They sleep on cardboard under the Quezon Avenue flyover, Manila rumbling above like a restless god.
Lolo Ben, sixty-eight, once a jeepney driver, now just a man with a thin blanket and a cough that won’t leave. And Junjun, his grandson, barely eight, sharp-eyed and bird-boned, clutching a plastic pail and a toy soldier with one arm missing. They are family of two. Home is a bundle of shirts, a rice cooker that never plugs in, and a beat-up radio that still plays old ballads when the batteries cooperate. Their roof is concrete. Their ceiling—sky or smog, depending on the day. Each morning, they rise with the sun—or the heat, whichever wakes them first.
Lolo Ben stretches slowly, knees cracking like old wood. He wraps a towel around his neck, tells Junjun: “Anak, tayo na. Basura ay naghihintay.” Son, let’s go. The garbage waits.
Junjun carries the bucket. They comb the streets of España, Quiapo, Sta. Cruz. Empty bottles, scrap metal, used cartons. Sometimes, if luck walks with them, they find leftover pan de sal or a half-eaten siopao still warm from a stranger’s hand. Lolo doesn’t beg. Not in words. Just in presence.
People know him—‘yung matandang may apo sa may poste, the old man with the boy by the post.
Vendors hand them lukewarm soup. A tricycle driver once gave Junjun slippers. Still, some cross the street when they see them. As if poverty were contagious. In the afternoons, they sit near the plaza.
Junjun draws in the dirt with a stick: jeepneys, helicopters, a house on a hill with curtains that move.
Lolo hums Freddie Aguilar, eyes closed, the song bleeding into memory.
“’Pag laki ko, Lolo… gagawa ako ng bahay para sa’yo.” When I grow up, I’ll build you a house.
Ben smiles, doesn’t answer. Just ruffles the boy’s hair, calloused fingers gentle as a prayer.
Nights come fast in Manila. They curl against the wall, wind creeping through their blankets. Lolo coughs. Junjun rests his head on his grandfather’s chest, listens to the rhythm like it’s the last story of the day. Cars pass. Neon lights blink. Somewhere above, life ticks on.
But beneath the overpass,
a grandfather and a boy
survive on scraps and love—
and somehow,
still find room to dream.