I never really thought of seeing him again. Yes, him. And his pistol, his handcuffs, his flashlight. Yes, him. And his uniform, his badge, his desk, his radio, his fan, his No-ID-No-Entry sign.
Mang Boy is still there—his desk and fan and radio to keep him awake through his night shift as security guard of the University of the Philippines Faculty Center. I saw him and struck up a conversation with this classic figure of authority, someone I always saw since my freshman year. I was lucky to have known his name this time—I finally had the courage to ask him despite his colossal, imposing figure.
With a warm smile that can tear through a wall as much as his knuckles can break fist-fights, he surprised me with the kind friendliness he displayed as he let me sit and chat with him. He never even asked to see my ID. He was, by the way the meanest, fiercest guard to strictly implement the no ID, no entry policy when it was first done in the UP campus. His smile tore down every memory I had of him.
So I sat with him, watching the janitors sweep the floor in the early morning before students start coming in.
As I guarded the building with him, I saw a different man. I saw Mang Boy, not the security guard, but the man he is.
Manning a building is no joke especially at night and in an area with fratmen ever busy to wreck frat-wars. Surprisingly, he responds with a coolness and a calm displayed by the jaded. But Mang Boy is not hopeless. The calm he has comes from just being calm himself.
As I sat at his guard post, I saw how calm and peaceful a security guard’s life is. The fan was buzzing and blowing the refreshing air caressing the skin to an almost lullaby-like aura ready to lull one to sleep. The radio was on and the ceaseless chatter of the announcer was dimmed by the silence of the early morning as students start to pile in. The desk was large enough to hold a dinner for a family of four and even fit in a few more visitors.
Imagine getting paid to sit and listen to the rhythm of feet falling to the ground in the busy goings of scholars; to watch the beauty of the early morning sun rising through the smog and mists of the previous night; to smell the graciously endowed fragrance of flowers in the little garden just outside the desk where the log book lies silent through the night; to think of how beautiful life is and how magical it is to be alive sitting on a desk, guarding, watching through the night till the cock crows.
Mang Boy really loves manning the gate of the faculty center. “Sikat talaga pagka UP. Kaya pati guwardya sa UP sikat.” And sure enough, everybody knows him: the authoritative guard, the silent sentinel guarding the books and things pertaining to scholarly things when things scholarly and scholars sleep through the night.
The usual ups and downs of the job do not even create a stir in his soul. He admits being nervous whenever something in the night stirs his senses to an alertness only a dedicated guard knows. But these things in the end do not matter. As a pillar he stands still, unmoved.
I ask him how he feels after successfully busting a crime or stopping the usual fraternity-related fistfights in the university. He shrugs off my question and just tells me, “Wala lang.” And he goes home, ready to listen to more radio and get some sleep.
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