Due to extremely popular demand and because I have loose ends to tie up, here's the continuation of my story that is apparently too ridiculous to be true. I don't care anymore if you guys believe it or not. Deny my existence if you want, but I'd feel better if I told the world why I harbor harsh feelings against cosplay that run so deep I simply can't suppress myself.--------------------------------------
After the hell week of getting my little john whipped into gnarly shape, mister Frenchman acted like the nice, charitable NGO founder again. He fed me well with fine food (and by fine, I mean they looked really nice compared to my usual meals those days) perhaps to help me recover. I barely spoke then, but he had no qualms about talking to himself.
At some point he took me out to the mall - into the big world with lots of people who can easily afford what I never thought existed. There he couldn't keep me chained to him, for a tall foreigner holding the hand of a young boy who obviously isn't having fun would be quite an odd sight. He may have broken me emotionally and mentally, but I haven't lost my wits; I saw the big chance to free myself from this masochistic devil.
My captor wasn't able to keep his eyes on me at all times, and when he was occupied with window shopping, I blended into the crowd and away from his range of vision. My heart no longer knew fear of getting caught for it was empty, yet relief still occurred to me when I successfully exited the daunting, unfamiliar building.
With freedom came the realization that I was once again weak and fragile, able to walk on my own feet but not support my bodily needs. All my senses told me was to move on, move forward, even if the thread of my life grew thin by the moment. I had no idea where I was. In the land of the unknown I was sure of one thing: my ability to survive the most deprived situations. Several bouts of hunger put me down, but I always got back up to strip beggars of their hard-earned money and purchase food for my own.
It wasn't uncommon to find me lying on the cold ground, trying to fight physical pain with pure will so that I could prey on the defenseless. During one of those times, I was yet again picked up by a kind-spirited heart. My next destination: Kinder Glory 151.
Forced into a new home, I had nagging doubts despite the apparent good nature of the people who nurtured me to full health with utmost care. Knowing I was taking refuge in a government-run orphanage brought no sort of reassurance. Along with the information about my abode,I also heard I was "number 108", so I figured we were 108 stray kids in the compound. Quite a reasonable number considering how many children surrounded me; the surprising part is they're all boys.
Wary of treachery, I kept my head leveled at all times. I made friends without leaving invulnerabilities in my flanks, and made comrades out of everyone. Fights broke out often, and I saw that as an opportunity to gain respect. The experience I gained from my extraordinarily challenging past soon prevailed, and I became the head of the pack.
My orders were supreme. I knew the difficulties my fellow orphans were facing, I showed them that I understand and aim to improve all our lives, so they trusted me. They trusted me so much that when I urged them to rebel against our wardens, no questions were asked. I hated to be a prisoner as much as they did. With this in mind, we devised a plan to escape.
To keep everyone sane, Kinder Glory 151 subjects were escorted out to fun places at least once a month. Having used a similar event before to achieve freedom, my crew's path to independence was crystal clear.
The fated day came and went much smoother than I imagined. The gang of 108 young men easily outsmarted and outmaneuvered the dozen of government servants. On our way to the Manila Zoo, before we reached the gates, we all scrammed for safety and headed to the meeting place which location I described down to the last detail.
Not long after the skirmish, I rejoined with my little army of friends. In an area near the CCP complex, I gathered everyone and proclaimed while most of them were still catching their breaths that we were now the 108 "Sons Of Dawn" - a group of the homeless but hopeful. I had the English of an average uneducated 10-year-old then, so I may not have known what SOD really meant, but I knew my dog, cat, sun, moon, morning, night, dawn, and other common English words.
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Sorry, I intended to answer lingering questions about my past with this post, but as I reminisced, memories kept on flooding in and this portion of my life turned out to be worth an entire blog post. Up next: GamerTotoy Tales Vol. 3: My Cosplaying Sweetheart.
