In May 2019, I worked with a well-known children’s center in Quezon City by the name of Gentle Hands. I had reached out eagerly, hoping to set up a brief soccer session. I was met with the same enthusiasm in response by my contact, Ellenor, at the organization. We ended up setting up an afternoon program with about 30 participants. I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect because the kids had a particular affinity to basketball more than anything, but I went in with an open-mind and crossed my fingers that the kids would do the same.

Luckily, they did and the program went really well. We touched upon a lot of the basics, as I struggled through some instructions in Tagalish. Then, the program wrapped up with kids excitedly raising their hands and learning tricks, like how to balance the ball on the back of their necks. I’ll never forget the smiles and joy that followed. Those moments still hold a special place in the back of my mind, even until this day.

Now, if these past blogs paint any kind of story, it seems like one of great familiarity: reconnection and reunion. If there’s one takeaway from this big Philippines run, which was three years in the making, I think that’s it: the beauty of connection, reconnection, being able to visit places again and be greeted by faces both new and old, strange and familiar.

Our programs have existed that way for a couple of years now and we have been fortunate to run repeat sessions spaced out two, even three years apart. Of course, this run has featured similar gaps, but some far greater than that. We had not visited some of these beneficiary organizations in nearly seven years, so to still see some familiar faces brought an extreme level of comfort.

The Friday before the next Monday session, I ran a program with a new beneficiary in Cubao, Kuya Center for Street Children. This run of sessions had centered around revisiting old beneficiaries, but I never wanted to neglect the opportunity to bring our curriculum to new ones as well. That session went well and the kids received it with open arms and eager minds. It was run 100 percent in Tagalog and I later received the sweetest digital thank you card signed by the 10 boys who participated in it. 

After that, I headed south to my tito’s condo and was met with a pleasant surprise. “Tol! (Bro)” he yelled out. “I found some of your soccer balls in storage at my unit. Do you want them?” he said, revealing an overflowing box filled with Adidas balls, Challenger-branded British Soccer Camps balls, and more.

I was stoked, so much so that after counting up nearly 20+ balls, I decided to set up one last program on the Monday before my Thursday flight back to the U.S..

The organization on the receiving end of that session? Gentle Hands Incorporated. I was met with the same warmth from my contact, as she set up an early afternoon class with 32 of the younger kids. “We figured they’d be the most excited to play,” she said. She was absolutely right.

I was a little bit bummed only because last time we worked with the younger kids as well, meaning that it wasn’t likely we’d see any repeat participants in the day’s session – but that’s quite alright, I was still super excited. My contact led me through the center and up to the rooftop where we had held our session in 2019.

“We have a little over 170 kids now, from babies all the way to teens,” she said with a smile.

I told her how I still remembered a lot about the 2019 session, including a bright young girl named Lyla. 

“I did hear she was just adopted barely even a week ago though!” I said excitedly, though disappointed that I wouldn’t get a chance to see her again. I remember she had the most radiant smile, but I was happy that smile was now lighting up the lives of others, especially those of her new family.

Having arrived an hour and a half early to the session in fear of Manila’s brutal traffic. I sat down in a corner of the rooftop floor in order to participate in the pre-soccer arts class next to a couple younger boys. Arts class was running from 2-3 p.m., whereas football would follow from around 3-4:15 since I was on a time crunch to pick up my renewed Filipino passport later that evening.

“Kuya? Whats this?” an inquisitive young boy asked, running his hand gently over my Adam’s apple. Over the past couple sessions this seemed to be a common occurrence, so I hardly batted an eye at it nowadays.

“Kuya?” asked another boy. “Why do you speak Tagalog, Kuya?”

“Kasi pinoy ako! (Because I’m Filipino!)” I said with a smile, the news of this throwing them completely off guard given my height, nose, and overall build.

“Really?” they asked. “We didn’t know. You really do look like an American.”

All the chit-chat out the way, I jumped straight into this arts class. With February 14 being the next day, the assignment was simple: to draw perceptions of love, so of course many hearts covered each of the kids’ pages. A boy handed me a sheet of paper and a box of crayons and I got straight into creating my own masterpiece. Along the way, some friendly interruptions from the boys, all just eager to communicate.

“Po? Do you know how to play basketball? Are you good? Do you know Stephen Curry?” one asked.

Another was eager to show off a little bit, especially ahead of our session. “Po I know how to play football already,” he said with a smile. “You kick like this and really hard too!”

He continued, “Po, it’s okay using this part?,” pointing to his instep. “What about this part?”, pointing to his laces and then finally, his toes.

“Hindi naman, Hindi maganda,” (Nope, it’s not good there) I said, shaking my head, just to make sure his technique was on point for when we really got into it.

Heading back to the literal drawing board, I enlisted the help of the boys surrounding me in a tight circle. I had free drawn a cartoon character from their school books, a young girl in a dress holding a book and a heart. Unwilling to work harder than that, I let the boy in front of me, Rocco, color it in for me. I watched along as he excitedly dug through the crayon box I held open for him to choose how to shade in the blank spots.

“Look, Po!” He said, excitedly showing off how he could shade with a black crayon, then over it again with a white one to create a murky, grayish color.

I watched even more intently, to see just how meticulous he was, ever-so-careful to not have his shading leave the lines of my drawing. Finally, we finished that up and I handed it to him to keep. I went back over to my other contact, Sarah Jane, who said that as soon as the kids were done cleaning the rooftop up we would be able to begin. We had a brief discussion before things kicked off, as some kids could be seen doing sign language in the background.

Sarah Jane told me that most of the kids here can speak English, but there are some who didn’t know English before arriving at GHI. “Taglish is best,” she said with a smile.

