Badge of Honor

One dreary Monday evening while walking along the sidewalks of C.M. Recto Avenue a man bullying a frail-looking teen-age boy of about 13 caught my attention.

I caught the boy’s eyes looking at me as if trying to ask me for help. I looked around but noticed that nobody was paying much attention on what is going on right in front of their very eyes.

I am very familiar with most Filipinos behavior; they do not care at all as long as they are not the ones in trouble. They will pretend like they are all just too busy with their business but in reality, they are just indifferent. Some were actually too damn afraid and be dragged into somebody’s business.

I stepped into the alley and slowly made my way towards them. The man, aware that I was heading their way let the frightened boy loose and face me with his right hand in his pocket and contempt written all over his dirty and ugly pockmarked face.

I studied his features--

The man was a mess with blood-shot eyes, broken teeth and a perpetual sneer on his lips that you could tell that he‘s the real thing and not just a lowlife trying to bully his way. His breathe reeked of alcohol as I came face to face with him and I noticed the Sigue Sigue Sputnik tattoo on his right arm.

He accosted me and now brandishing a fan knife that he got from his pocket and warned me to mind "my business."

Suddenly, he lunged at me with the bladed weapon but I was able to fend it off with my right hand and socked him with a right straight smacked into the kisser knocking him down to the ground in the process.

He got up gingerly and lunged at me again but I was faster than him and planted a roundhouse kick that caught him square in the jaw that sent him sprawling down into the pavement writhing in agony.

I figured out that he’s got enough and wishing not to attract any more attention, I turned my back to leave…

Then suddenly I heard a high-pitched shrieked behind me and in the corner of my eye I saw the man leaping back to his feet like a wounded hyena, with the fan-knife in hand and murder in his eyes.

I was able to sidestep his thrust causing him to miss. But on the second try, the knife was able to slice a part of my forearm.

Seeing the blood gushing from my forearm, he tried to stab me one more time but got careless and I was able to grab and locked his hand.

In one clean sweep, I broke his arm, planted a solid frontal kick right into his solar plexus followed by a left karate chop into his left temple.

His face turned ashen as he collapsed in the dirt with a stunned look on his face. I then got hold of his head and twisted his neck for the coup de grâce.

I looked around and saw several people looking at me in horror but did nothing.

They stepped aside in silence as I made my way back into the busy street and disappeared among the crowds.

Looking back now and seeing the scars on my left forearm, I couldn’t help but smile and beam with pride on what I consider as my "badge of honor."

Sweet Painted Lady

One night my office mates asked me to join them to watch a bold show in one of the girlie joints that dotted the stretch of Roxas Boulevard in Pasay City.

Having nothing else to do that night, I relented.

So I went with them and I ordered a round of Budweiser as soon as I became comfortable in the red leatherette sofa and watched the young and nubile girls dancing in the stage.

The Mama-san soon came to our table and asked us if we wanted to have some girls. After a brief haggling for the price, our group was then ushered into the viewing room wherein we can look and pick out the girl of our choice while looking through a one-way mirror.

And boy, they were dime a dozen of the most beautiful girls that one could ever lay their eyes on in this side of the planet, or at least here in this dark smoky place.

After a minute or two of scanning the scantily clad girls all in a row, I picked up number 43; A voluptuous young woman with a shoulder length black hair and porcelain skin who goes by the name of Jane which is I am, sure an alias. In the whorehouse or whatever you may want to call it, all the girls there are using names of every known celebrity that resembles them or so they think resembles them.

But nobody really gives a damn for the men who frequent those places are only after the quick lay that only money can buy. But it adds a bit to the mystery that most men prefer when dealing with girls for fun in so short a time. We were then led into separate VIP rooms and did our thing. We stayed there until the wee hours of the morning and went straight to bed and slept with the smell of Jane’s cheap perfume on my body.

That night I went back I went by my lonesome to that joint and invited Jane to go out with me. After paying the Mama-san with customary bar fee and the “take-out” fee, I took Jane to that cheap motel along Ermita.

And there we did all the really kinky stuffs; the Kama Sutra plus all the things that we know of to satisfy our carnal pleasure until we both fall asleep due to sheer exhaustion.

When we woke up late I the afternoon the next day, I phoned for a room service but the food is not that good so we decided to check out and ordered Buffalo Wings and Pasta in Don Henrico’s along Pedro Gil Street.

By this time, it is now getting dark and Jane must return to the club before 7:00 pm but I prevailed on her to stay with me for a couple of hours more. We drove around the streets of Manila and headed to Isetann Department Store in Recto.

