NOT one of the frat brods in a nearby huddle ever had an inkling what young Jemil did for over eight hours any given day. All they knew was that comely coeds hang out with him, basking in adulation, maybe, adoration of the lanky guy whose presence teased their nether parts. In mindless rage, a dozen or so of those brods rushed at Jemil with intent to give him a thorough body overhaul.
Kith and kin of the aggrieved dozen were roaring bloody murder at the police station after the scuffle, cadging a bewildered desk officer to throw the malefactor into the calaboose. Jemil's father let out a polite taunt, explaining that no sane court would even indict the young man for inflicting grave injuries-- unless he drove a bulldozer, a fork lift, or steamroller and tore chunks of skin and flesh off the bodies of awe-struck fratmen. The attackers pounced on an unlikely victim, and emerged with worrisome problems that may take more than dermatology or surgery to patch up.
It took years of forging psyche and sinew to reach that level of hideous powers. The tiresome task Jemil went through any given day was to pry nails and rivets off huge antique timbers with either claw hammer or crowbar. He got used to that. He could even do that in his sleep. Why, expert findings affirm that representation of the body is affected by constant use of tools. Or, the functions of tools are somehow infused to a tool-user. Something straight out of quantum physics, tool user and tool over time.
And if all one does 24/7 is finger a smart phone's surface, all such fingering would likely add up to awesome powers of digitally manipulating boogers from one's nose. Not much of a likable prospect there.
Comes now a similar story on the defunct Philippine Constabulary motto, "Always outnumbered, never outfought."
In the small hours of a rain-drenched month, a drunk South Korean copped a feel at a Filipina mammary, was accosted for his lewdness, and, in turn, he gave free lessons in whatever combat arts he was proficient to 28 Filipinos-- there goes the neighborhood.
The news item was taken from a June 4, 2016 report from the ultra-conservative daily broadsheet-- so there must be sobering sore fact to this bashing of Filipino machismo and ineptness at street fighting. Include lively reportage.
Any editor worth his salt would surmise that the report was merely lifted off a police blotter, then garnished with guesses to turn up a patchwork tale. A more enterprising journalist would have gone out of his way for an interview. Seek out the malefactor, badger him if it was hwarang-do, taekkyon, taekwondo, or any of its variants that mowed those 28 Filipino males. Is he built like a tank or has some 200 pounds of pure muscle on him that allowed a wade through, an idle yawn, drunken burp over the attackers?
Or get 2-3 of the aggrieved meatballs, oops, menfolk in what was probably a Sta. Ana, Manila depressed area. Were they of malnourished, matchstick sizes? Or were they overweight flabby tubs of lard that can hardly waddle through a fight or chase skirts?
How bad was the beating? Ay, I can only recount how bad the news report was.
I remember a visit to one of my former reporters who teaches aikido-- and all he had for learners in his Sampaloc dojo were three chink-eyed, yellow-skinned Chinoys.
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