Sugá

August 26, 2020 at 4:55 am, No comments

Little Miguel opens his eyes to the pitch dark blackness that welcomes him. He wakes up with his fingers trembling and his half-pound heart ramming furiously in his ears. Filling the unfathomable darkness is a nocturnal symphony, the roar of howling winds, the mating calls of night crickets, the gurgle of his mother's snores, and the wheezing shrill of his sleeping sisters. Then there's his heart. His loud, thumping, insanely beating, tiny heart.

Earlier, another sound has reached his ears, pulling him off from the comfort of vivid dreams and into the realness of rising fear. Someone was out there. He sits up to dare a peek past the bamboo doorway, its locks barely hinged against the tempest storm of the ocean breeze. The thatched roofing of their quaint home gives a glimmer of ten thousand little sparkles as the moonlight seeps through its holes, but even the twinkle of their indoor night sky is not enough to show him what could be crawling outside their doors. Miguel is only ten, but with toddlers and a newborn for company, he is the man of the house. He makes the heroic decision of getting off their makeshift bed, accidentally knocking over their chamber pot and dipping his bare foot into warm, uric, liquid waste. The fresh toilet produce now finds its way to the woven mat they call their bed. Miguel makes a mental note to dry their resin magic carpet when the sun rises. When the sun rises.

His petrified mind wonders if they would live to see daybreak as another sound comes from outside, this time closer. He grapples through the darkness, careful not to disturb his sleeping family snugly nestled on the floor, and braces himself for more surprises. He finally reaches his destination and his hands find the glass neck of a kerosene lamp. He feels for the tiny metal knob of salvation and turns it. The steel dial moves clockwise but the room remains dark. Sometime in the night, the lighting oil has ran out. From the other side of their paper-thin walls, the sound of strange footsteps make a third sound, and a chorus of male voices create a hushed crescendo when their potted plant tips and tumbles to a muted fall. Their intruders have reached their door.

Suddenly, a slice of incandescent light, with a radiance Miguel has never seen before, comes in through the entryway, basking their tiny space with illuminating brightness. A pair of tall figures create shadows in the stilt house as a voice calls out his mother's name and says, "Maayong buntag, magtaod mi sa inyong sugá." (Good morning, we're here to install your lights.)

That voice was Jovie Montajes', and he carries with him not an unidentified threat, but the light of hope, one that is equally unknown to the forgotten citizens of a supposed thriving city. The brave boy, Miguel, is not real, but his story is. This anecdote tells of a life lived every day, replicated a million times in a hundred thousand neglected communities. Whilst we get overly concerned with the resolution of Netflix episodes, and huff over the crisp connectivity of our Zoom calls, just a few kilometres from where we sit inside our well-lit houses and bright corporate buildings, are human beings of the same race with similar needs and equal entitlements that barely know the difference of a light switch and a drawing board.

We wake up to daily comforts of light bulbs that brighten our paths, optical fibres that help us keep our remote jobs, and light-emitting diodes that ensure our children's safety. We live with basic luxuries that are lifelong fantasies for other families, existential needs for pandemic-torn homes, and forgotten human rights for our very own neighbours. Jovie is not alien to both kinds of life, but as the union of opportune circumstance and dedicated hard work carries him out of living in the dark, he has not forgotten those who still thrive in an endless pool of despondent bleakness. Now a licensed engineer and an entrepreneurial founder, he has taken hope back to the harrowing realities of unlit communities and obliterated worlds.

Sometime in the summer of 2020, the sparks of the universe and the stellar map of the cosmos led author, S.D. Waterhaus, to philanthropic planet warrior, Jovie Gil Montajes. Presently working together to bring illuminating solar torches to underserved homes and enlightening revelations to shrouded truths, the minds behind The Antiserum Trilogy and Cloudgrid 1.0 carry the colossal weight of assuaging human suffering one book and one lamp at a time.

Project Durācara. is massively stronger as it partners with Light of Hope, and together we thank you ahead for your continued support of our joint efforts in bringing sustainable light and reawakened hope to each and every home. Learn more about the clean energy advocacy via their webpage www.lightofhopeph.org and their social media channels, Light Of Hope PH and @lightofhopeph.

Penned by Zane

Sugá

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