Finding Hope in Times of Despair

Being a volunteer with Tabang Bikol Movement, it is not unusual to come face to face with the problems of mothers, fathers, daughters, and sons living in poor communities across Camarines Sur. After disasters have passed, after the death of a loved one, or amid the relentless rise in the prices of food and basic necessities, many families struggle to survive on meager incomes or with no steady source of livelihood.

As schools reopened two weeks ago, I once again found myself dealing with one such situation. But the case of Rodalio (not his real name) was a little different. Here was a seemingly strong man, now standing on the edge of hopelessness and contemplating ending his hardships in the only way he thought he knew.

Rodalio is a bulky man of 40 whose sturdy build and strong muscles take him wherever there is work. A high school graduate, he accepts any job he can find—driving, delivering, washing dishes, hauling construction materials, or carrying heavy boulders. He goes wherever work calls, as long as it earns him enough to feed himself and his daughter.

Years ago, his wife left them for another man. Today, Rodalio lives with his frail daughter, now in Grade 11, who suffers from asthma and attends school only when her health permits. Their house, made mostly of wood, stands precariously in a flood-prone community. Life for them has never been easy.

Whenever Rodalio applies for work, he assures employers they can call on him anytime. He cannot afford to wait for the usual fifteen- or thirty-day payroll cycle because there are debts to settle, rent to pay, and food to buy on credit from the neighborhood store.

Last week, I came across a message he posted in Bicolano:

“Dai ako maglaog kasi nadadara ako sa trabaho asin problema ko. Dai ko na aram kung pasain ako. Stress na po ako maray. Pag hasta sa aga dai po ako nag-report, ma-left na po ako digdi sa GC. Salamat po sa gabos sa pagtanggap sa sakuyang. Sorry po.”

(“I cannot come in because I am overwhelmed by work and my problems. I no longer know where to turn. I am very stressed. If by morning I do not report, please remove me from the group chat. Thank you all for accepting me. I am sorry.”)

It was Rodalio. Severely stressed. Troubled. Perhaps exhausted beyond words.

Fortunately, his co-workers sensed that something was terribly wrong. They sought him out and advised him to seek medical help. But seeking treatment would mean prescription medicines and additional expenses, things beyond the reach of many poor families. Some believed he might be suffering from severe depression, but what everyone recognized was that he needed help and understanding.

His story raises questions many people ask today. What is mental stress? Why do mental health problems seem increasingly common? What is evident is that poverty, unemployment, inflation, family breakdown, illness, disasters, and uncertainty about the future weigh heavily on millions of people. We do not need Google or Facebook to tell us that. We see it every day in our communities. We hear it in the voices of fathers unable to find work, mothers skipping meals for their children, and young people losing hope. I cannot help but also think of the families and children in Gaza, Palestine, Lebanon, and other places devastated by war and displacement. Their suffering reminds us that emotional pain and hopelessness know no boundaries.

Mental health problems do not choose social class. They affect the rich and the poor, the young and the old. They are not signs of weakness or lack of faith, but human responses to prolonged stress, loneliness, grief, and trauma.

Messages like Rodalio’s—expressing helplessness, apologizing, or saying goodbye—may be cries for help. They should never be ignored. Listening without judgment, strengthening family and community ties, and seeking professional help can make a tremendous difference. Sometimes, the simple question, “Kamusta ka? Ano an puwede kong maitabang?” can help save a life.

Perhaps the greatest lesson from Rodalio’s story is this: behind every laborer, tricycle driver, vendor, teacher, or professional is a human being carrying invisible burdens. For many people like Rodalio, the real struggle is not only finding work. It is finding hope. Government and those entrusted with power share a responsibility to create conditions where hope can prevail and where people can live with dignity.

Sometimes, hope begins when another human being simply refuses to let go. Perhaps that is what Rodalio needs today, and what many others silently struggling among us need as well—not pity, but people who care enough to stay, listen, and remind them that tomorrow may still be better. And when compassion is matched by responsive governance and more just social and economic conditions, hope ceases to be a distant dream and becomes something ordinary people can finally reach, share, and enjoy.