A warrior at 4

Chiba, Japan was where I first met Ken. It was way back 2001.

Handsome, constantly moving, always with a naughty smile on his face, asking question after question after question. At home, in the car, at Toys R Us, in the supermarket, at Ito Yokado shopping mall, in the parking lot. A typical 4-year old.

People, especially in Japan, would dismiss his mask thinking he is simply keeping others from catching his cold. That's what I thought too.

Then his Mom explained that Ken has to protect himself. He was highly susceptible, having been diagnosed with leukemia just a few months before we met. He took to their many trips to the hospital and the many and painful treatments without a fuss, his Mom added proudly.

On that first meeting, Ken started teaching me Nihonggo. I remember how he would scratch his skinhead but still smile through his disgust that I so easily forget. In between our Nihonggo drills, he talked about looking forward to school. I shared his wish and said that surely he would soon be going on that school bus and attending his first class. It was of course a lie because I really didn't know. But how could one dampen the spirit of a boy whose body was wracked with something as daunting as leukemia?

Most foreigners find commuting one of the biggest challenges in travelling around Japan. But twice I braved public transport to visit Ken. I felt compelled, perhaps as my own attempt at courage, to visit this boy who stood up to life in his own inimitable way.

He was in a restricted ward for children with cancer. The familiar smiling face beamed at me through the glass door. He looked genuinely happy, reflecting the happy, colorful prints of his hospital gown. Except for a slightly smaller frame, he looked the same to me as when I last saw him. Very much the child he was, he practically forgot I was around after he got the puzzle I brought him. The second visit was much shorter than the first but never mind, I was pleased to hear that he was responding well to treatment.

Soon after, Ken came home to Cebu, his Mom's home province. His treatments continued but his condition worsened.

The day after I got the news, I flew to Cebu where I saw Ken for the 5th and last time. The little warrior looked so handsome. Peaceful in eternal slumber, his face still beamed brightly, as if about to break out into the naughty smile I remember so well.

The Lord must have kept a bit of Ken in me. Maybe that was the reason why we met at all. Otherwise, how come five years later, I lost my composure only momentarily when the doctor confirmed it was cancer and that I needed surgery? How could I have "breezed" through that episode in my life? It can only be because the God who walks with us preceded me once again.

I thank Him for the chance to meet the little person who smiled through life even if he could only watch as other children played and only cried quiet tears through hospital visits and needles and tubes. My meeting with Ken was part of God's preparing me for my own battle with the big C. So much so that I told myself, surely an old hag like me could do just as well if not better than Ken did. And by grace from the same God, I think I did.