which inevitably produces thoughts such as, “Man, I’d like to change the world!” but working with a group of people sans the tears made me realize how hard menial jobs really are, and how hard volunteerism really is. At this point, a Filipino folk song started playing in my head. “Magtanim ay di biro, maghapong nakayuko, di naman makatayo, di naman makaupo.” The consequence: I walked like a grandmother the next day, with a hand on my back and the other on the rail. 

Somewhere along, my mindset changed. No longer was it about “helping” but rather enjoying the work and finishing whatever we can as a group. Volunteerism loses its meaning when it becomes an obligatory activity to fill up whatever void there is in a person’s civic commitments. The idea that I was actually volunteering never really sank deep into my consciousness, but when it did, I was overwhelmed at the realization that I was able to help and have fun at the same time.