Unconditional

I'm convinced that sometimes life plays out events with undeniable cohesion just to make a point come across to you as clearly as possible.

It was another one of those I-don't-know-how-we-got-to-this-topic conversations over dinner with Gary. We were talking about parental love. We were talking about how easy it is for a parent to love a good child. It's when they love the problematic ones - the ones who consistently screw up all time - that proves how much love parents are capable of. And we could only surmise the depth of that kind of love. I've been told I'll never understand it until I become a parent myself.

Later that evening, I was waiting for the FX to be filled with passengers when a father, his two kids, and a yaya clambered up the backseat with me. The dad was in his early to mid-thirties and he spoke English when he addresses his kids, a toddler son and a pre-school daughter. He called his son "mahal ko" and his daughter "ate".

The children were loud. No, make that: the children were LOUD. And restless. And quarrelsome. And loud. Did I mention they were loud? The dad gave them a warning at the start of the trip. "Don't misbehave, guys, ok? We're not the only ones in the backseat." But after the kids exchanged mean words to each other and a number of poking at each other, the warning ended up unheeded. And also - do kids really have to repeat every line they say? I mean every line. Twice. At the least. The girl, who was a little older, was somewhat manageable. But the boy was everywhere. Standing up, twisting on his seat, pulling at everyone's clothes. It's amazing how many things a three-year old can do in that cramped space.

The dad took a phone call on the way. I couldn't help but overhear the phone conversation. It was a business proposal. Mr. Dad was politely declining any networking endeavor since his time is divided between his day job and his family. And besides, he said, he was more inclined to creative work than in sales. The kids continued to wreak havoc in the backseat while he tried to get on with the phone call. And not once did the dad tell them off. I was awed at his patience. Ok, maybe I was more incredulous he didn't find it annoying to conduct a conversation above the ruckus.

After the call, he quietly tells his son, "Mahal ko, you have been extraordinarily naughty today." The kid who was sitting on his lap, looks up to him with wide eyes. The dad kisses him on the forehead and says, "But I still love you."

The boy falls silent and after a few moments says, "I'm sleepy, Dad. Sing me 'hush now'."

The dad began to sing a lullaby unfamiliar to me. With lines like, "Hush now, my darling child... into a place where there is no harm... with cuddly clouds..."

The FX atmosphere experienced its first moments of silence. And I find myself thinking, "I get the point."