5:00 PM. It was one of those precious thirty-minute break periods in a twelve-hour stay in school, and, being sleepless, friends and I decided to grab some siomai at Asturias Street just outside the university. Three pieces for tweleve pesos. I gave a twenty peso bill, and received coins for change. “Perfect,” I thought, “yosi and candy for these.” I rushed to buy a menthol candy to extinguish my tongue which was burning from the chilli sauce of the siomai, and then bought menthol smokes, lighting it as we walked out of the place we were eating in.
5:10 PM. “Teka pare gusto ko mag isaw,” Downybearded said, and we walked back to the isaw corner of the street. I didn’t care; I was still enjoying my menthol stick. I watched as Downybearded took one isaw on kebab, while two girl classmates walked past and we exchanged cheeky greetings.
“Yuck, isaw,” said Veronica in a sarcastic tone, parroted by Lourdes who said the same. “Mukhang isaw ilong mo,” I told Lourdes, who replied with “mukhang isaw bibig mo.” Eventually, the two girls bought something quite as disgusting — isaw.
5:15 PM. The guys were all chewing isaw while I enjoyed my stick of menthol, puffing white smoke up into the air. It was almost burned out. Then, a little boy of nine or ten years of age approached us, asking for money. We all refused to give, what with our tight budget spent regularly on photocopies of photocopies of photocopies of study materials. The little boy, with that permanent grin on his face, slightly pestered the girls for money. I quickly turned away to face a different side before he approached me, knowing him as more than just a “little boy of nine or ten years of age”.
The boy turned to me. “Kuya,” he said grinning while gesturing his right hand for alms. “Wala,” I said, because I really had nothing to give. And then, his right hand traveled to where it should never have found itself — down there. Several things happened at once: my brain went into autopilot, my eyes locked its bloodshot glare to a targetted head, as my left hand twitched and my right suddenly found itself colliding with the boy’s grinning face. WHAM! it went.
My menthol stick flew away, missing the boy’s face. “T*ng i*a, wag kang manghihipo, p*ta!” my mouth ejaculated. The grin was gone on the boy’s face, replaced by shock and some humiliation, as he looked at my friends and Downybearded, and quickly walked away. People were staring, and a vendor was heard in apparent approval saying “Hayan kasi!” To let the commotion die down, I walked to the stall beside the isaw one and bought peanuts which I started to chew.
Lourdes was too surprised I could do such a thing, and kept taunting “Mario! Ang puso mo!” Actually, that was just my reflex, and unfortunately, my hands are not the softest, most affectionate hands there are (sometimes I think they are made of hardwood). It was also unfortunate that the same force was exerted whenever I punch my pals in playful fights which is painful according to Downybearded and Flox. And another fact is that the boy has been doing such acts for quite some time now and is being tolerated, until tonight.
Anyway, Lawrence, the brain’s cerebral cortex or frontal lobe did not cave-in, and Teddy, no blood was spilt. Serial toucher yun, maniwala kayo. Err, let’s just hope that he does realize a lot of things from this experience.
