[APH] Usapang Lasing (Juan's Countdown to 2010)
Titolo: Usapang Lasing
Kategorya: Axis Powers Hetalia
Karakter/Pairings: Pilipinas (by peculuiarities ), ang mundo
Uri/Marka/Babala: General/PG/existential vibes
Buod/Sipi: "In a few moments, Time’s heartbeat, 2009 will be over, along with all the glory and shit that happened during it. The New Year’s means rebirth for his people but what for him?"
A/N: It's in English, save for Piri's conversations with other nations. A 2009 year-ender fic I wrote for hetalia_ph
Usapang Lasing: Juan's Countdown to 2010
The night is still young.
Eleven thirty in the evening and the streets are alive with booms, music, food and lively chatter or cheerful screams. The sky is still relatively clear but bangs become more frequent.
In a few moments, Time’s heartbeat, 2009 will be over, along with all the glory and shit that happened during it. The New Year’s means rebirth for his people but what for him?
Another year is just a day. A silly little day that would most likely be no different from the last, filled with strife and division among his people and blind hope. Through the haze of alcohol and an oncoming headache from breathing all the smoke, he wonders if there is anything to look forward to in 2010.
The elections.
He laughs, a lazy bitter laugh, much to the surprise of his companion leaning beside him on the mossy wall of a concrete house, who thought he’d passed out before anything could even begin.
“Las Islas Filipinas, I do believe you’ve had much to drink,” Espanya says and relieves him of his empty beer bottle, much to his chagrin.
“May pangalan ako, Antonio. ‘Yon ay Juan.” It comes out as a buzzed slur, diminishing his initial ferocity.
Espanya smiles apologetically. “Sige. Tama ka na. Pero dahan dahan sa beer.”
Filipino wasn’t meant for such a tongue, he thinks. Espanya trills his ‘r’s.
“Kuya,” he begins with a more sober air. Espanya looks at him with inquiry. “Bagong Taon nga ba ‘to?”
He hears his companion sigh before marching to the one of their rented plastic party tables. He follows him and watches as the Spaniard bends over to the center of the table and gets a piece of lechon from their pulutan.
They sit on monoblocks.
“Ayan ka nanaman,” Espanya says wearing a gentle smile. “Patawarin mo na sarili mo, kahit ngayong gabi lang. At magsaya ka tulad nilang lahat.” Point there.
He looks around their party place out on the street. Earlier that afternoon, they had decided to take their Medya Noche outside so they could see the fireworks. And dancing indoors wasn’t any fun, nor was singing horribly. Not all of them had come, despite this year being Juan's turn to cater. He was hardly surprised. Sure, he was on good terms with everyone, but most of them don’t have a higher opinion of him and his people besides domestic helpers, wiping shit from old men's asses in a land where they have neither friends nor family.
“Yo Philippines! What’s up with you?”
He blinks as Amerika claps him hard on the back.
“Tapos na kayo?”
“Nope, it’s just Italy’s turn to sing. You should listen to the guy, he sounds great! I just stopped by for a beer.”
He watches as Amerika reaches into the weeping cooler by their feet, fishing for more alcohol and gives a shout of triumph when he succeeds.
“Your party’s cool, man!” he continues. “Mind if I join ya?”
“Careful there, Alfred,” Espanya warns jokingly. “He’s having a moment.”
Amerika doesn’t get it at first. “Huh? What about? The beer’s hella good. Austria, Germany and Prussia are going gaga over the stuff.” He waves his San Miguel around.
“Baka nga ang tanging pinunta lang nila dito yung beer…”
Amerika frowns at the cryptic statement. Espanya shrugs.
“Don’t be stupid, man. This party’s at your place. The guys are having tons of fun! The others, well, they’re just busy I guess…”
He raises an eyebrow. “Bisi?”
Amerika laughs. “Don’t tell me that’s your problem?”
“Asa ka pa yun ang problema ko.”
Espanya no longer cares where this is going and stands up to find Romano amongst the karaoke-ing nations.
“Then what is your problem? And on New Year’s too. That isn’t the way to greet 2010!”
“Aber, sabihin mo nga, Kuya Al, kung paano ko sasalubungin ang 2010?”
He fingers the bruises still fresh on his neck and chest, still sore from the September typhoons, the gash on his stomach from the Ampatuan massacres, the burns on his wrists from the sinking of the MV Batelyan and the Pasay fires. He feels it all, from the children who lose fingers to piccolos and watusis to poverty stricken old men who die in ditches. Sadly, they’re all the steady numbing feeling in his right leg.
Amerika sees. He gently lowers his beer bottle on the table and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Sa lahat ng nasyong kilala ko, akala ko ikaw ang pinakamabuting makaka-intindi sa sagot sa tanong mo.”
