IN A secluded space outside the barangay's health center is a woman trying to hush her baby with a bottle of thin milk. Emaciated, both of them, the baby's eyes had that somber expression of malnutrition very different from the curious glints in the eyes of babies that we love to play peek-a-boo with.
The health center was still closed, work hours hasn't started yet, but the surroundings are starting to fill up with women with their toddlers and children.
A better-dressed woman, dyed hair and all, arrives, a teenage girl tagging along carrying that baby kit bag -- those plastic, cushiony bags that come in pastel shades, and decorated with tiny flowers -- and shaking a freshly-made baby formula bottle. The better-dressed woman motions to the teenage girl with a wide sweep of her hand, calling the attention of those around as well, and quite loudly asks whether she alrady needs to buy another can of a certain brand of milk formula (the one that prides itself about making gifted children).
"Show off," I mumbled.
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