now he starts to cry.  tears, big real tears, run down the cheeks.  he sees me standing beside him.  he throws his arms around my neck and buries his head on my shoulder, crying.  he is two and a half -- he is tired and it's getting late and it should be time for home.  where is mummy?  he does not want that man and that woman whom have been so nice to him for the whole day from the morning.  he does not care there are two big kids there looking at him, worried.  he wants home, he wants mummy.

 

i say to him, 'hush, hush.  look, mom is here; dad is here.  this is your brother and this is your sister.'  he does not listen.  his mom offers her hands, he shuns from them and moves his head to my other shoulder.  dad's offer does not work, either.  he chooses me because i am the only one whom he can understand; the rest, they speak something weird.

 

he had a great day.  he came to a place he'd never been -- really big buildings, very broad roads.  he saw this man and woman, they hugged him and looked really happy to see him.  he hugged them and kissed them on the cheeks, because people always told him he was cute and he liked kissing people on the cheeks.  there were this boy and girl who stood behind the adults and looked at him, too.  later, they started to play with him. 

 

he started to run, so much fun.  he was given a new set of clothes and lots and lots of snacks.  the man and the woman plus that boy and girl are running after him, bringing him what he needed, wanted, felt curious about.  he saw me and he saw J.  he recognised us.  we went to a park so he could run as he liked.  he carried his little bag.  he got in his push chair.  he got out and pushed his push chair.  he ran up the slope he flew down.  he ran up to other children and distributed his food. 

 

he got so happy and excited.  he yelled things, things he had been learning, hearing, speaking; things he had been expressing, requesting,  instructed, consoled.  he has some problem with his lips and chin.  one operation did not do all the work to rehabilitate.  he speaks in a way only his mommy can understand perfectly, mommy who cooks his favourite dishes and who told him stories and read him books and sang him lullabies. 

 

he ran and he jumped and played and yelled.  when the sun was ready to set he was ready to go home.  he quietened down, finally.  he walked, holding the woman's hand.  people told him she was his mom.  she has warm and soft hands.  he likes holding them.  he held her hand, walking.  he felt tired he put his thumb in the mouth.  he started to cry.  'i want to go home' he cried, 'i want my mommy.'

 

he would't let go.  i have to hold him, his tiny body in my arms.  i keep telling him 'this is your mom'. it does not seem to work at all.  the dad stokes his head.  he quiets down.  the dad took him from my arms.  he starts to wail.  i know it is time for me to go.

 

 

what does he feel when he knows that this morning is the last time to see his mommy (foster mother), that he is gone for good?  how does the foster mother feel, last time when she mentioned about this day she had tears running down?  what is the motivation for the new parents to have him?  who is there in the new land for him to dive in the arms of?  will he find someone who has simliar looks there?  what about when he gets lonely?  what about when he grows up and comes back and feels like an outsider?  what if he feels like an outsider throughout the new life? 

 

the naughty moaning, the cheeky smile, the little frowning, the eyes, the tears.  i walk under the summer trees, too early to have their leaves fall, all over the ground.  there is thunder roaring somewhere afar.  it's getting late.  i'm heading home.