I just met 3 guys named Dick in a row. What are the odds? Turns out that the real world is much more batshit insane than what we muster to put on tv. Except for Michael Bay. Fuck that guy. Seriously, the laws of physics do not allow for shit to explode everywhere in an american-flag shape every time we blink. Anyhow, appearently biology is a field full of bizarre findings and facts. For example, I found out that Australia is God's way of saying "Here, I just found out all these potentially world-ending species and placed them all in one place. Neat huh?". Appearently you can't take a dump in there without fearing some jumping spiders leaping the hell out of the toilet into your bare ass or some triple headed snake eating your firstborn while you do so. Or whatever it is that Australians fear.
Of course, my favorite bizarre location is still Japan. From half-functioning giant mechas powered by forsaken children and crabs big enough to immobilize a Volkswagen Scarab, it is no wonder why so much fucked up sexual and social paraphernalia sprouts out from such a reduced number of little yet incredibly weird island to traumatize us beyond recognition. Sounds like the materialization of 4chan to me!
martes, 7 de junio de 2011
lunes, 16 de mayo de 2011
Episode V : The Mid-Terms Strike Back
And holy fudge, do they strike like the fist of an angry God.
Oh yeah I'll be taking down the cussing since Shaun made me promise I'd change my gamerspeach. Namely "F**K THAT *F***ING S**T TO F***ING HELL! YOU JUST SNIPED ME!HOLY ****** **** ****** SITTING IN A ******** **** ********* CHERRY COKE UP THE *** ********* ***** ******** MICHAEL KEATON!" and such. So yeah, I think I'll need a book of euphemism because oh God, will I need it.
Anyways, after coming back from the massacre known as 'College Mid Terms', the classroom looks emptier than ever. Which leads me to believe that either nobody cares about actually assisting after exams in order to take a break or that half the room commited suicide after realizing that college exams are not the ones you can BS your way through. The stuff you study in a half-hearted way in 20 minutes, teacher has studied for 20 years. So good luck with that. Turns out the only way to pass is to -GASP!- study and pay attention. Since I don't study ever -unless I happen to fall in love with the subject- I settled down for paying attention, which had FINALLY earned me a whooping bonus that allows my monthly fee to be lowered down. More money to the Battle Platypus Army I'm working on!
So I decided to buckle up and finish the mountain of epic homework and projects that were due for next month. Took me 2 entire weeks of dreamlessness. And sorrow. And coffee. And those spicy chips everybody eats to replace natural nourishment. And my God, I need a shave. After all that shizzle, I was finally done and decided to download -Problem, FBI?- some DS videogames to quench my thirst for digital stimuli. Surely enough, I ended up playing such jewels as 'Megaman Zero Collection', '999 : 9 Persons, 9 Hours, 9 Doors' and others. Which I don't remember due to the lack of sleep that day. That was Hardcore Gaming day. Next morning was Hungover Without Even Getting Out Of The House day.
So in short, the Mid Terms slaughtered half of the classroom and made some of them ragequit college at the revelation that "Oh snap! You've gotta actually DO stuff to pass?!". Well, I'd normally be relieved about lazybutts and idiots leaving but most of them had girlfriends OR were girls themselves. So with a whooping total of 27 males and 8 women ( securely voluntarily isolated in the left upper corner of the room ), the place has turned into a bigger sausagefest than Super Smash Bros tournaments.
I'll be updating on the upcomings of the week. If you need me, lit the signal in the sky. It's the one shaped like a giant pecker.
I love birds.
Oh yeah I'll be taking down the cussing since Shaun made me promise I'd change my gamerspeach. Namely "F**K THAT *F***ING S**T TO F***ING HELL! YOU JUST SNIPED ME!HOLY ****** **** ****** SITTING IN A ******** **** ********* CHERRY COKE UP THE *** ********* ***** ******** MICHAEL KEATON!" and such. So yeah, I think I'll need a book of euphemism because oh God, will I need it.
Anyways, after coming back from the massacre known as 'College Mid Terms', the classroom looks emptier than ever. Which leads me to believe that either nobody cares about actually assisting after exams in order to take a break or that half the room commited suicide after realizing that college exams are not the ones you can BS your way through. The stuff you study in a half-hearted way in 20 minutes, teacher has studied for 20 years. So good luck with that. Turns out the only way to pass is to -GASP!- study and pay attention. Since I don't study ever -unless I happen to fall in love with the subject- I settled down for paying attention, which had FINALLY earned me a whooping bonus that allows my monthly fee to be lowered down. More money to the Battle Platypus Army I'm working on!
So I decided to buckle up and finish the mountain of epic homework and projects that were due for next month. Took me 2 entire weeks of dreamlessness. And sorrow. And coffee. And those spicy chips everybody eats to replace natural nourishment. And my God, I need a shave. After all that shizzle, I was finally done and decided to download -Problem, FBI?- some DS videogames to quench my thirst for digital stimuli. Surely enough, I ended up playing such jewels as 'Megaman Zero Collection', '999 : 9 Persons, 9 Hours, 9 Doors' and others. Which I don't remember due to the lack of sleep that day. That was Hardcore Gaming day. Next morning was Hungover Without Even Getting Out Of The House day.
So in short, the Mid Terms slaughtered half of the classroom and made some of them ragequit college at the revelation that "Oh snap! You've gotta actually DO stuff to pass?!". Well, I'd normally be relieved about lazybutts and idiots leaving but most of them had girlfriends OR were girls themselves. So with a whooping total of 27 males and 8 women ( securely voluntarily isolated in the left upper corner of the room ), the place has turned into a bigger sausagefest than Super Smash Bros tournaments.
I'll be updating on the upcomings of the week. If you need me, lit the signal in the sky. It's the one shaped like a giant pecker.
I love birds.
martes, 3 de mayo de 2011
So Osama is dead...
What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I mean, saving up for the JD-Mobile, the JD-Cave, JD-Computer and the JD-Suit has been hard enough. I was looking forward to start my own manhunt for the scoundrel and now he's gone. My nemesis-to-be. Not trying to sound sarcastic but yeah, shooting an unarmed bearded dude. Way to go marines. Sure, the man blew up people like a hardcore GTA gamer but I'd at least put on a nice soundtrack while doing the deed. Hell, I'd even give him a rapier and demand a shirtless duel on top of a skyscraper ( Soundtrack still playing ).
For the death of one of the most evil masterminds of our time, I gotta say I find it quite anti-climactic. Like the kid who finds out that Santa Claus is really uncle Larry with a rental suit. Don't get me wrong, I'm in NO way implying I sympathize or even pity the man. If anything, I'd draw a dong on his tombstone. But dude, he was gone just like...that. No witty banter exchange with the USA President, no Pre Mortem one-liner, no duel to the death, no mano a mano, no Michael Bay explosions, no NOTHING.
