Every man dies. Not every man really lives.
-William Wallace
After walking my dog one early morning and had just barely a minute of rest my two year old nephew gingerly walked to me holding his pair of rubber shoes. I knew what he wanted, as he came forward and pointing his fingers toward the door. He might have heard Abby and me scampered in the stairs.
I said, ‘You eat muna, ha. We can’t go to the street with your empty stomach.’
But I saw his mouth skewed so I obliged to what this little creature had wanted.
‘Ok we will go.’ I said putting down aside the Sunday newspaper I was reading.
I wondered what really was in the eyes of this child. We crossed the street and at the side we stopped and watched the cars and jeepneys, the trucks, and a handful of people passing through that early morning.
He pointed at them one by one, mumbled softly and then he looked at me.
‘Yes, cars, you want to ride in there?’
He didn’t answer and turned his face back to the passing vehicles. I stooped to bring my eyes levelled to his. ‘We will pay if we ride. We’ll just stay here ha. C’mon, eat na your food, and beside your Tito is tired na.’
I watched with this little boy the passing scenes of moving objects for a moment.
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Perhaps the little boy was wondering that his toy cars were the realizations of the hard metals that moved swiftly in front of us.
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In the eyes of this child, would he be seeing life in color or black and white?
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Life is really passing through. While some would not even care the value of life, we stood there for a while and let the passing of life to the next.
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The little boy, unmindful of the hearse that passed, still have to understand the full meaning of life. He’s just starting while others have gone ahead.
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