13 March 2009
Friday. This should be a happy day.
As usual, I pick Rio up from school at 11:30. I always find myself rushing out of the building to get to the Psych department (where we stay till after lunch) as fast as I could just so we would avoid the blistering and oppressive mid-afternoon heat. But, as always, I end up taking the umbrella out since the sun proves to be a stickler when it comes to keeping schedules.
As usual, I carry Rio with my left arm from which also his baby bag hangs down. I hold the umbrella over our heads with my right hand, which also happens to get hold of a stuffed toy cat that the little man just recently decided to keep as pet, and lug along to school.
Everything is just as it should be. We (I) walk to his nanay’s office where he usually spends at least an hour of dreaming. That is, if his parents lucked out to find the chance to enjoy lunch together. Which rarely happens. Because what usually happens is that he stirs just when his parents are about to start their mid-day meal. So, he, lunching with them is what usually happens. Which is not at all a bad idea save for the fact that one parent usually has to wait till he is done before that parent could begin eating.
But this time, it’s quite different since Rio’s nanay flew to another continent and will be gone for a few days. So, we perform the usual routine and tread the usual route knowing full well that the usual end of the walk wouldn’t be as “usual” as it usually is. Perhaps, Rio is aware of this (sad) truth so he decides to snooze even before we set foot on his usual resting place.
This time, it’s also quite different because Rio seems to be a lot heavier. Discounting the fact that there’s the bag that dangles from the arm that also props him up; that there’s the umbrella being gripped by the hand that also awkwardly grasps his pet, he actually put on a bit more weight, to my estimation. More weight than I had been accustomed to.
Perhaps, because this time he is surrendering his entire being to whatever buttress my arm affords him. Perhaps, because this time his massive head is resting on my chest so that I am forced to lean back while walking. Perhaps, because this time he sleeps in frustration and agony that his nanay won’t be where she usually eagerly awaits his return – imagine the emotional baggage that he has to bear. Perhaps, because this time he is dreaming while I carry him, as we walk the usual path, attempting the usual routine.
Maybe he is dreaming of a place where his nanay is expecting him – with soft arms that embrace and ample bosoms that nourish. Maybe he is dreaming of bubbles endlessly appearing and vanishing. Maybe he is dreaming of his classmates whom he finds such “babies”! Maybe he is dreaming of dreams that make him smile unwittingly while he slumbers. Dreams that scrunch up his face in anger or sadness or concentration. The endless possibilities, unbound fantasies, undisguised emotions, unfathomable visions. Dreams that I wouldn’t even be sure of though I may hazard a guess or two.
This time, this little man in my arms is heavier than usual.
I hope these arms are strong enough to carry him through.
