The Blue Year

I wish I could remember some of the memorable happenings when I was a sophomore. My memory fails me now as I try to recall.

As we climbed up a level, our classroom was better lit this time. Now we had real windows and could see the sky.

When christmas party came, our adviser Mrs. Jacaban, got in trouble with the faculty and head of school.

We made a fruit punch and thanks to our teacher, she let us spike up the drink with gin. We held our alcohol well and no one vomited (I think). But Mrs. Jacaban had made her mistake.

If there was one teacher who loved to drink, it was Sir Bagnus Cudiamat. A seasoned journalist whose collum at the city papers untitled, “Apros ken Kudkod” is still missed and of course he taught us journalism. Mr. Cudiamat would come into class, recess time was still an hour away, with a scent of a saint; San Miguel, in his breath. He would begin the class and talk to the blackboard.

At this year I had my second fight, this time it was serious. We were all at the Athletic Bowl practicing our cheering routine when the fight was set up by the promoters.

Outside the bowl my adversary quickly brought me down, sat on my belly and rained his fists down on face. He only stopped when I poked a finger in his eye where he got off me and we both stood up. I was ready to get back at him when all of a sudden his promoter stopped the fight.

I was black and blue, red with a nose bleed and a cut on the lip.

When we got back at the bowl, my backer told me I could still win the fight. He pointed at my enemy who sat at the rim of the oval with his back against us. I ran, then jumped and kicked him hard on the head. The blow got his face burried in the ground. Then I ran again.  Away from my opponent this time.

He chased me with a big rock on his hand and I found Sir Bagnus under a tree and sat with him. When I told him what had happened, my teacher stood up and shielded me from a possible flying rock.

Later, when my father got news about the fight, he told me that my opponent is his “ina-anak” in baptism.

I should have listened more to the lectures of Mr Cudiamat, I owe him that. I could have been a better writer now. But that is beside the point. He was there for me when I was in danger but I wasn’t there for him when he always tried to teach me at class.

I dedicate this to our teacher Sir Bagnus Cudiamat who is now in heaven teaching journalism to angels.

~ by musashiboogie on June 6, 2009.