Sunday, October 21, 2007 Korean tales and scandals By Jeffrey M. Tupas My turn
FOR how many times I have almost fallen into decadence without even knowing it that you were the force that stopped me from the internal demise? I blame the self for missing the details; I would have been writing a different story now.
For how I failed to notice your beautiful pout as you scoured the litters on the floor this morning, in search for the missing keys? Well, I noticed it but only now that I realized how you've been pouting those lips whenever you need my help -- I, whose functionality is put to hold until nine in the morning.
This one is never too late, though. After nine hours, I can clearly recall how you tried to wake me up as you told me about your fears while you were putting on that khaki pants. Last night, you also told me about the examinations that you so scared to take but always end up topping. Remember last year? Did you not take the finals while burning with fever but ended up being on top of the list? I have always been proud of you. I can never be prouder.
And btw, let me tell you about how you really made me happy six hours before eight am today--the time when we were talking in whispers, afraid that we might disturb housemate and Maya who were already asleep.
Lest you've lost recollection of it, you stopped me from going to the toilet for a moment and I, totally unused to having almost muted conversations with you, had to get closer to you to hear whatever was that that you had to say, only to hear:
"Ing-ania imong buhok... ipadaplin aron pareho sa mga Koreana... (You keep your hair like this, put this part on the side so it looks like those of a Koreana's)."
*****
He was towering over the television reporter who had his eyes fixed on his. I walked past them and went straight to where the reporter's cameraman is seated. The cameraman was making faces after they were denied of an on-cam interview.
I looked at him then to the reporter. They were both good looking, I told myself, but he was a lot hotter than the reporter who suddenly turned bland and burnt against his smooth, white skin. And perhaps it was because of his skin that I did not immediately notice the handcuff as its color diluted the color of the steel.
The television reporter left with the cameraman, frustration and despair in tow. As I was approaching him, I was distracted by the unbuttoned shirt that exposed the chest. It was smooth, the chest not the shirt. Damn, it was my first time to get up close to a Korean hunk and the fact that he was an accused criminal was not even a turn off but rather an added value to the encounter.
But I was not there to flirt with him. I was there to get his story that I first learned about from the am radio. I had the impression that he will not talk to me, something which was validated when he told me that he has got nothing left to tell me because he has told everything to the television reporter.
But I'm not the kind who easily gives up. I engaged him in a conversation in my hope to force him into disclosing the details of his story.
"So you will not talk to me?" I asked him, my eyes on his chest.
"Yes. I have already told him everything," he answered as he pouted his lips.
"Yeah, I can actually understand that but we're different. He's a television reporter. I'm from the paper," I replied, my eyes still on his chest.
His eyeballs rolled. He opened his mouth and attempted to speak, only that the words coming out were in Korean.
Seconds later, he said: "Yes, I will talk to you. I want to tell you something. Last night, I blah... blahh... and they yadahhh... yadahhh... and the driver blah... blah... and I was rude because the police screamed at me. Aray!!! blah... blah..."
"And this television camera was... while I was angry... the police took my cellphone... it was my privacy... I don't understand why I am treated like a criminal!"
And he told me his story while he was reeking of alcohol... at 10:00 am. After the interview, I made sure that the Korean, who was at that time already talking to the police, will not miss my goodbye.
"Bye Mr. Hann,"" I said as I was approaching the door. "I love you."
I looked back and saw the Korean smiling at me.
*****
Not too long ago, Davao Mayor Rodrigo Duterte was foaming, I mean, fuming mad as he warned pirated DVD vendors against the selling of pornographic films. Actually, the fierce mayor more than warned. He threatened. And Dabaweños know it that that when he does, more often these threats cross in bloody lividity some planes -- yeah, human body planes.
Just like how he was angered to the hilt by the proliferation of meth in the City years ago (that saw the demise of a number of people whose names appeared on a list of suspected shabu pushers that he announced on TV), the Mayor literally gnashed and pu&$%@-ina-ed at the stacks of pirated videos showing very young girls sucking overgrown pacifiers. He cited how these are sold publicly even by young kids themselves.
So he ordered that pirated DVD stalls around the city be cleansed of the Barely 12 vids and all other vids that show human flesh, regardless of sexual orientations and bizarre fetishes.
And came next was the heart-to-heart talk to local pirated video industry players and their advisers. Their studios may not be as glitzy as hollywood but boy, they have their advisers: the community elders and religious leaders. All you need to do is to drive to Quimpo Boulevard here to find them--the pirates, the studious, and their advisers.
But the Mayor is tentacled, and each carries a particular plan that could be fine, plain, gruff, or peculiar.
But I'm wondering whether the Mayor is still effective at his scare tactics or perhaps the pirates are just void of fear already that the Mayor's threats and tentacles are no longer working just like before.
Why because a week after that, while I was checking on pirated videos along Uyanguren, a vendor asked me: "x-rated sir?"
