Of Keyboards, Vinegar, and 20-Peso Rates
I pass through the Lung center of the Philippines
Through the stairwell that smells as rotten
As the insults spewed by the people
Passionately forgetting their status as students
—
I sit by the window, clicked buttons, and thus a familiar sight
A light, behind, and in front of me
A blue from the cross
And blue from a blank screen
Vinegar
Ever since I was a little kid, I loved computers and playing games on the computer. There were cold mornings when my dad was home from Abu Dhabi, and I would boot up his laptop as he jams his gut with insulin and his coffee with Equal sweetener. I would spend birthdays, bored days, and bewildering, to serve my alliteration right, days in computer shops if I can. And while for most of my poor childhood I could only play Hangaroo or interactive games in a bootleg Encarta Kids, it was nevertheless a highlight of my childhood. If anything, computer shops were, are, and will be my life tattoos.
Growing older means refining your taste in games. I took up Counter Strike Source and got there a screenname I still use sparingly. Olp. I wasn’t thinking of why Olp or how I came up with the name. I guess it just rolled out my brain as I was pressured to name myself. “Who’s this Olp? Why is he cheating?” Honestly, words couldn’t be sweeter than the salt from a frustrated teenager. I hate caramel, I know, controversial, but this was a caramel treat I craved for. A bunch of sweaty 12- to 15-year-olds talking trash to an 8-year-old. Perfect. I still remember the old musty, no air-conditioning computer shops, or PS2 stations with the box TV as the monitor and karaoke box as a case. I know most of you reading could probably remember what buses smell like on rush hours of a particularly busy Friday night. Vinegar on wheels. Mapapaasim kilig ka talaga. And well, suffice to say that I felt kilig at every sniff of the air in those shops. I loved playing Naruto or WWE, I would reserve an eternity for a spot by putting a hundred-peso bill on the case for the PS2. Those were innocent days. Days where I could break the world, myself, and my grades but still come out squeaky clean. I mean, I did get away scot-free from breaking a controller.
But as I grew older and moved away from my home province, apparently so did my time in the house too.
20 Pesos Per Hour
When I went to Manila for Grade 7, I salivated on the idea of playing computer games in a city computer shop. And for the most part, the difference was night and day for an 11-year-old. Everything was new, and the games plenty (though unfortunately not anymore). I got hooked on an old musty game called Battle Realms, and would spend an hour or until the clock marches to 7 pm, playing that game with a valued friend. I vividly remember hating on the proto-typical, black, purple, and skull emo of the game, Lotus Clan, because I couldn’t figure out how they worked. After that, I would walk home through a street of faded neon and incandescent lights of city fireflies. One time, I got back a little off schedule and I got my ass kicked, because for the first time (but definitely not the last), at least then, I arrived late. Eight in the evening and I got my be-hind whooped. Oh boy, wait till my past self learns my present-day shenanigans. Who needs sleep when you can play, right? Grade 8 saw me stay even longer in computer shops. Pinning the nightly tardiness to practice, projects, or my club. I had a friend, who I would trap under the heels of my neediness with extra money for more time in computer shops. He would sign a letter saying that he’s from my club, who shall remain nameless, and that we had a late practice. Pretty stupid but considering none of my guardians or parents poked around, it was okay. Eleven in the evening — that’s the cue.
And it feels repetitive, but oh boy was my past self in for a ride.
Keyboards
Grade 9 through 10 saw failures, academically and even physically. In Grade 9, I got food poisoning from drinking mango graham shake a week before our usual battery of trigonometry unit tests. I got scared of drinking mango graham shake from that day forward, just ask my friends. And that whole food poison spiel sent my weight from normal to underweight, albeit I didn’t feel it myself. That or my weight insecurity was talking. Grade 10 saw the worst stretch of my life thus far. I failed a lot, and disappointed an already surprising roster of people. It’s as if I was collecting Pokémon cards of disappointed authoritative figure. Not to mention early signs of pneumonia, though we don’t talk about that here.
Through it all, computer shops were a constant. A clear detriment but nevertheless a shoulder for me to lean on. It’s like my pillow now. I love it and it comforts me, but man does it make my neck sting. If and when I couldn’t take the proverbial heat back home, the doors of computer shops were open. In my most lonely, games were there to ease what I lacked — company. I knew that computer shops often pulled me out of reality so much that I neglected requirements. But I guess in your most desperate and loneliest times, you stick with your comfort zone.
And mine was air-conditioned and offered pancit canton.
