Too late for regrets?

There had been many incidents in my life that often torments me as I lay awake at night. These are incidents that tortures my conscience and makes me wish that I could turn back the time and change everything and do something.

Memory #1. I was in first year college. It was almost 8 in the evening and I was on my way to school for my 8pm class. As I was rounding off the curb from my boarding house, a green pick-up truck slowed down and the right side door opened. A girl, almost my age from the looks of her, was suddenly pushed from the car. She was crying as she was walking away from the car, her skirt was torn at the hem and her face has livid bruises, she has a black-eye on the left side of her face.

I looking at her and walking slowly and I could hear her sobs as she tries to stop herself from crying. People were looking at her and she doesn't seem to care. She was crying and walking towards me. I stepped aside as she passed by me and I was stunned to see the 'damage' on her face. She was hurt. That is clear enough. But as the 'why', remains a mystery until this day.

I glanced back at her as I continue on my way to school. I was torn between asking her if she needs help and minding my own business. I kept thinking of her and her bruised face for how many days. For how many years.

Memory # 2. It happened in the summer of 2008. I was having my OJT in Tagum City and my classmates and I, together with our senior reporter, was in the Police station. It was early in the evening and nothing special or interesting enough is going on. I was kind of sleepy and a bit bored from looking at the police officers loittering about in the station and the noisy detainees in their cell.

Then a boy, (of a rather uncertain age but is certainly and definitely a minor) wearing clothes which looks like it has been worn for days or weeks already, accompanied by a stout man holding a plastic bag with empty 1.5 liter bottles of softdrinks inside. I wouldn't have cared less about them if not for the exaggerated way the stout man speaks and, as I raised my head and looked at them, the face of the boy.

I went up my from seat and stood nearer to the desk officer to better hear everything. Which, as it turned out, not really necessary because the man was practically shouting (or maybe he's simply LOUD) that the boy is a thief. According to his account, the boy was found stealing the empty bottles from one of the entrances of the NCCC.

Putting together their sides of the story (stout man and boy) I began to see the picture. Apparaently, one of the guards or employees of the mall placed the empty bottles in the entrance as trash. The boy, seeing the trash, hurried to get it with his companions so they could sell it. According to the boy, he ask one of the employees if it is alright to get the bottles which the latter answered yes. Unfortunately he was found by another guard and accused of stealing and was brought to the station.

The face of the boy was that of a cornered animal. He was scared and tearful, tryingt to explain to the people around him that he did not meant to steal the empty bottles. I was still thinking of him as we went back to the office. He was still in the police station when I went back two days after.


... If I could turn back the time, what will I do?

I would have asked the girl regardless if she tells me to mind my own business. I would have tried to comfort her or help her even if I would appear nosy or whatever. I would have done something to make her feel better. I would try to find out if she was abused or what. I would have done something because I am a journalist, trabaho ko ang makialam.

I would have stood for the boy and tell those people that bringing the boy to the police station for those stupid 1.5 liter bottles that supposedly trash already is moronic. I would have told them to stop their nonesense and free the boy instead. I would have said something because clearly, it wasn't the boy's fault the has to live on another man's trash.

But did I do something? No.
I looked at the girl and pity her but did not try doing anything. I gazed at her the way others did. I wondered but did not dare do anything. Same with the boy. I pitied but kept silent.

I was silent when I should have been speaking. I remained an observer when I could have done something.

I had always been terrorized by these memories. It pains me to be remined that I could have done something and yet I did not. It hurts whenever I am reminded of what I did when clearly, the girl (and so is the boy) needs help.

I looked. Merely looked and did not do anything.
I am a coward. I am lousy and apathetic. I am stupid.
I could not even say the right words or know the right thing to do when the situation calls for it.
God, I could only wish and do nothing!

For many years I had been terrorized by the image of the girl and her torn skirt. Whenever I close my eyes I would see the face of the tearful boy and the girl with the black eye.

God, I did not learn my lesson the first time. Nor did I the second time. Will there be a third time?