He laughs. Amerika’s Filipino is horrible.
His companion huffs. “I’m trying to help you out here!”
“Alam ko. Salamat,” he says and eats another piece of lechon. Feed me lies, he wants to say but let bygones be bygones
“I ain’t gonna say your people are gonna get through this because at this point, I don’t think your government gives a shit about what’s happening to ya-“
“Akala ko ba papasiyahin mo ‘ko?”
“But they’ll always be happy, because that’s just how you guys are wired. Kinda envious of that, y’know?”
He watches as Amerika returns to the karaoke machine, rousing a chorus of cheers. There comes a crash of ivory tiles on wood.
“Alam mo, aru…di alam ng tao mo ang alam mo, aru. Wala sila alam sa pinagdadaanan mo bilang nasyon nila, aru. Mahalaga sa kanila, mabuhay ng maigi, mahirap man sila o mayaman, aru~.”
He looks behind him at the mahjong table where Tsina, Japan, Korea and Taiwan are playing. Tsina looks like the next dealer and he’s reshuffling the tiles. Japan takes this moment to steal a bit out of his plate of palabok.
He sits up and watches them with mild interest. “Eh di anong punto natin bilang nasyon?”
Japan smiles as they build the wall. “Para akuin ang sakit at galak ng ating mga mamamayan, dahil sila mismo, hindi nila kayang gawin ‘yon. Sila ang bumubuhay sa atin para maranasan natin kung paano maging tao.”
Tsina downs the tiny cup of tea beside him and refills it with the ancient tea pot he had brought along, before lighting the umpteenth cigarette for the night. “Patuloy tayo mabubuhay kung patuloy sila mabubuhay, aru. Wala kinalaman doon kung paano mangyari ‘yon, aru~.”
Accept the fate of being a nation, he knows his fellow Asians are saying.
Taiwan discards a tile and Korea shouts ‘ESKALERA!’. Tsina whaps him over the head.
“Wrong, aru~! Play properly!”
Korea pouts as Taiwan laughs, declaring a misdeal. “Philippine mahjong is hard, hyung!”
Japan chuckles quietly. “Piri, how many beers have you had?”
Midnight is approaching and he feels a dull excitement pooling at the pit of his belly. The booms increase. He smiles at Japan reaches into the cooler to get a new bottle.
“Kulang pa ata.”
He leaves them to their game and notices the lechon looking unattended and begging to be monopolized. He drags the paper plate toward him and picks on it.
“We can cry for our people, because they can’t cry on their own. We can also share their joy, because their lives may be too short to appreciate any. They will endure and so this New Year is as important as the days we’ve lived and the days we’ll live.”
He glances sideways and is not surprised to see Gresya slumping in his seat, looking drunk whether or not he’s had anything to drink. It seems the man is just waking up, intent on seeing the fireworks. His gaze returns to his beer bottle, somewhat grateful for the sleepy company.
“Siguro ang kalayaan natin bilang nasyon ay ang abilidad para umiyak sa kaaway ng ating mga tao. Dahil alam natin na dati-rati, tayo’y magkakaibigan, mapayapang namumuhay sa mapayapang lugar.”
He feels a few stomach cramps as the Mayon rumbles. He does not see Gresya smile.
“…sometimes we wonder why we’re shaped as humans.”
Juan downs the remaining beer in his bottle and looks around.
Italia, Amerika and their brothers are yelling their hearts out at the karaoke machine. Aleman, Prusiya and Austria are drinking on a rickety card table. Australiya, Rusiya and Pransiya are helping themselves to what’s left of the Medya Noche. Espanya has taken out his guitar and is jamming with Guam and a few of his South American children. Tsina, Japan, Korea and Taiwan are still at their mahjong game. Saudia, Dubai and Singapore are lighting fireworks at a distance.
To any onlooker, they look like an odd bunch of good friends, having a great time greeting the New Year.
Gresya is sitting up beside him. “There will be a blue moon at dawn.”
Juan smiles as the booms, bangs and lights begin to drown out everything else. Like a kid, he shouts and jumps up and down.
“What’s he doing?” Canadia asks worriedly.
“It’s a tradition!” Italia declares happily. “They say when you scream and jump up and down, you’ll grow tall and have good luck!”
Juan hugs and kisses everyone in sight. At first they’re surprised, but let it slide (and even return the hug!). The nations can put up with his quirkiness for just a night.
“Bahala na si Batman!”
And whatever the future may bring, as long as the nations still stand, they will make each day worth it, for themselves and their people. They will smile, because if there are answers to all the questions in this world, they’re made on New Year’s Eve through beer and an insane amount of hope.