Just "Oh hi what's u-"*BANG*
Dead.
Really Ossie, at this point I'd at least expect your base to start a countdown to self-destruction upon your death. You've been in the "Kill people to decide who has the best imaginary friend" business for YEARS only to be taken by surprise and kick the bucket. You KNOW what planning is. You've been planning your attacks for YEARS, sittin on a leather chair, caressing a cat ( Or baby camel, I don't know how you guys do it there ) and looking all suave with that beard. America FEARED you. America. The world's spoiled fratboy. That's like a Football Quarterback getting shivers at the mention of the Janitor. And now you die. Just like that. No final battle. No struggle.
What a letdown. Whelp, enjoy your stay in muslim hell, where you'll probably be subjected to every single fucked-up fetish the japanese have invented.
Let's face it, you deserve it. Cheerios.
For the death of one of the most evil masterminds of our time, I gotta say I find it quite anti-climactic. Like the kid who finds out that Santa Claus is really uncle Larry with a rental suit. Don't get me wrong, I'm in NO way implying I sympathize or even pity the man. If anything, I'd draw a dong on his tombstone. But dude, he was gone just like...that. No witty banter exchange with the USA President, no Pre Mortem one-liner, no duel to the death, no mano a mano, no Michael Bay explosions, no NOTHING.
Just "Oh hi what's u-"*BANG*
Dead.
Really Ossie, at this point I'd at least expect your base to start a countdown to self-destruction upon your death. You've been in the "Kill people to decide who has the best imaginary friend" business for YEARS only to be taken by surprise and kick the bucket. You KNOW what planning is. You've been planning your attacks for YEARS, sittin on a leather chair, caressing a cat ( Or baby camel, I don't know how you guys do it there ) and looking all suave with that beard. America FEARED you. America. The world's spoiled fratboy. That's like a Football Quarterback getting shivers at the mention of the Janitor. And now you die. Just like that. No final battle. No struggle.
What a letdown. Whelp, enjoy your stay in muslim hell, where you'll probably be subjected to every single fucked-up fetish the japanese have invented.
Let's face it, you deserve it. Cheerios.
miércoles, 20 de abril de 2011
In victory, mercifulness. In defeat, defiance. In my case, introspection.
I had long since forgotten what my blood tasted like. Metal. Coppery. Not sweet, not salty. Metallic. The thoughts I had as a child suddenly re-emerged like bubbles, about how maybe, just maybe, I had managed to become a little less than a human being. Turning my blood into metal.
Of course then I found out about plasma, chemicals in the blood and all that boring stuff they shove in your head in 4th grade. But the thought had remained dormant, unbeknownst to me. It had remained there, not growing or sprouting, but always present.
Let's rewind back to the day I decided to do a contact sport. I was anxious. Impatient. I wanted to vent out so much energy, both negative and positive. I was happy because I'd get a chance to make Father and Mother proud of me in a field that I had never quite mastered : Physique.
I've never been an Arnold Scharzenneger, or Jabba the Hut. But I never quite mastered the physical peak that my brother, my older brother whom my father prided himself long ago, had mastered. I grew up gradually realizing that I turned out to be an almost exact of opposite of my father. At age 9 he was kissing his second girlfriend. At age 9 I was reading The Count Of Montecristo in Math class. At age 11, he was the spotlightof every party in his school, winning girls and causing male envy. At age 11, I was the quiet and kinda weird kid sitting at the back of the classroom drawing Megaman X. At age 12 he lost his virginity. At age 12, I discovered the internet ( which is much more of a trauma so up YOURS, dad ) .
And so on, Ad Infinitum.
My brother had taken every single thing my father did and took it up to eleven. I'm not gonna go into details, but at age 14 he was scoring threesomes and appearing in magazines so there's that. But I differentiated from both my Father and brother in the fact that my mind woke up earlier. He started to get amazed at my straight A's in 5th grade, and that sort of gave me a hope spot. Finally, a field I could conquer. A virgin land, where the shadow of my father, nor my brother reached. And thus, the start of my quest for intellectual fulfillment started.
Today, a couple of hours ago, every single thought I just typed flashed in my head as I noticed that my nose was bleeding. Profusely.
I had taken an injured leg, a rib, wrist, twisted ankle and such. But never bleed. I even got a purple, Metroid-looking large bump on my side which I sware looks like Shaquille O'Neil if you squint a bit. I also got some new fresh reddish marks on my face, near my left eye. Those I can handle.
But to taste my blood once again, mixing up with the lack of oxygen input and tears was a bit of a shock. The taste of it. Even if metallic, I realized even after years of arrogantly seeking to know more and more, I was still just human. A sack of bloody meat that could cease to exist in the blink of an eye due to a wrong hit. I think Emilio was more concerned about the blood than I was. I was shaken, but my defiant stance didn't flinch. But everyone forced me to go at least clean my face. I remember looking with foggy eyes a teary reflection of my face and punching the mirror.
Nope, it didn't break. What, do you think I'm stupid?
When I got back, I wasn't allowed to fight him again. I almost broke the rules and stepped into the stage, but the coach told me to sit this one through. "You don't have anything to prove. Don't you get it? You're 18, he's 27. He's not even fighting you at half his strenght. Sit down."
Not even half.
It's hard realizing the power gap between you and your companion, specially when you thought you were JUST getting a chance of ever beating him. Wake up.
The ending was awkward, as I ended up doing fist-pushups to compensate and vent a little. I was angry, frustrated. I had been such an idiot to believe in just a month and a half I'd turn out to be a wonder. Classic noob mistake. I kept wiping the blood of my nose, which by this point was starting to heal. But in the times I closed my eyes to wipe the tears off, I had received kicks to the side and it hurt like hell when I walked.
And I got a mid-term exam in three hours.
So yeah, this day is not over yet. And I remember wake up and muttering out loud.
"This is gonna be a GREAT day."
So far, it has been. I needed a bit of my humility back and I got it.
Now let's go for the silver.
Of course then I found out about plasma, chemicals in the blood and all that boring stuff they shove in your head in 4th grade. But the thought had remained dormant, unbeknownst to me. It had remained there, not growing or sprouting, but always present.
Let's rewind back to the day I decided to do a contact sport. I was anxious. Impatient. I wanted to vent out so much energy, both negative and positive. I was happy because I'd get a chance to make Father and Mother proud of me in a field that I had never quite mastered : Physique.
I've never been an Arnold Scharzenneger, or Jabba the Hut. But I never quite mastered the physical peak that my brother, my older brother whom my father prided himself long ago, had mastered. I grew up gradually realizing that I turned out to be an almost exact of opposite of my father. At age 9 he was kissing his second girlfriend. At age 9 I was reading The Count Of Montecristo in Math class. At age 11, he was the spotlightof every party in his school, winning girls and causing male envy. At age 11, I was the quiet and kinda weird kid sitting at the back of the classroom drawing Megaman X. At age 12 he lost his virginity. At age 12, I discovered the internet ( which is much more of a trauma so up YOURS, dad ) .
