The boy with the ‘bimpo’
Captured with an obsolete mobile phone, a video shows a child with close-cropped hair running across the outdoor playground of Ayala Malls Market! Market! Flapping behind him, just below his nape, is a sweat-soaked bimpo hanging from his shirt, taunting the flustered young woman chasing after him with arms outstretched. Laughter rings from behind the camera as she struggles to catch the stubbornly energetic youngster—condemned, no doubt, to “face the wall” as soon as they get home.
It’s been too long since I last saw that clip, now lost in the sea of forgotten family videos. I remember laughing at the silliness of the scene: the pudgy toddler, the exasperated mother, the absurdity of her being outrun by a kid who couldn’t clear three feet. Twice or thrice, I asked her about the video, yet she swore she has no recollection of such an event. I could write books about vague childhood memories remembered by no one but me, but this one takes the cake for its cast: a clueless kid, a wonderful mother, and an unremarkable bimpo.
More often than not, I see myself in that chubby toddler. From running around the colored pavement to exploring the streets of Taft. From picking sampaguita petals to choosing the school known for the golden mirasol. From bearing Simon’s name in a game of orders to heading student organizations. From playing langit-lupa to flying to Davao in pursuit of research—all actions supported by the caring hands of the lady who adorned the boy with a cape-like towel, enabling him to conquer the skies of his own fate. She turned him into the Superman of his own story.
Alas, even superheroes trip on their capes. I remember the earache that plagued my sleep, both in my bed in the dead of night and inside a plane above the clouds. While Clark Kent had a Martha to dress his wound, I had a Maricel who accompanied me to the emergency room at 3 in the morning, a Maricel who cradled my face as I gritted my teeth and cried my eyes out mid-flight. The same Maricel sat with me in the hospital waiting room one Christmas Day when I woke up with unbearable hives. Maricel never ceased to nurse me back to health from any illness, any fever, any pain. Through all the discomfort, pain and tears, she is there to kneel next to the toddler and wipe his tears with the cape from her own pocket. A cape that represents a mother’s greatness, selflessness, and gentleness that I cannot begin to describe, let alone wear.
Life is a great big playground. We frolic around with a slipper in one hand and our goals in the other, chasing butterflies and dreams, mingling with people old and new. Oftentimes, we are faced with daunting obstacles: a slide too steep, a swing too swift, a seesaw too unstable. Never are we immune from the strife that grazes us like gravel on knees—but I’m not worried. Because since that afternoon I was filmed running around that playground, I’ve been comforted by the presence of two things—the bimpo on my back, and my mother by my side.
Tristan Josef A. Tolentino is a Science, Technology, Engineering and Mathematics student at De La Salle University. He is the youngest son of Maricel and William Tolentino. He wishes to serve his family and society in the medical field.
