When Hunger Leads to Crime, and Grace Leads to Change

 

Courtesy of GMA Public Affairs 

“Posible nga bang sumibol ang kabutihan at pagbabago sa loob ng piitan—kahit na ang isang tao ay labas-masok na sa kulungan? Posible pa nga ba ang liwanag sa kabila ng dilim?”

That was the question Kara David asked at the beginning of her I-Listen podcast. And the story of Nestor Quilat answers it with a resounding yes.

When Nestor was just five years old, he witnessed something no child should ever see—his entire family was murdered right in front of him. The reason? A violent dispute over land and a coconut farm. And the most painful part? It was done by their own relative, his Uncle. That moment didn’t just take away his loved ones—it stole his childhood, his safety, and his sense of belonging.

Alone and traumatized, Nestor ran away. The streets became his home. Himself, his only family.

As a child, he didn’t have anyone to care for him. No parents to guide him, no home to protect him. What really hit me hard is that, at a very young age, he had to eat food from the garbage—just to survive. And when he said that the food he found had worms—mga uod na dumidikit pa sa kamay niya habang kumakain, but he still ate it because he was starving... I cried. I couldn’t help it. That kind of hunger, that kind of pain, is something no child should ever go through.

Kapag gutom ka, gagawin mo lahat—kahit masama. That’s the truth. Hunger doesn’t ask for permission. It pushes people to steal, lie, or even hurt others, not because they’re evil, but because they’re desperate.

To numb the hunger, Nestor even used solvent rugby. Influenced by other street boys in Manila, he would sniff it just to forget the pain in his stomach. It wasn’t about addiction—it was survival. A child, high on fumes, just trying to escape the ache of an empty belly.

Nestor was imprisoned at just 9 years old. During that time, there was no Juvenile Justice Welfare Act yet. So instead of being placed in a facility for children, he was mixed with adult inmates—men who had committed serious crimes, men who were hardened by life. Imagine a child, broken and afraid, trying to survive among grown men in prison.

His first arrest was for stealing eggs at a bus terminal. He was just a boy trying to survive. But that moment started a cycle—he was in and out of jail twenty times. Twenty times. Each time, society saw him as nothing more than a criminal.

One of the most serious crimes Nestor committed was when he stole the bag of a lawyer. He didn’t know the woman was an attorney—he just saw an opportunity and grabbed the bag. But when he opened it, he was shocked. Inside was a loaded gun and ₱140,000 in cash.

That moment made him realize how serious his actions were. It wasn’t just a small theft anymore. It was a big crime that could have led to something dangerous. Because of that, he was charged with a major case.

And through all those years, Nestor didn’t believe in God. How could he? His family was murdered. He grew up alone. He ate trash to survive. He was beaten, jailed, and forgotten. He didn’t even have decent clothes to wear—just dirty, torn shirts and pants that barely fit. He was so madumi, people avoided him. He felt invisible.

So when a pastor came to preach inside the prison, Nestor didn’t just ignore him—he got angry. He shouted. He cursed. And every time the pastor spoke about God’s love, Nestor would cover his ears. He didn’t want to hear it. He couldn’t accept that a loving God would allow a child to suffer like he did.

But one night, in the middle of his pain, Nestor looked up and said, “God, if you are real… please make me a friend.” That simple prayer wasn’t about miracles. It was about connection. He didn’t ask for riches or freedom. He just wanted someone to care.

And God answered.

Someone came. Not with judgment, but with kindness. His name was Daniel Barrero, a fellow prisoner. Daniel gave Nestor clean clothes to wear—something he hadn’t had in years. And they gave him a meal so delicious, he said it was the best food he had ever tasted. For the first time, he felt seen. He felt human.

That moment opened his heart. And in one of the most honest confessions he ever made, Nestor admitted: “Ako po ay naging kampon ni satanas. Ako po ay nagkasala.” He didn’t sugarcoat his past. He owned it. He faced it.

Inside prison, something unexpected happened. He found faith. Not instantly, but slowly—through Bible studies, quiet nights, and deep thinking. He began to change. He started helping others. He stopped blaming the world and started healing.

When he stood before the judge, he didn’t deny anything. He accepted his mistakes. And the judge, instead of just handing down punishment, looked at him and said, “Kung ang Diyos nagpapatawad, kami din dito nagpapatawad. Malaya ka na.”

When he was finally released in 2004, Nestor didn’t go back to his old life. He became a pastor. Yes, a pastor. The same man who once ate trash to survive now feeds souls with hope and wisdom. He now speaks to young people, reminding them that no matter how broken you feel, you can still be whole.

Nestor returns to jail—but not as someone who committed a crime. He goes back to share the word of God. He enters the same cells where he once suffered, now carrying light, not shame. He preaches to inmates, reminding them that change is possible, and that even in the darkest places, grace can still find you.

His story, shared in Kara David’s I-Listen podcast, is more than inspiring—it’s proof. Proof that people can change. Proof that even the hardest challenges—poverty, trauma, rejection, prison—can be overcome.

So if you’re struggling, remember Nestor. If you feel lost, remember that he was too. And if you think you’re too far gone, remember: he saw his family murdered, ate garbage with worms, wore dirty clothes, was imprisoned as a boy, stood guilty in court, cursed at God, confessed to being a servant of darkness—and still became a pastor.

Change is real. Hope is alive. And sometimes, the people who fall the hardest rise the highest. Totoo ang Diyos.

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