The Security Guard

“Pak it up, dude! Pak it up!”—Mark Primavera

“…and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their stories.”

—Anonymous, Desiderata

I ended it abruptly ‘coz the continuation would be this. Baka napagod na kayo no? Wala eh. These events are very strange and interesting. I mean I think they deserve to be recorded. But here’s one relief for you guys: this post’s going to be pretty short. Yes, breathe easy now. Well I think it’ll be short…

I came back after one hour. My ComSkX was done and I decided to take one last round around the exhibit (for it was only from Feb 16-21). I was able to buy some 5 posters (3 for me and 2 for my mother.) while they were packing it up. Salamat, right on time ako. Any minute longer and posters would’ve gone. Some of the sekyus there told me na “Sayang, di mo siya naabutan para ma-autograph mo yun.” “Neh, ayus lang, naabutan ko naman siya sa conference.” I replied. This might sound cold but I wasn’t really concerned about the artist; I barely knew the guy! I just knew him though his paintings and just this week. I don’t see the logic to just get some unknown guy’s autograph, no matter how recognized he is. Plus I was more concerned on what he said and did. I’m more focused on his Christ and words then the artist himself. (I’d rather look at the pointed than the pointer. That’s why even if I met an idol Bo Sanchez, I wouldn’t get his autograph. Not even if it’s John the Baptist! )

Anyway, I was going to scrutinize each one, their technique, colors, textures. Yes, that was supposed to have been my plan but something unexpected just happened…

“Wat do yu tink of dat pichure?” I was scanning the gloom of “No Greater Love” when this question popped up. I looked to one side to see one of the sekyus there. At first, I thought he was talking to someone else or he was just talking aloud. But from his face, I knew I was the victim. I sheepishly smiled and asked “Sorry, what?”

“Wat do yu tink of dat pichure?” he asked again.

“I—I think it’s beautiful, wonderful, reflective…about Christ…” I was really wondering what was up with that question. Soon he walked toward me and gazed at the painting like an art critic. Then he began to share his views on the painting. About its beauty, about its gloom, about the reality of poverty…Interesting. At first I thought it would be a quick exchange of words here and there but then I found out that he had a lot to say…

“Hir! Hir. Hir is my favoreet.” He said leading me to the painting where Jesus was praying with the Philippine flag hanging on his hands. Compared to most of the works, this looked smoother in texture, like you could wipe your hand over it.

“Dis shows nationality. I layk it becos it shows dat Christ loves also de Philippines…”

He then began to talk about it but then he shifted to our current dilemmas with the Philippine poverty, our ever corrupted and idiotic government officials, that if the leader was good we’d all have a swell time and history of the Hispanic era. It was clear he despised the Spanish era saying it was they who influenced us with the vices we have now. For me, he was correct. Some not but mostly yes, it was the damn Spaniards. He even wanted me to recall my high school learning of Dr. Jose Rizal’s Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo, about Crisostomo Ibarra and, later, his other identity Simoun Vela, the main characters of both novels. About virtue crashing into vengeance and then death, implying Filipinos weren’t ready for a revolution. Well anyway, I can’t recall all that we talked about. The point was he had a lot to say.

As he talked I began to take notice of his features: he looked like a soldier with an army cut. He was long, not so thin but definitely no fat, like a soldier nga. Almost like one of my dad’s friends. He wore a light-colored polo and slacks. I noticed that he liked talking about Christ, had lots of opinions and strong feelings about suffering, and wanted to talk to me in English, although during my first few words implied that I wanted to speak in Filipino. Gusto ko po mag-Tagalog! Para akong traydor kung Inggles lang ako ng Inggles kainis! Pero wala akong magawa. Sanay na ako sa Inggles…hay naku…Another thing I noticed was that he seemed quite amused if I made a wrong statement. Like when I was describing the painting where the poor child was pushing wheels and Christ was also there holding on to a beam of his cross. I said that the suffering of the poor child was paralleled to Christ’s suffering, his carrying of the cross but then. He smiled, amused and said “Noh, noh. Dat’s rong.” And I was bewildered. Okay…what’s your side then? “Dat depiks da horribl child labor dat happens in r society…” Uhm, sir, that’s what I meant. If you just allowed me to finish...tsk, fine. Have the glory…for now…

Throughout the whole time, he had his walkie-talkie. I found it a bit amusing. They were talking in codes like “Vladimir!” and “Nasa bookstore!” But he didn’t care. He was concerned with speaking his mind out with me. That was until a problem about the Mangyan Exhibit had a little problem.

