I tried to contain all the emotion, the restlessness stirring within me, what with the fine weather contradicting the quite expected maladies of The Router. But no, alas, I have no evidence whatsoever--no pictures, no memorabilia, no name tag, no souvenir. Just the memory of a thousand friendships, waiting to entangle themselves onto one another, as a labyrinthine connect-the-dots sheet.
I cannot impart upon you any bit of happiness or joy or gladness or excitement because I'm no Matt Parkman. But what I can tell you is that I'm ready to have a kid. And not just ready, I'm excited. It is the beauty of humanity, the perpetuation of its own species, as Mr. Mamaril had told us.
But what gave me the gladness similar to unwrapping a heap of presents during Christmas was the unwrapping of anonymity. The disclosure of closeness, unexpectedly hidden within.
I met a lot of kids. At the Institute for Foundational Learning, I befriended a lot, most of them actually. Kids ranging from 4 to 19 (perhaps?). And it was an easy task, with them approaching you like ants that have smelled cookie crumbles. There were a dozen "Kuya Ben! Kuya Ben!"s And I was looking around and below for the kiddie high-pitched sources.
Ahh, why are kids so happy and joyful? While some people get so impatient and stubborn and bitchy sometimes.
The first kid to approach me was Joven (although technically, it was I who approached him), around 7 or 8 (for so many kids, I only remembered a few ages). I was busy setting up the signs. He narrated about his friend, Ben ________ whom he recalled because of my name tag.
The face-painting made me face a lot of kids, sadly, I cannot enumerate all. I face-painted the green team with Jhing Talan, and the kids LOOOOOVED the face paint. The first creature I drew was a lion, and it looked more like a puppy to me. And some wanted butterflies, the most desired creature of all. Followed closely by the flower. And some vines. These days, kids have gone more earthy.
Three kids that I remembered from that face-painting were Heather, Nico and Jeremiah.
Heather. The plump, cheerful little girl, wanted anything. On her nose, her cheeks, her forehead. Anywhere on her face. Green paint all over her face, and she wasn't even on the green team. Later that day, she went kite-flying with me. I was so ecstatic to help everyone. She got her frame busted. The barbecue-looking stick dropped onto a ground of harvest leftovers. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, except the needle looked much like hay, only harder and denser. But still, we didn't find it. So we had to improvise and put a balloon stick instead, only to find out that it was so flexible that it increased its crash-landing statistics to about five-fold.
Nico. Aww, the kid who never stopped smiling. If only he had perfect teeth, he would have been part of Colgate's "Brush brush brush!" He was part of the orange team, the team with pink paint on (sorry Michael King, no time for mixing colors there). He wanted a green mustache and beard and a green eye-patch. Arrr!!! If only the party hats were pirate hats instead of animals.
And Jeremiah, the bashful. We had to play funny bones, ear to mouth, most of the time. And still a fraction of the time I didn't understand what he had said. He was the sweaty kid. He wasn't at all fat, but he had sweat like he was in the middle of a sun-washed cornfield. He had to line up a dozen times just so his snazaroo didn't wear off. If only the mess hall had outdoor air. This kid got so attached to me that I had to carry him behind my back the entire Treasure Hunt. He was always so serene even when our tribe was figuring out the clues. And the moment we arrived at the clue location, we had to leave so suddenly because by the time we arrived, they'd figured out the clue.
At the fields, we flew kites. There, I sat in the middle, and then came Debbie. Deborah/Debra Grace was the cutest. But the most violent. She was sort of conio. We had an exchange of
"They made away." "Who made away to you?" "Them *points at Pito*"
And later on: "The sky is so taas." "Debbie, why is the kitten bigger than the dinosaur?" "Because Barney's a kid." "Debbie, why is Barney purple?" "Debbie, which do you prefer, Barney or the kitten?" "Barney AND the kitten." "Debbie, do you like your hat?" To which she angrily throws off her hat. And then she rests her butt on me. Later on she kills me, scratching my ears and my neck, like a cat fighting for life. My ears bled. I pretended to be dead. To which she laughed. And laughed some more. Giggled like a teenage girl fan. Then she butt-jumped on my belly as though I was her personal trampoline. And I pretended to be dead more than a dozen times. Again and again and again. And she was not at all satisfied.
It was hard to bid our goodbyes. Debbie never wanted to let me stand. And when I was finally able to stand. She tricked Irish into carrying her, like an infant. But it was a trap! She never wanted to go down. Never. Until, she was forced by the authorities. She was such a strong girl for such a young age; she never showed tears.
Arnel was the same as my age. He had wanted to befriend me, like his brother because he knew another Ben whom he was very dearly close. He taught me several handshakes. Those stuff best friends usually do. The last word I heard from him was "ingat" after the handshakes he taught me. He must have been used to saying goodbyes as he was very composed.
I wish I had that composure. Even though I only got to spend hours with them, I will forever treasure the fun times. It's all in my head. And when I get old, I will recall the day.