Coke
JHS was a difficult time for me. I didn’t even know what I wanted after. I swung from wanting law to Greek and Latin studies. Before that? I wanted to be like Stephen Hawking, ignoring till the last second that I was bad at math. And as if immune from time, I’ll swing by the yellow monkey bars in front Archi, waiting till the Angelus and the sun’s last yawn, and “figuring” it out atop the rusty yellow vines. Senior High and beyond was a redemption — my redemption. In fact, I’ll always split 2017 in half between my rock bottom and my redemption arc. Like a Zuko that I was, even when I was lost, I had an Iroh. A sticky, sometimes sweaty, and always open Iroh. Computer shops were with me throughout. I compromised and started splitting my time into playing and working. It genuinely became a home. I would spend all my time there. Turning down invitations to drink or hang out. Perhaps spelling doom to me. I was all the more disconnected with people. But I didn’t and still don’t care. Computer shops offered what my parents, and sometimes even friends couldn’t give. Belongingness. There’s not much a moral to this story. If I have to pull something out of my ass, I guess it’s to not judge people immediately.
But that’s too cliché. I really just wanted to talk about and express my thoughts.
Hardstuck Silver 2
The Grand Theft Auto series has always pushed the media to a narrative that video games causes violent tendencies. And while that’s a whole can of worms I can open next time, it is difficult to deny that statement when five guys are shouting “Gago, bat ka nag BKB agad? Tanga ka ba? Hindi pa nga nag-ss si Naga!” All of this was happening around the shop simultaneously. Whenever I play, sometimes I just mute the chat automatically because I know my heart can’t physically take anger. It’s as if my heart sinks down a particularly soft memory foam. I’d basically be digging my own grave if I dared respond to a particularly salty comment. Anger makes me angry because I shouldn’t be angry. It’s just a game. But with the therapeutic façade I plastered all over games and computer shops, and now contrasting that, my tendency to throw my head to the screen, how then is it my home?
I guess I love playing games and losing myself in time in those soda stained floors, because I love distraction. I’ve always been disconnected with people and with the world. As a kid, I would often ask bullies perplexing questions like “What’s the biggest animal on Earth?” I thought it’s to remind them they can’t mess with brains, but now I know I just dumbfounded their brawn enough to stop their fist from hitting my face. I didn’t, don’t, but hopefully won’t know what’s up. But playing games gave me roles that I can fill that I have confidence I won’t fuck up.
It’s often jarring to come back home with a failed subject on your backburner. We all have faced this. Our hands seemed more like faucets than flesh. Your heart is like being beaten by Metallica’s drummer. None of us were ever ready to face head on our parents. Games and computer shops were (and still are because I’m poor) basically my therapists. It calmed me down smelling the roll dice that is a computer shop. Computer shops and games often gave me solace. I didn’t care much if its immaculate or had roaches crawling about across its wire jungle (looking at you Willgates). None of them were going to hurt me. Just my wallet if anything. And there, I can at least be angry back with the people barking at me; though again, I mostly refuse to inject drama and frustration to my heart. And certainly, computer shops don’t sneer at me or pity me when I get a bad grade. I would almost like to think it appreciated me for what I was without judgement. It felt like computer shops are just Themis’ arms reaching out to me in respecting sympathy. I also love playing games and being in that environment because those are the only places I know I can truly trust someone in believing in me.
In all other places, people can often fool you with their honey soaked tongues. It’s either too formal or too social a place to critique someone openly. I don’t often feel the gravitas of a compliment from such a circumstance. But in computer shops? Man oh man am I addicted to the white powder that I call “fellow gamer compliment.” I remember one time, I was in the now defunct Legion computer shop. It smelled of coffee beans and saloon heat. The neon lights blinking sporadically. I sat down to a chair near the counter. The whole feeling was like being in a cinema, if they dyed your hair, sold coffee, and is showing the movie Chungking Express. I was with my classmates, and others I couldn’t be bothered to remember. We played League of Legends and I picked Amumu. You see, this character, a champion, has a game changing ultimate ability. It was like being Oprah changing people’s lives in an instant. And in an instant in the game with my classmates and a bunch of strangers, I was allowed to say “You get a car. You get a car. Everybody gets a car!” I was met with a cacophony of swears, shouts, and of course, compliments. And I know it couldn’t be false because that was raw. That was visceral. That was a moment. A moment I still have bottled up and maintained in my mind. That was what I sought — the moments. Belongingness, either with or without friends.
A distraction from life — for about one to five hours depending on your wallet’s weight.
Your package will end in 5 minutes
Life is difficult. Sometimes even the chillest of people can break. I don’t regret much of my life. If I do, then who I am now may not be the same. Find your own computer shop. Seriously. Don’t go to my spots. But also find your own computer shops. It’s there. You probably already do or have it. And hold onto it. I disagree with the statement that “it gets easier,” because it doesn’t. Whatever problem you have now only becomes a smaller part of a bigger you. And I guess because of that, you will need to spend more 20s, because —
your package will end in 5 minutes.
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Jiego
