My boys love to run.
Playing in the park one day, I noticed something about my two sons. They both love to run. A place is neither too far nor too near. They would run, as if impatient to get there. The world is one big playground. There is pure pleasure on their faces as the wind blows past. They love speed. And as their bodies grow, so do their velocities. They are at that stage wherein I have to run full speed just to catch up.
My eldest boy runs, however, like a comet circling the sun (me). There is an invisible line he does not cross. At a certain distance, he stops and looks back. If I follow, he extends the orbit. If I don’t, he runs full speed back.
My younger boy does not have this invisible tether. He runs with abandon. He does not look back. He runs with his arms flowing back, a beautiful and graceful dance. One blink, and he’s gone. All you have is the echo of his laughter.
Consequently, in a race with kuya, my younger son almost always wins. My elder son runs with caution, careful of his steps, watching where he might trip. He jogs most of the time, always watching, always aware of his surroundings.
My younger son runs and just keeps on going. His smaller body means he takes smaller steps. He makes up for his lack of speed with his lack of fear. He will run and catch his kuya, even if this effort means he will not have enough energy to return.
My eldest son expresses his love the same way he runs. He loves slowly, and trusts few. When he loves, he will orbit around you, the sun of his world, the moon in yours.
My younger son loves freely and fiercely. He loves many, but burns many who, expecting him to show consistent reciprocity, will find him running away to some new adventure.