WAKAS
Kategorya: Axis Powers Hetalia
Karakter/Pairings: Pilipinas (by peculuiarities ), ang mundo
Uri/Marka/Babala: General/PG/existential vibes
Buod/Sipi: "In a few moments, Time’s heartbeat, 2009 will be over, along with all the glory and shit that happened during it. The New Year’s means rebirth for his people but what for him?"
A/N: It's in English, save for Piri's conversations with other nations. A 2009 year-ender fic I wrote for hetalia_ph
Usapang Lasing: Juan's Countdown to 2010
The night is still young.
Eleven thirty in the evening and the streets are alive with booms, music, food and lively chatter or cheerful screams. The sky is still relatively clear but bangs become more frequent.
In a few moments, Time’s heartbeat, 2009 will be over, along with all the glory and shit that happened during it. The New Year’s means rebirth for his people but what for him?
Another year is just a day. A silly little day that would most likely be no different from the last, filled with strife and division among his people and blind hope. Through the haze of alcohol and an oncoming headache from breathing all the smoke, he wonders if there is anything to look forward to in 2010.
The elections.
He laughs, a lazy bitter laugh, much to the surprise of his companion leaning beside him on the mossy wall of a concrete house, who thought he’d passed out before anything could even begin.
“Las Islas Filipinas, I do believe you’ve had much to drink,” Espanya says and relieves him of his empty beer bottle, much to his chagrin.
“May pangalan ako, Antonio. ‘Yon ay Juan.” It comes out as a buzzed slur, diminishing his initial ferocity.
Espanya smiles apologetically. “Sige. Tama ka na. Pero dahan dahan sa beer.”
Filipino wasn’t meant for such a tongue, he thinks. Espanya trills his ‘r’s.
“Kuya,” he begins with a more sober air. Espanya looks at him with inquiry. “Bagong Taon nga ba ‘to?”
He hears his companion sigh before marching to the one of their rented plastic party tables. He follows him and watches as the Spaniard bends over to the center of the table and gets a piece of lechon from their pulutan.
They sit on monoblocks.
“Ayan ka nanaman,” Espanya says wearing a gentle smile. “Patawarin mo na sarili mo, kahit ngayong gabi lang. At magsaya ka tulad nilang lahat.” Point there.
He looks around their party place out on the street. Earlier that afternoon, they had decided to take their Medya Noche outside so they could see the fireworks. And dancing indoors wasn’t any fun, nor was singing horribly. Not all of them had come, despite this year being Juan's turn to cater. He was hardly surprised. Sure, he was on good terms with everyone, but most of them don’t have a higher opinion of him and his people besides domestic helpers, wiping shit from old men's asses in a land where they have neither friends nor family.
“Yo Philippines! What’s up with you?”
He blinks as Amerika claps him hard on the back.
“Tapos na kayo?”
“Nope, it’s just Italy’s turn to sing. You should listen to the guy, he sounds great! I just stopped by for a beer.”
He watches as Amerika reaches into the weeping cooler by their feet, fishing for more alcohol and gives a shout of triumph when he succeeds.
“Your party’s cool, man!” he continues. “Mind if I join ya?”
“Careful there, Alfred,” Espanya warns jokingly. “He’s having a moment.”
Amerika doesn’t get it at first. “Huh? What about? The beer’s hella good. Austria, Germany and Prussia are going gaga over the stuff.” He waves his San Miguel around.
“Baka nga ang tanging pinunta lang nila dito yung beer…”
Amerika frowns at the cryptic statement. Espanya shrugs.
“Don’t be stupid, man. This party’s at your place. The guys are having tons of fun! The others, well, they’re just busy I guess…”
He raises an eyebrow. “Bisi?”
Amerika laughs. “Don’t tell me that’s your problem?”
“Asa ka pa yun ang problema ko.”
Espanya no longer cares where this is going and stands up to find Romano amongst the karaoke-ing nations.
“Then what is your problem? And on New Year’s too. That isn’t the way to greet 2010!”
“Aber, sabihin mo nga, Kuya Al, kung paano ko sasalubungin ang 2010?”
He fingers the bruises still fresh on his neck and chest, still sore from the September typhoons, the gash on his stomach from the Ampatuan massacres, the burns on his wrists from the sinking of the MV Batelyan and the Pasay fires. He feels it all, from the children who lose fingers to piccolos and watusis to poverty stricken old men who die in ditches. Sadly, they’re all the steady numbing feeling in his right leg.
Amerika sees. He gently lowers his beer bottle on the table and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Sa lahat ng nasyong kilala ko, akala ko ikaw ang pinakamabuting makaka-intindi sa sagot sa tanong mo.”