After parking my car at the car park, I passed by the Mercury Drug Store outlet on the ground floor, brought out a fake prescription and bought 3 tablets of Ativan from the unsuspecting saleslady. Afterwards, we walked along the side streets of Quiapo and checked-in in another motel in Avenida.

There I managed to slip the tablets in the beer that she’s drinking without her noticing it and a couple of minutes later she was snoring to high heavens.

I stripped her of her fake Calvin Klein undies, spread her legs and climb on top of her until I climaxed inside her. I reached for her shoulder bag on the side table, put out her beauty kit and proceeded to paint her face with it.

I then untied my shoelaces, got a plastic bag from my pocket and put over her head awhile at the same time I rolled the laces around her neck; not too tightly but enough for her to asphyxiate in her sleep. I watched her gasped a little, until she stopped breathing with nary a struggle in minutes.

I picked her frail body, got the white sheets, circled it around her neck and hanged her by the showers and marveled at the beauty of my masterpiece.

I plucked three pubic hairs from her and kissed her ruby lips before I sneaked out of the motel uncontested.

I went home I a jiffy, took a hot shower and gone to bed with the sweet smell and nice thoughts of my 'sweet painted lady' still fresh in my weary head.

Trick or Treat?

11:50 pm on the eve of Halloween, the stretch of M.Y. Orosa St. in Malate is temporarily closed to vehicular traffic to make way for the street party sponsored by several establishments there to celebrate Halloween- Philippine style.

The place is full of people, young and old alike complete with costumes dancing to rave and techno music coming from the 4 huge Pioneer speakers strategically located on the sides of the streets. The place is one chaotic scene with people soaked in a weird concoction of drugs, booze and sweat while gyrating to the beat of the strobes and music in wild abandon!

On the corner of my eye I saw Medusa the Gorgon nibbling on cheese sticks and hotdog while holding a bottle of Corona and swaying to the noise of Limp Bizkit. I puffed on my last stick of cigarette and flipped the stub on the ground as I made my way to the sea of sweaty bodies with a bottle of San Miguel Super Dry in hand.

I said hi to Medusa and she reciprocated with a mysterious and mischievous smile.

The music was very loud that makes any formal conversation impossible. So, we contented ourselves with just looking into each other’s eyes while dancing and shouting at the top of our lungs with the angry Eminem, this time.

After what it seems like an eternal orgy of loud music, crooked limbs and frowning faces, she gestured for me to buy her a drink. So I went to the bartender and ordered a Margarita and snaked my way back to where I left her and slipping 3 colored pills and 2 E pills into the Margarita in the process.

I gave her the drink and watch her eyes and body as she metamorphosed into a wild and deadly Gorgon as the effects of the pills suddenly flushed all her inhibitions into the wayside.

She gyrates and twirls and turns to the sound and beat of techno music like a maniac throwing whatever cautions that left in her systems to the wind!

Right there in the middle of the sea of human flesh I unhooked her bra and began to lick her nipples. Then I managed to rip her undies with my right hand and finger-fucked her under her skirt while my eyes started to look around to see if anybody was aware of what we were doing. Seeing that nobody’s ogling on us, I unzipped my pants and slid my dong behind her and fucked her wet pussy.

The whole world exploded into a kaleidoscope of colors as I climaxed inside her right in the middle of the street with nobody among the hundreds or so of warm and sweaty bodies giving us any particular attention.

We then made our way to the bartender and bought another round of Margarita. I managed to slip another 5 colored pills into her drink without her noticing it.

As she put the lip of the glass into her red-hot and luscious lips I excused myself to go to the john. Instead I went back to the dance floor and watch her collapse into the hands of the startled bartender.

Trick or treat?

Police Bloater

It was already midnight on a boring Sunday when I reached the nearest 7-11 convenience store for some cans of cold beer. I had burned the midnight oil recently in preparation for the scheduled oral examinations three days from now in business management and other academic blah- blahs, a requirement I needed to pass to get my Masters in Business Administration degree from a prestigious institution in Makati.

When my eyes got tired from all the readings, I decided that I need some time on my hands to relax before watching the exciting games of the UEFA Cup at 2 o’clock in the morning on Star TV. The fifteen-minute drive from my flat to the nearest 7-11 branch was uneventful.

I parked my car and alighted from the black Mazda Miata that I borrowed from my sister for the night. The blue-uniformed security guard at the door greeted me as I went straight for the cold beers and grab a six- packed inside the huge refrigerators. I then look around the store for some things to munch on to go with the amber-colored drinks.

