Every glance, every smile they shared felt like turning the pages of a beloved book, one they’d both read a thousand times and had never grown tired of.

They spoke as though afraid to break the fragile spell of the moment, like a chant half-remembered from another life.

Time curled around them like cold smoke, thin and fleeting, yet achingly beautiful in its transience.

“Are you ashamed of what happened to your leg?” Jaewon asked.

He was cleansing Adam’s leg with the spring water as they gazed into each other’s eyes.

When did it all begin?

***

Adam was born into the hands of a harlot. He was five when his mother abandoned him at the small church in the province of Bu-ug, Zamboanga del Sur. He looked innocent. But he wondered why his mother had left him with the old priest. Although he never shed a tear, or begged his mother to take him back.

No tantrums.

No hate.

Deserted by his mother for reasons he might not ever understand.

He stared into his mother’s weary eyes. Thinking, he understood why his mother was giving him away to somebody else’s hands.

Her tired eyes and wistful smile reflected in his stare, like a portrait that he would forever remember of her.

She left me with empty words. Her sad smile made me feel free from affliction and the hate from people who despise her. I’ve seen how those people treated my mother—a woman who brought havoc to their families. Though I wanted to hate her so much, I couldn’t, because she was still my mother, and I was born from her flesh and blood.

With his memories of his mother’s torment. Adam became mature and independent at a very young age.

The old priest’s rough hand reached out to Adam’s skinny hand and brought him inside the church.

Adam never looked back. He did not say a simple goodbye to his mother, who with trembling hands, was waving farewell to him. His feelings were that he was grateful that his mother was kind enough to bring him into this life.

And that was all that mattered.

He strolled inside with the priest in silence, with a nonchalant look on his face.

The small church was decrepit, and the pulpit and pews looked dull. It had an open hearth for cooking, and a single room for them to rest for the night. The old priest told Adam not to worry about food, for their neighbors would share the food of life, and a few crops to feed their stomachs.

Adam didn’t complain. Instead, his eyes wandered around the small church. The old priest uttered words of wisdom, as if his thoughts were filled with solemn prayers.

“Adam, isn’t it?” The old priest smiled at him.

He looked impassively toward the priest, who knelt on his left on the cemented floor and held Adam’s shoulders. His eyes crinkled as he grinned with warmth on his face.

“I’m Father Ben. And, I’ll be your guardian from now on.” He said in a comforting tone.

Adam stared into Father Ben’s eyes. His heart was beating calmly, unfazed.

He looked tired, but his tone was kind. I didn’t know how to express my feelings. All I could think of as a five-year-old child was will he hate me? Will he not send me off somewhere else? Will he let me stay here longer?

Adam nodded and accepted Father Ben as his guardian.

From then on, his normal life began.

Father Ben fed, clothed, and cared for Adam like he were his grandson. Adam would often look at Father Ben’s wrinkled smile and note the musky scent that came from his religious cassock. Father Ben showered him with compassion, despite his insensitivity to emotions.

On Sundays, they would rise by dawn and Adam would sneak a peek at what Father Ben did behind the vintage door.

Father Ben cleaned the church. He wiped the altar and prepared his vestments, crucifix, and chalice for the 6:00 a.m. mass. The people would gather and sit. Some would talk in hushed tones, and some would kneel and pray. Adam observed them from the last pulpit seat.

He tilted his head, trying to comprehend what Father Ben was preaching about. They called it The Sermon. It became a cycle, part of him. And every night, Father Ben would whisper kind words about his mother.

“Your mother was a beautiful and kind woman, Adam,” Father Ben would say sincerely. He tapped Adam’s stomach and hummed a song that sounded like an old lullaby, but the words and tones he had never heard before.

It became a magical feeling for Adam's ears. The lullaby Father Ben sang brought him into the world of mystery. He imagined snowy mountains. Snow covering the trees, and the howls of white wolves illuminated by starry northern lights, fur rustling in a gust of solitary wind.

The daydream eased his anxieties and calmed him. When they were together, he would gaze at the fine lines on Father Ben’s face and wonder, Will I look like Father Ben when I get old, too?

But a child shouldn’t be thinking about getting old. He should be enjoying his childhood, playing games and making friends. But Adam wanted to grow faster. He wanted to see so many things. And there were so many questions that he wanted some answers to. Yet, it was not his place to ask them.

He was still too young to understand the world he lived in. But he desperately wanted to understand it.

The days passed, and Father Ben taught him how to read and write. He taught Adam how to behave in front of others, taught him manners, and how to treat people kindly.

There were days when Adam would observe his surroundings, the people around him in his quiet space, sitting under the mango tree beside the church.

Do I still need to treat people kindly when they don’t like me?

One sunny day, Adam was picking up sticks in the backyard for firewood for cooking sweet potatoes when a few kids passed by and began throwing small stones at his back. He turned, and a rock scratched his forehead and bled.

They laughed in chorus as they scorned him.

