heroes

The city frames many stories. The streets are paved with characters and plotlines and those who wish to hear one need only to find a quiet corner and press their ears to the ground.

ISA. A small group of women were gossiping loudly about the office slut. Their words snapped, crackled, and popped with disdain. Pokpok. Kerengkeng. Bitch. Slut. They threw these words around like confetti, peppering their insults with deep breaths and profanities. The pregnant woman in the middle who I assumed was their leader threw the most insults. ‘Di na siya nahiya. Kababae niyang tao, siya pa naghahabol sa lalaki.* I attempted to overtake them but their girdled strides kept me at a steady pace two steps behind them.

Just then, an intoxicated foreigner got off a dusty cab. He walked briskly towards the women and me. It soon became clear that collision was not only apparent, it was imminent. Most of the women adjusted accordingly – all but the hotheaded pregnant woman in the middle. He passes her, angling his shoulder to hit her smack in the face. There was a blunt sound of loud, body contact. She covered her belly as the force almost knocked her to the ground. Cheeks flushed, mouth agape in horror, she turned around to face him.

Putang in- she said, interrupted.

What? What’re you gonna do about it? he shouted at her. He punctuated his sentence with a middle finger to her face. The woman’s gaze shifted towards me. And to think I’d almost forgotten I was part of the whole exchange. She looked straight at me, maybe even through me, her eyes speaking as clearly as the midnight moon.

Well, they said. What are you gonna do about it?

DALAWA. Does everyone know? she asked me. It feels like the whole world knew before I did. Her cigarette had burned to the tip three and a half minutes ago and yet there it stood, shaky in between her fingers. I’m so embarrassed. Pakiramdam ko, ang bobo bobo ko. Bobo ba ako?

Hindi, I said. Hindi ‘yun ganun. Nag-mahal ka lang. Shouldn’t that be enough?

Bullshit, Erik, she said to me as she lit another cigarette. I flipped my phone over to check the time. It was well past my lunch hour. You don’t do that to people who love you. You don’t do that to the people you love. You can’t kiss me and expect me to understand why you need to fuck some little temp with tits for brains. I gave him everything, you know? Everything. And what do I have to show for it? She took small, deep drags off her cigarette, her eyes surprisingly dry. Wala na akong mukhang ihaharap.

I knew to shut up. Sometimes, a woman just needs to vent.

Ikaw ba, kelan mo nalaman? she asked, sounding a little too casual for her own good.

Mga last week, I lied. Truth is, it had been almost a month since Susie from Accounting told me. I wanted to tell you. I really did. I just didn’t know how to. She smiled politely as she exhaled the last puff of her cigarette, her eyes vacant and transfixed on a line of ants on the floor.

Though we said nothing after that, her silence spoke volumes to me. You knew. Why didn’t you tell me? You could’ve told me.

I wanted to tell you. I really did. I just didn’t know how to. Now that was bullshit.

TATLO. Sabi nung prof ko nung college, tatlo lang naman daw yan: kaya, gusto, pwede. Pwede mo ba siyang mahalin?

Oo naman, she answered.

Gusto mo ba?

Ano ba, Erik? Iiyakan ba kita dito kung hindi ko siya gusto?

Eh kaya mo pa ba siyang mahalin? Kaya mo pa bang masaktan? She ran her fingers through her hair. If you were looking close enough, you’d have seen the purple bruise on her left eye briefly becoming visible.

She was quiet after that. We both just took small sips of our coffee to stretch what little time we had left.

Why can’t he be more like you? she asked me. I had no answers. In fifteen minutes, my brother showed up. He parked across the street and signaled her to come over. He knew why she was with me. He knew we were talking about him. He was cold and expressionless as he sat on the hood of our mother’s car. She pulled her bangs down, got her things, and did as she was told.

As she walked away, she turned around to take one last look at me. She spoke no words but her eyes told me everything: help me.

APAT. And I wondered when chivalry became so old-fashioned. How could we treat the women in our lives so casually? I always thought I’d somehow managed to set myself apart from other men, that maybe I was a tree among bushes. But three out of three times and with three different women, I stood there doing nothing.

The city frames many stories. Sometimes, the city is the story. The streets are paved with characters and plotlines and those who wish to hear one need only to find a quiet corner and press their ears to the ground. Tonight, it’s an old song set to a new tune. My heart knew all the words but my mouth refused to sing.

Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods?
Isn’t there a white knight upon a fiery steed?
Late at night, I toss and turn and dream of what I need.
I need a hero.

I’m no hero. I’m just a flimsy patch on a quilt of apathetic men. Most days, I could use a little saving myself.

♫: Ella Mae Bowen | Holding Out for a Hero (2011)
Alternate: 2 (No Taglish)
Photo: fallen warrior

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7: Individuation

citybuoy | ♔ıǝɹɯɐı♔ | Leader of the Opposition | ןıuǝ oɟ ɟןıƃɥʇ | Orange Wit