The moment I had a good look at him while he was running towards the trike where I was, I knew he was a teen trapped in a grown-up's body. His get-up was usual - collared shirt, faded denim jeans, and soft sneaks. The baggy shirt gave the strongest teen impression because it gave a sense of the past, where, of course, he became an adolescent. I'm thinking, though, that even if he wore a smaller top, I'd still see the kid that he is.
We sometimes talk about him. My mom always speaks of how he dreamt and later lost even the littlest hope he had. Perhaps that's why he appeared so young to me. The mere fact that he has reached thirty something without experiencing the joy you feel when you reach a goal was what kept him young. We're like of the same age, I thought. Only, he has gone through more pain.
When I saw him walking this morning in the jeepney terminal, I prayed he'd be blessed with a car.
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