I alighted from the SUV with that uncanny feeling known only to orphans. It is that feeling which takes you back to that joyous moment when you felt closest to your beloved parent as a child.
I could sense the emotions welling up within me even a few minutes prior as my companions and I were driving up to the open field. Then I stepped out and he was there. In my mind and in my heart, yes, he was there.
This was the playground where I ran to my heart's delight, tried to shoot birds with a slingshot with my dad, where he first explained to me what was the difference of the "disco" and the "rastrillo". I first rode a carabao here, not to mention being able to plant cane and bruise my kiddie hands while doing it. I rode shotgun with Moroy the tractorista, and took the wheel from him. Yes, driving a tractor was much more thrilling than riding bump cars in Harrison Plaza.
As my companions and I stood on the road and by the SUV, taking care of business, my mind was distracted. There was a noisy 7-year old laughing in the background. Laughing with glee and shouting, "Daddy! Daddy! Look...". And then some.
The little boy was me. He was playfully interfering with the farming talk I was engaged in with my companions. When we were done with our discussion and all business was taken care of, I wanted to go in the middle of the field and have my moment. To be alone, but not really alone. To be with two other people in my mind. The seven-year-old me...and my dad.
To laugh, to cry, to say thanks, to say, "I love and really miss you, Dad". And for one moment, be who I really was, whether the adult one or the seven-year-old.
Sadly, I could not do it. I could not have that moment. For security reasons, I had to get back in the vehicle and we had to make our exit. The savored moment was cut short, if not aborted.
Then again, there will be another time.
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