And so on, Ad Infinitum.
My brother had taken every single thing my father did and took it up to eleven. I'm not gonna go into details, but at age 14 he was scoring threesomes and appearing in magazines so there's that. But I differentiated from both my Father and brother in the fact that my mind woke up earlier. He started to get amazed at my straight A's in 5th grade, and that sort of gave me a hope spot. Finally, a field I could conquer. A virgin land, where the shadow of my father, nor my brother reached. And thus, the start of my quest for intellectual fulfillment started.
Today, a couple of hours ago, every single thought I just typed flashed in my head as I noticed that my nose was bleeding. Profusely.
I had taken an injured leg, a rib, wrist, twisted ankle and such. But never bleed. I even got a purple, Metroid-looking large bump on my side which I sware looks like Shaquille O'Neil if you squint a bit. I also got some new fresh reddish marks on my face, near my left eye. Those I can handle.
But to taste my blood once again, mixing up with the lack of oxygen input and tears was a bit of a shock. The taste of it. Even if metallic, I realized even after years of arrogantly seeking to know more and more, I was still just human. A sack of bloody meat that could cease to exist in the blink of an eye due to a wrong hit. I think Emilio was more concerned about the blood than I was. I was shaken, but my defiant stance didn't flinch. But everyone forced me to go at least clean my face. I remember looking with foggy eyes a teary reflection of my face and punching the mirror.
Nope, it didn't break. What, do you think I'm stupid?
When I got back, I wasn't allowed to fight him again. I almost broke the rules and stepped into the stage, but the coach told me to sit this one through. "You don't have anything to prove. Don't you get it? You're 18, he's 27. He's not even fighting you at half his strenght. Sit down."
Not even half.
It's hard realizing the power gap between you and your companion, specially when you thought you were JUST getting a chance of ever beating him. Wake up.
The ending was awkward, as I ended up doing fist-pushups to compensate and vent a little. I was angry, frustrated. I had been such an idiot to believe in just a month and a half I'd turn out to be a wonder. Classic noob mistake. I kept wiping the blood of my nose, which by this point was starting to heal. But in the times I closed my eyes to wipe the tears off, I had received kicks to the side and it hurt like hell when I walked.
And I got a mid-term exam in three hours.
So yeah, this day is not over yet. And I remember wake up and muttering out loud.
"This is gonna be a GREAT day."
So far, it has been. I needed a bit of my humility back and I got it.
Now let's go for the silver.
domingo, 17 de abril de 2011
Everybody was Kung Fu Fightiiiiiiing...
Having my wounds healed, I decided to take it up a notch and double-turn my lessons to twice a day for 6 days a week. The teacher told me three things.
1) I was mad as a hatter.
2) I'd be dead by the end of the month.
3) If I wasn't dead by the end of the month, I would've leveled up faster than Speedy Gonzales on Red Bull.
Well, it's been a week since I started going twice a day and I already got new wounds. You know, the purple, nasty-looking ones. But then again, they don't hurt anymore after a day. Cuz I'm the goddamned Batman.
This week was GREAT on me, first I got great news about my college, then I got a very special message, followed by me totally OWNING my pals at DOTA on saturday ( Which is rare, since I prettymuch suck badly at that game ). And last but not least, I watched two game trailers that made me fangasm with the force of a thousand suns.
Megaman Online.
Fullstop.
For years, my megaman-loving ass has been ACHING for a new appearance of X, or a crossover between Classic/X series. And I got two trailers that show an appearently time-rip that allows robot masters and mavericks unite and storm the whole world, bringing Megaman, Protoman, Bass, X, Axl, Zero and Co to an alliance against the biggest god damn threat the Megaman universe has ever faced.
Did I mention I came? Because I did.
And no shitty gameplay-based trailers, no sir. Epic electronic bgm, beatiful OVA-like intros with a VERY nice artstyle that perfectly combines the styles of both the X and Zero series, thus FINALLY shutting up the saps claiming that Zero looked too girly in MMZ ( Its a blond guy with a ponytail and an armor with green boob-like gems. Whoop de fucking doo ).
Ahhhh this week has been great. I'm too beat to keep writing and I just hope that God, AKA The Man Upstairs, The Big Cheese, has some nice surprises in store for me. Because as of now, I'm thankful. So friggin thankful.
1) I was mad as a hatter.
2) I'd be dead by the end of the month.
3) If I wasn't dead by the end of the month, I would've leveled up faster than Speedy Gonzales on Red Bull.
Well, it's been a week since I started going twice a day and I already got new wounds. You know, the purple, nasty-looking ones. But then again, they don't hurt anymore after a day. Cuz I'm the goddamned Batman.
This week was GREAT on me, first I got great news about my college, then I got a very special message, followed by me totally OWNING my pals at DOTA on saturday ( Which is rare, since I prettymuch suck badly at that game ). And last but not least, I watched two game trailers that made me fangasm with the force of a thousand suns.
Megaman Online.
Fullstop.
For years, my megaman-loving ass has been ACHING for a new appearance of X, or a crossover between Classic/X series. And I got two trailers that show an appearently time-rip that allows robot masters and mavericks unite and storm the whole world, bringing Megaman, Protoman, Bass, X, Axl, Zero and Co to an alliance against the biggest god damn threat the Megaman universe has ever faced.
Did I mention I came? Because I did.
And no shitty gameplay-based trailers, no sir. Epic electronic bgm, beatiful OVA-like intros with a VERY nice artstyle that perfectly combines the styles of both the X and Zero series, thus FINALLY shutting up the saps claiming that Zero looked too girly in MMZ ( Its a blond guy with a ponytail and an armor with green boob-like gems. Whoop de fucking doo ).
Ahhhh this week has been great. I'm too beat to keep writing and I just hope that God, AKA The Man Upstairs, The Big Cheese, has some nice surprises in store for me. Because as of now, I'm thankful. So friggin thankful.
viernes, 1 de abril de 2011
Bravery + Idiocy = GOD FUCKING DAMN IT, IT HURTS!
Yes, this is gonna be ANOTHER post about how badly I got beaten up in Muay Thai. Don't blame me, I just started a month ago and I just fought a regional champion today. Fuck, I won 3 out of 9 rounds. Don't look at me that way bucko, let's see you doing better. That's what I thought. In any case, the construct of flesh once known as my left cheek is swollen, so is my right eye and my jaw hurts like hell. Let me explain why in a very detailed flashback
( Suggested soundtrack for reading this : Eye of the Tiger by Survivor )
"Go!"
