Am I to Be Blamed?

They're chasing me, they're chasing, no they must not catch me, I have enough money

now, yes enough for my starving mother and brothers.

Please let me go, let me go home before you imprison me.

Very well, officers? Take me to your headquarters.

Good morning captain! no captain, you are mistaken, I was once a good girl, just like the

rest of you here. Just like any of your daughters. But time was, when I was reared in slums.

But we lived honestly, we lived honestly in life. My, father, mother, brothers, sisters, and I.

But then, poverty entered the portals of our home. My father became jobless, my mother got

ill. The small savings that my mother had kept for our expenses were spent. All for our daily

needs and her needed medicine.

One night, my father went out, telling us that he would come back in a few minutes with

plenty of food and money, but that was the last time I saw him. He went with another

woman. If only I could lay my hands on his neck I would wring it without pain until he

breathes no more. If you were in my place, you'll do it, wouldn't you Captain? What? You

won't still believe in me? Come and I'll show you a dilapidated shanty by a railroad.

Mother, mother I'm home. Mother? Mother?! There Captain, see my dead mother. Captain?

There are tears in your eyes? Now pack this stolen money and return it to the owner. What

good would this do to my mother now? She's already gone! Do you hear me? She's already

gone. Am I to be blamed for the things I have done?

Composed by Mary Ann Villanueva Oppus

POOR BOY

Look at me!!! I am part of the masses... the facet of society many so often push around... Why
can't they ever stop to think... that, I am human too... that I, too, feel like them... Why can't you
answer me??? You must have something in mind... Why can't you answer me??? I know you
must have something in mind... Where is their sense of morality??? They trampled upon me as
if I was trash... I never did them any wrong!!! Was it a sin I committed when I came to this
world as a poor boy??? A poor boy... yes that's what I am... A state of being I didn't even choose
at the first place. Was it a sin I committed, to be born like this?? Now tell me!!! Did you ever
have the right to choose your status in life when you were born??? Think!!! Before you
condemn me... Do I ever have a choice?

I am deprived of all the chances in life... I am looked down upon by people as someone who is
too dirty... too smelly... too poor... but I have a heart... Yes!!! I have a golden heart... For every
coin I get out of begging helps my younger siblings to survive. The money I earn goes a long way
to feed my family... How about you??? How do you feed your family??? Are you 100% sure you
work decent enough to earn more??? Are you sure that the money you earned didn't come
from a dirty strategy other corrupt politicians used to do to gain power? Can you honestly look
at your child straight in the eye true to your heart's core and with a clear conscience?? Have
you ever been aware that the money you use to feed your family is an outcome of your hard
labor and decent job you can always be proud of??? WHY DID YOU SUDDENLY BECOME
QUIET??? WHAT IS IN YOUR MIND NOW?? Tell me!!! Come on, tell me!!!

Huh!!! You have good clothes, you never experienced sleeping without a roof, you eat good
food, you enjoy the comforts of life... But, somewhere deep in your mind, your conscience
haunts you... Yes... you will never sleep good... Within your subconscious mind, your guilty
conscience still haunts you, constantly reminding you about your evil ways... Wow... And you
still think you are clean???

Outside, you smell fresh and clean, but deep within your soul... I know you stink... Oh... I believe
that kind of smell goes through your body... Yes your soul is bound to burn in hell!!! And look at
me! I am just a poor boy... honestly begging for mercy from people like you, to feed my
brothers and sisters... to survive, but I never stepped down on anyone. I never stole from
anyone nor did I ever use anyone to improve our lives... I can sleep good... Can you??? With a
kind conscience like that, well, I don't think so. You will never sleep well... you don't have any
right to sleep with a sound mind and a light heart...
Vengeance is Not Ours, It’s God’s
(Another winning declamation piece. It's good to memorize and good to recite. You will really cry when
you will deliver this piece in front of the audience. Find out why.)

Alms, alms, alms. Spare me a piece of bread. Spare me your mercy. I am a child so
young, so thin, and so ragged. Why are you staring at me? With my eyes I cannot see
but I know that you are all staring at me. Why are you whispering to one another? Why?
Do you know my mother? Do you know my father? Did you know me five years ago?

Yes, five years of bitterness have passed. I can still remember the vast happiness mother
and I shared with each other. We were very happy indeed.

Suddenly, five loud knocks were heard on the door and a deep silence ensued. Did the
cruel Nippon’s discover our peaceful home? Mother ran to Father’s side pleading.
“Please, Luis, hide in the cellar, there in the cellar where they cannot find you,” I pulled
my father’s arm but he did not move. It seemed as though his feet were glued to the
floor.