I scanned the shelves and zeroed in on the can of imported Planters mixed nuts when I was suddenly interrupted by a commanding voice coming from a plump man in hip-hop clothes and a six- shooter in hand standing behind the glass door panel and announcing a heist!

His other companions who were also armed hurriedly disarmed the lone guard of his firearm and scoops the cash register of the day’s earnings. I stood in silence, surprised at the sudden turn of events together with several other stunned customers just watching the men do their thing.

In less than three minutes, the heist was quickly done and they fled on foot towards a blue metallic Honda Civic parked on the other side of the road and sped away towards Roxas Boulevard.

On instinct, I drop all my stuffs and hurriedly went to my car and decided to tail them just for kicks but they were speeding like hell that I lost sight of the getaway vehicle when I got stuck by the traffic lights on Taft Avenue..

I took a chance and drove off to the sprawling CCP Complex and leisurely cruised at the minimum speed of 35 kph. In one of the dark and unlit part of the huge complex near the condemned Film Center, I chance upon the men, all three of them while the blue Honda conveniently parked on the side street. They were in a happy mood; smoking pot, downing alcohols, laughing and exchanging high fives with each other. One was even lying down on top of the hood smoking in obvious demonstration of elation over their successful score.

It made me smile to think that their happiness will be short-lived as I reached for my Czech-made CZ-75 machine pistol fitted with infrared scopes and silencer from the custom-built compartment under the driver’s seat as I decelerated to a slow stopped…

I pushed down the button of the power window and slowly aimed for the head of one of the unsuspecting punks and gently squeezed the trigger. I saw his head snapped as crimson blood splattered into the windshield. The other two assholes did not know what hit them as they jump and scamper away into the back of their car and pull out their firearms and fired wildly into the darkness.

Their bravado proved useless as they were already on my crosshairs as I again squeezed the trigger of the weapon repeatedly. I can hear the soft spit of the gun in rapid succession and the thuds of the bullets as they hit pay dirt. Their bodies hurled into the air as the force of the hollow- point bullets exploded on their chest upon impact and fell lifeless to the ground several seconds later, a testament to the deadly power of the dumdums!

I left the scene nonchalantly and headed towards the deserted Diosdado Macapagal Highway. I step on the gas like crazy and watch the speedometer reach over 120 kph in seconds as the sudden surge of adrenaline bombarded my entire being.

I drove around for an hour around Paranaque, then Makati, to Manila to Pasay and back to Paranaque like mad. When the rush finally subsided, I quietly returned to my flat and watch Real Madrid beat Manchester United in the game on cable TV.

I fell asleep in the comforts of the sofa bed in the living room and was rudely awakened by the sound of GMA- 7’s Unang Hirit. The hyperactive reporter reported that three suspected robbers believed responsible for a series of crimes in the metropolis engaged the police in a shootout and after a brief car-chase that ended in the CPP Complex resulted in their deaths at the hands of the responding policemen.

They also interviewed the security guard and other 7-11 staff who identified them as the men who robbed them at gunpoint of the store’s earnings earlier. As the face of the supposed Team Leader of the policemen flashed on the screen, I reach for the remote control and switched off the TV.

I just smiled and shook my head at the policemen’s tall tale of the incident.

Speed Demon

I have submitted my irrevocable resignation in the office this morning.

My boss wants me to stay but I already made up my mind. Still, she keeps on pestering me to reconsider my decision to no avail.

So, I packed up my things and went straight to the parking lot and drove off.

I soon found myself traversing the Maharlika highway south of Metro Manila.

When I reach Sto. Tomas, Batangas I decided to eat lunch at a restaurant the name of which escapes me but it is near the gasoline station on the side of the road.

I ordered Bulalo and boy was it good!

After paying the bill, I decided to go to Tagaytay City in Cavite but when I reached Malvar town I changed my mind and so I went back to Manila for some unfinished business.

I am a speed demon. I am the king of the road - a highway star.

In fact, I really want to become like Mike. Not His Airness, though. That's Michael Schumacher for you, the Ferrari world champ.

I was cruising the South Super Highway running at about 170 kph when this flaming red Mitsubishi Eclipse overtook and passed me with the driver raising his left hand doing the finger in the air as if to mock me.

I smiled and pushed on the accelerator and watched the speedometer rise until it could go on no further.

"Heck, my car was no match for this son of a gun", I whispered to myself.

My car a Honda Civic though still in good running condition was no match for a sports car like the Eclipse.

Just when I decided to give up the futile race, I saw him slowing down and when I was about to catch up with him he would accelerate and I saw his face mocking and laughing at me with contempt.

