[stationslash] two buendia/magallanes ficlets
please forgive me for making mountains out of molehills again:
in my head, buendia MRT is an accomplished 35-year-old businessman who retired from the corporate world early and is now teaching economics full-time in an effort to "impress upon the youth of today the importance of keeping the economy healthy." while he's honestly passionate about raising good businesspeople, the truth is he just teaches to stave off boredom and stay out of social obligations.
he has a twin brother, gil puyat (LRT 1) who looks exactly like him, but their parents separated when they were both very young, and took one child each to raise. the mother is a blue-collar hard worker, steady and no-nonsense, and she passed on the talent for virtuous living to gil puyat. the father is a wealthy hedon, and buendia grew up admiring-despising him. buendia thinks of his father as having a wasteful "old money" mode of thinking, having inherited his riches without having to lift a finger and therefore doesn't understand the value of money at all (buendia is like his mother in this way, though he doesn't realize it). buendia considers himself a self-made millionaire and strives to teach younger generations of "old money" scions to earn their riches with their own hands.
his student magallanes is not "old money" - his parents are mechanics and he has put himself through school with scholarship and small businesses. he shows much promise, which makes an impression on buendia. however, the boy wants to be accepted by "old money" circles and therefore tries to act like them. buendia finds this at once repulsive and fascinating.
buendia admires lee iacocca and warren buffett. he is frequently the target of kidnapping ploys and random acts of terrorism, but even if it doesn't show, he is quite adept at defending himself.
this is my first contribution to the force of good that is stationslash, please do correct me if i'm doing it wrong.
1. There is a dark space inside Buendia.* It exists like a branching-off tunnel that everyone turns away from, pretending it's commonplace or unimportant. No one ever knows where it leads, and no one ever dares venture inside, but it's there.
Some of the more perceptive ones think it's what makes him fearsome to his students and awe-inspiring to his colleagues. But that's not it, not really. The aloofness he frequently sports, the habit of demanding excellence, is merely a veil set up to hide the dark space from the foolish.
For if everyone knew about it, they would not only fear him - they would shun him. That dark space would be all that they saw. They would not see a decorated economics teacher and accomplished businessman whose thoughts run deep and who doesn't give a damn what everyone says... they would see a sad, lonely man who hides the ugliness of his true self.
There are certain people who should not see this dark space at all. Those are the people whose opinion Buendia cherishes. Some of them are his colleagues, some his business partners, and some are his students.
There is one student, in particular, who absolutely must not know. Though this student admires Buendia, and Buendia knows it, he can't ever risk the student finding out how badly the dark space can take him over. For example, when he sees this student talking to someone else exclusively - another teacher, perhaps, or an especially good-looking classmate - he has to keep his feet rooted to the floor. He has to keep himself from driving a verbal barb between the eyes of the person who happens to be monopolizing this student's time. And when he sees this student bent over his books, his brows knitted in concentration, absently brushing aside a lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes, he thinks of how he would like to run his fingertip over that lock of hair, those closed eyelids and long lashes, those lips - how he would very much like to be the only person in the world who has that privilege.
The student would be scared.
Buendia himself is scared. He shouldn't be feeling things like this. He is a respectable person. A model for the young. He has to stay on the path of the true and right.
But what will happen, say, if this student happens to get in trouble. What if this student makes the wrong friends, makes some horrible missteps, and comes to him for help? What would he do to the people who led his student astray? What if this student, walking innocently beside him on a calm and peaceful moonlit night, is suddenly attacked, simply because he is in Buendia's company? What would he do if this student gets hurt?
How would he stop himself from causing suffering to anyone who dares to harm a hair on this student's head?
Buendia fears this dark space. He fears what will happen if he is drawn into it. He fears that then, there would be no going back to the path of the true and right.
2. "Count the number of times Prof. Buendia smiled today" is a favorite game among his students, for God knows what reason. That's why Buendia consciously avoids smiling and letting on that he's amused whenever some loser comes up with a random number in a feeble attempt to be funny.
"Eight," a smartass says. "Fifteen. A raised eyebrow counts!" another declares. It's never correct, Buendia knows, because he keeps track of how many times he smiles.
