Hope and tears in the City of Smiles. That’s how I’ll remember the afternoon of Saturday January 6, 2007. On that afternoon a fifteen year old girl named Riza Gallego stole my heart, then broke it. As a result, I’ll never be the same.

I was in the Philippines collecting material for Compassion Day—a national radio event, run in partnership with Compassion Australia, that sees hundreds of children in developing countries released from poverty each year. Merryn and I have two sponsor children of our own in the Philippines—one with Compassion, and another with a group called Share An Opportunity (or SAO for short). On this trip we’d get to meet them in person. We were excited and apprehensive all at once.

We flew to the island of Negros, arriving in the capital city Bacolod—nicknamed the ‘City of Smiles’. This was where we were to meet Riza, our SAO child. We’d sponsored Riza for eight years, and during the last couple of those years her letters had become more and more personal. We’d developed a bond.

We went to the simple restaurant where we were to meet, and took our seats. A moment later three SAO workers walked in, then Riza. Riza saw us and burst into tears. We saw Riza and fell in love.

She wore an apricot T-shirt with white ribbing, simply-cut jeans and sandals—the best of the few clothes she owns. Sitting down to eat, I’ll never forget when Riza was asked what she’d like to drink. She replied, ‘you mean, I can have anything on the menu?’ Riza doesn’t normally eat in restaurants. Her mango smoothy was a rare treat.

Conversation began to flow once the emotions of our initial meeting subsided. We reviewed the basics. Her father is a welder, her mother a home maker. Their house is a one-room shack shared with two dogs and a cat. At night Riza sleeps on the bed with her mother and her father sleeps on the ‘couch’ (no doubt a simple bamboo structure). The electricity in her home powers one light bulb and a radio, and her ‘wardrobe’ consists of a cardboard box in the corner of the room holding her school clothes. Riza and her family live simply. They have no other choice. That’s why she needs our sponsorship.

After lunch we drove to Mambukal resort—a simple attraction with pools, forest walks and hot springs. I’d occasionally look at Riza as we walked along with our tour guide, wondering what her life might become. Riza wants to be a nurse when she leaves school. Will she succeed? Who’ll pay for her college fees? Suddenly I wanted to kidnap her and bring her home. I wanted to be there at her graduation and at her wedding. I wanted to make sure she never wanted for anything again.

Darkness fell and we started the hour-long drive back to Bacolod. It had been a magical day, and it was about to end.

‘When are you going back Australia,’ Riza asked me during the ride. I sombrely replied that we’d be off to Jakarta next, then home in a couple of days. ‘Maybe we’ll see each other again one day,’ she said, and started to cry. Tears welled up in my eyes too. I couldn’t promise that we’d ever see each other again, and I hated it.

We pulled into our motel’s parking lot. We got out of the car. Merryn and I turned to face Riza. She hugged us, and began to walk away. She took a few steps then ran back and hugged us again. I’ve never wept so much in my life.

Merryn and I don’t have children. But on Saturday January 6, 2007, I found a girl any parent would be proud of. Riza was polite, caring, and had an innocence too rarely seen. You see, Riza’s meagre living conditions means she doesn’t have the distractions we do. She’s not sullied by materialistic desires. Riza’s joy is in animals and flowers and natural wonders. Riza has nothing materially-speaking; instead she has a love for God and his world that would touch any atheist. ‘Blessed are the poor,’ Jesus said, ‘for theirs is the kingdom of God.’ I saw that in Riza.

Yes, there were tears in the City of Smiles that day—we’re going to miss Riza terribly. But there was hope too. The few dollars we send each month has given Riza a future. And one day we’ll see her again. In that place were every tear turns to joy.