Do you live on Maginhawa Street?

No, I don't. In fact, I live more than 10 kilometers away, in a 65 square meter, two bedroom condo unit in Makati. I don't have to pay rent because I own it, but I have to pay association dues, electricity and water bills, and then some to live comfortably. You could say that I already am living in Maginhawa Street, but there are those who wander in that area that are far from it.

My workday begins behind the wheel as I drive to pick-up Judith, who lives in Cainta, Rizal and we're bound to arrive in Chubby's place a little after lunchtime. Judith, my copywriter, Creative Director and Chief Executive Officer all rolled into one, was already hungry and we decided to stop in a small restaurant in Maginhawa street, a few blocks away from Chubby's house.

Combi was our all-time favorite dinner place when we would end the working day but since we started working in Chubby's house we've never had the opportunity to go back. While our orders were taken a young girl dressed in a worn-out blue and white school uniform came to our table, which was outside the restaurant. She was selling cigarettes that were inside a small plastic container, but Judith and I were already lighting our own cigarettes. I waved my hand to inform her that we weren't interested in what she was selling.

The girl stayed nearby, inspecting the life-sized plastic skeleton that was on display in front of the restaurant. It was then that I asked Judith if she had any spare change because I never carry any in my pockets. We called the young girl back to our table and bought several pesos worth of candies instead. I noticed that the cigarette brands she was selling was written over the plastic container she was holding and the brand that I was smoking was misspelled. "Winton," I said. "Kulang ng 's'," I added.

She smiled and the pair of dimples on her cheeks broke my heart. Judith, being fond of writing instruments, quickly handed the young girl with a marker so that she could correct the mistake. And that's when we started asking her why she wasn't in school even if she was wearing her school uniform.

"Walang baon, eh," she replied.

The young girl continued to answer our other questions even if she tried to avoid them, but in a matter of minutes she was already telling us how scary it would be if the skeleton that was on display were made out of real bones. And while Judith kept on talking to her, I felt scared of how grave the situation was.

Only a few days ago I was listening to a radio talk show and they were discussing how many school children fail to proceed to the school level. And one of the main causes was that they lack the money to buy food. No money, no allowance, no food. You certainly can't teach someone who's hungry, right?

I believe in the value of education and even if I've been working for more than ten years, I still try to find ways to educate myself. If I had enough money and time I would like to go back to school. I would consider myself lucky for having been gifted with a curiosity that enables me to learn and a family that who values education. Until now, I still in the process of learning, from my mentors, my partners and everyone who has something to teach me anything new. But today, the young girl I met on Maginhawa has taught me more than what my teachers could teach me in a year.

"This is the kind of pro-bono that I would like to do," I told Judith. "This is the kind of cause that would be worth doing." Judith knew what I was talking about and before I could say anything more, her pen was up and she handed me a copy of an ad that I was already thinking about. I gave my approval as she asked me who do we sell the idea to.

I've done pro-bono work for Caritas and Gabriela before when I was still employed, but this time I realized that I didn't want to do this for any institution. "It's going to be unbranded," I told Judith. "Where's the call to action?" She asked me.

Money can only go as far as end of one's pockets. "There isn't any. This is it." Sometimes I wish I had a foundation to my name that would help solve this problem, but I don't.

It had become personal. "This ad is my call to action. The copy you've placed there is yours. Whoever is going to help us produce it has answered that call to action." I said simply.

I'm an ad man and my talents can only go so far as to bring awareness to the situation. And while I'm used to just reading of the situation behind a newspaper or an advertising brief to come up with an ad to help raise funds for a non-government organization I am now placing a face to the statistic.

And while it is a beautiful face, it didn't belong on Maginhawa Street.

When I realized what had to be done, I quickly reached into the pockets of my bag to get my camera which was equipped with a video recording component. But I was too late. The young girl was already gone. I went across the street and asked the employees of another restaurant if they had seen me talking to young girl with the description I had given them. They informed me that she lived a few blocks away in a place they called Krus na Ligas and told me that she regularly made her rounds in the area.

The information gave me some hope of seeing the young girl again, but I felt disappointed. An opportunity presented itself and I missed it, completely. "You're tired, Sam," Judith told me. "That's not an excuse," I replied.

We're so lucky, so blessed with what we have that we take everything for granted. We're rewarded for our brilliance, given recognition and yet we complain how tired we are for doing so much when in fact we haven't really done a lot. And then here's a young girl who's learning to peddle cigarettes so that she could start to learn - and I wish that she wouldn't learn to sell something else in order to have food on the table.

Their lives are far simpler than ours but we live in a more comfortable lifestyle in comparison. It's ironic that those who dwell around the street of Maginhawa never have it so easy.

As soon as the work day ended, I drove around the area once more. I tried to familiarize myself where Krus na Ligas was. I promised myself that I would try to find the girl again. It was the least that I could do because I know that what I was planning would never be enough. Today, I missed an opportunity to do something worthy of my gifts and talents. I swear, this will not happen again.

Eleven

I've recently started running again. Three times a week, nightly, at the Salcedo Park. I haven't gotten any real physical activity of late since resigning from being an employee and there are advantages of being self-employed. I don't have to wake up just in time to be earlier than the boss, in fact, I don't even have to be on time for anything.

I had so much time that I spend it needlessly on other pursuits I might as well make it productive. I have gained weight - not a lot, but enough that people notice. So, a few weeks ago, I got my old pair of cross trainers and ran. Thirty minutes tops. That's just about enough I could take for someone as old as I am.

I run at night - the cold air is a natural coolant for the body and besides I really sweat a lot. My old pair of shoes need to be replaced, just as soon as I maintain my schedule. I've been on it for three weeks now and it feels refreshing. And just to make things interesting I purchase a futsal-sized football to aid my exercise.

The thing is, that I easily get tired. I'm not used to long-distance running. I should be, since I play football but I'm more used to sprinting. My running pace isn't stable - I sprint, I brisk-walk, I run, I walk, I sprint and I do it over and over again. Until I'm bored. That's my problem, I get bored easily with the routine.

The ball helps. It keeps up with my ever-changing pace of running, walking, sprinting after the ball as it bounces of from the gutter. I would've stayed out until 12 midnight but the rain was worsening. From eleven to eleven-thirty, I passed the ball to the gutter. Not so much of a challenge, right? Sometimes I wish I could easily find a team to play with me at 11 p.m., but who does play at that ungodly hour?

Well, who knows? Maybe a varsity player for a women's college football team lives around the area and would take pity on a lonely man with a ball at eleven o'clock in the evening.