It's only a matter of principle: if you're building yourself up to be respected in Society, you have to understand that image is important. Image isn't everything, of course, as he tells his best students - but Society demands that you wear pressed shirts, square your shoulders and threaten to kill the next person who misspells "definitely" on an essay. It's your role in life to be a hard-ass, so buck up and discipline yourself; every time you smile, give yourself a mental kick in the nuts.
Then he hears someone saying "One."
It's Magallanes. He's addressing his friends. Buendia raises an eyebrow at him.
"Sir Buendia! I'm right, aren't I?" the boy asks. "Today, you smiled once."
Not by a longshot, kid. "If you have nothing to do but watch my face all day," he replies, nose in the air, "you have too much free time, Magallanes. A 20-page essay on stabilization policy should cure that."
"Come on, Prof! There's, like, money on this." The boy leaps out of his seat and approaches Buendia's desk, plants his hands on top and leans over to him. If they were only in class, Buendia could have his head for that. "Look, I made a bet with my bros. Do me a favor and win me a few bucks?"
"Do you need the money for school books, Magallanes?" He meets the boy's playful stare with daggers. "Name the amount and I'll write you a check."
The boy draws back a bit at the acid singsong, but his friends are watching, and he isn't going to embarrass himself by giving up so easily. "Naman, Prof, don't be so mean! You know, you're my favorite teacher here."
What, is he seriously pulling this?
"I mean it!"
"Magallanes, you are one bullshit away from walking out of here penniless and with a 5.0 on your last statistical analysis."
"I just haven't found the right way to tell you." The boy pulls back, stands up straight, and takes a deep breath, dramatically. "Remember that article in the campus paper where students wrote the names of their favorite teachers anonymously?"
Buendia eyes him sidelong.
"So, like, there's this one entry there that's about you, right? And it's, like, super-long and like, filled with all this stuff..."
"Yes, yes," Buendia interrupts. "That entire article is a waste of recycled paper. I never read it."
"You never - ?" The boy seems surprised. Maybe a bit hurt. "Well... it doesn't matter. I can recite it to you." A triumphant grin. "Because I wrote it."
It's a lie that Buendia never read it. He read it, of course. It was even read aloud to him without his permission. The whole Econ department had a good laugh over it a few days ago, speculating on who "the little suckup" could be, even cracking jokes about how Buendia could have written it himself because "You know as well as we do, Buendia... they all hate you."
Buendia knew. And yet, he read it. Over and over. He read it in the privacy of his condo, where he wasn't going to be laughed at or called a hypocrite by anyone who needed a swift kick in the face. It was the longest and most moving entry in that compost pit of an article. Buendia had burned it into his brain.
And from how Magallanes talks now, Buendia can believe that he did write it. He doesn't pronounce the words exactly as if he had memorized them, but doesn't make any big mistakes in the telling. He even laughs shyly just after saying "it's a little corny". It's strange, how he talks about a life-changing teacher, as if he's talking about someone else and not the perpetually high-strung one whom everybody envies and hates.
"There's something else that never made it to print," Magallanes cheerfully reports at the end. "I mentioned that you have really pretty eyes and you should take off your glasses more often."
Buendia suddenly feels like his "really pretty" eyes are going to pop out of their sockets and roll off his desk. Magallanes' friends are staring at him with their mouths hanging open - mid-laugh or not, Buendia can't tell.
Magallanes rubs the back of his neck. If it's all a joke, why is his face turning red? "Well, maybe they don't like to print stuff like that, you know? Although some of the other entries even talked about some teachers' lady bits, and like, I don't think it's fair that just because you're a guy - "
"Enough," Buendia snaps, with much less indignation than he intended. It's time to save everyone further embarrassment. "All right, you wrote it. Whatever. Now shut up and get out of my face, or you really will get a 5.0 somewhere the sun don't shine."
The idiot boy is about to say something else, but his friends drag him out of the classroom in a hurry. The last thing Buendia hears from the little group is Magallanes loudly proclaiming that he hasn't lost the bet yet.
Then, blessed silence. Buendia sighs with relief. He takes his spectacles off to rest his eyes and then, realizing what he just did, fails to stifle an amused snort.
Magallanes' head pops in through the open doorway and the smirk flies off Buendia's face. Oh shit.
"One," Magallanes crows. "I win!"