This went on for as far as I remember until we reach the tool gate. I followed him as he reached Magallanes and turn towards Manila and stopped at the red light on Zobel- Roxas intersection in Makati.

I got my 9mm Glock pistol from the dashboard and walked out of the car towards the side of the driver of the red car.
I knocked at his window and as he turned his head to look, I shot him right between the eyes and slumped into his seat.

I got back to my car and sped off before the startled bystanders and other drivers could react.

"Woohoo, its payback time!"

Radio Ga-ga

I was abruptly aroused from deep sleep by the sound of music coming from a radio somewhere--

It was Jim Morrison of The Doors belting out Light My Fire! I looked into the alarm clock and saw 5:45 in the morning. I got up and took a hot shower and gulped down a hot cup of freshly brewed coffee.

But still feeling drowsy, I decided to go back to bed.

“Baby, come on light my fire! “

“Baby come on light my fire!”

The song keeps on playing inside my head until I decided that I had enough of it. I reached for the dial and switched on to another FM station and this time I had The Beatles’ Let It Be.

Then came Led Zeppelin's Stairway to Heaven followed by Hotel California by The Eagles. Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana came next and another by Metallica the title of which escapes me. Aerosmith’s version of Come Together made me get out of bed.

So I put on my sweat suit and went out for the gym to pump some irons. The piped-in music is playing The Rollingstones’ Jumpin’ Jack Flash as I tried my hand on the Nordic Track and the Elliptical Machine. Deep Purple’s Highway Star was playing while I was running on the Treadmill. I was on my way to the shower room when Prince showered me with Purple Rain.

I went home and decided to just lay on my bed and read. I was halfway through The Temple Of Dawn, a novel by the Japanese author Yukio Mishima when it was Eric Clapton’s turn to sing Tears In Heaven that lulled me again back to sleep…

I woke up with a gnawing pain in my belly that I decided to order food from Jollibee for delivery. I was on the telephone when Axel Rose started to wail Welcome to the Jungle and it was already high noon and Dire Straits’ Money For Nothing was on the airwaves when the delivery boy arrived. I had 2 pieces of Chicken Joy and a glass of Coke for Lunch.

Burrp.

I switched on the channel and put the hapless radio on a station playing nothing but Original Pilipino Music...

First on the list was The Eraserheads’ Ligaya from the album Ultraelectromagneticpop! Then I heard Dong Abay of Yano preaching in his now familiar style the song, Banal Na Aso, Santong Kabayo screaming at the top of his lungs. I was a bit amused when I heard Yoyoy Villame’s Philippine Geography and noted that the guy really knows how to tickle his listeners.

I turned sentimental when the DJ finally played Gary V’s Sana’y Maulit Muli...

I again fell asleep when Joey Pepe Smith’s guitar playing the opening notes of the greatest Filipino Rock Anthem Ang Himig Natin…

The sudden burst of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 suddenly woke me up. It was past 5 o’ clock in the afternoon and I think I have been down and out for almost 4 hours.

I got up and sat on the edge of the bed just as the beautiful tune of Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini by Rachmaninoff was softly being played on a piano followed by the Air Sonata of Johann Sebastian Bach and Felix Mendelsohn’s Violin Concertos.

This got my blood flowing as I floated to the beat of the strings in my brain.

It was already dark on a full moon when I heard the familiar tune of Claude Debussy’s Claire de Lune.

I was having dinner of fried Tilapia and Kare-Kare with my landlord when it was Mozart’s turn to mesmerize me with his Magic Flute. Chopin’s Nocturnes made my chain- smoking flowed with ease into the humid tropical haze. I was getting pumped up for the night.

I got my car key’s and turned on the engine and drove out of the garage for a spin into my usual hangouts in the city while the great tenor Luciano Pavarotti belting O Sole Mio as I drive deep into the neon- infested streets of Ermita while i felt the cool breeze caressed my face that makes me really high.

Jose Carreras joined the fray with Maria from West Side Story while Placido Domingo tried not out done with his rendition of a song from La Traviata!

And then I saw my prey in the sparsely- lit sidewalks of Pedro Gil and M. H. Del Pilar standing forlornly and obviously waiting for somebody to pick her up for a night-cap. Well, what can I say but she was quite damn lucky for eventually choosing me.

And the rest they say is history.

Kung Hei Fat Choi

Tears rolled down on my cheeks as I butchered bulbs and bulbs of Onions in succession.

Just several minutes ago, I sliced the belly of the Green Bell Peppers to minuscule proportions.

The Big Red Tomatoes lying perfectly still on the rattan baskets are waiting for their turn to face the grim ripper.

