Life was never a bed of roses for Rose. She was crippled by polio at an early age. The love of her life died, leaving her a young, single mother. She met another man but that relationship didn't work out although, before he split, he left her with another child to raise on her own.
She became a home-service masseuse, and that's how I met her. One of my best friends recommended her to me. I liked Rose right away. She had good, strong hands that found all my knots. She never watched the time and would only leave when she knew I was satisfied with the massage. We had a nice, easy banter so that, in the past 15 or so years that we've known each other, I've come to know Rose's life story.
She had this infuriating habit of taking people into her home, when she, clearly, could not afford it. Her sister's children, their friends, strangers... They often outstayed their welcome and abused her hospitality, but I think she endured their disrespect so that her children wouldn't be alone at night, when she went to work at other people's homes.
When she finally kicked out all the deadbeats from her house, she enjoyed a brief respite, until her now-grown-temperamental-son-who-cannot-keep-a-job got his girlfriend pregnant.
Rose knew she couldn't be a masseuse forever. Her work kept her up till the wee hours of the morning, leaving her exhausted and short-tempered with her family during the day.
Her customer base was limited and unpredictable. They traveled a lot. Sometimes, they relocated abroad altogether. Some were spoiled and let her wait for hours, causing her to lose business and anger clients left waiting. Some sexually harassed her, forcing her to terminate her professional relationship with them.
Giving massages was also hard on her body and she complained of various aches. She found it ironic that her job was to relieve people of pain and yet she herself was in a constant state of it. She had never received a massage in her life and yearned for one.
(Internet file photo.)
One time, I presented her a wooden massage tool. She was very grateful and she would have her children massage her with it. But her children tired easily and lost interest before she could find relief so, one day, she lay on top of it and, of course, it broke underneath her weight. Since then, she has resorted to lying and rolling herself atop empty Coke bottles.
Rose was always looking for ways to augment her income, hoping to find that one big break that would bring in a steady salary and, hopefully, enable her to retire from massaging. But I guess people could smell the desperation on her. She was eager to believe anyone who promised her a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. She'd be all wide-eyed and excited, telling me about the latest venture she had gotten into and I swear I'd try to warn her, but she'd be so convinced that this was finally her way out - well, she had no choice, having already sunk all her money into it - that when she returned, months later, quiet and despondent, I wouldn't have the heart to tell her, "I told you so."
It was a story that would repeat itself over and over, with different players (most of them her own relatives) and different scenarios but, always, with the same ending - with her disappointed and broke.
One day, she submitted her life story to a radio station in some bizarre who-has-the-worst-life-story contest. Not surprisingly, she won. The prize money was P100,000 and, for the first time in a long time, Rose felt truly hopeful. She invested her winnings in computers and put up an internet cafe.
A few months later, Typhoon Ketsana (local name: Ondoy) happened. It was the worst typhoon to ever hit the Philippines. Rose, who lived right where the flood waters were deepest, was lucky to have survived. Her home and her computers were not.
Slowly, she tried to rebuild her life. But with spas and cheap home-service massage companies sprouting up everywhere, she could no longer compete. Being crippled meant that she had to take taxis everywhere, which meant that she had to charge more than double the rate of more professional home massage services.
I stuck with Rose for as long as I could but I must confess that I now rely on the services of another woman who lives a few houses from me and can come over as soon as I need her (without the long waits Rose was notorious for), for half the price.
So, this year, I lost touch with Rose.
Recently, she's been in my thoughts though. While I was at the hospital, two weeks ago, visiting my uncle in the medical ICU, I learned that one of Rose's last - and best - customers was confined in the room next door. His condition is critical and, given his advanced age, it doesn't look like he'll make it. I wondered how she was faring.
Then, last Friday, in the middle of the night, I got an unexpected text message from her. The last time I had spoken to her, she had found a lump on her breast and had an appointment to see a doctor. I had forgotten all about that, but her message that night informed me that she had just had her left breast removed.
We corresponded throughout the evening and she confessed to me how weary she felt. She knew that she could no longer work, and she despaired about finding the strength to start over.
The next day, I sent her some money to help with her medicines. Still, I am at a loss as to how to I can help in the long term. I cannot afford to employ her and she, obviously, cannot manage money wisely. Yet, she's turning 50 next year and has four other mouths to feed. If she can no longer give massages, how can she and the rest of her family survive?
A few days ago, one of my friends posted an article about that bus monitor in the U.S. who received $225,000 through the kindess of strangers on Reddit. I'm not entirely sure what Reddit is although I am pretty sure that I do not have its reach, but it did give me the idea of posting Rose's story here. I hope her story gets passed around and will touch some people to try to help in whatever way they can. Maybe somebody somewhere can help in terms of giving her some form of sustainable livelihood. Or help with her daughter's schooling. Or whip her son into shape. It's a long shot but "nothing ventured, nothing gained", right?
Rose.
For those who would like to donate something to help Rose get back on her crutches, here are her bank account details:
- Bank name: Banco De Oro
- Swift code: BNORPHMM
- Account name: Rosalinda S. Capua
- Savings account number: 0000-7017-8976
Thank you in advance for all your help, even if it's just to pass on Rose's story.
***
Update:
26 June 2012
Rose doesn't know that I've written this story. I don't want to get her hopes up, in case things don't work out.
Someone suggested that she open a PayPal account. I've checked and she will need a credit or debit card to receive money and I doubt very much if a bank will open a line of credit for her. She barely had enough money to keep her account open. (She had P500 in it.)
I sent her a message this morning and, apparently, she's still at the hospital. She was supposed to be discharged last Friday but she can't leave because she still has bills to settle and is waiting for help from other clients. She asked if I knew where she could borrow a wheelchair.
3 July 2012
I had to tell Rose that I wrote about her so that I could ask her to send me some pictures. Her son e-mailed me these photos last Saturday, which I've since uploaded to the story.
This was Rose last week as she was waiting to be released.
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