* there really is a tunnel along the buendia-ayala MRT route, it's right under ayala station. i'm sure there's a sound architectural reason for its existence, but i still love that tunnel for reasons i can't describe XD
in my head, buendia MRT is an accomplished 35-year-old businessman who retired from the corporate world early and is now teaching economics full-time in an effort to "impress upon the youth of today the importance of keeping the economy healthy." while he's honestly passionate about raising good businesspeople, the truth is he just teaches to stave off boredom and stay out of social obligations.
he has a twin brother, gil puyat (LRT 1) who looks exactly like him, but their parents separated when they were both very young, and took one child each to raise. the mother is a blue-collar hard worker, steady and no-nonsense, and she passed on the talent for virtuous living to gil puyat. the father is a wealthy hedon, and buendia grew up admiring-despising him. buendia thinks of his father as having a wasteful "old money" mode of thinking, having inherited his riches without having to lift a finger and therefore doesn't understand the value of money at all (buendia is like his mother in this way, though he doesn't realize it). buendia considers himself a self-made millionaire and strives to teach younger generations of "old money" scions to earn their riches with their own hands.
his student magallanes is not "old money" - his parents are mechanics and he has put himself through school with scholarship and small businesses. he shows much promise, which makes an impression on buendia. however, the boy wants to be accepted by "old money" circles and therefore tries to act like them. buendia finds this at once repulsive and fascinating.
buendia admires lee iacocca and warren buffett. he is frequently the target of kidnapping ploys and random acts of terrorism, but even if it doesn't show, he is quite adept at defending himself.
this is my first contribution to the force of good that is stationslash, please do correct me if i'm doing it wrong.
1. There is a dark space inside Buendia.* It exists like a branching-off tunnel that everyone turns away from, pretending it's commonplace or unimportant. No one ever knows where it leads, and no one ever dares venture inside, but it's there.
Some of the more perceptive ones think it's what makes him fearsome to his students and awe-inspiring to his colleagues. But that's not it, not really. The aloofness he frequently sports, the habit of demanding excellence, is merely a veil set up to hide the dark space from the foolish.
For if everyone knew about it, they would not only fear him - they would shun him. That dark space would be all that they saw. They would not see a decorated economics teacher and accomplished businessman whose thoughts run deep and who doesn't give a damn what everyone says... they would see a sad, lonely man who hides the ugliness of his true self.
There are certain people who should not see this dark space at all. Those are the people whose opinion Buendia cherishes. Some of them are his colleagues, some his business partners, and some are his students.
There is one student, in particular, who absolutely must not know. Though this student admires Buendia, and Buendia knows it, he can't ever risk the student finding out how badly the dark space can take him over. For example, when he sees this student talking to someone else exclusively - another teacher, perhaps, or an especially good-looking classmate - he has to keep his feet rooted to the floor. He has to keep himself from driving a verbal barb between the eyes of the person who happens to be monopolizing this student's time. And when he sees this student bent over his books, his brows knitted in concentration, absently brushing aside a lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes, he thinks of how he would like to run his fingertip over that lock of hair, those closed eyelids and long lashes, those lips - how he would very much like to be the only person in the world who has that privilege.
The student would be scared.
Buendia himself is scared. He shouldn't be feeling things like this. He is a respectable person. A model for the young. He has to stay on the path of the true and right.
But what will happen, say, if this student happens to get in trouble. What if this student makes the wrong friends, makes some horrible missteps, and comes to him for help? What would he do to the people who led his student astray? What if this student, walking innocently beside him on a calm and peaceful moonlit night, is suddenly attacked, simply because he is in Buendia's company? What would he do if this student gets hurt?
How would he stop himself from causing suffering to anyone who dares to harm a hair on this student's head?
Buendia fears this dark space. He fears what will happen if he is drawn into it. He fears that then, there would be no going back to the path of the true and right.
2. "Count the number of times Prof. Buendia smiled today" is a favorite game among his students, for God knows what reason. That's why Buendia consciously avoids smiling and letting on that he's amused whenever some loser comes up with a random number in a feeble attempt to be funny.
"Eight," a smartass says. "Fifteen. A raised eyebrow counts!" another declares. It's never correct, Buendia knows, because he keeps track of how many times he smiles.
It's only a matter of principle: if you're building yourself up to be respected in Society, you have to understand that image is important. Image isn't everything, of course, as he tells his best students - but Society demands that you wear pressed shirts, square your shoulders and threaten to kill the next person who misspells "definitely" on an essay. It's your role in life to be a hard-ass, so buck up and discipline yourself; every time you smile, give yourself a mental kick in the nuts.