The alarm bell rang and the next thing I knew, I was pit against the regional champion. Looking at this guy fully clothed you'd thing he's more of the dancer type than a fighter. Once he takes off the shirt and reveals he's ripped as fuck, you take that back and start peeing a little. Gladly not my case since my last 3 spars had allowed me to have an excuse to go to the bathroom to splash my face and take a leak. Because boy, does that make you wanna go. In any case, I was already on the arena so all I had left to choose was either :
a) Beg for mercy.
b) Pretend to faint.
c) Take it like a boss.
d) Pretend to be an Anime protagonist and hope to God I had a 'Berserk' mode in case I was about to die.
Needless to say, I choose 'c' and 'd'. Although 'b' didn't sound that bad since I've taken acting classes but whatever. I raised my fist and we shared a brofist. A dojo custom, makes you feel all the more informal and relaxed about getting your ass handed to ya. And to add insult to injury, this guy has a kickass motorcycle and would do a better Wesker lookalike than me. Fuck. So with this chain of thoughts in my head, the next thing I noticed was a kick. Aiming for my face. Fast. With the reflexes of an anime enthusiast, I managed to block the hit with my arm, thus absorbing the shock. Which sort of dislocated my shoulder. Two seconds in, and I was already losing limbs. Without much time to react, I ducked and evaded a second kick, this time a roundhouse. A fucking roundhouse. I was sure now that this guy wanted to kill me or maybe just see what my blood looked like.
I should mention at this point, my specialization in ANY sort of fight is dodging. Yes, it makes me look like a pussy. No, it's not gay at all since I'll probably outlive you when the ninjas rise again. And no, I can't do the Matrix bullet time dodge. Yet.
Appearently acknowledging that I required special service, he started throwing middle roundhouses aimed for my ribs. Only one of those connected, making me lose air for at least 4 seconds. Next thing, I took advantage of the moment he spin so I ducked and delivered a Shoryuken to the jaw.
Fucking blocked.
With his foot.
This was the moment I realized I really DID need anime powers in order to survive this. With the force of a thousand douchebags, I pushed my blocked hit further in order to de-estabilize him and then, my face hit the floor. I had been punched fully on one side of the face and could no longer feel it. I knew something was bleeding since I felt the coppery taste on my mouth. Not to mention my teeth hurt. I was starting to lose my cool. I stood up and faked a right kick, he fell for it and blocked so I kicked his opposite thigh, right in the nerves. It worked, making his stance a litte shaky, so I proceeded to unleash the fury of a 7 hit combo consisting of jab, swing, swing, charged punch, forward kick and jab. While I succeeded in connecting the blows, the guy merely absorbed each and every hit like I was throwing fucking Nerf darts at him. I charged another punch and aimed for the chest. Which proved to be a big mistake.
I got hit by a direct jab to the nose.
I stepped back a bit teary. Nobody fucks with the nose. I'm lucky I didn't get my dad's nose so nobody, but NOOOOOOOOOOBODY fuck with the NOSE. I inhaled deeply and decided to do another approach. When he started throwing punches at me, I cloistered up, absorbing each hit with my dislocated elbow. Maybe just maybe...
it worked.
At last, years of watching cartoons paid off. He delivered a blow that hit my elbow, placing it on its right place again. I confess I copied that maneuver from a series but fuck you, it worked. It was then when I ripped off Akuma from Street Fighters.
"SHUNGOKUSATSU!" ( Yes, I actually yelled that out loud in the middle of the fight. Yes, it was ridiculous. No, I don't regret it. )
For anyone who has played Street Fighters, you know what ensues. I started delivering punches, kicks, changing positions and repeating and connecting different combos without stopping. My arms and legs hurt like hell since doing this in a rapid motion is key for the move to work, and it is NOT good to force your body that way. But hell, I was already past the 'Wanna piece of me?' threshold. After what I can only remember as a blurry succession of moves, I couldn't bear the pain any more and stopped. Seems I actually hit him hard this time because I could see him smiling under his guard. With several reddish spots all over his arms, legs and chest.
"What, no hitting the face JD?"
"I don't hit the face dude. Not my style."
"JD, this is a sport. You could've dealt more damage if you hit me in the face."
"I won't hit you in the face, dammit. It hurts."
"Exactly. I did it to you, now do it to me."
"Dude, let me fight in my own style."
"You're dead."
He was right. I realized then that I did not possess enough brute force to produce hit trauma on him. I was hoping to hit his limbs and chest badly enough to cripple his moveset, but never the face. Not the face. I used to get hit the face by other kids when I was small. So never, ever the face.
Mind you, my kicks are powerful and this guy knew it. But appearently, I made a fatal mistake by informing him I would not attack the face. He changed his whole defence stance to body-protection type and I was prettymuch screwed. Not only did I have to break through his defence to deal a ( now weakened ) blow, but I also had to deal with a martial pacifist's worst nightmare :
Headbutts.
Funny thing about headbutts is that both parts get hurt, but only the target gets a fucked up stability. His first headbutt hit me full in the forehead, making me step back yet again. Only to notice something that seriously made me both enraged and terrified.
My father had arrived early and was watching the whole thing.
Now, I'm not the nervous 'Gotta live to daddy's expectations' type. But hell, one thing is to fight a dude who can reduce you to a bloody pulp, but it is another thing entirely to do it in front of you DAD. There's an unspoken rule amongst the brotherhood of men that states you do NOT get beat up in front of your dad. Ever. I think that's when my berserker kicked on.
Pretending to not have seen him, I delivered an uppercut to his jaw, only to receive and exact replica of my move from him. We both got hit, but only I was lifted a few centimeters form the floor. My eyes were teary again because fuck, that shit hurts. And now I could only see with my right eye. I didn't want to look at my father. I didn't want to look and see if he was indiferent, horrified, dissapointed or cheering. I just didn't want to look away because this guy would destroy me the moment one of my feelings leaked out.
Then I got a charged punch in the stomach, making me gasp for air and hit the wall behind me. The man didn't stop, delivering punches to my chest, stomach and face, and I tried to block most of them. I didn't want to lose in front of my father. I have my pride. I didn't want to lose in something I had chose to do. But why did I chose to do it in the first place? What was worth fighting for? Dad? Physique? Popularity? Her?
My dodging instinct kicked in and made me roll to the side, jumping up and delivering a punch backed up with the force of my whole body to his ribs.
It hit.
"The fuck?"
" I'm sorry, didn't mean to hurt you badly."
"Not that, moron, you're smiling. You fucking like pain, weirdo."
He was right in one thing : I was suddenly smiling for some reason, even though my lower lip was bleeding. The thought of her? It was the most likely option. I felt sort of refreshed even though my body felt like spontaneously combusting. Not the thought of 'being' with her. Just her. As she was. Smiling back. It made me smile subconciously.
And then I got a punch to the face, making me fly towards the wall again. Reality was calling me back.
