Chapter 4.2

4.2 Perception

***

I would have preferred it if I was kept awake by my upcoming semifinal match in the combat arnis tournament.

That way, I would’ve had a valid enough excuse if I started the fight like a battery-operated rabbit flailing around, as if I didn’t know what I was doing.

It wasn’t the butterflies in my stomach that was keeping me awake – rather, I was drawn back to snapshots in my childhood, days when Grandfather was still hale and hearty, teaching my younger self lessons that I didn’t understand then.

I’d liked to have spared some time to think about how the clarion call of nostalgia was keeping my eyes from closing, but the mention of a name was enough to satisfy the inquisitive part of me.

Yeah, it’s Moira’s fault.

I know, I’m being childish, but that comes with being sixteen years, three hundred and sixty-four days, twenty hours and thirty minutes old, give me a break.

I can afford to be childish in moments like these, when it really doesn’t matter.

Anyway, I still couldn’t sleep.

My talks with my grandfather before my birthdays keep popping up in my mind.

“I brought you and raised you here, because I want you to love this place as much as I do, Max,” I recall my grandfather telling me on the eve of my thirteenth birthday. “I want this place to be your roots, I want you to remain grounded here.”

I remembered shrugging.

“But what if I want to go to Manila, Gramps? Does that mean I will be uprooted?”

He laughed out loud, before ruffling my hair.

“Do you want to?”

“No, Gramps. I love it here. Being in Manila… I can’t explain it. It’s like everyone there is so… so… wrapped up in themselves. Here, I feel… free.”

Grandfather smiled widely, and a detail I can see now that I didn’t before was the moisture in his eyes.

“I understand you completely, Max – you truly are your father’s son. Now, what say we go to Lacey’s tomorrow for your birthday?”

The memory fades away, and I placed a hand to my face, unsurprised that my cheeks are wet.

The semifinal will be tomorrow, and with it my seventeenth birthday.

A sense of calm settles down over me, and I know that tomorrow, I will bring something better to the mat: faster, smarter, stronger than who I was before.

I closed my eyes with that thought; even if the night sky seems a little bit brighter, sleep no longer eluded me.

***

When I opened my eyes towards Thursday morning, the skies were still starting to lighten; the brighter stars were still twinkling, a sign that I would be able to see the sunrise through the mountains bordering the town of San Luis Vicente.

Though I only slept for seven and a half hours, I was able to get up from bed refreshed, with a spring in my step and the promise of a steaming cup of decaffeinated coffee while I watch the sun rise.

At this time of year, I have enough time to see the sunrise before I take a shower and head to school with Salve, who starts the day even earlier than me.

As the welcoming aroma of coffee wafts towards my nose, I take a deep, rejuvenating breath, and then help myself to a sip, smiling as I see the sun begin to peek out from the horizon.

“Happy birthday,” I heard Salve calling behind me. “You’re what, seventeen now?”

“That’s right, Miss Salve,” I replied after turning to her. “And today’s the semifinal.”

She smiled.

“No wonder, you weren’t pushing for a party today – you’re still in the running for the tournament. Well – what do you think about your opponent? Joachim Carlos?”

“I don’t know much about him, but I feel pretty good today. They say he’s some sort of ringer, but I think I can handle myself well enough today.”

Miss Salve chuckled.

“Looks like someone woke up on the right side of the bed today. You focus on your match; I’ll tell you how yesterday went afterwards… you need to hear it.”

“All right.”

Well, that didn’t sound ominous at all.

I was on some kind of high, so I didn’t catch it back then.

All that mattered was the match.

From there, Miss Salve and I prepared for the rest of the day, and while on the five-minute drive from Grandfather’s home to school, the interior of the sedan was surprisingly silent.

Seemed both of us needed to focus on our tasks at hand, which I was surprisingly okay with.

As recent as a year ago, miscellaneous matters would have sapped my focus, nagging at me until I paid attention to them, diverting my motivation towards more important ends.

Now, though, I was content with letting Miss Salve tell me those matters on her own time.

As we pulled into the school entryway, something came to mind: is this what growing up feels like?

***

As always, the call time for the combat arnis tournament was half past nine – during the earlier rounds, with a lot more competitors, the schedule was enforced down to the second. Now, though, with only two bouts for this morning, the organizers had a lot more leeway in scheduling the bouts, leaving them free to generate hype for the last three bouts this week, the ones to determine who walks away the winner.

That was why I immediately made a beeline for Dr. Harry’s office as soon as I arrived to school; this was where Jaric and I would be expected, making small talk with our school physician and sports doctor.

He was already seated at his desk, reading through scouting reports when I knocked on the door of our clinic and walked in upon saying “come in”.

“Someone seems ready,” he said with a sharklike smile upon seeing me enter. “As for Joachim Carlos, your guess was right: he’s a ringer Palm’s Crest Montessori brought on for this year. That’s the bad news.”

“What’s the good news?”

“This is his first combat arnis tournament. They took him on board because he was just that good at sport arnis, and it’s that skill that brought him all the way to the semifinals. Against someone with the same blood and potential as one of the founders of combat arnis, though… he’s going to need more than skill.”

“You talk like I’ve already won, Doc.”

“No,” Dr. Harry replied, “I’m saying you can win the bout within the first few points by showing him the difference between sport arnis and combat arnis. Not telling you to be sloppy or grandstand, but show him just how worlds apart these two activities are. Heck, the way combat arnis has diverged, all they have in common are the sticks.”

“Did Grandfather tell you that?”

“Oddly enough, no,” Dr. Harry answered. “It was something I figured out on my own, asked your grandfather, and he confirmed it. Just don’t get overconfident. Coach Greg and I have been working on Jaric’s game. You know who his opponent will be.”

Again, that didn’t sound well.

“I certainly do,” I replied, my voice sounding uncharacteristically grim. “Speaking of which, where’s Jaric?”

The school physician jerked his thumb towards the makeshift dojo we put up at the start of the school year. “Coach Greg and Coach Jim are giving him some last-minute adjustments to his stances and strikes. Not sure how well it will help, but you know, every little bit counts.”

He sighed.

“Want to go see how they’re doing? We have half an hour before we’re supposed to be heading to the town plaza.”

“Sure thing, Doc.”

He nodded, and we left the clinic to see how Jaric was doing.

Jaric was very good, but based on what social media and our coaches said about Severino Palparan, the guy was a monster on the mat.

He’d need every advantage he could get just to keep pace with the ace from North Point, that’s for sure…

***