Pretty Butchers

As you may not know, my brother is studying medicine. And he likes to dance. (Pretty much on the scale of being more successful and more loved in mandatory sibling issues, he now wins. But wait until I write my play and my novel–the former which I haven’t started and the latter I have stopped doing–we’ll see who gets the last “ha!”)

He has recently competed in a competition among a dozen of med schools so I had to accompany my parents to be supportive and all. I should have won a supporting sister award or something because I had to sit through a bunch of fucking annoying college kids who kept screaming, yelling, and kicking the back of my chair (even when I nicely asked the bitch to stop doing it.) It wouldn’t have bothered me so much if their gossiping wasn’t so stupid, and mostly, if they weren’t trying hard to be conyo. I wanted to pat their heads and say “It’s okay, you don’t have to be jealous of the Ateneans and the Lasalitas in here with their flashy iPads. Now, shut up or I’m going to have to tie your made-for-call center tongues.” I was going to do just that, but as I turned around, my father held my shoulder and shook his head. My father had gone pacifist on me! He used to be that dad who screamed at opportunistic taxi drivers, tried hard not to displace his anger in dragging his clueless preschooler children out of the cab, and slamming the door behind.

So, I did the next best thing and went out to take a breather. The hosts of the most-disorganized-competition in the world were stumbling on the stage anyway, executing another one hour break, mini-game, or whatever because they want to torture the parents in the audience more. I’m just a supporting sister, neither a parent nor Jesus fucking Christ–so on I complained about having dinner and I went out the theater for awhile and took pictures.

At some point of forever, this group who got the Chicago numbers started performing. Before dancing, each group had to “creatively” introduce themselves and the “story” of their performance with a short speech or mission vision or something. This group opted to provide a supposed summary of the country’s history enumerating the foreigners who conquered us and saying ito namang si Juan, walang kamuwang-muwang na tinanggap na lang ang panloloko ng mga dayuhan. 

I laughed and told my father hindi a! Lumaban at lumalaban kaya tayo. Magalit ka. History teacher ka, magalit ka!

Papa laughed and said sila kasi yung dayuhan.