Kebin

The sun was scorching above Kebin’s foul head when he was heading home after a hard day at primary school. His way home was a struggle and everyday he has to give up the thought of suffering. His head down, looking at his old fashioned and rag-looking shoes that was given to him by a random guy his father was acquainted to. It was a kilometer walk from the street corner to his house.

 From his solitude, he was disturbed by the blare of men in a distance, on the fervent hot field. Immediately he knew what was it all about. He kept his head down and walked faster hoping his father will not be one of that crowd. Sweats were dripping down his face in the rhythm of his fleeting feet. His heart was beating in parallel of his thumping foot. As he walked faster, the screaming and cheering get lauder. Kebin’s pace was unchanging, head was still down, and sweating for his salvation. The shouting became a clarion of cheering men. Cheering for their bet.

Every part of Kebin’s body was abnormally dripping. He was under the feeling of extreme discomfort.

He walks even faster, and faster until he found himself running. His tiny feet could only cover short distance after a series of small steps. Not even close to his sanctuary, his father called him from a distance,

“Nak!” (“son!”)

And just like that his nightmare was gripping at his short neck lifting all of his blood high to his head as his consciousness struggled to left his body. He stopped. He said nothing, his breathing got heavier.

His father ran towards him, his belly was bouncing up and down as if he was a pregnant woman with no proper hygiene and no sign of giving birth. He dragged Kebin towards the roaring crowd, but Kebin kept his silence. He was scared, angry and confuse. He hoped that someone could take him away from this monstrosity.

“Pa, dili ko” (“Dad, I don’t want to”)

Kebin begs for his father’s mercy, almost crying.

“ah!” his father shrugs furiously.

He grabs Kebin’s hands and put on a pair of punching glove. Men of different ages were shouting like animals as they lay down their money for wager.

Kebin was encircled by these people, some he knew, some were unfamiliar. He was standing weakly, and he felt that he would burst. He tried to hold it in, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Sumbag lang nak! Wala! tuo!” (“Just punch him son! left! right!”)

Shouted his father with a little hint of encouragement, mostly because he has put a lot of money in Kebin’s victory.

He didn’t look at him. He ignored his boxing advise. He is furious, enraging with hate and disgust. Towards his father and the people around. ‘yawa mo! Sumbong tamong mama!’ (‘you monsters! Im telling my mother!’) He thought to himself and it only added more bleak in his heart. He wants to cry, but he must not. He lifted his head, he saw another boy in the opposite side of him, dirty, sweaty and mad. The boy charged, giving Kebin a hard blow on the right cheek, it felt nothing. Its not painful at all. So he charnged back. Men were now even more loader, they couldn’t get enough. So they shouted like barbarians.

“Sumbaga nak! Sige! Wala! Tuo! Aprikat!” (“Just punch him son! Go! left! right! uppercut!”) Blared his father. Kebin heard it all so he did, but not to follow his father but to channel the anger down to his opponent. The poor guy touched the ground as knocked out child. Aghast with the scenario, his eyes were ready to cry, but again he tried to hold it in.

“Hawuda jud nimo nak uy, sunod napud nak ha? Dira oh, kina lupok.” (“You’re the best son, we’ll do it again next time, there at Lupok’s”)

He pointed at the old house across the field. His father notice the building tears around kebin’s eyes.

“ayaw sigeg hilak, mura mag dili laki” (“Don’t you cry, aren’t you a man?”)

Kebin looked at his father in disbelief, as he walked out and cry like a child that he was.