Stalking Mr. Socrates

Stalking Mr. Socrates

On the summer before my 12^th birthday, we got shipped off to San Jose for our annual summer vacation. That was the summer that Tito Nap passed away and we had to attend his funeral. Right after that, Mama and Papa were off to some conference in Geneva. That was the summer I had the mumps. I walked around the house with some dreadful violet pigmented medicine below my jaw line. All the boys avoided me for two weeks. They told me they wanted to have children when they reach adulthood. I was a complete pariah for a couple of weeks of my 2 month summer vacation. To make matters worst, my hair caught fire from some candle during the funeral procession .

That was also the summer I woke up in the room of my Mamang Jo and Papa Ling, where I slept and saw this horrible headless apparition coming towards me. I screamed but no sound came out and the next day I completely lost my voice. I tried to make Manny, my favorite cousin, and Raffy admit that it was just a trick but to no avail. That was the summer I was on the verge of teen hood. That was the summer I fell in love at first sight with my second cousin Dave.

I was already a budding stalker at 11. Early in the morning I would take the tricycle to Tito Angeling’s house and they would feed me breakfast or give me some powdered orange juice to drink. I would leaf through Dave’s yearbook , look at his medals for academic excellence or just hang on to every word my uncle and aunt would tell me about what a great son and student he was. Sometimes, Boy his younger brother who was about my age would take pity on me and actually come out and talk to me. I would go through some of Dave's more erudite term papers with high scores in red that his parents kept. There was a thesis on Socrates which I devoured in its entirety when deep in side me I asked who the heck is Mr.Socrates.

In the meantime, Dave would take his time waking up and grooming, after all it was summer vacation. When he finally emerged from his room, there was only enough time for him to practically gobble up his breakfast, and wave a good bye as he headed off to the plaza to meet his barkada. I didn’t know any better I was still a child after all and I was more than thrilled when he just said hello to me. I didn’t know then that love was returned by the object of one’s affection.

I would then go off to the beach with my cousins , ate halo halo with ube ice cream and corn flakes at Cindy’s or just hang around the gasoline station or ice plant that various aunts and uncles owned. In the afternoon, I would pester Manang Cora to take me to the basketball court near the church to watch the older boys including Dave show off their dexterity shooting hoops to the delight of girls their age. I would take Gani my youngest brother and Jay my cousin who were toddlers and the same age. They were so cute that the girls would come to us and actually pinch their cheeks. I was such a pest I had to admit. And Dave completely ignored my existence. Well not really, when Manang Cora was around he would sort of wave his hand to acknowledge our presence.

Summer ended and we went back to Manila, sunburned and brown from days spent at the beach, chubbier from all the good food served by indulgent relatives and filled with happy childhood memories. And I thought, so much for unrequited love, although I didn’t know then it was that.

Years later when I was about to enter college, Manang Cora and I went to Quiapo on an errand and I saw Dave. He looked very bohemian, like any college student activist of his age and time,with longish wavy hair . He was even more handsome than I remembered. We exchanged shy greetings and all I could do was sigh. By then, I already knew that love was more often than not returned by the object of one’s affection. And I already read up on Mr. Socrates who told his chelas centuries ago, “The unexamined life is not worth living.”

Good Evening Mr. Samurai

KONBANWA SAMURAI SAN (GOOD EVENING MR. SAMURAI)

I saw it the moment I entered the living room, proudly displayed where you can’t miss it, above the western style sofa which was oddly out of place in the Japanese setting. Nicely framed, its lavish hilt reflecting the light, was a katana, a magnificent samurai sword, in its scabbard. I dared touch it. I felt it was calling my name.

No one minded as I gazed at it imagining swordfights in the moon light. I imagined talented actor Hiroyuki Sanada in Twilight Samurai as Sebei Iguchi preparing his short sword for his task to kill a fellow samurai who refused to commit seppuku. The western sofa, the samurai sword, the Japanese décor gave the room a surrealistic atmosphere. “Ikea meets Takashimaya”, I said to myself.

It was my first night at my Japanese foster family’s home in Moka City. I left my dusty shoes in the getabako, the shoe cupboard at the entrance neatly aligned facing inwards. Entering a Japanese home, I learned was literally like stepping up and leaving the shoes was symbolic of casting off the worries and troubles.

