The Motorcycle Survived
There is a motorcycle sitting in police custody.
Recovered.
Case solved.
Everyone clap.
The motorcycle survived.
The father didn't.
A Man Went to Work
A man woke up in the middle of the night to do what millions of Filipinos do every single day.
Work.
Not because he loved riding around at one in the morning.
Because children have this annoying habit of needing food.
Rent has this irritating tendency to arrive every month.
Therapy isn't exactly free.
According to his family, he wanted to work abroad someday so he could provide a better life for his autistic son.
A perfectly ordinary dream.
Ordinary dreams, unfortunately, have a terrible matchup against extraordinary evil.
One Ride, One Stranger
Then a passenger booked a ride.
One trip.
One destination.
One random stranger.
Funny how your entire future can fit inside a booking request.
The Stabbing
The suspect allegedly waited until the ride ended.
Then he pulled out an ice pick.
Then he stabbed the rider.
Again.
Again.
Again.
He stole the motorcycle.
He ran.
Apparently the bike was worth more to him than another human being's heartbeat.
Not Done Yet
Later that same morning, police say the same man allegedly robbed another person who was simply walking down the street.
Because apparently murder wasn't enough cardio for one evening.
That second victim was lucky.
The crowd caught him.
Not because justice arrived.
Because ordinary people happened to arrive first.
There is a very uncomfortable difference.
The Apology
Then came the apology.
"Nabigla lang po ako."
Oh.
Of course.
You were startled.
That explains everything.
I, too, become mildly stabby when surprised.
Sometimes my coffee spills.
Sometimes Windows installs updates without asking.
Never once have I responded by repeatedly stabbing someone and stealing their motorcycle.
Maybe I'm just old-fashioned.
Let's review this remarkable accident.
You accidentally became a passenger.
Accidentally carried an ice pick.
Accidentally waited for the right moment.
Accidentally stabbed someone multiple times.
Accidentally stole his motorcycle.
Accidentally committed another robbery a few hours later.
At some point we have to stop calling it being "startled" and start calling it Tuesday.
Second Chances
The phrase people love is,
"Everyone deserves a second chance."
Sure.
But second chances are fascinating.
They're always requested from prison.
Never from the cemetery.
The dead have an unfortunate attendance problem.
The Child Left Behind
The part that makes me angry isn't the killer.
There have always been killers.
There always will be.
Humanity manufactures them with depressing consistency.
The part that breaks me is the little boy.
His mother died when he was barely a month old.
Before he even turns four...
His father is murdered while trying to earn a living.
He has autism.
He doesn't need inspirational Facebook quotes.
He needed his dad.
Now he gets sympathy.
Those are significantly cheaper.
A Life Sentence for the Living
One day he'll ask where his father is.
Some adult will have to explain that Dad left for work...
...and never came home.
Imagine being too young to understand death but old enough to feel abandonment.
Imagine growing up trying to remember a face you barely had time to memorize.
Imagine every birthday becoming a reminder of who's missing from the photos.
That's a life sentence.
The murderer isn't the only one who'll be living with the consequences.
Death's Business Model
Death has an incredible business model.
It kills one person.
Then invoices everyone else.
A grandmother becomes a parent again.
Relatives become guardians.
Friends become pallbearers.
Coworkers leave another chair permanently empty.
An autistic child grows up without either parent.
The murderer goes to prison.
Society calls that "justice."
It's certainly a word.
Whether it's the right one is another discussion.
Monsters Don't Wear Costumes
We love pretending monsters wear monster costumes.
They don't.
Sometimes they book rides.
Sometimes they stand in line at convenience stores.
Sometimes they smile.
Sometimes they say,
"Pasensya na po."
As if apologies are magical little Ctrl+Z buttons.
Mortality's Coin Toss
Mortality has a sick sense of humor.
It doesn't care about plans.
It doesn't care about dreams.
It certainly doesn't care that someone wanted to work abroad to give his son a better future.
Life doesn't negotiate.
It simply flips a coin.
Heads, you make it home.
Tails, your child grows up hearing stories about you instead of hearing your voice.
The News Cycle Moves On
News reports always end the same way.
"The suspect is now facing charges."
Roll credits.
Case closed.
Except that's where the real story starts.
Because court cases eventually end.
News cycles move on.
Facebook finds something new to be outraged about tomorrow.
But somewhere, years from now, there will be a little boy with autism celebrating another birthday without either parent.
No camera will be there.
No breaking news banner.
No interviews.
Just another empty chair at another birthday cake.
The Motorcycle Goes Home
The motorcycle was recovered.
Wonderful.
I'm genuinely happy for the motorcycle.
It gets to go home.
The father doesn't.
And that's the part I can't stop thinking about.
Not the suspect.
Not the apology.
Not even the crime itself.
Just the cruel arithmetic of mortality.
One man wanted to build a future.
Another wanted a motorcycle.
Guess which one is still breathing.
Sometimes that's all justice manages to accomplish.
The paperwork gets filed.
The evidence gets tagged.
The motorcycle gets returned.
The child gets orphaned.
Everyone calls it another tragic incident.
Then we refresh our news feed.
Until one day...
someone refreshes theirs...
and sees us.
