The trip to Manila took almost a full day. I was full of optimism after hearing so much about the Macati Orphanage from my Atimonan friends. I carried my most treasured possession everywhere I went: my fourth grade graduation certificate from the Lemery Primary School.

     I arrived in Manila late in the evening. Following the directions given to me by my friends in Atimonan, I got off the train at the first station at Paco. This was the nearest stop to Macati, which was a couple of miles away.

     I took a caromata and instructed the driver to take me to the Macati Orphanage. I hadn't eaten anything while on the train and I was getting hungry; but even with several pesos in my pocket, I would not stop to eat. Such was my anxiety and desire to get to the orphanage. Daylight was fast disappearing and I planned to lodge there for the night. Such was my innocence of the facts of life.

     I reached the orphanage after, what seemed to me, an endless journey. In my exultation, I gave the driver much more than the agreed fare. In those days, fare was bartered and agreed upon before one started on a caromata trip: a very sound practice.

     The orphanage was a large two story building on the banks of the Pasig River. On either side of it was a smaller long building. There was a large, spacious courtyard behind a tall iron fence. There were several small nipa houses near the orphanage which made it seem even more imposing.

     It was still daylight and the sight of the orphans dressed in their finest clothes made my heart jump. They were having a grand time. I thought that they must be having some kind of celebration. The scene lifted my spirits even higher and refreshed my tired body. I found out later that they were having a party in honor of their new Administrator's birthday.

     I entered the courtyard. When I told one of the boys I wanted to see the supervisor, he took me to a well dressed man. My opening statement was that I was an orphan and that I desired to enter the orphanage. I told him the story of my life. He was very sympathetic, but his first question extinguished all the hopes which had buoyed me these many days. Was I a runaway? He did not seem to believe my story; but when he saw tears in my eyes, he told me to return the next day with what legal papers I had and they would do what they could for me.

     I left the orphanage downhearted. As it was beginning to get dark, I started to look for the relatives of my friends. I didn't have any trouble finding them. There were two elderly women, one in her seventies and her daughter in her fifties. They lived on the bank of the Pasig River several houses from the orphanage. The men of the family, the husband and son of the younger woman, were delivering bricks on a scow to Manila. They soon arrived and supper was served. I was almost famished; and the plain fish and rice meal had never tasted so good as it did that night.

     I was taken, immediately, to their hearts. I related my story to them, telling them how I had gotten acquainted with their relatives in Atimonan. We talked until late at night. I found myself performing a monologue, telling them my life story up to the point of entering their poor and simple home.

     My story touched them deeply. When I finished my narrative, I felt sure they had taken me in as one of the family. I was told they would go with me to the orphanage the next day; and if I were not admitted, I could live with them as long as I wished.

     We went to the orphanage the next morning. The administrator was skeptical of my story. I had to show him my ticket stub and postal savings passbook to convince him that I was not a runaway. He told my friends and me that I needed a sponsor, a letter from the priest, and one from the secretary or president of our town, certifying that my parents were dead and that I had no relatives who could take care of me. We left the orphanage dismayed; but I still harbored a flickering hope that they would eventually take me in.

     Following the advice of the orphanage official, I wrote the priest in Taal and the president of Lemery with whom I had lived, asking for the necessary documents. After waiting in vain for weeks for their reply, I gave up the idea of ever entering the orphanage.

     While waiting, I did nothing but loaf and fish on the banks of the river several feet from the house. There was very little housework to be done as their home was only a two room affair on bamboo stilts: the common home of the poor.

     The men of the family did not have steady jobs; and when I heard that they did not have enough money to buy rice and simple needs, I withdrew some of my savings from the postal savings bank and offered it to them. When they refused to accept it, I insisted until they relented.

     I believe this act, which showed them my unselfishness and demonstrated my gratitude for their hospitality and kindness, reaped untold dividends.

     They showered me with affection, care, and concern. For several years their home would be mine. Had this family the economic means to educate and care for me, I have no doubt that they would have done so. But, fate always plays strange tricks in the lives of people. Here they were with the desire to help me, but not the means.

     The school year had already begun. I could enroll in the Paco night school but it could only be reached by, first, a mile walk from my new Makati home to the trolley stop and then a trolley ride to Paco.

     "Mang" Andoy, the man of the family, knew a school principal who lived at the other end of Manila in the district of Sampaloc. He suggested that we see her, for she might let me work as a houseboy in exchange for my attending night school. I agreed to this suggestion as I was anxious to resume my schooling at once. I had lost two years already. Here I was, going on 14, and still in the fifth grade.

     After listening to my story and seeing my fourth grade certificate, Mrs. San Mateo agreed to take me in. The household needed a servant very badly. There were ten people in the household, including two boarders who were teachers in Mrs. San Mateo's school, and members of the two families of the household. When the teachers and students left the house, only Mrs. San Mateo's sister in law and I were left. I called her "Aling Cintia".

     I enrolled in the fifth grade at San Juan Night School, a fifteen minute walk from Mrs. Cintia's. To my surprise, I was one of only a few young students. Most of my classmates were adults who held jobs during the day. Some of them were old enough to be my father. The brief periods I had spent in school in Taal and Atimonan greatly helped me to be in the top of my class of about thirty students. I studied hard to hold that position. I was happy with my studies, but my working and living conditions at Mrs. Cintia's were something else.

     I woke up every morning at five o'clock. Mrs. Cintia would already be in the kitchen cooking breakfast. I set the table and helped her with the cooking. After breakfast, everyone left for school except Mrs. Cintia, who left for the daily marketing. I was left alone in the house to do the chores. Even before I could finish cleaning up the house, Mrs. Cintia would return from her marketing. I would, again, help with the cooking until the students and teachers came home for lunch. After lunch, I resumed my housework, finishing up after one. I then studied my homework and took a rest.

     The four months I had been working here, I received very little money. But I did get a lot of hand me down clothes from Mrs. Cintia's two sons; and I learned the fundamentals of cooking from Mrs. Cintia.

     My conversational English increased considerably, because it was the rule of the household that only English, and not the native dialect, was spoken. It was here, too, that I read the first English newspaper. I remember reading about the election of President Harding in the United States.