“Douzo kudasai” I was ushered in. My otosan (father) and okaasan (mother) introduced me to an assortment of relatives and neighbors who waited for us to finish our orientation at the community gymnasium.

”Minna san kon banwa”- Good evening everyone. “Ogenki desu ka?” How are you? “Hajimemashite” –Nice to meet you, I managed in Japanese. I’ve picked up the tradition of bowing in greeting and Ioved it.

Already my foster mother was pointing out to all and sundry how long my legs were compared to my torso. I could hear tsk tsking and mmm,mmming all around and saw nodding of the heads. I heard kirei desu – very pretty, and fancied it was me they were talking about. Then they were gone.

“Tabemashou”, Let’s eat! We sat down on tatami lined floor facing a low table for a typical Japanese dinner. “Itadakimasu”, we said to ourselves before eating. My foster mother served me first, then her husband and kids before she ate. It was pleasant. Conversation was a lot of one syllable Japanese words mostly oiishi desu (delicious), arigato gosaimasu (thank you), hai (yes), iiee (no), nani desu ka (what) and aa sou desu ka? (Is that right?) on my side and bowing of heads.

Thank goodness I had the foresight to go all the way to JICA, the Japan Information and Cultural Agency to attend Japanese language classes for a semester. Of course, it helped that Japanese exchange students from Sophia University frequented our college and the university across the creek.

Moka City was in a rural prefecture outside of Tokyo, far from the Keio, Waseda, Sophia and Tokyo University crowd we have been hanging out with for the past three weeks. Our group of exchange students took the Shinkasen Super Express, a bullet train with a maximum speed of 285 km/hr.early in the morning. At the city’s gymnasium earlier that day, we laughed when someone asked if we lived in trees back home. Toshi-chan, Maryjoy’s totemo kawaii (a real cutie) foster brother said the chap was just kidding and asked the question for some laughs.

Terri told me later that my 8 year old foster sister spoke like a yakuza. Maybe she meant it wasn’t polite language but yakuza seemed more exotic. Hahaha. I am still wondering how she figured that out. Was it because the little girl said baka baka ne (stupid or fool) repeatedly?

Anyway, after dinner my foster mother led me to the bathroom and gave me a good scrubbing then told me to soak myself in the wooden hot tub. I obliged, soaking away the tiredness of the day. Tomorrow, we were going to go strawberry picking at a nearby farm. I immersed myself in the hot tub, not knowing that I had the privilege of first dip. The rest of the family will soak in the tub later when I had finished.

My mind drifted off to the events of a week ago when Marissa and I were at the ryokan, a typical Japanese inn near Kyoto. We decided for the heck of it, to do what the natives did. Adventures in the Japanese bath, we called it. We went to the communal hot tub, but no one was there. There were loads of people in Tokyo when we decided to soak in the hot tub at Nihon Shinpan.

We washed ourselves very well then soaked in the tub, watching a few pubic hair floating in the murky water. We laughed knowing the high temperature killed any germs around. We heard the rustling of leaves outside the room. Through the open window we glimpsed the shocked face of a Japanese guest in a yukata, peeping with great curiosity into the room. He hurries away. We relaxed. Then,we went back to our room where everyone else was either playing mahjong or sitting together for warmth keeping out the nippy spring night air. Soothed by the warm bath, Marissa and I drifted off to sleep earlier than everyone else.

But now I’m in Moka City in Tochigi Prefecture, the cotton gin of Japan. I entered my room which was sparsely decorated with a futon and a thick coverlet which I embraced like a love sick lover and swiftly dozed off. I lost track of time until I woke up with a start. I sensed a presence, an undeniable energy lurking in the dark room.

I looked around me and saw in one corner of the room directly across me someone sitting quietly staring at me. I thought I saw the devil, the chap had horns! I closed my eyes again and felt myself starting to hyperventilate, I was trembling. “Oh my God”, I prayed ,”please make this vision that of Shinichi Tsutsumi is one of my favorite Japanese actors, otoko mae ( handsome man) to the max, intense, award winning, brilliant and a serial dater of young women.

I took another peek and this time, I could make out a man in a shadowy costume with what looked liked a scaly armor and something on his head resembling horns. “Ok God”, I bargained “I will make do with an apparition of actor Joe Odagiri and his quirky hair styles in his various films. No, make that Satoshi Tsumabuki, the cho kakkoii (handsome) Jdorama and film actor and one of the handsomest men in my universe.” OMG, did this vision have long hair too? Then, I clearly heard the vision telling me…”Why did you touch my sword?” And pouf, he was gone.

