IT WAS one seemingly ordinary afternoon. I had just left school and headed straight to my doctor?s clinic for an appointment. It had been another difficult day at school, and during my trip to the clinic I was starting to wonder whether I should give up certain co-curricular activities to make time for my academics. I was contemplating, in particular, whether or not to accept an assignment from one of my organizations to teach public elementary school students on Saturday mornings. I had done the same thing under the same org for an entire semester, but now that my subjects were getting more and more demanding, I was beginning to doubt whether I could spare a couple of hours a week to tutor the kids.

Upon reaching the clinic, I was informed that the doctor was not yet in and wouldn?t be for another half hour or so. Bored and stressed, I whipped out my laptop and decided to pass the time surfing the Net.

Right then and there, a four-year-old girl came running up to me, snuggled comfortably right beside me, and peered wide-eyed at the laptop screen. Her flustered yaya came running after her and told her to come back, but I smiled at the yaya and assured her that everything was okay.

After a few minutes of pointless Facebook surfing and e-mail checking, I decided to humor the curious kid by playing Internet games with cute cartoon-y graphics. As soon as I started, she got excited, called out to her yaya, and started telling me she knew how to play the game. I laughed and asked her if she wanted to play. She smiled and nodded, so I turned the laptop over to her while smiling reassuringly at the embarrassed yaya who insisted that the kid behave and be quiet.

Contrary to what the yaya thought, I was not bothered at all. In fact, I was rather amused with this kid, probably because I could sense that there was something different and special about her.

From the moment I let her play the game, it was evident that she did not know how to play it at all, contrary to what she had said earlier. Still, she happily played on and pressed random keys, acting as if she were playing it the right way.

I thought that it might be good to teach her how to play a simple game of Pinball first. I told her how the game worked and which keys to press, but I didn?t think she really understood my instructions. Still, she played it. After the game, she got the highest score (but only because the scores were reset and there were no records to beat yet), much to her delight.

I told her to type her name (Dane, if I?m not mistaken) so that her name would appear on the high score list. She proceeded to type random letters repeatedly, and then she hit backspace, and typed more random letters, but whatever string of letters and numbers she typed did not come close to her name. I asked her to spell out her name so I could type it for her, but she was too absorbed in her own typing to answer my question.

Her yaya explained to me that Dane was a special child. This explained a lot: her hyperactivity, the random pressing of keys, and the lack of attention to what she was being told. But I immensely enjoyed being in the company of this kid, and I liked how happy the games made her. So I went online and let her play one game after another, even if she only did more of the same keyboard-smashing she did earlier.

When we started running out of games to play, I went to YouTube and searched for cartoons she could watch and stumbled upon an old Mickey Mouse cartoon. She was wildly amused and excited. At the end of the episode, she clapped her hands and smiled at me.
Seeing her excitement, I started searching for more cartoons. As I typed on the keyboard, she reached out her tiny hand and held mine. Dane and I became friends that afternoon at that doctor?s clinic. We must have spent at least an hour in the waiting area, but I barely noticed it at all.

Soon, the secretary called out my name, indicating that the doctor would see me next. The one who went before me actually came with Dane, meaning that they would be leaving just as I would be having my check-up. Dane and I knew that we had to say goodbye, and we did, albeit very reluctantly. She told me to come back the next day so we could talk and play again.

After our goodbyes, the yaya thanked me for my patience. I entered the doctor?s office. By the time my check-up was done, Dane had already left. I hoped that I would see Dane in the clinic again so we could spend an hour together waiting for the doctor while playing games and watching cartoons. Still smiling, I picked up my backpack and laptop and left.

After that encounter, I was reminded of my problem about whether or not to accept my org assignment to teach public elementary school kids every Saturday. I realized that it was not a hard decision to make at all. I can never be too busy to be able to spare a couple of hours a week for these kids who can use my help. True, teaching grade school students is more difficult than playing games and watching cartoons with a four-year-old, but based on experience, both can be extremely rewarding and fulfilling. I remembered that two years previously, on my last day with my grade school students after a series of Saturday morning classes, they hugged me and made me feel that the effort that went into preparing lesson plans, commuting to their school, and teaching was all worth it.

Soon I will be teaching English to kids of the same public school again. Sure, it will take up some of my study time. But then I am definitely going to learn something from the kids, something I will not learn if I just stay at home reading my notes and textbooks.

As for the sweet, charming four-year old who gave me this rewarding experience, I hope to bump into her at the clinic again. And maybe, aside from watching cartoons and playing games, I could teach her how to type her name for when she lands a high score in Pinball again.

Iya Santos, 18, is a third year BS Management Engineering student at the Ateneo de Manila University.