My chopping board was the silent witness of the fury and sharpness of my blades.

I have labored and worked my butt out since 10 o’clock in the morning.

I have prayed to the gods and summoned all of my culinary skills and talent for this. The occasion was in preparation for the coming of the Chinese New Year.

My Boss told me yesterday in his trademark baritone voice that I will be the host for this year’s celebration.

The timing was really great- I had just paid off all my bills and I only have a few hundred bucks left in my pocket. I don’t even have a credit card in the first place. I am really in a tight fix.

But you can’t tell that to your Boss. So I accepted the challenge albeit grudgingly.

Aah, with a little help from a friend and a touch of Pinoy ingenuity I know I can breeze through it without much problem.

At a little past 9 in the evening, the doorbell rang and I dashed to open the huge Molave door of my Bachelors pad in New Manila.

In came rushing my balding fifty-something, pot-bellied Boss strutting like a Chinese General of yore followed by his foot soldiers- my giggling and boisterous officemates!

I told them to help themselves in the bar as I excused myself to prepare the table.

I popped a bottle of Moet et Chandon and proposed a toast for luck and prosperity in the coming year.

They complimented my cooking and marveled at my vast knowledge on the intricacies of culinary art and fine dining.

We were really having a grand time when the cacophony of sounds coming from the exploding firecrackers outside and the sight of bright and psychedelic colors of firecrackers that illuminated Manilas dark and polluted skies caught our attention.

We all rushed to the window and watched the grand display punctuated with wild merry-making as the effect of the booze began to set in.

Laughter and a staccato of voices filled every nook and crannies of the pad.

I glanced at the old grandfather’s clock in the corner and noted just 5 minutes to the big bang, so to speak.

The Snake was making his graceful exit making way for the coming of the galloping Horse when the final countdown began.10..9..8..7..6.. -when it finally came down to zero, the place exploded with shouts of "Kung Hei Fat Choi" as we hugged, kissed and patted each others back to welcome the New Year while outside the sounds of the firecrackers and colorful bright lights of the fireworks were at a crescendo!

When it was all over, they thanked me for the sumptuous feast and for being the gracious host that I am while at the back of my mind I could not help but thank my friend whose head was being cooled or whatever that remains of himself inside the freezer in the basement for helping me in my predicament.

A true friend indeed, ‘til the end.

Gay Life

One late Saturday evening, after downing several bottles of Miller Lite beer in a local bar somewhere in Makati City, I decided to go for a spin.

So, after paying the tab, I took the wheel of my restored flaming red Mustang 1967 and drove off to a nearby nightspot in Pasay City known for its girlie shows and other seedy stuffs.

“What’s up?” said the man in white cheap suit with a lighted cigarette in his left hand and a glass of brandy in his right obviously a pimp as he rose from his seat and greeted me across the hallway.

I ignored him and went directly to an empty table in the corner and ordered a bottle of San Mig this time and watch the girlie show featuring a girl, no more than 20 years old by my estimate, doing extra ordinary stuff on the floor fit for a circus!

So, I watched her perform and finished her 'acrobatic' set with an amused expression on my face until I got bored. I called the waiter for my bill, paid and left the place.

I climbed into my car, started the engine and for a minute or two just stayed there and pondered what to do…

Then a thought that brought a smile on my face occurred as I floored the accelerator and sped off at 110 kph heading west to Manila and then turned right at Quirino Avenue and drove slowly until I reached the corner of Adriatico where I saw my target in his favorite "hunting ground," so to speak.

I reached out for the Beretta under my seat, put on the silencer, cocked, aimed and squeezed the trigger twice at the heavily made- up transvestite standing on the side of the street while at the same time pushing the button of my power windows down as the car slowly halted to a stop in one smooth motion.

In the corner of my eye I saw a crimson red flower burst from his neck as the dumdum bullet hit him in succession followed by the unmistakable low shriek of a dying man followed by a loud thud as his body fell on the concrete sidewalk face down.

A few motorists saw the man gasping for his life but did nothing. Maybe they’re just being indifferent or just afraid to get involved as is the usual case in a big city like Manila where people just simply don’t care.

And so, there goes the life of the once famous or notorious “Gay” man on this side of the city lying in a pool of his own blood in the dark and deserted sidewalks of Adriatico.

Another dead man on the streets but nobody seems to care as he will surely end up just like the rest as another entry into the unsolved crime police logbook.

Tsk, tsk, tsk.

#042302

Child's Play

One day while I was walking along Ramon Magsaysay Boulevard I saw a woman and her young sleeping boy begging for alms from hurrying passersby at the steps of the pedestrian overpass in Sta. Mesa.

