MANILA, Philippines?I was already 10 minutes late for Hitomi Hirabayashi?s 10th birthday party that Sunday afternoon, so I quickened my steps to Storyland, the mall?s kiddie amusement center where she was celebrating her pink princess-themed party.

I had to make it fast because Hitomi, her younger brothers Katsuhiro and Matsaomi and their mother Menchie were staying in the Philippines for just a week.

After four long years, I was to see my godson Katsuhiro again. I was elated, but was also a bit nervous and afraid. What if he wasn?t as adorable and lovable as I once knew him to be? Worse, what if he didn?t feel the same way about me anymore?

Katsuhiro entered my life when I was just a carefree college student. One sweaty afternoon at a friend?s house, the front door opened with a loud bang and introduced a pair of bare-naked babies, wonder twins no more than a year old, prancing like wind-up elves.

Before long, an apologetic teener entered the house, explaining that Katsuhiro and Matsaomi had a knack for gatecrashing. Before it was time to go, however, Katsuhiro and I were all over each other. After a time, he finally loosened his grip and bade goodbye.

I later learned that Katsuhiro and his twin Matsaomi were left in the care of relatives since their mother and older sister were living in Japan.

The mother was in the process of ending her relationship with the father of her children, and needed at least one of her kids with her so she won?t be lonely there.

I regularly dropped by their house to play with Katsuhiro for a while, unmindful of all the hours that whizzed by. I carried him around and played action toy figures with him and showered him with kisses every minute.

Whenever I needed to go home, he exploded in tears, hugging me so tightly that his relatives needed to peel him away from me.

It broke my heart every time I had to leave him, but deep inside there was this little feeling of being wanted and loved by this boy that made me smile secretly.

I became a fixture in Katsuhiro?s life?as a playmate, a best friend, an older brother and a ?manny??that I was offered to be his godfather. I felt so privileged by the title that I vowed to be not just his godfather, but also his stepfather, given that his real father was not around.

Movie-watching

When Katsuhiro was a bit older, I tagged him along to the mall and fed him McDonald?s fried chicken while he curiously tinkered with his new Happy Meal toy.

I brought him to a dinosaur museum and witnessed how his jaw dropped from all the moving mechanical dinosaurs he had seen only in picture books up until then.

I introduced him to his first movie experience when we watched ?Brother Bear.? It was pitch-dark inside the cinema, but I saw his Japanese eyes so wide open in wonder.

We brushed our teeth together, went to the park to enjoy the swings and the slides, and ate at fancy restaurants where the waiters inquired about the food that they thought my ?son? wanted for the day.

Katsuhiro had some sort of speech defect. He was already 4 years old, but he still had a difficult time enunciating. No matter how much he tried, he always ended up producing an incomprehensible burble.

His relatives, his twin brother (who spoke clearly and was even a chatterbox) and I almost always had a hard time understanding what he was trying to say, so he usually had to partner his words with gestures.

He knew how to say one word perfectly though??Papa,? the term he used to call me. It was music to my ears. Sometimes I pretended not to hear him, just so he could call me ?papa? again and again.

One day, bad news arrived. The twins were finally going to Japan to be with their mother, their sister and a new stepdad. I knew I couldn?t do anything about it, so I just made the most out of the little time that Katsuhiro and I still had together.

When Katsuhiro flew to Japan, I was crushed. I missed him every single day, until I graduated and got preoccupied with work.

The years passed by, and the next thing I knew, Katsuhiro and the rest of the family were visiting the Philippines to celebrate Hitomi?s birthday.

Slow motion

So there I was, 10 minutes late and wanting to kick myself in the head. I didn?t have forever to spend with probably the most important person in my life?someone I hadn?t seen for the last 6 years, and I was running late.

The whole world went slow-motion when I finally laid my eyes on Katsuhiro once again. He looked a little different?a couple of inches taller, hair longer, his features a bit more defined. But it was still the same Katsuhiro I had always loved.

We sat beside each other as I stared at him, mesmerized by his presence. He was busy playing with a huge yellow robot that could transform into a dragon. I could tell he didn?t instantly recognize me. His sideways glances, squints and long moments of silence revealed that.

So, from time to time, I whipped out my mobile phone and showed him old pictures of him and of us together, describing each moment as vividly as I could, even if I knew he didn?t understand me.

I asked him if he remembered our trip to the dino museum or the ?Brother Bear? movie we watched. Every time, I was met with silence.

During his sister?s party, Katsuhiro was called onstage to greet the celebrant. He pulled out a sheet of paper and confidently read his greeting in Japanese. Knowing how he used to struggle for words not too long ago, I felt like a beaming dad who was super-proud of his son.

Later on, after the party, Katsuhiro and I had fun with the amusement center rides such as the merry-go-round, the bobbing bees and the choo-choo train. Even if I knew he didn?t understand a single word I said, I kept talking to him in English. He, on the other hand, wouldn?t reply to me, even in Japanese.

He just nodded or shook his head, and grabbed me by the hand when he wanted us to ride, say, the rollercoaster, which I couldn?t bring myself to do.

While waiting for our turn in the bump cars line, Katsuhiro, out of nowhere gave me a long look, took my hands and enveloped himself in my arms.

That single action confirmed so many things: that he recognized me, that he still cared about me and that he still somehow considered me his papa, even if he couldn?t say the same anymore.

E-mail the author at ninomarksablan@yahoo.com