-=(Sagien)=-

New Filipino Curse Words!

To some of you, this will be a cool story to read about my childhood, which includes a couple of people I've never talked about before, that I hope to be talking about more in the future.

To the rest of you, you'll probably just like the new Filipino curse words that are in it.

Actually, all of you would probably read it just for the curse words.

Malcolm in the Middle, Starring Sagien as Reece

It was their turf. The scrap metal, the vast open space, the trees, the walls to climb, everything: it was all theirs.

A ten year old sagien lounged lazily, perched on a sturdy tree branch in the neighbor’s sarisa tree. Sarisas were the Filipino version of a cherry, except nobody really put them in cocktails or anything that sagien knew of. All he knew was that this tree was in his turf, and he can spend all day in it if he wants, picking every single ripe sarisa off its branches.

"I'm going to collect more scrap metal," came a voice from below. It belonged to his brother. "You wanna come?"

"Nah, I think I can reach that one ripe one all the way over there."

"You've never been able to reach it before. You're not going to be able to reach it now." Sagien stretches as far as he could, his fingertips inches away from the ripe fruit, but the branch wasn't strong enough to support him and gives way. He frantically finds something to latch on to keep from falling.

"Okay, fine, I'll go with you," he finally gives in "but we're going across the street for it, this whole area is out, we need a new place to get scrap." His brother agrees.

"Let's see if Bon-bon wants to come." Bon-bon was the son of the chauffer of the people next door. He lived in a converted garage with his parents and his sister in the back of their boss' property. Their dwelling consisted of two rooms, one for living, and the other for sleeping. Bon-bon was a good friend to the brothers and he always comes along.

"I better take this with me," declared sagien, picking up a homemade rifle that fired bottle caps propelled by a rather thick band of rubber elastic "You never know what we're gonna run into in the squatters." They picked up Bon-bon, who was more than happy to ditch his chores for some adventure.

The area sagien had in mind for searching was the squatter area across the street from where they lived. They rarely crossed this road because it was quite busy. With an absence of traffic lights in the city, all there was to control the traffic was a solitary policeman gesturing to oncoming cars in the middle of the intersection. He barely had enough wits about him to direct the traffic, let alone mind three prepubescent boys attempting to cross a busy intersection.

Waiting for the opportune moment to run across, the boys make it to the other side relatively unscathed. Sagien checked his pockets to make sure he had enough bottle caps for ammo before proceeding. This was, after all, uncharted territory to sagien. It was probably not so for his wandering brother, but he wanted to be sure just in case. He nodded to the others that he was ready. He noticed that he was the only one armed in the group.

They walked a few blocks to where the "entrance" of the squatter area was. It was nothing more than an open field, a few yards wide, with two foot blades of grass growing in patches. In areas where nothing grew were puddles of muddy water, breeding mosquito larvae. At the other edge of the field were huts made of cardboard, propped up against a ten foot wall made of hollow-blocks. Those huts were to be the venue for their exploration.

Scrap metal was a valuable commodity, and not just for kids. Everyone in the squatter area had little or no money, and they did whatever they can to provide for their families. Collecting scrap metal was one way. One could trade in the metal for some cash, enough to buy a can of sardines and some rice. In the case of sagien and his brother, they want the money from the scrap metal trade to play video games. To hell with these smelly squatter folk.

Halfway across the field, a child ran up to them.

"What are you doing here?" he said. He couldn't have been more than six years old. "You're not supposed to be here."

Sagien didn't say a word. He lifts his bottle cap rifle and aims it at the child’s forehead. The muzzle of the gun wasn’t more than a foot away from the kid. He pulls the trigger. The bottle cap zips from its precarious perch, turning all the potential energy it has stored into slightly annoying, stinging kinetic energy. That is, if it actually hit the intended target. The projectile went sailing harmlessly through the squatter child’s hair, barely grazing his scalp. It didn't hurt the child, but it was enough to get him crying, while running to his cardboard domicile petrified.

"Bilat ibay," curses Bon-bon in what would translate to him calling sagien a son of a bitch. "I'm getting out of here."

Sagien's brother shakes his head and goes with Bon-bon. "That kid probably has big brothers bigger than you."

Sagien reloads his rifle, rather proud of himself, and slings the gun over his shoulder. "Nah, I'm not worried," he declared. He was rather annoyed at the cowardice of his brother and his friend, he was looking forward to mountains of scrap metal, waiting to be weighed and sold. They've already gone through all of their grandfather’s tools and weren’t allowed near them ever again. They needed a new source.

"Fine, maybe next time then," sagien gave in, walking behind the other two back to their accustomed surroundings. He was looking forward to lounging in his sarisa tree again. He thought about perhaps perfecting the firing trajectory of his bottle caps while he sat up there.

After they've gone about a block after crossing the intersection, a deep voice reverberates from behind them.

"Hoy!"

Sagien turned around. It was two guys, he estimated probably about 13 years of age. Because of his superior non-squatter diet, he was just about as big as they were. Bon-bon runs away. His brother stayed at his side.

"I want you to apologize for shooting my brother," one of the guys said.

"Fuck you, I'll fight you," said sagien.

"Dude, just say you're sorry," said sagien's brother, annoyed at sagien's stubbornness.

"I can take him," said sagien.

"It's not worth it."

Sagien swings his fist at his "adversary" trying to catch him by surprise. It didn't work. The guy ducked under his punch.

"I don't want to fight you, I just want an apology."

Sagien swings again. The punch got dodged again.

"I really don't want to fight."

"Kick his ass," his companion was trying to egg him on.

"Yeah why don't you fight you pussy," said sagien and he swings again. This time he connects. What happened next came as a shock.

Sagien got slapped.

"I told you so," said his brother.

He gets slapped again.

"You're so stupid sometimes," his brother relented.

Sagien tries to swing back, but his punch gets dodged. As he stumbles across the sidewalk, unbalanced from his missed punch, his opponent steps on his flip-flip slipper, breaking one of the straps off and almost lands sagien on his face in the cement. He quickly regains his balance, but not before the other guy has grabbed his own slipper and slapped him with it.

Now, sagien was mad. His face was probably red from the slaps he'd received, but the marks can't be seen because of the mud that came from the other kid's slipper. He tries to swing again, but this time his brother restrains him.

"He's sorry," he said to the two guys. Sagien breaks away, crying, to go back upstairs to his family's apartment.

It was their turf. The scrap metal, the vast open space, the trees, the walls to climb, everything: it was all theirs.

Posted by sagien at March 6, 2005 11:23 PM