AN OLD WOMAN WHO DEDICATED HER ENTIRE LIFE TO HELPING BUT WAS JUDGED BY THE WORLD JUST BECAUSE ON ONE OCCASION SHE WAS UNABLE TO GIVE HER NEIGHBOR WHAT HE DEMANDED

In a remote barangay in Laguna, Lola Conching is well-known. She is not rich, but for her neighbors, she is the lifeblood of the town. She has no children, no husband, so all her attention is focused on helping. If someone has no money to buy medicine, they go to Lola Conching. If someone is short on electricity, Lola Conching will pull out her old piggy bank. People almost worship her. “The Saint of the Barangay,” some call her.

Lola Conching is quiet. Her only source of money is a small place in the market and the pension of her late husband, a soldier. But even though it is small, she manages to make ends meet.

One afternoon, Aling Berta, her neighbor who was fond of tong-its but was kind when she met him, arrived. She was panting, sweaty, and looked troubled.

“Grandma Conching! It seems like you’re taking pity on me,” Berta began, almost kneeling in front of the old man who was sweeping the yard. “I need five thousand. Now. There’s just an emergency in the province, I need to send it.”

Grandma Conching was stunned. She reached into the pocket of her duster. God knows how much she wanted to help. But at that moment, the contents of her wallet were only two hundred pesos—her budget for food for the next three days before the pension arrived. She had just redeemed the medicine for Mang Karyo’s son yesterday.

“Berta, be patient,” the old man replied gently, a trace of sadness in his eyes. “I’m also in a pinch now, my son. I have nothing to give.”

Berta’s expression changed. From begging, her expression turned hard. “Nothing? You guys? You’re hiding so much! You’re so stingy, Grandma! Did I think you were kind? With so many people you’ve helped, you’d turn me down?”

“Nothing, Berta. Believe me,” Grandma Conching pleaded.

Berta stormed off. And that’s when Grandma Conching’s ordeal began.

It was already four o’clock when the news spread. Berta told everyone that the old man was stingy. Kesyo was just buying things to help. Kesyo was hiding wealth while the neighbors were hungry. The smiles that used to greet Grandma Conching were replaced by frowns and whispers.

When she passed by the store, the people who were chatting suddenly fell silent, and then she would hear the whisper, “There’s the fake Santa.”

Page: SAY – Story Around You | Original story

It hurt for Grandma Conching, but she didn’t move. She continued to smile, even though no one reciprocated. A few weeks later, she became a pariah in her own neighborhood. No one greeted her, no one offered help when she fell ill.

One night, a strong storm hit. There was no electricity. In the middle of the darkness and the wind, Lola Conching had a heart attack. Alone. There was no one to call because there was no signal, and even though she screamed, the force of the rain seemed to bury her voice.

The next day, the guards found her dead.

When her body was taken out, gossiping neighbors gathered, including Berta. “It’s a shame,” Berta said, but still with a hint of bitterness. “If she hadn’t been stingy, maybe someone would have helped her.”

Barangay officials entered Lola Conching’s house to look for a relative’s contact number or any documents. The curious went along to see how much “hidden wealth” the old woman had.

They opened the old cupboard. No money. No jewelry. What they found was a thick notebook and a white envelope with Berta’s name on it.

Berta’s hand shook as the Captain handed her the envelope. She opened it. Inside was a pawnshop receipt and a letter.

The receipt was addressed to Lola Conching. She had pawned her only wedding ring—the most precious thing to her—on the very day Berta had asked for help and she had refused. The date on the receipt was that afternoon.

Berta read the letter aloud, her face gradually turning pale and tears welling up.

“Berta, my child, I’m sorry if I turned you down earlier. I really don’t have any money. But I can’t stand the thought of you having a problem. When you left, I brought my ring to town to pawn. Here’s five thousand. I was going to give it to you tonight when I was passing by so you wouldn’t think I embarrassed you. I hope this will help your province. Don’t worry about the redemption, I’ll take care of it when my pension arrives. Always be careful. – Grandma Conching”

Everyone looked at the notebook the Captain was holding. It was a list of people’s “debts” to him. But on each page, there was written in large red ink: PAID (NO MORE BA

PAY, I’LL HELP YOU WITH THIS).

Everyone saw their names. Mang Karyo, who bought the medicine. Aling Nena, who was given a sedative. All of them.

On the last page of the notebook, there was a date written—the day before he died.

“I’ve run out of money. I don’t even have my ring. But I’m happy because I helped. I just hope that, one day, they’ll learn that true helping is not measured by what you can give when you have it, but by what you can give up when you don’t have it.”

Berta knelt on the floor, holding the five thousand pesos and the receipt for the ring. The “stinginess” she shouted to the whole world was the reason why the old man had nothing left, not even for his own grave.

The entire village fell silent, swallowed by a shame deeper than a flood, while the rain outside was like tears from heaven for an angel whose wings they had broken.