I realized right there that I wasn't going to lose. The guy had won 6 sets, but there were 3 left. I wasn't gonna 'defeat' him. It wasn't going to end that way. But I wasn't gonna lose. Not now. He delivered a rounhouse kick to my ribs, I blocked it with my leg, he coutered with a swing punch, covered my face with my elbow and shoulder. I dashed to the side, breaking the cornered situation I had gotten in, took advantage of him giving me his back and delivered what I call a Right Hand Break. It's exactly what the name implies : I hit him with a right punch, so hard that it can potentially break my hand.
Yes, I name my attacks. No, I'm not kidding. Ask around.
In any case, my hand didn't break, but my wrist was done for. I'd have to do with left punches from now on. The lack of water and oxygen were already taxing me, and the strain from the shungokusatsu was already palpitating throughout my entire body. I was physically unable to move anymore unless I wanted cramps everywhere, but I didn't want to stop. My decrease in mobility took away my dodging bonus, hence rendering me open to every blow. I absorbed them all, but always returning in kind. I could almost feel my vision going blurry from sweat and fatigue.
The bell rang.
I fell on my butt, exhausted. My T-shirt was sticking to my body, drenched in sweat. It looked like I had fell on a pool. The guy aimed his fist toward me. We brofisted again, in respect.
"You kicked me in the balls once dude. Not cool. You need to control your kicks better."
"Holy shit I'm sorry ma-"
"Don't worry. Just relax, don't push yourself. You won 3 rounds out of 9. Against me. That's enough to get you laid."
I was physically unable to chuckle at this point but I smiled a bit. It was then when I noticed my dad was gone. Of course he had. He couldn't bear it. I picked up my stuff and took my white wristbands off. There were red spots in it. My lip was still bleeding when I rubbed them against it. I headed to the bathroom. Took a shirt out of bag and put it on after drying myself off. I'd shower at home better. The teacher walked in.
"Not once, JD. That's good."
"Ah?"
"Not once did you hit his face. Maybe you don't realize it, but you stopped your fist inches from his face 3 times dude. You're an idiot, but you at least stand by your beliefs. Which are stupid to me, mind you. You'll learn eventually. Get some ice on your face."
Considering the kindest thing this guy had spurted up to this point had been something among the lines of "MOVE YOUR ASS, FUCKING HOMOSEXUAL! KICK WITH FORCE, MOVING YOUR ASS LIKE THE BITCH YOU ARE!", it was clear that somehow, he had softened up a bit after my display of idiocy and reluctance to bail out.
Because it was supposed to be only 6 rounds.
I put a shirt on, walked outside carrying my stuff and saw my dad's car outside. I opened the side door and sat inside.
"Sorry for dissapointing you."
He started the engine and remained silent for the entire trip home.
When we arrived, he patted me on the shoulder softly.
"When I was your age, I got beat up by a bunch of seniors in military school. For two days, the bastards bothered me. Wanna know what I did?" he didn't wait for an answer " Next day I challenged them to a fight in breaktime, in front of everyone. Obviously, they weren't gonna say 'no', so they ganged up against me. That that I broke my nose, son. I also lost that fight."
"Your point being, winning is not everything?"
"My point being, your uncle Carlos was one of those three guys. Your uncle Carlos who is your godfather and wants you to spend more time with his sons. Your uncle Carlos my best friend. Because the fight lasted nearly half an hour and I didn't once kick them in the balls or the face even though they did."
"...And they became your friends because you showed restraint."
"They became my friends because I respected them even in a fight. We were best friend with the three of them up until now. I have lunch with your uncle Carlos next week."
He hugged me, and wasn't aware of how much it hurt when he did, but I didn't protest.
"My point being, I am proud. Your brother won a lot of fights, but hr never knew limits. You set limits even when you were getting beaten up. I love you, son."
"...You're Mr. Miyagi, aren't you."
"SEE? YOU CAN'T TAKE ANYTHING SEROUSLY, DAMMIT!"
I finish writing this post with a swollen cheek, a hurt jaw, a bleeding lip, a hurting nose probably a dislocated wrist. And I feel damn good.
Thanks Q, for not giving up on me. And for being a precious part of a living memory I'll reach someday.
( Suggested soundtrack for reading this : Eye of the Tiger by Survivor )
"Go!"
The alarm bell rang and the next thing I knew, I was pit against the regional champion. Looking at this guy fully clothed you'd thing he's more of the dancer type than a fighter. Once he takes off the shirt and reveals he's ripped as fuck, you take that back and start peeing a little. Gladly not my case since my last 3 spars had allowed me to have an excuse to go to the bathroom to splash my face and take a leak. Because boy, does that make you wanna go. In any case, I was already on the arena so all I had left to choose was either :
a) Beg for mercy.
b) Pretend to faint.
c) Take it like a boss.
d) Pretend to be an Anime protagonist and hope to God I had a 'Berserk' mode in case I was about to die.
Needless to say, I choose 'c' and 'd'. Although 'b' didn't sound that bad since I've taken acting classes but whatever. I raised my fist and we shared a brofist. A dojo custom, makes you feel all the more informal and relaxed about getting your ass handed to ya. And to add insult to injury, this guy has a kickass motorcycle and would do a better Wesker lookalike than me. Fuck. So with this chain of thoughts in my head, the next thing I noticed was a kick. Aiming for my face. Fast. With the reflexes of an anime enthusiast, I managed to block the hit with my arm, thus absorbing the shock. Which sort of dislocated my shoulder. Two seconds in, and I was already losing limbs. Without much time to react, I ducked and evaded a second kick, this time a roundhouse. A fucking roundhouse. I was sure now that this guy wanted to kill me or maybe just see what my blood looked like.
I should mention at this point, my specialization in ANY sort of fight is dodging. Yes, it makes me look like a pussy. No, it's not gay at all since I'll probably outlive you when the ninjas rise again. And no, I can't do the Matrix bullet time dodge. Yet.
Appearently acknowledging that I required special service, he started throwing middle roundhouses aimed for my ribs. Only one of those connected, making me lose air for at least 4 seconds. Next thing, I took advantage of the moment he spin so I ducked and delivered a Shoryuken to the jaw.
Fucking blocked.
With his foot.
This was the moment I realized I really DID need anime powers in order to survive this. With the force of a thousand douchebags, I pushed my blocked hit further in order to de-estabilize him and then, my face hit the floor. I had been punched fully on one side of the face and could no longer feel it. I knew something was bleeding since I felt the coppery taste on my mouth. Not to mention my teeth hurt. I was starting to lose my cool. I stood up and faked a right kick, he fell for it and blocked so I kicked his opposite thigh, right in the nerves. It worked, making his stance a litte shaky, so I proceeded to unleash the fury of a 7 hit combo consisting of jab, swing, swing, charged punch, forward kick and jab. While I succeeded in connecting the blows, the guy merely absorbed each and every hit like I was throwing fucking Nerf darts at him. I charged another punch and aimed for the chest. Which proved to be a big mistake.
