And every little bit helps, right?

It will be six years ago next month that I made the move to the Philippines. One of my concerns back then was how I would adapt to living in comparative luxury while many of the people around me struggled in poverty. During my tourist days, I found that depressing. So, my plan coming in was to help some as best I could and take comfort in that giving. Yes, a selfish form of charity for sure–I give to alleviate my guilt. Of course, early on, I had to learn how to pick and choose when, where, and who to help. Frequent commenter Kevin Kim deemed it Rule #1: Don’t be a sucker! I’ve gotten quite a bit better at rejecting the scammers and blocking the constant beggars I encounter on social media. I still entertain random requests from people I know that I deem sincere, but I mostly confine myself to a set group for whom I provide some support on a regular basis.

Now, I recall the admonishment of Jesus in the Book of Matthew:

“So when you give something to a needy person, do not make a big show of it, as the hypocrites do in the houses of worship and on the streets. They do it so that people will praise them. I assure you, they have already been paid in full. ³ But when you help a needy person, do it in such a way that even your closest friend will not know about it. ⁴ Then it will be a private matter. And your Father, who sees what you do in private, will reward you.”

Matthew 6.1-6

Regardless, talking about what I give to others ranks pretty low on the list of my sins. And it is good to keep track of your charity budget.

There’s MJ, the mountain mama widow with two half-American kids and no income since her husband died. He did build her a paid-for shanty house up in the hills but never bothered to get his children the coveted American citizenship that would have provided some Social Security benefits for his family after his passing. Anyway, after I met MJ, I decided to make her my “big” project, which was to the tune of 12,000 pesos a month. She occasionally contacts me with some emergency or other like she did yesterday, needing food and medicine for the kids. I reminded her that I am on a budget and she also needs to budget her monthly stipend. Still, I relented and sent her the requested funds.

Other projects include Eithan, an elementary school student in Bohol, for whom I periodically provide money for school expenses. I’m also helping Mary (the 18-year-old I briefly dated) as she pursues a college education. And I give Joy a thousand pesos a week to supplement her bargirl salary as she struggles to raise two kids as a single mother. Those are the big ones, and I occasionally help some acquaintances with “emergencies” like paying the electric bill. Yeah, I’m no hero, but I also no longer request or receive any quid-pro-quo benefits for my donations. I stopped doing that when I hooked up with Swan.

Sometimes, the smallest gifts bring the most joy. That’s why the weekly candy walks with Swan are so much fun. We spend a thousand pesos each week to fill our bags with goodies and get a ton of priceless smiles in return.

But the giving wasn’t done quite yet; I still had a feeding at Hideaway to attend to.

I was scheduled to meet Swan at 5:30, but she messaged me a little after five, saying the floating bar raft wouldn’t come to pick her up on the beach. What the hell? It turns out it was a misunderstanding—the raft driver thought Swan was looking for me, and he waved her off because I wasn’t there. Anyway, the mamasan apologized and bought us each a drink, so I don’t think it will happen again.

And then something weird happened. A guy came racing by on a jet ski, then pulled alongside the floating bar and climbed aboard. I’m not nautically inclined, but I know enough to know that you have to secure your floatation device. He didn’t, and sure enough the jet ski drifted off. The stranger didn’t seem to care and walked to the bar and asked for a glass of water. He didn’t appear drunk or anything, but he did seem a little off somehow. Swan said he was Filipino. Anyway, he takes out his phone and asks some of the bargirls sitting around if he could take a picture with them. They all declined. Then finally, the bartender said she would take one with him. She’s a big girl and not too cute, and the rude stranger declined the offer. His jet ski was twenty yards away by now and I assumed he was going to have to jump in and swim to retrieve it. Instead, he called out to a couple of young boys playing on a nearby boat. They jumped in the water and pushed the jet ski back to the floater. He hopped on without a word, and rode away.

I felt bad for the rejected bartender and asked her if she would take a picture with me. She laughed and agreed.

Naturally, I bought the bartender a lady drink. I asked Swan if the crazy dude had tipped the boys who retrieved his jet ski, and she said he hadn’t. So, we gave them 50 pesos for helping the guy out. See, it was indeed a day of giving!

And shortly thereafter, so were we. We walked up the highway to Sit-n-Bull and ordered some food for takeout. While we waited, Jack and his gal Monica joined us at our table. Jack ordered a salad appetizer and specified that he wanted it with boiled egg and tomato. I laughed out loud when I saw what he was served:

It was a nice ending to a fun day.

A commenter asked if there was more than one gated entrance to Alta Vista. Well, there is only one gate, so it is technically a gated subdivision. However, there is no fence, and there are several unguarded footpaths in and out of Alta Vista.

So, it’s not exactly secure. The homeowners’ association has been trying to get the developer to “build that wall.” I’m personally opposed to the idea as I like being able to hike in and out as I please. That really came in handy during the scamdemic lockdowns.

Ready for some Quora Q&A?

Q: Who was responsible for what happened at Waco?

A: Well, I was pretty drunk, and she looked a lot better at midnight than she did at 8:00. It was all her idea, and I wound up bringing her back to my room. I woke up the next morning with a horrible taste in my mouth. I got up to wash my face, looked in the mirror, and noticed a string hanging between my front teeth.

“Please, God, let it be a teabag,” I said out loud. It wasn’t.

In the end, I have to take full responsibility for what happened in Waco that night.

Bada bing!

Let’s keep the laughter rolling:

It’s another Hash Monday, so I’ll be hitting the trail soon. The On-Home is at a Hasher residence at the end of Rizal Extension. I’m not a fan of getting home from there after a few beers, so I’ll likely do the Hash but not stay for the circle. I’ll play it by ear and see how I feel.