I went to SM Southmall late this afternoon, and while I was eating an ice cream cone, I decided to stand by near the skating rink and amuse myself with all those people trying their luck skating. To my astonishment though, most of them were kids, and they were actually pretty good with what they were doing. One little girl was about 6 years old, and she was wearing this very cute pink skirt and matching pink skates, and all the while I was watching her, she never fell on the ground. I mean I tried roller skates in Baguio before and they were tough to use. How could it possibly compare to a slicer underneath your shoes?

One boy who was about 13 impressed me as much while he skidded around and did some jumps to amaze us bystanders. Every now and then he would stumble but would stand up again and skate. I suppose some of the audience would snicker to themselves each time he fell, and I did too, however I thought of how difficult it is to ice skate and I grow back to being awed by what I see.

These kids were barely in high school but when you see them focus with such perseverance, I can't help but wonder if I shared the same feeling with them when I was younger. The youth today are very much exposed to various activities they can choose from, and back then ours was very limited. Still do the choices matter? Because despite what craft you pick to excel in, I suppose the real reward is the hard work that you put in it.

My brother always wanted to learn how to play the guitar when he was a child. So my dad decided to pull him one day and allowed him to hold one. I could still remember the awful sounds he used to make, and the temper tantrums he shot all of us with each time he got a chord wrong or when his fingers could not move properly against the instrument. I would have made a bet that on day one he would give up, and all the ugly sounds would finally be gone. But he didn't stop. It kept him up late at night (much to my parents annoyance), after school he'd immediately shut himself inside his room and practice, he read all the song books and memorized the chords..he did just about anything to learn. My father was surprised with all the determination he displayed, and all the while he just thought him the basics, and in the end my brother took the initiative to furnish his own accomplishment.

Well he did learn. And he is very good at it now. The plicky-placky sounds were replaced with a melodious strumming each time he was alone in his room. And I knew now that it took him just as much discipline and hard work all by himself, asking guidance but seeking the craft all on his own.

I guess we were all like that when we were kids. When we were given a picture to color, we tried and tried until we color inside the lines. When we fell off a bike, we cry a little over the bruises but we climb again and give it one more shot. Our parents were there to encourage us, but learning was a part we hold responsible for ourselves.

Now I think how that childlike will has somehow dissipated in all of us. At work, when we are discouraged by what we do, or if a colleague makes our lives hell, we focus to much on that and give up. When we think that life is no longer easy we only succumb to the nearest change, instead of finding ways to pacify it. Sometimes in the agony of what we feel, we blame others, or we kill ourselves. We forget that we can learn from experiences and make ourselves a better person out of it.

My brother never really mind all the ridicule and laughter that we showered him while he was learning to play the guitar. Well maybe he cried a bit. But he took the sarcasm not as a fault to give up, but to push harder. When we think so much of what other people say in what we do, we forget the main goal of our purpose. When we want to make a statement, or to create a difference, we worry too much on what others would say first. And thus it all just ends there, without any of us even trying.

And as I stared at that 13 year old boy and that 6 year old little girl who practiced and practiced all day to become successful skaters, I began to envy their discipline and dedication to fulfill a dream. I thought that if I was years older than them, it was too late to continue dreaming. But when I left that area I told myself I was wrong.

We all grow old inevitably, And sometimes what we wanted before can never come back. But it wasn't too late. It's not too late to use your unsophisticated way of dealing with a problem. That if we fall, we can still cry like a child, run to a nearest refuge, but be able to wipe our faces with smudgy hands and try again. That when we hurt we let the pain take us for a moment, but smile cheekily after. That when we have a goal, we are mindless and carefree, aiming for what we truly want, and succeeding at it..bruises..tears..hardship and all.

Our childhood is something that may have died. But don't let your dreams die with it.