I got hit by a direct jab to the nose.
I stepped back a bit teary. Nobody fucks with the nose. I'm lucky I didn't get my dad's nose so nobody, but NOOOOOOOOOOBODY fuck with the NOSE. I inhaled deeply and decided to do another approach. When he started throwing punches at me, I cloistered up, absorbing each hit with my dislocated elbow. Maybe just maybe...
it worked.
At last, years of watching cartoons paid off. He delivered a blow that hit my elbow, placing it on its right place again. I confess I copied that maneuver from a series but fuck you, it worked. It was then when I ripped off Akuma from Street Fighters.
"SHUNGOKUSATSU!" ( Yes, I actually yelled that out loud in the middle of the fight. Yes, it was ridiculous. No, I don't regret it. )
For anyone who has played Street Fighters, you know what ensues. I started delivering punches, kicks, changing positions and repeating and connecting different combos without stopping. My arms and legs hurt like hell since doing this in a rapid motion is key for the move to work, and it is NOT good to force your body that way. But hell, I was already past the 'Wanna piece of me?' threshold. After what I can only remember as a blurry succession of moves, I couldn't bear the pain any more and stopped. Seems I actually hit him hard this time because I could see him smiling under his guard. With several reddish spots all over his arms, legs and chest.
"What, no hitting the face JD?"
"I don't hit the face dude. Not my style."
"JD, this is a sport. You could've dealt more damage if you hit me in the face."
"I won't hit you in the face, dammit. It hurts."
"Exactly. I did it to you, now do it to me."
"Dude, let me fight in my own style."
"You're dead."
He was right. I realized then that I did not possess enough brute force to produce hit trauma on him. I was hoping to hit his limbs and chest badly enough to cripple his moveset, but never the face. Not the face. I used to get hit the face by other kids when I was small. So never, ever the face.
Mind you, my kicks are powerful and this guy knew it. But appearently, I made a fatal mistake by informing him I would not attack the face. He changed his whole defence stance to body-protection type and I was prettymuch screwed. Not only did I have to break through his defence to deal a ( now weakened ) blow, but I also had to deal with a martial pacifist's worst nightmare :
Headbutts.
Funny thing about headbutts is that both parts get hurt, but only the target gets a fucked up stability. His first headbutt hit me full in the forehead, making me step back yet again. Only to notice something that seriously made me both enraged and terrified.
My father had arrived early and was watching the whole thing.
Now, I'm not the nervous 'Gotta live to daddy's expectations' type. But hell, one thing is to fight a dude who can reduce you to a bloody pulp, but it is another thing entirely to do it in front of you DAD. There's an unspoken rule amongst the brotherhood of men that states you do NOT get beat up in front of your dad. Ever. I think that's when my berserker kicked on.
Pretending to not have seen him, I delivered an uppercut to his jaw, only to receive and exact replica of my move from him. We both got hit, but only I was lifted a few centimeters form the floor. My eyes were teary again because fuck, that shit hurts. And now I could only see with my right eye. I didn't want to look at my father. I didn't want to look and see if he was indiferent, horrified, dissapointed or cheering. I just didn't want to look away because this guy would destroy me the moment one of my feelings leaked out.
Then I got a charged punch in the stomach, making me gasp for air and hit the wall behind me. The man didn't stop, delivering punches to my chest, stomach and face, and I tried to block most of them. I didn't want to lose in front of my father. I have my pride. I didn't want to lose in something I had chose to do. But why did I chose to do it in the first place? What was worth fighting for? Dad? Physique? Popularity? Her?
My dodging instinct kicked in and made me roll to the side, jumping up and delivering a punch backed up with the force of my whole body to his ribs.
It hit.
"The fuck?"
" I'm sorry, didn't mean to hurt you badly."
"Not that, moron, you're smiling. You fucking like pain, weirdo."
He was right in one thing : I was suddenly smiling for some reason, even though my lower lip was bleeding. The thought of her? It was the most likely option. I felt sort of refreshed even though my body felt like spontaneously combusting. Not the thought of 'being' with her. Just her. As she was. Smiling back. It made me smile subconciously.
And then I got a punch to the face, making me fly towards the wall again. Reality was calling me back.
I realized right there that I wasn't going to lose. The guy had won 6 sets, but there were 3 left. I wasn't gonna 'defeat' him. It wasn't going to end that way. But I wasn't gonna lose. Not now. He delivered a rounhouse kick to my ribs, I blocked it with my leg, he coutered with a swing punch, covered my face with my elbow and shoulder. I dashed to the side, breaking the cornered situation I had gotten in, took advantage of him giving me his back and delivered what I call a Right Hand Break. It's exactly what the name implies : I hit him with a right punch, so hard that it can potentially break my hand.
Yes, I name my attacks. No, I'm not kidding. Ask around.
In any case, my hand didn't break, but my wrist was done for. I'd have to do with left punches from now on. The lack of water and oxygen were already taxing me, and the strain from the shungokusatsu was already palpitating throughout my entire body. I was physically unable to move anymore unless I wanted cramps everywhere, but I didn't want to stop. My decrease in mobility took away my dodging bonus, hence rendering me open to every blow. I absorbed them all, but always returning in kind. I could almost feel my vision going blurry from sweat and fatigue.
The bell rang.
I fell on my butt, exhausted. My T-shirt was sticking to my body, drenched in sweat. It looked like I had fell on a pool. The guy aimed his fist toward me. We brofisted again, in respect.
"You kicked me in the balls once dude. Not cool. You need to control your kicks better."
"Holy shit I'm sorry ma-"
"Don't worry. Just relax, don't push yourself. You won 3 rounds out of 9. Against me. That's enough to get you laid."
I was physically unable to chuckle at this point but I smiled a bit. It was then when I noticed my dad was gone. Of course he had. He couldn't bear it. I picked up my stuff and took my white wristbands off. There were red spots in it. My lip was still bleeding when I rubbed them against it. I headed to the bathroom. Took a shirt out of bag and put it on after drying myself off. I'd shower at home better. The teacher walked in.
"Not once, JD. That's good."
"Ah?"
"Not once did you hit his face. Maybe you don't realize it, but you stopped your fist inches from his face 3 times dude. You're an idiot, but you at least stand by your beliefs. Which are stupid to me, mind you. You'll learn eventually. Get some ice on your face."
Considering the kindest thing this guy had spurted up to this point had been something among the lines of "MOVE YOUR ASS, FUCKING HOMOSEXUAL! KICK WITH FORCE, MOVING YOUR ASS LIKE THE BITCH YOU ARE!", it was clear that somehow, he had softened up a bit after my display of idiocy and reluctance to bail out.
Because it was supposed to be only 6 rounds.
