A Metaphor to the Pearl of the Orient

This is not a story; this is an event.

This event is sadomasochistic in nature, so ready yourselves.

Open your eyes wide and scrutinize thoroughly the next words.

This is a cycle that revolves counterclockwise, when can it be clockwise?

This event happened in one town in the Philippine islands, present time: 2011 to be exact.

The event focuses on a boy; this certain boy has developmental abnormality, both physically and mentally, a dysfunction as some would say. By the time the boy entered this chaotic world, he had already been burdened physically. He had diphallia – an extremely rare condition where one has two male genitalia. He developed this condition when he was a fetus gestating. You see, the mother was a prostitute and often enough she had a brutal clientele. Those sexual and physical injuries she endured caused her child’s condition. She continued with her line of work even though she was pregnant because she needed money for the childbirth.

The mother was excited to have her first baby. Well, it was already her seventh pregnancy but the other first six babies were murdered in her womb through the process of abortion. She promised that once the boy she carries in her womb would be borne to this world, she would straighten up her life. She had no idea who impregnated her she has three or more clients each night. She was so anxious during delivery but when the baby came out, she drowned in despair and total depression leading to mental destruction. She did not go to a psychiatrist; hence no one knew what the cause of her mental health crisis was.  When the boy was two months old, the mother hanged herself. Not one person immediately knew about the suicide inside that claustrophobic apartment. The boy was in his crib, alone. He cried so loud to the point it caught the attention of the neighbors after 16 hours. It was a miracle that he still is alive.

But it was better he died that night.

The next years he had was a living nightmare.

The boy was sent to a social service center with dilapidated and low-budgeted facilities, basically a shithole because funding for that center went to the pockets of others, to the pigs, barrels of pork. They only eat twice a day, and the food was almost always salt and rice, or in good days they had canned sardines. The canned sardines are extra goods left after relief operations from NGOs during typhoons. Maybe it is a good thing that typhoons visit the country year-round, so the children can enjoy relief goods. When he was seven, he never spoke to anyone. Others even thought he was deaf. He was just an extreme introvert. Most of his years from eight to eleven were a wreck and full of trauma, a rough childhood. He was pushed around and bullied while the social workers watched and laugh as if it were an entertainment for them. There’s this one moment when he was peeing, and a group of fellow orphans and/or rescued children peeped over and saw two penises urinating. The shouted “freak” and the news blazed out like fire. This boy was not named by his mother but in the social services center they called him Santino. Ever since he was in anger and dreadful hate towards everyone especially those who did him wrong. He wanted to fight back.

But it was best he died at this point.

The next years he’s slowly becoming a creature in this living nightmare.

He’s now eighteen and with more brute and less conscience. One night he planned a way of revenge – to those motherfuckers – he thought to himself. It was two-o’-clock in the morning in the social service center and everybody was asleep. Santino went to the kitchen, cut the tube from the gas tank, and heaps flammable gas filled the air. While he was waiting, he went to the refrigerator to get water and as soon he closes it he saw a shiny and vague reflection of a girl. He was in shock and that scared the hell out of him, his heartbeat faster than normal but he showed no sign of that emotion on his face. When he turned around it was Rose, his crush and the only one who showed him kindness. She was deaf and mute and around his age. He feels comfortable with her because she had a lovely smile that resonates to him. Santino knew in Rose’ eyes that she wanted to stop his plan but he does not want to. Too much has been done to him, Rose must understand. Santino got the matchbox and slipped out a matchstick. Rose felt she needed to do something, so she stopped him by grabbing his hand. As soon as her hand touched his, Rose can feel the insatiable hurt and fiery resentment bottled up inside him. It was like entering a mind of a devil, a vengeful soul with a plan to unleash hell. Sadly, she saw herself in those scenarios. She let go of his hand and fell in horror and cried. She was not scared of what will happen to her, but it was fear of what Santino will become eventually. It is the end of the line and no turning back. The making of a monster. Santino’s world now turned black and span.

But it was unfortunate he did not die at this point.

The next minutes, hell rose to the land of the living – Rose’s earth.

Santino pushed Rose; soon it was brutality beyond imagination. In the kitchen table Santino got hold of a duct tape and tied both Rose’ hands on the legs of the table. He unzipped his pants and furiously ripped off Rose’ clothes. He took a couple of seconds staring at awe on a naked female, such beauty there is just to be altered to grotesque images following the next events. He then starts the devastation of a devilish masterpiece. He took off Rose’ panties and got a rubber spatula from the cabinet, shoving the spatula inside of Rose, back and forth. Rose was crying endlessly of pain; she was a virgin. She cried pool of tears, but she could not scream only minute horrifying screeching. Santino was irritated by her facial expression; he punched her in the abdomen. As soon as he finished enjoying with the spatula, which was dripping fully of blood, he entered inside her. Rose felt a sheer pain when two of Santino’s were inside her. He finished but he was not yet contented by his sadistic actions, he wants to end it, end her. Santino stood up and went to the kitchen sink and got a rusty butcher’s knife. Rose was still crying but smiling. Santino for a moment felt awed and was hit by a slight fear but he suddenly was annoyed by her smile. He stabbed Rose in the chest and slashed her stomach. It only took two wounds to end her hopeless life.

But it is time that he dies.

The next moment will be his end.