I got a 20-peso bill from my pocket and gave it to the woman who smiled back at me in silent gratitude.

I then went on with my business and proceeded to J.P. Laurel Street near Malacanang to meet an old buddy who is now working with the Media Bureau in the Palace but I couldn’t help but wonder and think about the lives of the woman and her child.

There are a lot of stories--that they earn more from begging than most ordinary employees and they are usually used by criminal syndicates in exchange for some food and security.

There are also stories that the children in their arms who are asleep most of the time are in reality drugged and are not really their own but abandoned babies sold to the syndicates by unscrupulous employees of government hospitals in Metro Manila.

When the meeting was over, I decided to drop by at Wendy’s for a quick-lunch and read the Sunday papers to kill time.

After a while I decided to have a stick of cigarette in my mouth and went to the adjacent 7-11 convenience store and bought a pack of Mild Seven and began chain puffing…

It was when I was on my third stick when the idea came into my mind- that maybe I can help that baby out of his miseries…

I flipped the stub into the pavement and quickly headed for the overpass.

Along the way I counted several people, mostly tired stragglers waiting for a ride home and at 2:30 pm of a hot and humid March, not much people are using the overpass on the corner of C. De Dios Street.

As I climb into the flight of stairs I saw the woman sleeping soundly with the child at her side lying on a piece of dirty cardboard with a yellowish towel that serves as his cover.

In one swift motion I grab the child by the feet and hurled him out and up into the open air without disturbing the woman in her siesta and continued to walk down the stairs in a very casual manner.

In the corner of my eye, I watched his frail body soared into the bright blue sky; dropped and fell head on and exploded in crimson unto the windshield of a speeding gray Mitsubishi Sedan driven by an old Chinese guy shattering the afternoon peace in the process.

The busy stretch of Ramon Magsaysay Boulevard halted to a stop amid the commotion; shouts of horror and bewildered faces of the people on the streets was the last thing I noticed as I made my exit and walked away from the madding crowd towards Vicente Cruz Street and hailed a cab to take me to my rented apartment in Sampaloc for a well-deserved rest.

Dead Punks

Walking along a dark alley in Quiricada in the early evening of a Saturday in September in the year of the Dragon, I stumbled into a group of young Pinoy Punks. Clad in tattered leather jackets sourced from the nearby Ukay- ukay thrift shops in Bambang and sporting crazy Mohawks, they accosted me for looking them straight in the eyes longer than the usual permitted glance.

“Hey, asshole! What the fuck do you want?” said the leader of the group.

“We better teach the fuck ‘bout the law of the streets!” chorused the other gang members as they dashed like a bunch of Apaches in their ear- splitting rebel yells towards me with unexplained rage on their scowling faces that were obviously aped from watching too many B- movies or just high on rugby or shabu in this case.

“Uh-uh, what do we have here? I didn’t know that there are punks in the Philippines, huh!” I replied in my mocking nasal twang complete with a sarcastic smirk that I could muster for them to see my contempt for their kind.

I looked around and saw countless faces etched with a mixture of fear and indifference from the gathering crowd of on-lookers…

I stepped back slowly and thought about the art of “Bitbit-tse” that is the best form of self- defense in this kind of situation but did not act on it. My inherent Pinoy blood oozing with machismo prevented me from turning the other cheek and running away from a fight even if I am far outnumbered and unarmed.

I took a deep breath in rapid successions and willed myself to relax as the four screaming punks came rushing in. The first dude attacked me with his deadly left hooks and right straights but I stepped aside and parried his blows as I launched a vicious counter-attack that caught him in his glass chin and staggered down to his knees.

The next one came roaring, an Indian straight out of the cowboy movies complete with his fist whirling in the air but a solid right straight to the chest stopped him on his tracks and put him down to the ground gasping for precious oxygen.

Then I caught the two remaining punks with successive roundhouse kicks into their faces and stomachs in their moments of hesitations when they saw what happened to their comrades as they fell one after the other to the muddy ground. My years of training in mixed Martial Arts really helped me in this particular situation.

As they staggered back to regain their bearings, I turned my back and confidently walked away which turned out very costly, a mistake that almost cost me my life that I had regretted to this very day.

I felt the sudden surge of pain at the back of my head followed by the crimson spurt of blood that looked like a miniature fountain followed by blurring of vision as darkness began to set in as a result of a stone that struck me thrown treacherously by one of the punks in his desperate move to get even and regain their honor in the yes of the crowd.

I saw them running towards me; this time armed with fan knives but were stopped on their tracks by the sudden bursts of gunfire from a semi-automatic weapon from a responding lawman just before I lost my consciousness.