I put a shirt on, walked outside carrying my stuff and saw my dad's car outside. I opened the side door and sat inside.
"Sorry for dissapointing you."
He started the engine and remained silent for the entire trip home.
When we arrived, he patted me on the shoulder softly.
"When I was your age, I got beat up by a bunch of seniors in military school. For two days, the bastards bothered me. Wanna know what I did?" he didn't wait for an answer " Next day I challenged them to a fight in breaktime, in front of everyone. Obviously, they weren't gonna say 'no', so they ganged up against me. That that I broke my nose, son. I also lost that fight."
"Your point being, winning is not everything?"
"My point being, your uncle Carlos was one of those three guys. Your uncle Carlos who is your godfather and wants you to spend more time with his sons. Your uncle Carlos my best friend. Because the fight lasted nearly half an hour and I didn't once kick them in the balls or the face even though they did."
"...And they became your friends because you showed restraint."
"They became my friends because I respected them even in a fight. We were best friend with the three of them up until now. I have lunch with your uncle Carlos next week."
He hugged me, and wasn't aware of how much it hurt when he did, but I didn't protest.
"My point being, I am proud. Your brother won a lot of fights, but hr never knew limits. You set limits even when you were getting beaten up. I love you, son."
"...You're Mr. Miyagi, aren't you."
"SEE? YOU CAN'T TAKE ANYTHING SEROUSLY, DAMMIT!"
I finish writing this post with a swollen cheek, a hurt jaw, a bleeding lip, a hurting nose probably a dislocated wrist. And I feel damn good.
Thanks Q, for not giving up on me. And for being a precious part of a living memory I'll reach someday.
sábado, 26 de marzo de 2011
In a forgotten dirtroad
A couple of years ago, there was an earthquake in one of Peru's cities. Chincha. It was a major national tragedy. It happened while I was abroad. I watched on tv the shrieks of desperation from families trying to get their loved ones rescued, or at least have their bodies recovered. It was awful, yes, but as any other person exposed to the mass media, I thought to myself "This happens all the time. Around the globe, this happens and not every case gets a spotlight.". I told that to myself and I believed it. I was able to forget for a bit.
By the way, if you're expecting the funny parts of this entry you'll have to wait up. I have some serious words to give first. Now, exactly 18 hours ago I decided to embark into a missionary trip to Chincha city. Why? Because in every process of growing up and trying to cope with yourself and your mistakes, one must learn to see the world from another's eyes. It is the most simple and yet most difficult thing to do. In any case, I packed up my Barney the Dinosaur hand puppet, a minibible ( for the puppet ) and hit the road alongside my good friends Viewtiful Shaun, Renzo, PP, Percy and others. The 3 hour trip in the blazing sun of the coast was not a pain in the ass due to the sheer amount of planning we were focused on.
Oh did I mention we planned the show like, just 2 hours before doing it?
Yup. I just did.
In any case, I was to do a Christian Barney hand puppet read the bible for 120 kids. The Good Samaritan, namely. Now you might be wondering "What's the big deal?". Well, I'll start by saying that kids are not stupid. They know they get more props by acting stupid ( Hell, I used to do that ) and thus, they outsmart adults many many times.
Poor/Street kids, however, are on another league entirely.
Their cynism level rivals that of a fully grown adult, their skill in the arts of making you feel sorry and do shit for them is remarkably deadly. They also have the nasty tendency to make stuff dissapear whenever they :
a)Don't like you
b)Don't think you're funny enough
c)Like your shit
d)All of the above
Again, let me repeat. I was to perform a handpuppet Barney the Christian Dinosaur show for 120 of those kids.
120.
Needless to say, bricks were shat when I arrived there and saw the marabunta of little lovable rascals. I never get myself to feel annoyed with kids no matter how undeniably anooying they are. Maybe because I consider myself an overgrown kid. In any case, I smiled widely and greeted them as if they were my age, giving High-Fives to any kid that would not be busy trying to ransack me. Surprisingly enough, they seemed to like that and my backpack was safe for the entirety of the trip. Note to self : Kids will not bother you if you can earn their trust and respect. Mainly by not talking down to them. In any case, they were mostly covered in dirt and I suspect some of that wasn't exactly 'dirt' dirt. But to be honest I didn't care. Children are always a weakspot to me. Again, my inner child runs free in my psyche.
Hence, I only noticed that my hand was dirty when I was already behind the curtain and trying to get the hand puppet on. I decided I could care less, and wiped it on my Hurley shirt. Because I'd rather ruin a half-decent shirt than start having prejudices against little kids and their physical condition.
Alas, the show had started. I went into full-on Barney mode, trying to copy, emulate and reproduce all of the purple dinosaur's mannerisms...with my hand. And well, my voice helped. I knew that kids wouldn't buy some half assed 'Dude behind the curtain reads the bible' shit, so I dropped in some 4th wall breaking jokes, tv references, some fart jokes ( kids dig that ) and added a bit of my over-the-top personality to the hand puppet in order to make it look more alive.
It worked.
My pals helped me along with the play by enacting the scenes Barney narrated, and the kids liked it. I enjoyed myself even though I was practically boiling behind that curtain ( Again, Chincha is VERY HOT these days ) but it was worth every sweat drop. As a finale, Barney decided to go 'downstairs to go back to his car and drive to his home'. A little bit of 'getting fat these days' joking and voila. Show was over. It lasted at least 20 minutes of improvising. Again, we succeeded in this and with one of the toughest crowds to please. Not to mention the ages ranged from 6 to 13. And both you and I KNOW what that combination can do.
After the show, I was asked to give some sort of peppy speech to the kids. I decided to go Anime Shounen Hero at them and talked about how no matter the suck-level of situations, one can always get past it with willpower, faith and patience. Now, telling cyinical, impulsive and street savvy kids about patience, faith and willpower is not an easy task, mind you. So at first they looked at me with a clear 'Get back to the hand puppet shit' face.
Until I started talking about superheroes.
Boy, it was amazing to see just how easy it was for me to relate to them and their chain of thoughts. I discovered right there that I had been arrogant in my intention. I had gone there to try and teach the kids about Christianity. But these poor, dirty and nearly illiterate kids were teaching me so much about the world that I had ignored and forgotten for so long. I remembered what it was like to make a friend without looking at what he was wearing. I had forgotten how nice it was to play in a forgotten dirtroad without caring about the filth in your clothes. I let my 18-year old self share with these kids a passion for fun and games that I confess, I often repressed. I remember how it is not okay to forget to be a kid. I remembered how I am supposed to do random and childish things once in a while.
I remembered what it was like to be blissfully happy, without a care in the world.
Just lying on the dirty pavement, exhausted from playing. Exhausted and happy.
I remembered what is was like to love someone without even knowing that person entirely.
And a bunch of street kids taught me that in the four hours of the event.