Santino saw something in the lifeless hand of Rose; it was a piece of crumpled paper. He took it and tried to straighten it up. He wailed in agony; he felt a sudden pang in his heart. He held a matchstick and strikes a fire, as soon as it sparked, flame enveloped the shithole center and it was like hell. He slowly burned and was still crying so loud. There are only two events that he cried this deafening. First was when he was in that crib calling the attention of someone to rescue him to live.  Second was at this moment when tides of flame engulfed his body, calling the attention of the god of death. The gates of hell opened for him. He was a star, a morning star like Lucifer.

But in all this, it was better that Santino lived, for he will tell this story and break this cycle of evil and disgrace in humanity.

For some unimaginable reason, a paper was floating around the sidewalk of the center. Firemen were busy extinguishing the fire, but it was futile, hell’s fire have already destroyed everything in that place. Especially Rose’s innocence and Santino’s hope. A nearby couple was watching the fire from across the street. The couple’s little boy saw the floating paper with tiny flames on the side; he jumped for it three times but could not get it. The father saw his son jumping so he got the paper. It was a nicely pencil-drawn sketch. The drawing was a boy and a girl, both were smiling and have halos above their head, and in between them was a big heart. Below the paper there was a text written – “Rose + Santino”.

Analogy of the Author:

As a Filipino citizen I depict Philippines as this. It may be negative, but this is my opinion. I deplore the unfortunate ideas of my country. I do not, however, brand her with disapproval and pessimism. I still love my country in all its blemishes.

Diphallia, the country has two penises; one is for the country and one for the foreigner. Basically, the genitalia are important to a human being, without it, no sex, and without sex there is no pleasure and preservation of our race. So, my analogy is that we consider our nationalism important at the same time colonial mentality is prominent in us. A stupid paradox. I remember this person who ran for local office who was wearing a t-shirt that says “I love Singapore” in her campaign posters. It is funny and ludicrous – a black comedy. Politics is always and will be dark humour. We should not be like dualistic; we should be normal and have one genitalia and pick nationalism. Have a shared identity.

Abortion and suicide, my analogy to this is the increasing child mortality rate and violence in the country. Newly born Filipinos are already drowned in debt and malnutrition even before they scream their first cry. The shithole social service center is what is happening right now dilapidated infrastructures and hunger and poverty. The children in the center were lucky enough to enjoy themselves with salt and rice twice a day. What about those living in days without food inside their stomach. They are the unlucky ones. We are not improving in terms of living standards, industrialization, and economy.

The “pigs” I pointed out is a bit given already, every Filipino should know that. If not, let me tell you – shameful and fraudulent politics, businesses, religious institutions, NGOs, etc. Corruption is so much rooted in us. Decades upon decades of this systemic disease. It needs to stop. It badly needs to. There is no champion in shiny armor and riding on a silvery white horse to do that for us. Again, it is a systemic disease. Therefore, a system of cleansing it should be made. On what it is, I do not know. Try kindness maybe? Or better yet, write a research about anti-corruption, implement your recommendations, and start a movement. Right now. Do it.

The bullies are the elite, oligarchs, and technocrats, and Filipinos who keeps on blabbering and ranting on the mistakes of others when in fact they are not doing anything. Sadly, it is true that the people in power do not change or just give increments of change. They do not like to change things because they do not want to be the Santino in their little and pathetic lives.

As for Rose, I depict her as the victims of this country’s transgressions. Those who died or died trying to stand up for a greater cause and change. They are mute because even though how loud they scream for a better system or how transparent they may be, they will always not be heard and seen. The rape scene is the paragon of how the dysfunctional institutions and personalities etch their barbarism and brutality in this country. They find pleasure in aggression. These are actions that actually led to massacres of hope and lives.

The smiling of Rose while in the brink of death is what I view of the justice system – laggard and smirch. Victims would just leave out all the rest, the more they fight for their rights the more the justice weakens in favour them. That is why Rose was just smiling, for she knew no justice will be served and death is the ultimate peace of mind. Living was an injustice. You may say my immature sagacity is very rapacious but I gave positive areas on the story. Santino was changed for a short moment; he had an opportunity to not go to hell. He wanted to ask forgiveness, but he thought it was too late, so he blew the place up and surrendered to death. It is like Judas, his disloyalty to Christ was not his sin. His sin was killing himself because he failed to have faith in believing he could be forgiven.

The drawing that is in the possession of the family in that sidewalk is the question I would like to ask. Will we continue to the cycle in counterclockwise and repeat the harrowing and traumatic events we experienced and still experiencing? Or shall we correct it and revolve clockwise, if so, when?

person wearing black top
Photo by fotografierende on Pexels.com

5 thoughts on “A Metaphor to the Pearl of the Orient

  1. Hi Justin. First thanks for dropping by Spence Sense. I lived in the Philippines for four winters and the place both saddened and irritated me. Too much acceptance of a corrupt, oligarchic neo feudalism and not enough genuine and angered revolt against both the Church and the Corruption. I probably won’t be back although I made a few friends there.

    1. I see and feel what you mean there but hey, never lose hope. Philippines might be dirty but there would still be the time that would turn the tide. That’s why I’m taking up Political Science, to be there in helping turning the tide and when the tide’s are turned.So that I could join with an honest, real democratic and anti-corrupt regime.

  2. It’s so important that these stories be told and recorded. It’s all we are – stories. His-story, her-story, our-story, my-story. So far, it’s only His-story that is deemed “valuable” – that’s the patriarchal mindset for you!

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