There was this homeless guy living outside our house. He slept against the wall to our yard, near where we park our car on the side street. His name is Arman, and he appeared there one night and stayed for several weeks. Sometimes he would be there during the day, but usually he just showed up in the late afternoon and would sleep there.
I talked to Arman one evening and learned that he had come to Cebu from another island. He was beat up by two men at the pier area and had to be taken to the hospital. After that, since he didn't have any money, he had to stay in the city, looking for food and sleeping wherever he could find a spot. Eventually he found a spot along our wall.
Arman was a nice guy. He would greet me when I pulled up in the car. Once I saw him cleaning the dust off my car with a rag. He never asked for anything. He just took advantage of a spot that was reasonably safe and had some protection from a tree. Arman was pretty much out of options and resigned to being homeless in a city far from his home.
Sometimes I would think about him out there when I was lying in my nice safe bedroom with my loving family near. We were both looking up from our beds, mine with a comfortable foam mattress, his cardboard, probably covered with insects. We shared the same sky above us, but not much else. Luckily it didn't rain much when he was living there, but when it would I'd always think about him and what he was doing to stay dry. I'm not sure if Arman prayed out there, but if he did we were almost certainly praying to the same God. What very different things we were probably praying for. From the comfort of my house it was easy for me to pray for the CSC kids, for relatives and people in need, for family members and for God's perfect plan for my life. I wonder what Arman was praying for out there on his flattened box? What did he think of when he thought about God. How did he imagine the plan for his life?
When you stop to think of it, a safe and comfortable place to live is the basis for much of the freedom we enjoy in our lives. We are free to work, to interact with friends, to take risks, to make decisions about where we'll eat and what we will do with the free time that we have, because we know that, at the end of the day, we will go home to a comfortable, safe place to sleep. Arman had to filter every decision he made through his homelessness. He could walk around but he had to stay fairly near to the place where he slept to make sure nobody else didn't take it. When he met people he had to be careful he didn't get too close, because he hadn't changed clothes in days and probably didn't smell all that well. When he saw families together he had to remember that he was isolated from family and might never see them again. If he had hopes he had to filter them through the reality that things probably weren't going to change for him. He didn't have an address or a phone number. I would greet him hello at the side of our wall, sometimes giving him something to eat or drink. Then I'd head inside and he'd crawl onto his cardboard bed. Maybe he would allow himself to think about what life was like in that big house inside the wall that he was curled up next to.
Arman is now back in Mindanao. We were able to help him get a boat ticket to go home. He seemed excited to travel, but he was certainly going home to poverty and need. But at least he would be near his siblings and his mom. And at least they would know that he is alive. I can't stop thinking about him and the very different situations that define our two lives. What did I ever do to deserve the comforts that I enjoy every day? Do I realize how fortunate I am and do I spend much time thinking about the homeless people around me and the filters that they live with every day? Do I imagine how difficult it is to be homeless? Do I think about the fact that the stars and heavens that I look up at are the same ones guys like Arman who are looking up at from their matts, wondering what God is like looking down on them.
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