He counted the men with powerful tools and concluded that
they are almost as many as the thirty armed uniforms that came to assist them.
The resonance of the beating and piercing instruments reminded him of the same
sight five years ago – when ‘they’ demolished his make-shift home upon the
court's order. The scars on his head are still throbbing.
His home is similar to the first house they beat with their
metal claws; tearing the tin roof apart, kicking the wooden frames, flaking all
the tin sheets which served as its cheap wall. In exactly five minutes, they’re
done with it. A man with a plastic crown pointed towards his direction and for
a moment he frost.
“Ket kasanu? Inya ngay garud ket saan yu nga kanya daytoy
lote? Apay Ada TRO yu….?” they approached his home.
He didn’t really understood what TRO is, but, the sight of
the gang with big metal tools clearly scared him. He understood that he has to
go. “Sir, mabalin nga iparwar tayu pay dagitoy usar ko?”, he can only plead. The
engineer batted his eye, he knew that the guy with a plastic crown hated his job. This job.
After pulling out his things, he reminisce the places where
he found the bed sheets, the old plastic chair, the frying pan…even that old calendar with a pretty woman. He had felt joy on each event he picked those things because he can
add them to his little kingdom. He was, after all, born poor and had lived with his mother
before she died. He didn't have a family since then. He came to the city years
ago and managed to survive by doing any work that requires physical labor...it is the only thing that he can offer - his arms, his shoulder, his hips, his legs. These, he knew, won't last for a very long time.
The gang members with metal tools were laughing. It has
something to do with one of them who joked about “squatters”. He is familiar
with the term because he had heard it often, and have learned to shun it. However, he couldn't understand why one can laugh even on the
sight of a grieving person. He only needed less than ten square meters for his
life – a place to stay, a place to hide against the sun, the chill, the rain.
He heard that the owner already has a lot
of houses. He only prayed for a box which he can run to. He wandered away and
wept.
He asked God why some people have everything, and some have
none; like his existence, his dirt-like existence.
