There were 5 of us. Each one had contributed to raise a tape recorder (the small one) and some other expenses. I was assigned to take the notes down.
The day came. We were so pleased that the Superior would be interviewed. It has later on become a random conversation. We didn’t have to ask. She told us all the possible information we could have. After the interview, she invited us to see the “shelter”. Strictly no slippers/shoes should be worn within the vicinity, as a sign of respect. We actually noticed that not a single one of them wears one.
We had no idea what was inside. Or who were inside. We were so surprised to finally see who were there. Unfortunate kids from ages months to 12 years old. Some are normal. Some are not. Most of them were abandoned by their own mothers. Some were left in the hospital for financial reasons. But what really caught me was this half Filipino – half German boy named Jeff, 12 years old, whose legs and arms were literally twisted. They said that the mother tried to abort him many times. He’s a very sweet handsome boy. He’s adorable. He loves to smile. I just fell in love with him right at that moment. And I felt so sorry that he’s the one suffering because of what her mother did.
We had extended our hours there but not to do another interview. To be with the kids. We played. Fed them. It was already almost dark when we decided to go home and promised that we would come back with some donations.
We added a footnote on our report that “we need donations” from the whole class. Everyone contributed. Our group, then, bought the supplies which we think they needed most. The next weekend, we found ourselves there, once again. But this time, with my mother.
After the interview, when I came home, I told my mom our experience. Everything. Especially about Jeff. She volunteered to come with us the next time we visit. She even sorted out some old clothes that we could give away.
I found myself there many times. Literally and figuratively. I just love Jeff. And that there are a lot of things to be thanked for. Which those kids were longing for. I even almost adopted a baby from there. I had convinced my parents. I wanted the baby on my name. Yes, at the age of 16, I wanted that baby on my name. My parents were hesitant but later on agreed…. But the mother demanded a lot, financially. So, we decided not to do it anymore.
When I got my first job (that was 5 years later), I called the Missionaries, again. I just suddenly thought about it. I wanted to know if Jeff was still there. But nobody knew. Maybe new people were there at that time.
I was so disappointed but later on comforted myself that at least for once in my teenage life, I had done something good. For Jeff.