“Your mother is a hostess. She sold herself to any man. Disgusting!” A young teenager exclaimed.

“You’ll become like your mother, a whore!” They shouted, laughing again.

Adam did not retaliate; instead, he looked composed. He stared at them without remorse, carrying sticks in his arms. The stabbing words of spite didn’t crumble him. Their vengeful looks and their spitting on the ground didn’t bother him at all. What clung to his mind was just one question.

Did their parents teach them to be disrespectful?

Adam didn’t know. He didn’t care. He couldn’t blame them, nor defend his innocence. He was just a child who longed for acceptance and compassion, yet these children chose not to befriend him.

Whenever Father Ben saw the ridicule from these impolite kids, and even some young adults, he would come after Adam, looking at him with so much sympathy.

Why does he always have that expression? Adam pondered. He stared into Father Ben’s eyes, silent and intent, as if trying to read every thought he refused to speak.

That’s what Adam thought when Father Ben came closer, knelt by him and held his face, wiping away the dirt. But he never questioned why those kids treated him like a speck of that dirt, for he never cried for useless things.

Father Ben’s eyes were full of worry. Adam knew he wanted to comfort him. He hugged Father Ben with his slender arms, wearing a poker face. He listened to the old man’s beating heart. So calm and caring, thinking if Father Ben could also hear his broken heart.

“Thank you, Father Ben,” he said quietly. Adam glanced down. His embrace was sincere and thoughtful. “Thank you for taking care of me, and for not pushing me away, or giving me to someone else, and for being so kind to me. I want to stay with you, Father Ben.”

Father Ben’s eyes grew wide. He looked at Adam with tears in his eyes and a warm smile on his face.

At that moment, Adam didn’t know how he felt. He didn’t understand why Father Ben would waste such tears on his few words.

He felt that he was nothing special, just an abandoned child who needed shelter over his head until he grew up, and could finally live on his own.

“I know, there’s nothing wrong with you. I’m so grateful to hear your sweet words, Adam,” Father Ben said with silent tears of joy on his cheeks. Sunshine illuminated Adam’s face and brightened his eyes.

Adam looked at him. “I pray that when you become an adult, there will be no obstacles to come your way. If there are, I hope you’re able to resolve them with peace of mind. And that one day, someone will treasure you more than you ever imagined.” Father Ben’s tone sounded calm. “And whoever that person will be, will provide you with everything to make you happy. So make sure to treat that person with grace.” He smiled.

Bewildered by Father Ben's words. He tilted his head to the right, thinking, What can a child do when an elder says something so kind and so pure?

He bobbed his head, agreeing to Father Ben’s trustful words. Adam knew that Father Ben was his only hope—a silent promise that he would keep forever in his heart.

Five years later, Adam turned 10. They’d survived. The time was fast-tracked, with rainy and then drought-plagued seasons in the province.

Adam learned to express his emotions better. Smiling day by day, chuckling, crying when he got hurt, and helping Father Ben cook rice and sweet potatoes. Mixing the sauce of sardines into the cooked rice had become his habit. When he ate steamed kumara, his farts would last through the night. Father Ben would tease him before retiring to bed.

Their favorite pudding was Bibingka, made from fermented sticky rice. It was Adam’s simple plate full of happiness.

He and Father Ben became inseparable over time, living a wonderful, peaceful life. Adam learned to appreciate and love his surroundings. When those kids threw stones at him, he would throw the harvested potatoes at them instead. When some neighbors would raise their eyebrows with a dirty look in their eyes, Adam would respond with a kind smile and move along, holding Father Ben’s hand.

He felt relieved. After all, he could now stand up for himself. And he was being kind and forgiving like Father Ben always told him.

Adam had skipped kindergarten and started his proper education. It was Father Ben who had asked for donations to fund Adam’s education. He got a pair of donated used shoes. A pair of new socks, a school uniform and school supplies that the good neighborhood contributed with an open heart.

He was grateful to receive them. Especially Father Ben’s unwavering love and support. So, he would also repay Father Ben’s sacrifices and kindness by studying hard and excelling in all his subjects.

At a wobbly table, he would spend the night reading and writing with a candlestick. Their single room had no power supply, and the moonlight outside was not enough to brighten the space.

But his hard work, diligence, and patience at such a young age paid off so well. He gained the respect of his classmates and became the Valedictorian in his class. He was granted a scholarship to pursue his secondary school.

Adam attributed all his achievements to Father Ben. Yet he would remind himself.

Father Ben is my guardian. Although I have not forgotten my mother, and the memories I had with her, I know this is the safest place for me. But I can say that I used to be happy being with her.

Will I ever see her again?

The thoughts still troubled his mind, gazing at the big wooden cross stuck on the church’s wall. He was thankful. He prayed. He now understood that he was not forsaken. He was not alone. He accepted that certain things cannot be changed, reversed, or rewritten. That life would go on to bring out the best in him on this uneven path.

Adam thought his life would become more fortunate and blissful.

But his life began to change when he turned 15.