Comforting Streets

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Perfectly comfortable and dry inside a fastfood, just across the glass wall I saw a little boy drenched in the downpour of a July heavy rain. Looking at his size, I said to myself, he's probably around six or seven years old. The boy was half dressed; he was wearing dark blue, dirty shorts, only dark blue dirty shorts. My eyes searched for something else, or maybe someone. The boy, whom I decided to name Al, must have someone with him, a brother, or a sister, a friend, or, perhaps a playmate. I looked and looked, as far as my eyes can reach, but Al is the only child in the sea of passing adults. And Al seemed to be the only body that was static. Surprisingly, he was only watching the passing crowd; he never extended his hand with an open palm as I have expected him to. A few passers-by joined him in his inert world for a second or two to offer him food and some coins, and every single time something was presented to him a smile painted across his face showing a rare depiction of one of the purest joys I have ever seen. I looked at Al's smiling face, and found myself amazed. Adrift in the image of that little boy's smile, my mind was interrupted by the delicious smell of the steaming congee that was delivered to my table. At that instant I seemed to forget about Al as I savored the tasty and comfortingly hot congee warming my belly. Then I remembered Al, and my eyes frantically searched for that small figure across the glass wall. The heavy downpour has stayed, and so had Al. He was still looking at the passers-by; he was patiently watching people, just like an explorer studyin a map. It took me a little while to watch Al's rather silent and static world in the midst of passing images. And on those passing moments, the rain had finally come to pass. What if I talk to Al, I thought. Curiousity just bugged into me. Satisfying the curiousity that I had, I left the fast-food and marched my way towards that small, almost motionless, but a figure so interesting it appeared loud to me. As I marched toward Al, something was playing in my mind. I imagined Al telling me how difficult it is just to get by. I even imagined the little boy on his knees begging me to adopt him or something, and I have composed a line that will tell him why I cannot do so. But none of my imagination ever came true. Al's story was unbelievable. I cannot believe that with his size at that particular time he was already nine and not six as I have guessed. Al had been living in the streets most of the time for as far as he can remember. Social workers have taken him to families willing to adopt him but he always ended up stowing away. He had tried several families, he's had moms and dads who are rich and not so rich as he told me, and they took care of him. He liked his foster families, but he loves the streets. I was too surprised to say anything; all I have ever managed to respond to everything that he said was a smile. I gave him a piece of bread and some coins, and up close I saw his smile, the kind of gentle smile that has drawn me to this little soul who has shown a different kind of strength. A thousand and one concerns have buried Al in the outskirts of my brain after that rainy July afternoon. Schoolwork, schoolwork and more schoolwork occupied my mind. On top of the exhausting but interestinly challenging schoolwork, some personal struggles over 'things' came up. My heart has long been wrestling over issues and decisions and more issues in life, issues that has burdened me. At some point, I have decided to get rid of the things I have strongly held on for the longest time. It really hurt BIG time, but loosing my grip and finally letting go has allowed me to experience freedom beyond my human mind can comprehend. The new feeling amazed me, but after a while the feeling became too ordinary that I can hardly notice it. With driving circumstances and triggering instances, I have unconciously pushed myself back to the things I have decided to get over with. The next thing I know, I was already holding on to it, not as tight as I had, but I'm pretty sure I had and still have my grip on it. The things back on my grip lay before my concious self reminded me of Al, I found my way back to the cruel but comforting streets. The streets are frightening but it gives me a different kind of comfort. I enjoyed the freedom after letting loose of my grip but I love holding on to the things that make me wrestle. It's almost a year now since I saw that small, almost motionless, figure in the middle of moving images. That boy has somehow enabled me to understand why street kids keep on coming back to the streets. Just like Al, I may only understand but I will never get to know why we are drawn to these cruel and comforting streets. I have never seen Al again, but his smile, that smile painted across his face showing sheer joy has given me hope that one day, I will be in a home dry and comfortable with a smile like Al's.