“Ah copy, copy!” he replied with a tagalog tone. “Wait. Il be bak.”

“Okay.” I replied as I saw him walk briskly away. Taking the opportunity of his absence, I went to check every painting in the room. To reflect on each one, to read the explanations next to them, to analyze them as an artist, to breathe in the holiness…but there was one nagging problem…

You see, Mr. Leon has a problem. What’s that? He’s got paranoia issues! Yes, sir. Aside from being an introvert, my brain loves to enumerate many possibilities; 99% of the time are killer ones. Like when I was a kid I thought meteorites could come anytime, a black hole will spring from nowhere or God would come down and send me to hell (most are possible but hey, what’s the use of worrying?). So when I thought about why that guard just came suddenly, a thousand things went running my mind. Did he want my money? Was he going to kill me? Does he hate me? Is he insane (hmm, all that smart-talk is *ala Bloo from Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends* suuuuussspiiiiiciooousss…)? Or the worst case scenario: it was my one of my dad’s henchmen. Yeah, that’s it! My father has his family hostage and asked that guy to track me down. And once he has my disclosed personal information (in between talks I told about my status as a scholar, the city I lived in and my mother’s province…), dad’s gonna kidnap me and torture me! He’ll want to know where Ma and my sister are. And/or he’ll force to join his new religion. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! God, help me! (Ang galing ko naman gumawa na kwento, haha. Minsan ginagamit ko ang aking paranoia para sa aking pagsusulat. Epektib naman di ba? By the way, I think like this because of past childhood trauma. We haven’t seen dad for 4 years. Just heard of his status and stuff from some sources.)

Anway, he came back and we began to talk again about stuff. I tried to calm myself the whole time, convincing myself he wasn’t a hired assassin or something. Unfortunately, I had to go. I would be late upon arriving home and Sabbath was almost up (it’s an Adventist thing. But also a Sabbatharian thing, duh…). So I went off. “Ah oke. Yu myt get late. Oke, ba-bye.” “’Kay, bye. Thanks.” Thanks for the talk. It was better than what I planned I guess…too bad I worried myself until I slept…damn paranoia…

Nowadays, I sometimes come across that security guard and I have a few quick chats (after all, I’m the guy who grabs the gizmos. And they’re in the area he guards). Hopefully, I’ll talk with him longer. Also I talk a bit with the guys who run the Audio-Visual Room (the place where I get the gizmos). They already know my full name and find it funny that is so freakin’ long. How I wish could chat with them more. Because I’m very interested with tales such as theirs. I also want to talk to the janitors, the librarians, the canteen guys, the kids on the street, the men on the street…yup, the tales of the humble folk. You can see the life in their eyes, the fires in their soul, the reality of their lives, yessiree…kainis lang kasi na nahihirapan ako sa Filipino… (I’m not trying to be noble or anything in this thought for I’m freakin’ far from it, b-e-l-i-e-v-e me.)

‘Coz what’s so exciting about rich kids, gadget kids? Gadgets? Astig, techy pero let’s get practical: you don’t need that. And it’s an annoying icon especially in this time of economic crisis. Cosplay? Cute, and spunky! But please, please don’t go beyond the convention. We leave in the real world too, man. Anime? Most of them have cute-looking girls showing of their intimate spaces…okay, you know what? F U! Go to hell! Those kinds of anime make me siiiick! What’s the use of those fanservices anyway? Oh, you suffered? From…your boyfriend….oh crap…shall I play a Telenovela intro music for you? Luna Mystika, Lalola, Betty La Fea…take your corny pick.

Okay fine, I’m a bit unfair. I guess what I just want to point out is: don’t always live in their worlds. Snap out of it! Have loads of their fun once in a while but please also remember the real world, which is governed by real laws and not cartoon laws of physics. What I see in Benilde is that people are not acting their age, rather they’re all like children. And that they’re living in their illusions. Excuse me we’re mature now.

So let’s talk real. Let’s talk about living. Let’s talk about life!

Let’s all reflect…