“Was he ninja or samurai? Mmmm,” I thought,” ninjas were cool and supernatural to boot, especially if they look like Joe Odagiri sporting a modified mohawk hairdo as Gennosuke in the movie Shinobi.” But this one looked definitely like a samurai warrior. I drifted back to sleep, safe in my alternate universe, dreaming of Satoshi –kun and oddly enough of angels in kimonos. Next morning I was in the strawberry field picking the largest most luscious strawberries I will ever see in my life.

Sword in the moon and

Samurai warriors dancing.

In my dream,

Angels in kimonos prancing.

Kissing: Kiss my Soul

Kiss my Soul

The highlight of Luisa’s sophomore year in college was the news that Tina had a nipple detached after a passionate kissing tryst with Leo, her neighbor, who was the son of a congressman. Her gang all rushed to the bathroom at break time to check the band aid Tina stuck on it .Ouch!

Luisa always wondered why some of the girls in school wore hankies around their necks after a weekend, until she had her first hicky. Double ouch!

 Luisa and Kelly would immortalize these life defining moments of their adolescence with poems written under the mango tree near the Villa. They agonized over blind dates to debuts and other parties where they had to bring a date, who were usually younger boys or each other’s cousins.

In between these angst ridden moments , they wrote haiku  and letters to each other and gazed across the creek at the high school boys playing basketball during lunch break.

At break time, at the lanai, cafeteria , smoking lounge or locker room, Luisa would listen to Dinna, Mila and Chris discuss perfecting their kissing techniques. She asked, “Where do the noses go when you kiss and why do you close your eyes.” Luisa got the look  and the reply , “Don’t worry about the nose and the eyes , watch out for the tongue and hands. “Whose?” , she followed up?  

She watched her friends eyes roll up practically into their heads. Luisa had no contribution to that discussion, not even to Mila’s question, “What is your ideal man”. She didn’t have a laundry list. She told her best friend, “When I finally meet him I’ll know he is the one. If he is Mr. Right, he knows where I live.”

And then it finally happened. Luisa was hoping Ted would have chosen a place other than her family’s garage for her first kiss. They had just returned from a night of clubbing and dancing when he grabbed her by the waist, hugged her and whispered “Gosh you’re beautiful.” and Luisa believed him. Then he moved in for the kiss,sort of.

Their lips barely touched but Luisa could smell the sweetness of the peppermint gum mixed with cigarette smoke on his breath.

She had always imagined her first kiss under the moon light with Claude Debussy’s Claire de Lune playing in the background. Instead she had the light from the street lamp and the echo of tribal house music playing in her head when they air kissed.

Listen to Claire de Lune here

 And then she asked him a random question, “Was that germ free air kiss my first kiss?”  Ted replied without blinking,
”No.”  And then they kiss,  as in Britney Spear’s song.

Is this for real?
It's not what it seems
You're like an angel
I'm running now
My feet off the ground

Take me
Touch me
Won't you hold me close?

And then we kiss
Your love comes alive on my lips
I feel a rush
Coming over me, over me
And when we touch
This moment when everything's still
I close my eyes
And then we kiss

Listen to it here and sing a long 
Luisa felt like her soul was being sucked out by the kiss as she closed her eyes. And just like in a telenovela, the world was spinning like a CG effect, but only Luisa was aware of it.

 Afterwards, she rushed up to her room to look at the mirror, like in the short story May Day Eve of Quijano de Manila. Was she expecting to see a change after that kiss? Was there a neon sign glowing on her forehead saying kissed? 

 That Monday, no one else noticed that Luisa had finally been kissed except to say that she had a pimple at the tip of her nose. Luisa loved the way Ted kissed. It was the chewy variety tinged with the taste of mint and the smell of cigarettes which she grew to love. It was an acquired taste, like sushi. But then again, maybe it’s because she didn’t know any better.

Kissing is a collection of drabbles,haiku and short stories on the Kiss. Stories are all pure fiction from this writer's imagination and are intended to amuse and entertain.

Genre: short story, fiction, fluff, fantasy, romance, crack, may contain lime

No infringement intended. Pure fiction.