A possible English-boy in Baguio

While stuck in traffic, I saw a young boy walking in the rain. Didn't seem to mind the rain. He did however, crinkle his nose when a passing jeepney spewed black carbon smoke in his face as it passed.
Possibly only twelve or thirteen. Had regular Malay features, was lean in an athletic kind of way and was a pretty good looking Pinoy kid. He looked Pinoy but the air about him was that of one lost in his own locale.
What struck me was the way he walked and the shirt he wore. He had on a red footballer's shirt with a white cross and the word England on it. He walked as if he just wanted to blend in and was looking at everything around him with some curiosity.
I wondered if he had grown up somewhere else as well, and had just recently moved to the city.
I wondered if he knew how to speak in the vernacular, was aware of local customs, had been taught the "basics".
Was he getting the hang of the rigid brand of teaching here as opposed to the possibly laid back, democratic classes where one's ideas and opinions were welcomed back where he came from? Did he understand that you couldn't go around smiling at everyone lest you are mistaken to be too familiar? Had he learnt that religion went hand in hand with everyday life here and that small mindedness would have to be dealt with on a regular basis? And as with everywhere else in the world, was he reminded not to lose himself in the whirlwind of conformity?
No matter, he'd learn, one way or another. He'd be fine.
I had been more lost than he was and had survived. He'd be fine.