Then he hears someone saying "One."
It's Magallanes. He's addressing his friends. Buendia raises an eyebrow at him.
"Sir Buendia! I'm right, aren't I?" the boy asks. "Today, you smiled once."
Not by a longshot, kid. "If you have nothing to do but watch my face all day," he replies, nose in the air, "you have too much free time, Magallanes. A 20-page essay on stabilization policy should cure that."
"Come on, Prof! There's, like, money on this." The boy leaps out of his seat and approaches Buendia's desk, plants his hands on top and leans over to him. If they were only in class, Buendia could have his head for that. "Look, I made a bet with my bros. Do me a favor and win me a few bucks?"
"Do you need the money for school books, Magallanes?" He meets the boy's playful stare with daggers. "Name the amount and I'll write you a check."
The boy draws back a bit at the acid singsong, but his friends are watching, and he isn't going to embarrass himself by giving up so easily. "Naman, Prof, don't be so mean! You know, you're my favorite teacher here."
What, is he seriously pulling this?
"I mean it!"
"Magallanes, you are one bullshit away from walking out of here penniless and with a 5.0 on your last statistical analysis."
"I just haven't found the right way to tell you." The boy pulls back, stands up straight, and takes a deep breath, dramatically. "Remember that article in the campus paper where students wrote the names of their favorite teachers anonymously?"
Buendia eyes him sidelong.
"So, like, there's this one entry there that's about you, right? And it's, like, super-long and like, filled with all this stuff..."
"Yes, yes," Buendia interrupts. "That entire article is a waste of recycled paper. I never read it."
"You never - ?" The boy seems surprised. Maybe a bit hurt. "Well... it doesn't matter. I can recite it to you." A triumphant grin. "Because I wrote it."
It's a lie that Buendia never read it. He read it, of course. It was even read aloud to him without his permission. The whole Econ department had a good laugh over it a few days ago, speculating on who "the little suckup" could be, even cracking jokes about how Buendia could have written it himself because "You know as well as we do, Buendia... they all hate you."
Buendia knew. And yet, he read it. Over and over. He read it in the privacy of his condo, where he wasn't going to be laughed at or called a hypocrite by anyone who needed a swift kick in the face. It was the longest and most moving entry in that compost pit of an article. Buendia had burned it into his brain.
And from how Magallanes talks now, Buendia can believe that he did write it. He doesn't pronounce the words exactly as if he had memorized them, but doesn't make any big mistakes in the telling. He even laughs shyly just after saying "it's a little corny". It's strange, how he talks about a life-changing teacher, as if he's talking about someone else and not the perpetually high-strung one whom everybody envies and hates.
"There's something else that never made it to print," Magallanes cheerfully reports at the end. "I mentioned that you have really pretty eyes and you should take off your glasses more often."
Buendia suddenly feels like his "really pretty" eyes are going to pop out of their sockets and roll off his desk. Magallanes' friends are staring at him with their mouths hanging open - mid-laugh or not, Buendia can't tell.
Magallanes rubs the back of his neck. If it's all a joke, why is his face turning red? "Well, maybe they don't like to print stuff like that, you know? Although some of the other entries even talked about some teachers' lady bits, and like, I don't think it's fair that just because you're a guy - "
"Enough," Buendia snaps, with much less indignation than he intended. It's time to save everyone further embarrassment. "All right, you wrote it. Whatever. Now shut up and get out of my face, or you really will get a 5.0 somewhere the sun don't shine."
The idiot boy is about to say something else, but his friends drag him out of the classroom in a hurry. The last thing Buendia hears from the little group is Magallanes loudly proclaiming that he hasn't lost the bet yet.
Then, blessed silence. Buendia sighs with relief. He takes his spectacles off to rest his eyes and then, realizing what he just did, fails to stifle an amused snort.
Magallanes' head pops in through the open doorway and the smirk flies off Buendia's face. Oh shit.
"One," Magallanes crows. "I win!"
* there really is a tunnel along the buendia-ayala MRT route, it's right under ayala station. i'm sure there's a sound architectural reason for its existence, but i still love that tunnel for reasons i can't describe XD