“Oo naman, Syempre,” (Yes, of course) I said with a smile right back, now ready and excited as ever to get into the session.

Finally, a glistening, clean floor below me, and 32 excited young faces in front of me, it was time. I introduced myself in Tagalog, before surveying the field for a captain – the eldest girl in the session, Sonia, raising her hand almost immediately. Sensing innate leadership qualities in her, I pulled a blue captain’s band around her arm and kept her by my side for an introduction and explanation of the first drill, our listening exercise.

I watched along with joy and pride as she ran a couple rounds herself, yelling out for the kids to touch each other’s noses, change positions, jump up and down, and more, before eventually reaching down to grab the soccer ball between them. From there, Sonia was called upon yet again to help demo our relay races. As we went through all the different variations, the kids excitedly yelled, jumped, and cheered on their teammates, hoping their line would be the first one to finish.

Between rounds, I heard my name being called. “Kuya!! Help mo ako… (help me) ours is so far, farther than the others,” the boy said, pointing off into the distance at his team’s green cone which had definitely wandered off farther than all the others.

“Ok, sandali lang (just a moment),” I said, as I grabbed the cone and pushed it even further back, almost along the wall.

“Kuya!” they yelled out.

I returned it back in line with the other teams’ final cones and gave them a wink “joke lang,” (just kidding) I said.

About halfway through our time window at this point, I decided to break into ulo o kamay to grab some prizewinners for the grab bag of treats I had brought with me, which included bags, tee-shirts, scarves, jerseys, and more.

From my position in the center of a circle of 32 participants, I looked on with glee at the smiles painted across the kids’ faces in front of me, and delighted at the many laughs that followed. They even decided to keep playing past 4 p.m. when the program ended! I guess they must have really enjoyed it.

With a handful of prizewinners selected, I moved to our last drill of the day. Helped by some of the girls, we set up some bags along the floor of the rooftop, with a ball perched atop a cone in the far back corner of the space. Atop that ball rested a Manchester United scarf.

I quickly explained the rules while the kids excitedly lined up single-file in the opposite corner of the grid. Right off the bat, a young buck named Bastian, won the big prize with the literal first kick of the game.

“Grabe naman!” (Wow!) I exclaimed, “one kick, one prize talaga?” (Really?)

Once that one had gone and was already happily wrapped around Bastian’s neck, the kids couldn’t manage to stop the ball on the bags. They were struggling even more than our January session outside of Baguio. I switched things up yet again assisted by the girls, with it now being bags atop soccer balls perched on cones, just like the big scarf from earlier.

After several attempts, all the prizes were spoken for and the kids were now sitting in front of me on the floor, for a little wrap-up chat. In Tagalog, I thanked them for everything, and asked them if they had fun or had learned something new. Immediately, hands shot into the sky.

“I learned how to kick the ball hard,” said one boy with a smile.

“I really liked ulo o kamay!” said one of the girls.

“I learned new tricks!” added another boy, to round out the group.

Before things could really finish, I left the group seated in front while I ran to a pile of soccer balls to retrieve one for myself. “I’ll show you guys some tricks na,” I said with a smile, their ears perking up in response.

With a balance of the ball on my foot and a flick up into the air, I rested the ball on my forehead before rolling it down along my nose to give it the gentlest little kiss. Flicking it back up to my forehead, I sent it back to the sky and rested it on my neck, before gesturing to the kids that I was about to do some push-ups.

Just like in the 2019 session, I posed a question – “Ilang gusto mo? How many do you want?”

A girl in the front row raised her hand, gesturing with two fingers using the other. “Grabe, dalawa?” (Wow, two?) “Konti lang naman!” (Just a little!) I yelled out.

“10!” a boy behind her yelled out, “Sige na okay lang, pero kailangan mo mag-count, okay kuya! Sakto lang!” (Okay that’s just enough, but you need to count? Okay Kuya!)

After finishing that up with a round of applause from my little kababayans, I took out our prizes and shifted the applause to our winners. Last, but not least was a jersey for my captain, Sonia. It was a blue BSC number, a vintage piece considering it’d been in storage here in the Philippines since 2016. Her eyes lit up big, but the truth is I just wanted to reward her for doing such a stellar job as a captain. She spent the entire session running around to retrieve balls in our latter games, running a round of ulo o kamay herself, demoing our relay races, commanding our listening drill, and more. She was a star! With materials to spare, I gave a drawstring bag to Sarah Jane too, just as a means of expressing my gratitude.

With things nearly finished at this point, I called forth four volunteers to learn the same neck stall I had shown them just moments ago. A sea of hands shot into the sky immediately. We had a mix of boys and girls excitedly imitating me with each and every step.

“Eyes forward, always.”

“Eyes forward, always,” they repeated.

“Back as flat as possible.”

“Back as flat as possible,” they said.

“Arms to the sky like a… manok!” (Chicken!) I yelled out, met by their laughter. “Parang ano?” (Just like what?) I asked.

“A chicken!” they all yelled out.

These continued for several groups of four as Sonia and another girl helped me place the soccer balls on each volunteer’s neck. Some even attempted to do push-ups by my side! When one group of four wrapped up, another four were already queuing up. “Me kuya, me kuya, me next!” rang throughout the rooftop space.

With an encore of high fives, hugs, thank yous, and goodbyes, we wrapped up our sixth session in the Philippines in just a little over a month’s time. These programs here never lose their significance on me. This country is home and its people are my people. To share a sport I love, in a place I love, with people I love is a dream come true. Some days these programs exist in the pursuit of change, but these days I only choose to look at them in the pursuit of joy. There’s no doubt in my mind that that joy was fully on display, not just in this sixth session but in the five that preceded it.

Maraming Salamat sa lahat, Pilipinas. Thank you so much for everything.