It's 1957 in a small province in the Philippines. The August morning heat sways through the air where any remorse of cold stands non-existent. The many trees surrounding the neighborhood remain upright and its leaves completely still. No drop of water to be seen either under the blazing sun all thanks to the geographical placement of the forsaken country.

Although the Philippines is only presented with two seasons, dry and wet, it seems rain was becoming scarce or quite non-active like the volcano that loomed over them from a few distance. It's a wonder how Sael's sweat dripping down from the sides of his head to his barong hasn't evaporated mid-air.

Among the sweaty bodies of elementary students in Philippine cultural attires in the open school basketball court, the air was plainly hot and heavy and unbearable. It was too early in the morning—around 7:30 AM to be exact, and there they were, the entire student body in old clothes that hasn't been worn his father's time, about to begin mass.

Today wasn't only a special occasion for Linggo ng Wika.

Today was as well a Friday. A weekly mass the school held.

Sael grabs a thin white handkerchief from the pockets of his slacks, and wipes it across his forehead. Any more than this then he could feel his arms frantically push through the line of his classmates to go sit down on the presider's chair in front of everyone despite the introductory rites speech blaring in everyone's ears harshly through the speakers. He stood almost last from the shortest-to-tallest line in the 5th grade boys. It's not like anyone would stop him, he thinks.

No one would dare to scold him. Not hard at least.

Sael had always defined himself as high, maybe even mighty. Not to the extent of God—even though he wasn't particularly sure where he stood in religion, just carried along in churches and in this case Friday masses, but no, not that…

Just favored.

Adored.

Adored by his teachers, the principal, his neighbors, his schoolmate's parents; everyone with the exception of the schoolmates themselves who were either ignoring him or being forced to befriend him.

He liked being chosen and admired and especially noticed without having to lift a finger. Never mind that he wasn't exactly the most attractive or smart or athletic—he was fairly almost decent with a lighter shade of brown for skin and a clear-enough-to-see-the-pupil brown eyes. All the rest, he looked like every Asian kid in the school, but without a spec of evidence of provincial labor in his body. Yet he was always adored.

He knew the reason, but he couldn't care as long as his father remained one of the most influential people in his municipality, then everyone would continue to amuse him. Everyone knew he was to follow in his footsteps. All he had to do was to show everyone he was worthy to be the contrast of his father.

He raises his chin.

As Sael's eyes wandered through the bodies, the introduction ends and a procession starts on the center aisle where his eyes were strained by an altar boy standing front. The boy walked slowly with a solemn look laid on his face. He showed no proof of emotion. His posture was firmly still, feet light, and hands graceful. The boy was tall, his hair straight and annoyingly long, and his ethnicity…

It was mixed. Although his skin, moreno; his face screamed one of a kano.

Sael could feel that everyone's eyes were on the foreign face.

Their eyes looking.

Their pupils following.

Their gaze fawning over the handsome features that of inherited from former colonizers. When he reached the gymnasium stage, no one could take their eyes off. Everyone adored the outsider—the American.

Everyone favored him.

And, that was everything to Sael.