He laughs. Amerika’s Filipino is horrible.
His companion huffs. “I’m trying to help you out here!”
“Alam ko. Salamat,” he says and eats another piece of lechon. Feed me lies, he wants to say but let bygones be bygones
“I ain’t gonna say your people are gonna get through this because at this point, I don’t think your government gives a shit about what’s happening to ya-“
“Akala ko ba papasiyahin mo ‘ko?”
“But they’ll always be happy, because that’s just how you guys are wired. Kinda envious of that, y’know?”
He watches as Amerika returns to the karaoke machine, rousing a chorus of cheers. There comes a crash of ivory tiles on wood.
“Alam mo, aru…di alam ng tao mo ang alam mo, aru. Wala sila alam sa pinagdadaanan mo bilang nasyon nila, aru. Mahalaga sa kanila, mabuhay ng maigi, mahirap man sila o mayaman, aru~.”
He looks behind him at the mahjong table where Tsina, Japan, Korea and Taiwan are playing. Tsina looks like the next dealer and he’s reshuffling the tiles. Japan takes this moment to steal a bit out of his plate of palabok.
He sits up and watches them with mild interest. “Eh di anong punto natin bilang nasyon?”
Japan smiles as they build the wall. “Para akuin ang sakit at galak ng ating mga mamamayan, dahil sila mismo, hindi nila kayang gawin ‘yon. Sila ang bumubuhay sa atin para maranasan natin kung paano maging tao.”
Tsina downs the tiny cup of tea beside him and refills it with the ancient tea pot he had brought along, before lighting the umpteenth cigarette for the night. “Patuloy tayo mabubuhay kung patuloy sila mabubuhay, aru. Wala kinalaman doon kung paano mangyari ‘yon, aru~.”
Accept the fate of being a nation, he knows his fellow Asians are saying.
Taiwan discards a tile and Korea shouts ‘ESKALERA!’. Tsina whaps him over the head.
“Wrong, aru~! Play properly!”
Korea pouts as Taiwan laughs, declaring a misdeal. “Philippine mahjong is hard, hyung!”
Japan chuckles quietly. “Piri, how many beers have you had?”
Midnight is approaching and he feels a dull excitement pooling at the pit of his belly. The booms increase. He smiles at Japan reaches into the cooler to get a new bottle.
“Kulang pa ata.”
He leaves them to their game and notices the lechon looking unattended and begging to be monopolized. He drags the paper plate toward him and picks on it.
“We can cry for our people, because they can’t cry on their own. We can also share their joy, because their lives may be too short to appreciate any. They will endure and so this New Year is as important as the days we’ve lived and the days we’ll live.”
He glances sideways and is not surprised to see Gresya slumping in his seat, looking drunk whether or not he’s had anything to drink. It seems the man is just waking up, intent on seeing the fireworks. His gaze returns to his beer bottle, somewhat grateful for the sleepy company.
“Siguro ang kalayaan natin bilang nasyon ay ang abilidad para umiyak sa kaaway ng ating mga tao. Dahil alam natin na dati-rati, tayo’y magkakaibigan, mapayapang namumuhay sa mapayapang lugar.”
He feels a few stomach cramps as the Mayon rumbles. He does not see Gresya smile.
“…sometimes we wonder why we’re shaped as humans.”
Juan downs the remaining beer in his bottle and looks around.
Italia, Amerika and their brothers are yelling their hearts out at the karaoke machine. Aleman, Prusiya and Austria are drinking on a rickety card table. Australiya, Rusiya and Pransiya are helping themselves to what’s left of the Medya Noche. Espanya has taken out his guitar and is jamming with Guam and a few of his South American children. Tsina, Japan, Korea and Taiwan are still at their mahjong game. Saudia, Dubai and Singapore are lighting fireworks at a distance.
To any onlooker, they look like an odd bunch of good friends, having a great time greeting the New Year.
Gresya is sitting up beside him. “There will be a blue moon at dawn.”
Juan smiles as the booms, bangs and lights begin to drown out everything else. Like a kid, he shouts and jumps up and down.
“What’s he doing?” Canadia asks worriedly.
“It’s a tradition!” Italia declares happily. “They say when you scream and jump up and down, you’ll grow tall and have good luck!”
Juan hugs and kisses everyone in sight. At first they’re surprised, but let it slide (and even return the hug!). The nations can put up with his quirkiness for just a night.
“Bahala na si Batman!”
And whatever the future may bring, as long as the nations still stand, they will make each day worth it, for themselves and their people. They will smile, because if there are answers to all the questions in this world, they’re made on New Year’s Eve through beer and an insane amount of hope.
WAKAS