and he went outside, all in flesh having only panic at the disco’s i write sins not tragedies playing on his reverie.
he walked a block until he encountered a group of girls wearing the checkered skirts from william college. they screamed in shock after seeing him. still oblivious of his nakedness, he ignored them, touched his nose and felt the scar tissues caused by the clothesline he placed there days ago in an attempt to have an improvised nose lift.

he continued towards the jeep stop on the next corner. as he passed by the judging eyes of the people around, he suddenly realized that he was enjoying the attention.
in addition, the tickling sensation of the wind blowing every inch of hair in his body together with the pinching rays of the sun on his skin slightly moistened with sweat aroused his senses.

the queue was long when he arrived. as impatience slowly crawled into him, he tried to reach for his pocket for some coins, but he felt the skin of his pelvis. it was only then that it occurred to him that he left his money at home.

he has spent 10 minutes on the line, definitely there’s no turning back for him. despite his phallus hanging flaccidly in between his legs, he managed to find a seat between a man clothed in worry and a lady wearing desperation.

the lady kept shooting him glances as sharp as a newly sharpened kitchen knife.
drops of sweat traveled from his forehead down to his neck, to the hills of his chest down to the curves of his belly, and seeped deeper into the hidden valleys of his crotch.
the judging gaze of the people inside the jeep pressured him to think of a way to produce coins for his fare.

as he tried to evade the stare of the lady wearing layers and layers of desperation, his eyes connected with the man on his far right. the deep set eyes of the man were strong enough to keep him from breaking the connection.
finally, the man spoke up and handed over his fare to him. before he could hand it over to the driver, the man immediately said, “manong, dalawa ho,” which instantly surprised him.
the man had no other companion. after the man clothed in worry has left, the man armed with a piercing look inched his way near him so that his pelvic bones and the jeans of the man could establish contact.

he kept his mind busy. he thought of his sister who kept on sorting vegetables from all the non-vegetables during meals, his father who kept on smoking each time an anonymous girl would call their house, his mother who would do nothing but chop onions each time she would caught his father with another woman.

he thought of those things to help himself ignore the friction of the jeans to his skin. as he tried to rummage more thoughts to fill his head, he felt a moist whisper on his ear. the man told him of his nakedness and offered a towel to cover his skin. he refused to accept the offer and was about to hit the man on his face when the man handed him 500 pesos for his haircut. he grabbed the money, stopped the jeep and went out to find the nearest barbershop.

after walking a few blocks, he found his favorite barbershop. as he entered the shop, he realized that the man who handed him money was his father’s friend. at first he wondered about the purpose and motive of the man, but dropped the thought immediately.
all he wanted was a haircut. he missed the sensation of the razor cutting through his head. its buzzing sound, its slight prick on the scalp, its oil leaks, he loved them all as much as he enjoyed the attention that he got the moment he entered the shop. he knew that people around were trying their best to pretend and hide their shock but it was evident on their breathing and the spark on their eyes.
yes, he was keen on sensing the messages of the eyes. it is through the eyes of others that he found connection; it is through the eyes that he first saw his father cheating his mother;
it was through the eyes that he saw his sister’s disgust over green leafy vegetables; it was through the eyes that he saw his mother’s loneliness.
shut lips and repressed breathings aren’t enough to hide people’s emotions from him.
yes, he was keen.

he looked for his favorite barber but the barber was absent that day. he combed his red-dyed hair with his fingers and got hold of a scissor nearby. people in the barbershop knew he didn’t want his hair cut by anyone except his favorite barber. he would rather do the cutting himself.
he probed around the shop for a razor, but none was available. so he started to reach down on his armpit hair and cut them with the scissor that he picked up on the counter.

he then turned his attention on his pubic hair; carefully cutting them on the roots, trying to imitate the razor’s cut, but it was far from perfect. as he did the cutting, he kept on thinking why people around him still wear clothes. foolish people, he thought. “the weather’s not even that cold. rain has not poured in months, yet, the fashion fad has changed radically.” last month, people in his neighborhood started to wear hats after 10 years.

the chilled air from the northern hemisphere has started to blanket the city but it paid no appeal to his keen senses. he firmly believed that his family never paid attention to the fad not until he was about to cut the last strand of pubic hair. before the blade of the scissor could have slashed the hair strand, his eyeballs were suddenly drawn to the glass window of the shop where he saw his mother, his sister and his father holding hands and carrying bags of groceries and clothes. what fixed his eyes on them was not the fact that they all wore smiles of contentment, but the unfortunate fact that they wore clothes like every other person in the community.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

we have grown to clothe our individual poverty in different ways. but i guess it's the same bare reality of emotional, moral, spiritual, or intellectual paucity that enables us to relate with each other in humane terms.

yups, even in dignity there is poverty.

galing, bro, ibang klase talaga mga artik mo. nakakalula :D

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