The door went “bang” and before us five ugly beasts came barging in. “Are you Captain
Luis Santos?” roared the ugliest of them all. “Yes,” said my father. “You are under
arrest,” said one of the beasts. They pulled father roughly away from us. Father was not
given a chance to bid us goodbye.

We followed them mile after mile. We were hungry and thirsty. We saw group of
Japanese eating. Oh, how our mouths watered seeing the delicious fruits they were
eating,
Then suddenly, we heard a voice call, “Consuelo. . . . Oscar. . . . Consuelo. . . . Oscar. . . .
Consuelo. . . . Oscar. . . .” we ran towards the direction of the voice, but it was too late.
We saw father hanging on a tree. . . . dead. Oh, it was terrible. He had been badly
beaten before he died. . . . and I cried vengeance, vengeance, vengeance! Everything
went black. The next thing I knew I was nursing my poor invalid mother.
One day, we heard the church bell ringing “ding-dong, ding-dong!” It was a sign for us to
find a shelter in our hide-out, but I could not leave my invalid mother, I tried to show
her the way to the hide-out.

Suddenly, bombs started falling; airplanes were roaring overhead, canyons were firing
from everywhere. “Boom, boom, boom, boom!” Mother was hit. Her legs were
shattered into pieces. I took her gently in my arms and cried, “I’ll have vengeance,
vengeance!” “No, Oscar. Vengeance, it’s God’s,” said mother.

But I cried out vengeance. I was like a pent-up volcano. “Vengeance is mine not the
Lord’s”. “No, Oscar. Vengeance is not ours, it’s God’s” these were the words from my
mother before she died.

Mother was dead and I was blind. Vengeance is not ours? To forgive is divine but
vengeance is sweeter. That was five years ago, five years. . . .

Alms, alms, alms. Spare me a piece of bread. Spare me your mercy. I am a child so
young, so thin, and so ragged. Vengeance is not ours, it’s God’s. . . . It’s. . . . God’s. . It’s…
A GLASS OF COLD WATER
Everybody calls me young, beautiful, wonderful. Am I? Look at my hair, my lips, my red
rosy cheeks and a pair of blinkering eyes.
I remember, somebody says that I look like my mother that I look like my mother. But
that when she was young.
Now, I am much lovelier than she is. I’m a mortal Venus. Oops! What time is it? I must
get ready for the party!
Beep-beep…!A-huh! Here they are! Yes, I’m coming!
"Child, are you still there?"
"Hmp! That’s my mama"
"Child, are you still there? Will you please get me a glass of cold water?"
"Mama, I’m in a hurry!"
"Please child, try to get me a glass of cold water."
"Mama, please, try to get it on your own."
"Please child, try to get me a glass of cold water!"
At the party, I danced and danced the whole night.
You see, I can’t leave the party at once. I have to danced with everybody who proposed
to me. At last, the party is over. I’m very tired. Very, very tired.
So, I went home to tell mama what happened.
"Mama, I’m home! It’s very quiet. "Mama, I’m home!" Nobody answers.
Where is she? I look for her in the sala, but she’s not there. Where is she? A-huh! In the
kitchen!
I saw my mama, lying down on the floor, dead. With a glass on her hand. I remember,
she tried to get it.
Oh, God, just for the glass of cold water! Mama! Mama! Oh, Mama!
FAKE

I got this smile, I skip and I play like a kid.

I'm happy. People think i'm optimistic, talented and smart. I am religious. I have many
friends.
Do I look like that? Do I? I hope you're convinced by this synthetic, this fake smile of
mine. Most people envy how perfect my life is. How I don't have problems and how I
seemed to be fine with everything.
But am I?

I always smile and agree to everything request. To be fine with everything my so called
friends wanted. Do they know that all they're seeing is fake?

A mask of fake happiness and glee. That the only reason is, I cannot say no. have they
thought of my feelings? are they even my friends?

That every time I see them, I have this smile that no one ever dared to disbelieve.
This sense of optimism everyone envies? It's all superficial. In fact, all I think of is
sadness, despair, hate, and often I just can't go on anymore. Does anyone know that?
Once I told my mom to cut the afternoon church club meetings, Guess what she bladed?

No God will be disappointed to you, she said.

I wanted to reply "Well if you put it that way" or "Sure make me feel guilty. Do I have a
choice?" but all I can do is agree and pretend I didn't ask anything.

The Saddest part is with all the masks, my disguises, my covers. . .all the lies. . .Everyone
seems to believe. No one knows how gloom, how depressed. . .unhappy I am. No one,
none of you people.
None of you dare to doubt
I don't know. . .I if I still know who I am beneath.
Is it even there? I don't know.