workign title: Practically Royalty

Practically Royalty


I

I walk everyday to school. I pass the Pinaglabanan all the time. I never see it as anything more than a hive for squatters.

Years before anyone cared, the tunnel, you know, the one where Bonifacio and his men passed to escape from the Kastilas.

Yeah, that tunnel. Squatters filled it with garbage…piles and piles of garbage.

Imagine Bonifacio digging through trash while they try to escape certain death. It just makes you laugh.

Wait, was it really Bonifacio?

Oh well, I was never that good in history anyway.

Why am I talking about the Pinaglabanan when I have a test in Math today.

Math, another subject that I’m not good at.

Who cares, really, about the things they teach in school? Which job (and I don’t mean those low-paying thankless jobs) actually requires you to know trigonometry? Will your boss ever ask you “who was the guy that gave-up last to Americans?”

Hmmm…that was Macapagal, right? No, she’s still alive and she’s a girl. I bet, whoever the guy is, that the Americans killed him the moment they saw him.

There’s this foreigner in class. He’s from India. He said he was a Kasatri-whatever. His name is Akmud. He said that he’s practically royalty.

Hehe, Royalty. I thought that was a brand of spaghetti.

He prances about the school hallways, making sure everyone knows he is practically Royalty. I don’t like it when he passes by my chair. He smells terrible and he has dandruff.

I wonder why they’re in the Philippines. I mean if they’re practically Royalty there, wouldn’t they prefer to live there than here where Royalty means a brand of spaghetti or being relatives with political dynasties (that’s what my dad told me, “Yang mga politico nay an! Di naman dapat sila naklaupo diyan! Naghahariharian dito sa siyudad natin purkit buong angkan nila nagging mayor na ditto!” I think he was drunk when he told me that. He was laid off that day. He worked for the office of the mayor. He was replaced by a son-in-law of the new mayor. My mom told me that).

One time, during recess, Akmud sat beside me. Maybe he couldn’t find another loser to brag about his being practically royalty.

“What do you want, Akmud?” I asked him, without looking over my math homework that I failed to do last night.

“It’s Ahk-muk-od,” he told me in that unusual nasaly accent of his. “Help me with my Filipino homework.”

“No way!” I yelled back. This time, I looked him in the eye. Can’t he see that I’m busy with my own homework?

“Okay, just let me copy from your test paper on tomorrow’s homework.” AHk-muk-od said.

“No way!” I said again. “Don’t you have servants to do something about that?”

“I don’t have servants,” he sheepishly looked away, “I am not in India anymore. I do not know your language. I will fail school if I don’t pass this test.”

“Why me?” was all I could say.

“Because you are best in Filipino.”

“Okay. Make sure the teacher don’t catch us.” I simply told him. He praised me. I thought he was going to insult how lowly I was because I wasn’t Indian or a kasatriwathever.


(di pa tapos)