Journey of Purpose

What can be seen beyond the sky, besides perhaps a Star

I was only four years old when my grandfather passed, at which time I wasn't sure why people were crying at his funeral. I wasn't sure what crying truly meant, or funeral, or pain. Although not as cruel as my twelve year old nephew at present date who laughs at people who would cry during funerals, I was only four and I think I understood how deep they were feeling about losing him. It was a very heavy feeling while I reminisced about the past. I remember standing in line during Christmas Day in their home in Manila to receive our gifts. The younger ones (myself included) would receive these small decorated envelopes with a few hundred peso bills inside while the older ones gets theirs in gift wrapped boxes. My cousins would always get new clothes, new shoes, hats and ribbons. Especially the ones from the different provinces outside the Metro. They would always receive more things primarily because of the mere fact (yes that important) that they aren't from around here. And we only see them twice out of the whole year (during the year-end holidays and the school-end vacation break).
I even remember this one time where after I received my envelope I went back in line and my grandfather doubled my gift. Mom said it was my wits that convinced Lolo Juaning and it made him laugh just thinking about what I did, but of course jealous aunts and cousins (who will remain unnamed) would always debunk this memory.

My mother would just cry herself to sleep for weeks back then, curious enough though I've always had this clear memory of the past. Not as clear as a sunny day of course, but I seem to remember certain things clearer than the rest of the folks in our family. Like I still remember the very first time I bought a one peso snack. Or my first big boy haircut when I was four; the time I first played hide and seek with my friends, the first time I ever met my cousins Rose and Nick. Even this one time when my cousins and friends played by one of our older cousin's gym equipment in the middle of our compound.

Now one could always wonder, just why in the world would any grown up leave a bunch of dangerous equipment like gym paraphernalia near the reach of very curious six-to-nine yearolds, right? I never knew the answer to it myself. Curious. But nevertheless they did and we played with it. Using the bench press bed as a swing and the machines as makeshift monkey bars. And I never actually shared this with anyone, but something curious happened that day. Now I am not telling you to believe my word for it, you can just treat this as a made-up story after reading about it on a story from Wattpad. But I think I saw my guardian angel that day. He seemed tall and very worrisome, he had the whitest complexion I have ever seen on anyone. Whiter than the Irish (minus the racism, if there's any), anyhow I saw him. I remember hanging from this one machine and suddenly felt something heavy has struck me by ly head. I clearly remember seeing my friends and cousins make a run for it. Like that thing that happened to me made them want to escape, like they were going to be in a lot of trouble if they stayed. I also remember seeing a barbel plate flying away from me. I remember closong my eyes and opening them up again after a few short moments. I remember seeing that pale man who wore a white robe or a long shirt, looking like he was worried about me. He seemed relieved when I stared back at him and helped me sleep it off, or did I dozed off?

I remember that day, until now, I could never forget that face. Like seeing it made me feel safe. I also remember waking up at our room, mom was beside me and so was my cousins. They were telling my mom that a barbel plate flew in the air and struck me by my head, that we played and hung and pulled and messed with the gym machines. I thought for sure that they ran because of the pale man,

but that's just me.