Fresh off of our first Myanmar session, I was ready to jump right back into it with a second one just before my return flight back to Manila. I had been in touch with a friendly young man named Solomon since I arrived in the country. We were planning out a session at Love Children’s Home, where he and his parents took care of 15 children. All of them lived under the same roof.

Solomon was ever-so-helpful, booking us a futsal field rental, and coordinating a date and time for our session. I tried my best to match his energy and organization, preparing several footballs for the children’s home, as well as dropping by my local grocery store for an assortment of breads and cookies to give to our young athletes as a post-program snack.

“I’ll have bags for the kids and a jersey for each one of them too,” I told Solomon beforehand, excited to see the kids donning their new gear as soon as possible.

The truth is, though, prior to this second Yangon-based session, I was in a fragile headspace. Shortly after my first morning session with Grace & Love Children’s Home, I received a call from my mom sharing that my grandmother in the Philippines had passed away. She was battling terminal cancer and had done so valiantly for years, but heaven called her home Saturday morning only just before our first session began. To say she was an avid supporter of Around the Worlds would be doing an injustice to her because she was so much more than that.

Whether over video calls or in person, she was quick to ask about a past trip or an upcoming one, and even quicker to offer her ever-so-strong prayers for my travels to and from there. From our first program in Peru until her last breath here on earth, Around the Worlds was as much a part of her world and a piece of her heart as she was to me. I was scared to grieve because with grief comes a sense of finality, but I knew she, just like my own mother, would want me to push through with my work in Yangon – just with one extra angel watching from the grandstands.

The trip to the venue was an adventure, but I was determined to make this one happen despite rain, road closures, and lost taxi drivers. I’ll spare the details, but after a 45 minute detour, I still hadn’t reached the children’s home, instead having to pull off the main road and take a scooter ride over rock-filled dirt roads and bumps into what felt very much like rural Yangon. We’re talking like the sticks man. We were really out there.

“No wonder my taxi driver was lost,” I said, with a laugh, unable to do anything but chuckle at the hilarity of the situation.

Alas though, I was finally there. I was greeted by Solomon’s father, Mr. Vito, who quickly introduced me to the kids, all of them super excited to play some football.

“There are 16 kids here… and one of them is mine,” he said affectionately, pointing out his biological daughter, the eldest in the bunch.

“Is it okay if 21 kids participate? We invited some from the neighborhood,” he asked hesitantly.

“Of course!” I answered, “I have enough jerseys for 21 and then we’ll leave the 15 bags for Love Children’s Home.” I just hoped everything fit.

“Let’s go!” said one of the older girls, ready to get the show on the road.

Our futsal field was located nearby, which turned out to be a 20 minute hike, but the kids hardly cared as I watched them lace up their raincoats and tie their football boots up tight. Once there, I was greeted by a friendly man by the name of Mr. Peng, the owner of this particular futsal venue. It was a beautiful one, operated right out of his own house and backyard.

“How much is it per hour?” I asked him, just squaring things away before jumping into it. “13,000 kyats, per hour,” he said, flashing a smile. We were starting at a weird time, technically beginning on the half hour (2:30) but I was prepared to pay whatever. I just wanted to get started. Midway through the class, Mr. Peng called out to me from his house. “My friend, you guys can go until 4:00, I won’t charge you for the extra half hour. It’ll be the same price – 13,000,” he said, with that ever-so-radiant smile.

Business talk squared away, I couldn’t wait to begin. After the kids had been properly outfitted in their new Hummel swag, we jumped right into our listening drill, fully mimed by myself but then ran ever-passionately by Mr. Vito. The kids in groups of three smiled big throughout this one, excitedly gripping their shoulders, touching their nose, and lightly tapping each other’s heads.

From there, we transitioned easily over to relay races, with some of the older boys demoing variations for me. Then, 1v1s at goal, followed by a big scrimmage with three teams of seven, fully chosen by our three stellar captains – all girls. Despite heavy pouring rain, the kids’ energy never faltered, as we shifted from drill to drill effortlessly, knocking everything all the way out of the park despite throwing several new techniques their way.

Afterwards, three volunteers were called forward to learn about our infamous neck stall. One boy even managed to do TWO WHOLE pushups before standing back up. I was amazed. I was incredibly proud of the little guy, who had completed the move as if he’d been doing it for years, despite just learning it moments ago.

Program done and dusted and the kids sat down in front of me wearing their new bracelets and jerseys, they all paused to exclaim “Thank you!” in unison before returning to chow down on the cookies and cheese buns I had brought with me on my great taxi adventure.

The kids had been great. They were super respectful throughout, and I was touched by their gratitude as we wrapped things up. Still, though, there was an order of business to attend to.

“Mr. Peng, thank you for everything, here’s 25,000 kyats.”

He took his hand back, hesitant to accept.

“I insist my friend, I’m very thankful you let us use this space.”

“Thank you!” he said, extending a handshake, “I hope to see you again soon.”

You see, the kids have no open space to play football. The shelter is quite secluded, covered by flood points, and tall grass. They can sometimes play in the summer when conditions are different, but today’s rain essentially left their house on stilts and deemed the whole area unplayable. For that reason, I was even more thankful for Mr. Peng not only offering up his space, but for letting us play as long as our hearts’ desired. For that, he deserved a fair price, and I was happy to give him just that. I was touched by his kindness, though not a kindness unique to just my interactions with him.

Because even as Mr. Vito and I pulled away on his scooter, spectators and members of the surrounding community offered a nod of thanks, or a simple gesture of gratitude like a bow. Meanwhile, the rain continued pouring down as Mr. Vito and I made our way towards the main road.

Apparently, I could take the number 29 bus to Yankin, “It will drop you off right next to Sule Pagoda,” I was told.

After all, I had had plenty of help from our supporting cast and audience, ever eager to extend a hand or point me in the right direction. For his part, Mr. Vito was extremely sweet to not only drive me back to the station, but also make sure to wait until the bus arrived.

Beyond that, he offered to cover my bus fare and even double checked with the driver that I was heading in the right direction. “Sit up front and he will tell you when it’s your stop,” he said.

Sitting there, to the right of the driver’s seat, staring out a rain-covered window, listening to the pitter patter of raindrops mixed with the humming roar of the bus’s engine, I couldn’t help but smile. Yes, grief would eventually have its day, but today itself had been filled with joy.

I know that grief never does look the same for two people, but today, grief had presented itself in the kindness of strangers as an ode to my grandma, my Lola, and the person she was. A person that was kind, a person that was loving, and a person whose smile could soften even the hardest of humans.