AYUDA.
- Jan Writer
- Sep 30, 2024
- 3 min read
The word. It wasn’t always like this. It used to be just another term buried in some bureaucratic handbook. Then, suddenly, it’s everywhere, on everyone's lips. Juan, Pedro, Maria, all of us. Who’d imagine that survival in this 21st-century republic would come down to waiting for a plastic bag or an envelope with a politician's face on it?
Probably. Definitely. It’s a game now.
But let's talk about it. It’s not enough to receive ayuda. No. It has to come with a face. So we know. So we never forget who fed us when we couldn’t feed ourselves. Turns out, poverty’s not just a condition. It’s now a show. And the stars? Oh, our public officials. They walk out in their best barongs and Filipiñanas, turning charity into spectacle.
"Ayuda po! Pila po kayo!"
Graceful, amirite? The generosity. And we? We line up, sunburned and sweating in the tropical heat, not for a job or a chance at upward mobility, but for a chance to bring home something to eat.
This is democracy at its finest, right?
Then again, it wouldn’t be complete without the supporting cast—the tanods, local officials, and that tita. Yeah, you know the one. Somehow always ends up with more sacks of rice than everyone else (minsan, may GCash, ems), while you stand there with noodles. Ayuda distribution. It’s a careful choreography of bureaucracy. Shake hands. Smile. Play the game right. You might get more than the usual scraps.
But why? Why do we bother? Isn’t survival the goal here? Maybe that’s it. Be grateful, they say. Be happy you’re alive, even if all you’ve got to show for it is a sack of rice.
So you sit there and wonder: Is ayuda the modern-day version of the medieval dole? Bread and circuses, right? Except now, the circuses are Facebook and TikTok. And instead of lions and gladiators, we’ve got our leaders, handing out food packs or ampaos like they’re some divine beings, parting the sea of poverty.
Spectacle, plain and simple. It’s not about helping—it’s about distraction. Here’s your rice, now look away. Look away from the broken roads, the lack of flood control projects, the corruption. Focus on the bigas, not the butas.
But let’s not get too cynical, okay? There's something undeniably Filipino about ayuda. It taps into bayanihan, that sense of community. We look after one another. Even when "help" looks like handouts. Pakikisama, right? It's a virtue. So who are we to refuse free food? Or free money? Sure, we’re hungry, maybe desperate, but we’ve still got dignity.
Right?
But dignity... it’s flexible. It bends. And in the face of hunger, it breaks. Who wouldn’t swallow their pride just to feed their family for another day?
And that’s where it stings. Ayuda doesn’t empower. It creates dependency. It teaches us to wait, to line up, to accept what we’re given. And in return, we give our loyalty. That’s the deal. A sack of rice for your vote. A box of sardines for your silence.
Then again, don’t mistake this for ingratitude. We know how this works. We play the game. Sometimes, we even win. Get a little extra, maybe some canned goods, maybe coffee if we’re lucky. Is that progress?
Maybe.
Like they say, “Ask not what your country can do for you.” But here? We don’t ask. We beg. We plead. And sometimes, we’re answered. Sometimes.
And the future? Is this it? Is ayuda the new Filipino dream? A nation of people standing in line, holding claim stubs, hoping for more than crumbs?
I don’t know. Maybe no one does. But what I do know—there will always be hunger, so there will always be ayuda. And there will always be politicians, grinning for the cameras, handing out food like it’s manna from heaven.
Is this who we are? Maybe. Maybe not.
All I know is the lines keep getting longer, and the rice? It keeps getting thinner.
But we’re surviving, right?
And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.
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