Small people.

I've always hated kids.

But there is this kid who chooses to roam the streets everyday, under late afternoon sun, screaming one word so clearly I can hear him from afar. Who I wish, from the first time I heard, I can see and talk to and know. Who I fail to have a glimpse of as I dash to the window. Who takes pride in what he has to offer. Who I perhaps will never grow tired buying what he sells from if only even the echo of his voice will always touch my heart.

And there is this kid who runs at the sight of anyone with food. Who plays outside a cafeteria, as if not to lose momentum, so as not to miss a chance, which he sees every time one of the pair of double doors opens. Who is perhaps one of those many kids who beg for even what is empty, but surprisingly, have sense of possession not just for themselves. Who knows respect. Or how to. Who turns away at the instance of rejection. Perhaps so as not to lose time. Or for bitterness not to linger. Who takes joy in the simplest things. Like Rubik's cube borrowed for less than a minute. Or paper cut-outs taped on sticks. Or pictures I still keep.

And there is this kid who slips through glass doors when they are unguarded only to look at shiny pictures of juicy burgers and at toys on display. Who pretends to ignore the stares of people in queue to have their fill of fast food. Who tries not to hear rude guards shooing him away. Who whoa-s at colorful plastic figures of what's in on TV. Who exits after his own satisfaction reached. Who I hope I can recognise when I have extra for a Happy Meal.

There will always be kids you'll learn to love.