It was both a well-deserved slap to my pride and a wise lesson to learn. These kids lived basically in huts. Flies would often invade the place. They didn't know what the internet was. They didn't know they were supposed to one day, make a choice about a carrier or job. They weren't AWARE of the fact that day by day, adults fuck up the world that is supposed to be their inheritance. And they're happier than I'll ever be. Their smiles are more radiant and true than mine in my best hour. I can never hope to smile like that.
But I also learned that nevertheless, I have to smile.
Always smile.
I love you, kids. Thanks for teaching me how much of an immature prick I can be.
I'm definitely coming back there. When I do, I'll enjoy time with those kids again. Without caring if I ruin another shirt, or if they just put up with me to get free gifts. I seriously don't care. I'm sure they don't. Whenever I am called to go there, I will. Because I already owe them a lot.
Because they brought my spirits up. And reminded me that some things are worth waiting for.
So this entry is dedicated to the kids in Chincha, and every kid that is able to see a world of fantasy and wonder amidst this hellhole we call 'tragedy'.
We'll need that kind of people someday. I'm sure we will.
Night peeps.
By the way, if you're expecting the funny parts of this entry you'll have to wait up. I have some serious words to give first. Now, exactly 18 hours ago I decided to embark into a missionary trip to Chincha city. Why? Because in every process of growing up and trying to cope with yourself and your mistakes, one must learn to see the world from another's eyes. It is the most simple and yet most difficult thing to do. In any case, I packed up my Barney the Dinosaur hand puppet, a minibible ( for the puppet ) and hit the road alongside my good friends Viewtiful Shaun, Renzo, PP, Percy and others. The 3 hour trip in the blazing sun of the coast was not a pain in the ass due to the sheer amount of planning we were focused on.
Oh did I mention we planned the show like, just 2 hours before doing it?
Yup. I just did.
In any case, I was to do a Christian Barney hand puppet read the bible for 120 kids. The Good Samaritan, namely. Now you might be wondering "What's the big deal?". Well, I'll start by saying that kids are not stupid. They know they get more props by acting stupid ( Hell, I used to do that ) and thus, they outsmart adults many many times.
Poor/Street kids, however, are on another league entirely.
Their cynism level rivals that of a fully grown adult, their skill in the arts of making you feel sorry and do shit for them is remarkably deadly. They also have the nasty tendency to make stuff dissapear whenever they :
a)Don't like you
b)Don't think you're funny enough
c)Like your shit
d)All of the above
Again, let me repeat. I was to perform a handpuppet Barney the Christian Dinosaur show for 120 of those kids.
120.
Needless to say, bricks were shat when I arrived there and saw the marabunta of little lovable rascals. I never get myself to feel annoyed with kids no matter how undeniably anooying they are. Maybe because I consider myself an overgrown kid. In any case, I smiled widely and greeted them as if they were my age, giving High-Fives to any kid that would not be busy trying to ransack me. Surprisingly enough, they seemed to like that and my backpack was safe for the entirety of the trip. Note to self : Kids will not bother you if you can earn their trust and respect. Mainly by not talking down to them. In any case, they were mostly covered in dirt and I suspect some of that wasn't exactly 'dirt' dirt. But to be honest I didn't care. Children are always a weakspot to me. Again, my inner child runs free in my psyche.
Hence, I only noticed that my hand was dirty when I was already behind the curtain and trying to get the hand puppet on. I decided I could care less, and wiped it on my Hurley shirt. Because I'd rather ruin a half-decent shirt than start having prejudices against little kids and their physical condition.
Alas, the show had started. I went into full-on Barney mode, trying to copy, emulate and reproduce all of the purple dinosaur's mannerisms...with my hand. And well, my voice helped. I knew that kids wouldn't buy some half assed 'Dude behind the curtain reads the bible' shit, so I dropped in some 4th wall breaking jokes, tv references, some fart jokes ( kids dig that ) and added a bit of my over-the-top personality to the hand puppet in order to make it look more alive.
It worked.
My pals helped me along with the play by enacting the scenes Barney narrated, and the kids liked it. I enjoyed myself even though I was practically boiling behind that curtain ( Again, Chincha is VERY HOT these days ) but it was worth every sweat drop. As a finale, Barney decided to go 'downstairs to go back to his car and drive to his home'. A little bit of 'getting fat these days' joking and voila. Show was over. It lasted at least 20 minutes of improvising. Again, we succeeded in this and with one of the toughest crowds to please. Not to mention the ages ranged from 6 to 13. And both you and I KNOW what that combination can do.
After the show, I was asked to give some sort of peppy speech to the kids. I decided to go Anime Shounen Hero at them and talked about how no matter the suck-level of situations, one can always get past it with willpower, faith and patience. Now, telling cyinical, impulsive and street savvy kids about patience, faith and willpower is not an easy task, mind you. So at first they looked at me with a clear 'Get back to the hand puppet shit' face.
Until I started talking about superheroes.
Boy, it was amazing to see just how easy it was for me to relate to them and their chain of thoughts. I discovered right there that I had been arrogant in my intention. I had gone there to try and teach the kids about Christianity. But these poor, dirty and nearly illiterate kids were teaching me so much about the world that I had ignored and forgotten for so long. I remembered what it was like to make a friend without looking at what he was wearing. I had forgotten how nice it was to play in a forgotten dirtroad without caring about the filth in your clothes. I let my 18-year old self share with these kids a passion for fun and games that I confess, I often repressed. I remember how it is not okay to forget to be a kid. I remembered how I am supposed to do random and childish things once in a while.
I remembered what it was like to be blissfully happy, without a care in the world.
Just lying on the dirty pavement, exhausted from playing. Exhausted and happy.
I remembered what is was like to love someone without even knowing that person entirely.
And a bunch of street kids taught me that in the four hours of the event.
It was both a well-deserved slap to my pride and a wise lesson to learn. These kids lived basically in huts. Flies would often invade the place. They didn't know what the internet was. They didn't know they were supposed to one day, make a choice about a carrier or job. They weren't AWARE of the fact that day by day, adults fuck up the world that is supposed to be their inheritance. And they're happier than I'll ever be. Their smiles are more radiant and true than mine in my best hour. I can never hope to smile like that.
But I also learned that nevertheless, I have to smile.
Always smile.
I love you, kids. Thanks for teaching me how much of an immature prick I can be.
I'm definitely coming back there. When I do, I'll enjoy time with those kids again. Without caring if I ruin another shirt, or if they just put up with me to get free gifts. I seriously don't care. I'm sure they don't. Whenever I am called to go there, I will. Because I already owe them a lot.
Because they brought my spirits up. And reminded me that some things are worth waiting for.
So this entry is dedicated to the kids in Chincha, and every kid that is able to see a world of fantasy and wonder amidst this hellhole we call 'tragedy'.
We'll need that kind of people someday. I'm sure we will.
Night peeps.
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