boom-sha-ka-la

pucha, pare. when i was young and full of hope, i wanted so much to be a t-bak, pare. being a t-bak is a science. let me educate you on the ways and woes of the word.

when the word 't-bak' hits me, it reminds me of two things. first, it reminds me of women and how something so dull and lifeless can be intimate with them. second, and more importantly, are the street vendors.

i'll be straight. if i were to be born other than to be destined as a pucha-pare, i wish i was born in a factory of kewl fabrics and be bordaed (past tense ng borda, pare. you know, the pin-cushion thingy?) into a t-bak. how i'd be clutched in cracks and rubbed by crannies. how it would be to be (tutubi) moist in the darkness in the hallows of good and evil, bad and good. very good!

down to the second point. if i were not a pucha-pare, i will not be a street vendor. because street vendors would give agony to the t-baks! think about it. all day i'd be cramped in moistness, mostly sweat. away from darkness but will never be into the light. running low when the pleez-puliz are high. running high when there's sand caught in the t-bak.

pucha, pare. i swear, i want to be a t-bak but not with a street vendor.

UP! tunay! palaban! makabayan!

pucha, pare. i just heard that somewhere.