I blinked at the room around me, letting my four-year-old body take in the familiar surroundings. A small table and chairs were shoved into the corner, the TV at the center of the living room flickered faintly, and a narrow bed sat in the bedroom. The wooden floorboards creaked under my tiny feet as I crawled toward the window.
Outside, the street was alive with the usual chaos: vendors called out their wares—“Pandesal! Taho! Fish balls!”—while children chased each other between parked tricycles. Jeepneys rattled along the roads, their horns sounding like a drumbeat through the neighborhood. I watched carefully, noting the paths people took, the way vendors interacted, which children ran errands for their parents, and which families lingered at the store longer than usual.
I tugged at my shirt and fumbled with the buttons, wiggling my small fingers until I managed to get it on properly. Then I padded into the sari-sari store, pretending to be a cheerful, obedient child. Grandma Fe, the elderly woman who ran the store, was humming softly as she counted coins behind the counter.
“Good morning, Grandma Fe!” I said brightly.
Grandma Fe looked down at me, startled. “Ay, Christian! Early today. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, Grandma! The sun is up, and the day is waiting!” I answered, bouncing slightly on my feet.
She chuckled and shook her head. “Such energy. You always wake up like this?”
I helped her stack cans of soda and snacks, dropping a few along the way, which earned me a playful scolding. “Christian, be careful! You almost knocked over the soft drinks again.”
“Sorry, Grandma!” I said, smiling and straightening the cans.
Several customers came in during the morning. I greeted each of them politely, picking up small items and handing them over when requested. A man in his forties bought cigarettes and a bottle of soft drink. I noticed he paid with crumpled bills and left a small tip on the counter. A group of teenagers walked in, laughing loudly, and bought candies in bulk. I made sure to catch which items were popular and who bought them most often.
By mid-morning, a young boy about my age approached the counter, holding a small plastic toy car. “Do you want to trade?” he asked, grinning.
“What do you have?” I asked, crouching to look at his hands.
“I’ve got this car and a small marble,” he said, holding them out.
I considered briefly and held out a pack of gum from the shelf. “Gum for the marble?”
He tilted his head and laughed. “Deal!” He handed over the marble, and I gave him the gum. A small victory, but it set the stage. Soon, more children came over, curious about my trades. Some wanted gum, others marbles, or small candies. I traded carefully, exchanging items to get what I thought could be most useful. By noon, I had a small collection: a handful of marbles, a few toys, and some candies.
Lunch was simple—a piece of pandesal I ate while observing the street. A neighbor, Mrs. Lim, came in with her toddler. “Christian, can you give me a hand?” she asked. I ran over eagerly. She handed me a bag of groceries and watched as I carried it carefully to her small tricycle.
“Thank you, Christian! You’re so helpful,” she said, patting my head.
“I like helping!” I said, smiling, though inside I was noting her routines, the way she haggled with the vendor, and which items she bought most often.
In the afternoon, I joined the group of kids playing marbles at the street corner. One boy, bigger and louder than the rest, challenged me. “You think you can play with us?”
I knelt down and nodded. “I can learn fast!”
He smirked. “Alright, show me what you’ve got.”
The first round, I lost—but carefully. I let him feel the thrill of winning while I observed his style. The next round, I traded one of my better marbles for his prized marble, pretending to negotiate awkwardly. He agreed, thinking he had the better deal, while I ended up with the item I wanted. Another round, I swapped candy for marbles with another child, creating a small network of trades.
By the end of the afternoon, I had a small following among the children. They began coming to me for trades, listening to my suggestions on deals, and asking my opinion on who should get what. My tiny body was invisible, but my influence among them was already growing.
On my walk home, the sun dipped low, streaking the sky with orange and purple hues. I waved to the street vendors I had observed earlier, noticing who smiled back, who ignored me, and who was busy enough to be approached later for small favors or errands.
At home, Grandma Fe was cleaning the counter. “Busy day?” she asked.
“Very busy, Grandma,” I said, placing my collection of marbles and candies in a small box under the counter. “I helped Mrs. Lim and traded with some kids outside.”
She smiled warmly. “You’re growing up fast, Christian. Soon, you’ll be running the whole street!”
I laughed, and she shook her head, returning to her cleaning.
Later that evening, I lay in my small bed, looking at the ceiling. The street outside was quieting, the sounds of vendors and children fading as night fell. I had spent the day interacting, observing, trading, and helping, and in each action, I learned something new about people, their habits, and the small currents of life around me.
This was how the game began—not with plans or calculations in my head, but with real, tangible actions: building trust, trading value, observing behavior, and influencing outcomes. The day had been small in scale but rich in lessons. Tomorrow, the experiments would grow. I would approach older children, families, and even small shopkeepers, seeing what influence I could gain from direct interaction.
The city roared on, oblivious to the small genius at work among its streets. But I was ready, my tiny body carrying the weight of experience, and my mind sharpening with every handshake, trade, and conversation. Outside, Pasay City hummed with life—but inside my world, my first moves had already begun.