I woke up in the hospital bed the next day with policemen telling me to file a frustrated homicide and serious physical injuries against my attackers but I refused.

I stayed in the hospital for another week licking my wounds. I spent the entire time pondering on my near brush with death that all the more strengthened my belief that I am here on this planet with a purpose and that I am invincible!

After being released from the hospital, in a span of two months, I evened up the score when I picked them up one by one in the mean streets of Quiricada, Avenida, Tayuman and Santa Cruz with my trusted and ever reliable Beretta.

The Police as usual was clueless on the dead bodies that turned up in the streets that they immediately put the blame the deaths of the punks to gang wars. One enterprising TV program even had an episode of the 'whole' thing that was quite hilarious--about a Serial Killer in Tondo!

But nobody took them seriously of course what with the Filipino’s notoriety for inherent skepticism on certain things and stuff until it happens to them. Ho-hum.

One thing is sure though, the people in that place can now have a sigh of complete relief from the mischief of the wayward punks that they must have thanked me in their prayers.

A Day in the Life

I was sitting alone on a concrete bench at the Luneta, chewing endlessly on my tasteless Bazooka bubblegum while looking into the horizon through my Wayfarer sunglasses, unmindful of all the commotions around.

My mind drifted to far away places, far enough which was hard to fathom. Memories circled in my head and then pffft! ---

Broken only by the touch of a dirty hand from a dirty child begging for food while pointing to the Jollibee hamburger that lay on the cold chair. I smiled at him and gave him what he wanted and he ran towards his companions with glee.

I watched him eat the burger, ravenously, aware of hovering presence

other kids his age, eyeing him like wolves watching their prey. In a split second, the burger was gone and he returned to where he was before, there on the dirty pavement lying on his back pretending soundly asleep while holding a tin can by his right dirty and bony hand waiting for someone who will drop a coin or two.

I stood up, searched my pockets, and dropped a few five peso coins; he opened his eyes upon hearing the tinkling sounds of the coins as they hit the bottom of the tin can. He managed a naughty smile and looked me straight in the eye.

Then in a moment I signaled for him to follow me as I made my way out of the park into the parking lot along T.M. Kalaw Street. I got inside the car and started the engine as he knocked on the window with his bare knuckles. It was already dark and I asked him to join me for a ride. He cheerfully went in and sat on the passenger seat.

I sped off towards the CCP and parked my car near the unlit part of the condemned Manila Film Center building. Then in a flash I grabbed his neck and choked him hard. He struggled a bit and went limp in just a few minutes.

I drove off towards Roxas Boulevard and turned right into the road leading to the newly built President Diosdado Macapagal Avenue where while cruising I opened the passenger door and pushed his lifeless body out into the ditch on the side of the highway and went for a candle-lit dinner in Greenbelt, Makati with my new girlfriend.

His death was just another nasty thing done by a nasty dude with a nasty mind.

No sweat.

Change the World

I bumped into an old classmate of mine from high school one rainy August Monday while walking along Morayta Avenue just in front of the Far Eastern University Campus at the University Belt in Manila.

"Hey, it's you! How are you? How's life?" said he.

"Er, aah, I'm Ok and you?" I answered.

"Small world, huh?!"

"Yeah, so wazzup?"

After the familiar questions and answers when you suddenly bump into some old acquaintances we decided to have our snacks at A&W and update each other with our lives. He had a Burger and Coke while I had fries and Root Beer. We talked about the good old days and what we have become, our plans for the future, our classmates, movies, and girlfriends- every topic that comes to mind.

I learned that he's now connected with a Non-Governmental Organization (NGO) and works as a consultant doing some charity works with children and out-of-school youths in one of their centers in the slums of Tondo district at the heart of Manila.

He invited me to join him on my free time and see for myself the conditions of our poor countrymen.

To make the long story short, I visited him on the site and was horribly appalled at the poverty that I have witnessed.

Most of the children who are at the center are walking barefooted, naked from the waist up, some have no teeth and many were terribly emaciated. They look rather old for their age. In a low voice, my former classmate informed me that majority of children no longer goes to school and instead help their parents in collecting whatever things that they could salvage and sell to some Chinese Junk Yard Owner from the horrible Garbage site known as the Smokey Mountain.

So, I decided to give my time to my fellowmen and eventually went with my classmate on his numerous visits to the shanties that was home to the most impoverished people of Tondo and their I saw and experienced first hand the things that I thought were just the product of propaganda by some enterprising activists on this side of the world. Things that I only saw on TV or read in the papers but thought nothing of it until today. Their homes were mostly nothing but made of old corrugated GI sheets and old Boxes of Cigarettes probably salvage in the dumpsites.

