Kurt and His Shoebox

         "Take a deep breath and focus your mind on the tiny hole at the end. Imagine all your worries, pains, regrets, grudges, and all the bad things bothering you, are slipping out of your mind and flowing carefully into a funnel, into the hole. After that, cover the hole with tape. You will feel refreshed."
         These words were written in scraggly letters on a piece of paper neatly taped on top of the shoebox. At one end was a hole the size of a pencil. And at the other end were the words, "The Shoebox." There was minimal decoration: crayon scribbles of hearts and spiral shapes, a blue ribbon on top, and black felt paper inside. Kurt figured that the inside had to be very dark, in case the person would peep into the box, he might be shocked with what he sees. Might as well hide from the person all the horrors that came from himself. The eight-year-old boy had planned this all night, and all the previous nights that have passed.
         As a young boy, he fantasized about mythical creatures, of unicorns and dragons. He had always thought of superheroes ready to save the world. And now that he was all grown-up (or so he thought), he decided to devise a tool for the world to be a better place to live in. He had considered his late mother's obsession with shoes. And of his late father's artistic paraphernalia. And with his juvenile mind, his fantasies struggled in reality; thus, the idea of The Shoebox.
         The next day, morning sunshine washed over all the houses along Talisay Street. Kurt went to his aunt's house. He knocked real hard. There was no response. He picked a rock from the dirt path, and knocked again, this time creating a more audible sound.
         "Coming!" came Aunt Celia's response. The door opened wide and a double-chinned lady in her forties appeared. "It's you!" she tried to smile. She was holding a knife. "Come inside!" she said.
         She led him into the narrow space she called her living room. "I'm sorry I haven't cooked a decent breakfast for you, Kurt. I've been busy with things," she said. "Ooh... your mother would be very disappointed if she were alive. She had pleaded with me to look after you."
         "Uhm, A-auntie?" Kurt stammered. He was very uncomfortable with his aunt at times, especially now with the knife in her hand. "I just wanted to show you this." And he gave the blue box to his mother's sister.
         "It's wonderful." Aunt Celia commented, a tad too lame for her remark. "What is this?" It's only a stupid box, she thought.
         "It's my invention! You know, I want to spread goodness throughout the world."
         "Oh, I see. But, Kurt, I have to go back to my business. So, if you'll excuse me." His aunt led him out to the morning sunlight before he knew it. "By the way, here is your breakfast. Just come back by lunchtime, ok?" The double-chinned lady in her forties then disappeared and the door was shut with a bang.
         Kurt sighed. He remembered his own mother. So very warm. So kind. So unlike his aunt.
         He walked a long way toward the town church. The mass had just ended and he saw many people coming out of the chapel. Funny, that there are so many people who believe in God, he thought. Yet, there are still many killings and wars going on almost all at the same time.
         Kurt saw a young man in a button-down shirt descending the stairs with his girlfriend (he supposed). Kurt smiled at the sight of his teacher.
         "Sir!" he shouted. Mr. Mendez waved his hand at him.
         "What's new, totoy?" he smiled. The young boy amused him. He enjoyed having him as his student.
         "See for yourself, Sir Mendez!" And he handed the blue shoebox to his favorite mentor.
         Mr. Mendez tried to read and understand what was written on top. "I see you're trying to picture things as a whole now, Kurt. I'm glad you're doing good." He patted his back. "Keep it up. By the way, this is Miss Tan, a friend of mine." He smiled. And the young woman blushed.
         "Hi, Kurt! It's nice to have a student like you so smart and so creative!" She was looking closely at the box which he had so patiently tried to put together last night. Somehow, in the corner of Kurt's mind, he detected that she was bluffing.
         "See you tomorrow, totoy." Mr. Mendez said. He always called him that. Totoy, a Filipino word for little boy, probably meant innocent, too. Kurt could only shake his head in disbelief. These grown-ups can be very irritating. They always assume kids like me don't know anything. Harrumph, he thought.
         Then he saw another figure looming in the shadows of an old mango tree at the church gate. It was an old woman, dressed in ragged clothes. Her hair was all gray, and her face was dirty with soot. She was a beggar.
         Kurt reached for his packed breakfast and gave it to her. She managed a broken smile through broken teeth.
         The little boy spent the rest of his day showing his shoebox to the townspeople. But nobody seemed to care.
         "Why would I depend on something like that? I have my conscience," said one thin lady.
         "The fact is, that thing, there, is only a shoebox, eh. It could not, I suppose, do some miracles in a flash. People control their own emotions. They shouldn't depend on some insane, therapeutic box of yours, eh." a man with an overgrown beard said.
         "I'd appreciate it if you'd give me the shoes instead," said a big woman in the food stall.
         People are afraid, Kurt thought. They are are not yet ready to accept certain truths about life, that a single box could allow or limit their activities and thoughts. They were afraid to be controlled by an invisible goodness.
         The young boy's thoughts sounded too mature for his age. It was only a year since both his parents died in a car accident. And after that, he had drowned himself with activities rarely done by other children. He read novels about human interest. Managed to learn how to cook for himself. After all, he had all the money left by his parents. But oftentimes, he depended on Aunt Celia for his everyday meals. Yet something was telling him to stay away from the fat woman.
         At last, in his long and tiring walk, the old mansion of rich and miserly Mr. Herrera came into view. The last few rays of the sunlight threatened darkness in a few moments but Kurt did not give up easily on his plans. He knew it was worth a try.
         The maid emerged from the back area of the big house after a few large knocks at the high gates. "Mr. Herrera says to let you inside his room. He is very glad that someone has finally visited him."

         "The Herrera Charity Foundation donated hundreds of educational books to the Central Elementary School Library, and promised a new building on the empty lot near the basketball covered court. Meanwhile, HCF has also been busy with relief operations for landslide victims of the recent Infanta, Quezon tragedy," said the callow reporter. "And now we are here to talk to the man of the hour, Mr. Herrera himself!" He motioned for the cameraman to focus on the old millionaire. "So, how are things going, sir?"
         "I am so happy right now!" Mr. Herrera chuckled as he let go of the words. "I've never been more happy for a long time, until now!" It has almost been a week since Kurt offered him the power of his shoebox.
         "That's good news, hmm?" the reporter struggled with his questions. "Sir, many people have been surprised with all your charity projects right now. Some have testified about you hating everybody in town. You, err, locked yourself up in your mansion and wealth for a long time. Is that true, sir?"
         "I'll be lying if I said no." Mr. Herrera smiled a brimming one.
         The twenty-something mediaman from the local news network sighed in relief. He wiped the droplets of sweat which formed on his forehead. "May you share us your secret, sir? To this seemingly genuine happiness you were referring to awhile ago?"
         "I won't keep it from everybody watching this," Mr. Herrera positioned himself in front of the camera so that his words would clearly be heard. "It's all because of a young boy named Kurt, who gave me strength and hope in my dying days, and his miraculous Shoebox."

         Meanwhile, in a two-storey house beside Aunt Celia's, dozens of shoeboxes were neatly piled along the shelves of the study. A note was left on the wooden table adjacent to the leftmost wall. It read: "These shoeboxes are for those who believe in love and kindness." At the swivel chair, Kurt lay sprawled in a rather peaceful manner.
         His neighbors decided to barge into his lone, huge house; they sensed something was wrong because he did not attend school for days. They found his body cold in the study. The whole world mourned over the death of a young angel, who spent his nights crafting shoeboxes for the townspeople to change their lifestyle, to turn to goodness in the simplest sense.

         Celia dela Cruz was convicted of food poisoning; she spent the rest of her life behind bars.