Move(ment)

Study # 1

A little boy is staring at his father through the glass wall.

He's only six, or perhaps eight, at the most. From the way he stands, immovable, rooted to that spot, watching his very own daddy lift 60 pounds above his head, it's obvious that he worships him. He thinks his daddy's Superman, or even a god. The man smiles at his son, knowing that at that moment, he is the center of his boy's world.

In truth, the father is a small, short man. He's just shy of 5'4, his arms are very thin, and his legs are even skinnier. I'm stronger than he is - 60 pounds is too light for me, even on an off day.

But he has a son who lights up at the sight of him. No protein supplement or gym regimen can give anyone that kind of muscle.

I am surprised to find that I am jealous of him. For a fleeting second, I almost wish I had a child of my own.

Yet as I watch them, I can't help but wonder: when will this little boy realize that his father is only human? Will he start rebelling before he turns ten? 15? What will he say when he finds out just how frail his Superman really is? Would he remember this very moment on the day he walks away from him, proclaiming, dad, you can't tell me what to do anymore, this is my life, not yours?

But that will not be for many years.

Tonight, he is happy to be his father's son.

For the man, that is all, and that is enough.

Study # 2

The woman has the kind of body that could have only been built by science, and the voice to match.

She flirts with the men shamelessly, batting her fake eyelashes and tossing her dry, bleached hair, giggling. When she enters the meditation room, she shrieks, what faaaabuulllous chairzzz!, and teases the trainer about how firm his biceps are.

She is oblivious to the lone figure ten feet away. That woman, reclining in her chair, is trying to make the most of her massage, of the 80-pesos worth of peace she'd tried to buy for herself tonight. With this sudden, unwanted intrusion, that too had been in vain. When the operator comes to check on her, she cannot help but say, loud enough for the hussy to hear - I'm fine, but I really wish there was a way for you to block off the noise.

She does not know if the b*tch has heard her, because she's plugged up her ears with her iPod. Kitchie Nadal's "Run" begins to play while invisible hands reach up from inside the chair to mend her neck.