Many are lucky if they could have three square meals a day. Everyday my classmate and I would walk through the narrow alleys that could only fit one person and the stench of the garbage and the murky Esteros* filling the morning air with a dedicated and determined look on our face to really make a huge difference in the world.

I was really amazed that he knows by heart all the names of the people living in that maze of shanties along the Pasig River. I admired him for his heart and dedication on serving his fellowmen. But I am not like him. And will never be.

I could not stand the sight of the children suffering especially Erning, afflicted with Polio since he was three years old and was limping around while going on with his daily activities. I was a witness to his daily suffering. He would be out of his Barung- barong* at five o'clock in the morning everyday without fail limping while trying to keep his balance on the narrow Bamboo Bridge while fetching a gallon of water. I watched him do his thing from afar and decided that I have to do something to help him.

Determined and genuinely affected, in my mind I figured and resolved that I want to help the boy in any way- by the only way that I know of...

On one particular cold August morning, I saw him again laboring his way trying to cross the makeshift bridge; I decided that this would be the day.

It rained hard the night before and the river was swollen with murky water and so was the Estero.

I met him in the middle of the Bamboo Bridge.

He looked at me.

Our eyes met.

The next thing I remember was my right foot holding him down the dirty water as his limp frame struggled in vain...

TIBAK

Then I met Nora…

We were both Communication Arts freshmen at the University of the Philippines- Los Banos (UPLB) when I first saw her at one of those teach-ins being conducted by leftist and radical students. She was one of the speakers and I was quite impressed not only of her knowledge on the current political issues but also of her beauty and cool demeanor.

She was with the League of Filipino Students (LFS) while I am a Barbarian! No pun intended though, that’s what they call students who does not belong to any organization in the State College.

After much prodding on my part, we were finally by a mutual associate and instantly became good friends. From then on I was a regular fixture at any LFS activity whether it is rallies and demonstrations in the urban jungle or in the teach-ins in the leftist activists‘“safehouse”. Don’t get me wrong though, for to tell you frankly I was there not because I believed in what they were fighting for but more so because of Nora, the object of my affection. Truth be told, I hate communists for I know that they were no different from the present rulers of the country and were just making noise for their own gain and end.

And then it happened. ..

It was May 1, Labor Day...

We were part of the huge student delegation from UPLB. We were doing the usual activists’ stuff--marching from C.M. Recto Avenue towards Mendiola Bridge in the University Belt in downtown Manila chanting “Makibaka!” and “Down with US Imperialism!”--

-- When suddenly the anti-riot policemen in front of us started bombarding us with water cannons and tear gas canisters. Then there were gunshots in the air that broke the boisterous chanting punctuated by the familiar sounds of pillboxes and Molotov cocktails exploding all around!

All hell broke loose!

People started scampering in different directions. Amid the ensuing confusion and commotion, I managed to get hold of Nora and we started running side by side towards Espana Boulevard. From there we hailed a cab to take us to Sta. Mesa to elude our pursuers.

As we were both soaked by the water from the fire trucks we decided to checked-in at a nearby motel to change only to find out that except for our wallets, we lost all of our belongings in the battle with the riot police.

It was already 9:30 p.m. and since both of us were dead-tired and weary after a long hard day in the streets, we decided to spend the night at the motel. As we lay naked in that room, I smothered her with the pillow and she never had an iota of a chance. I plucked three pubic hairs from her and put it into my wallet to add to my collections. I then pushed myself unto her cold body until I climaxed inside her. I pulled myself up, took a shower and got dressed. Afterwards, I got hold of the towel and wiped the chairs, knobs, glasses, etc. to erase whatever traces of my fingerprints that the police might find in that cheap smoky room.

After an hour of aimless wandering in the mall, I soon found myself aboard a bus bound for Los Banos wondering how I managed to slip out of the hotel unnoticed.

The next day, news spread like wildfire that the young activist, Nora was found dead inside the motel apparently raped before being killed. The left blamed the police for her death and vowed to retaliate to avenge the death of one of their comrades in the hands of the fascists military.

I attended her funeral and spoke about her courage and conviction to uplift the life of her countrymen. The left lionized her as being a true heroine of the people and honored her by naming one of their units after her years later.

As for me, I just went on with my studies as if nothing happened. I was not really surprised that there was not a tinge of guilt in my system on what I have done. Instead it was a sense of pride on what I considered as an achievement.

The last part of the school year proved uneventful until...