That's Not My Name

It's almost eight, yet the streets of Manila are awash with light. It should come as no surprise to me, but every time I return from the province, the spectrum of lights and sounds send a shock from my senses from my brain. It's cold. Maria is sitting next to me in the back of her fathers car. Yes. A car. We're no longer in La Union. We're in the big city. No water buffaloes and dried up river beds. Just noise, putrid air and lights. The thing I miss the most about my small provincial town are the stars. Cities cast too much ambient light obscuring our vision. On top of that all the pollution... Finally brought back to earth from my musings, I glance over at Maria. She's looking out the window. I continue to look, until that look turns into a stare. I awkwardly become aware of my rudeness when Maria looks back quizzically. "Noel... what's the matter?" Noel is not my name. I shrug and shake my head "Nothing..." I glance out my own window. Back to the lights. I mutter the words 'The lights are to blame..." as an afterthought. I wonder if she hears me - probably not. "God", I think "I want to go home."

The real reason for my anxiety and discomfort are not really the lights. They're just to blame for making me feel more homesick. Tonight is the night I meet Maria's parents. They live in Alabang in an abode that could easily fit my entire family. Maria is an only child. I grit my teeth. Remain calm. It'll be fine. She has given me every assurance in the world that her parents will be receptive of the idea of the two of us being married. After all, she came all the way to my humble village in the province, the least I can do is return the favor. We disembark. Maria is dressed casually enough. Jeans, sneakers, a blue top and a gorgeous smile on her face. It exudes excitement and anticipation. I wonder what my face says. I spent some of the money I had set aside for me on new leather shoes, a nice pair of slacks and a white polo shirt. After the purchase, I tried on my new wardrobe and felt like I looked like a waiter... or a penguin... not the budding young musician that I am. My music will pay the bills one day, I hope. And besides I do little jobs here and there. Maria understands. .. she loves me. I leave it at that.

We enter her house and immediately I am assaulted by numerous people who bear a slight resemblance to Maria. I try not to act surprised: I've been set up. This isn't just her parents. A notable portion of her extended family is here too. The ripe Manila smell is replaced by perfumes and the scent of roast pig. The relatives are all over me. Scrutinizing me, like scientists. Thank God for the leather shoes. One by one Maria introduces me to aunt Cecilia, tita Baby, the twins kuya Bobby and Ricardo. "This is Noel" she proudly chirps at them. "That's not my name" I silently add in my head. I shake hands, I nod when appropriate, I even flash a smile here and there. She leaves out the part where I'm her husband. They speak to me in broken Tagalog, Taglish some even make it past 3 in straight Tagalog. Others force themselves to speak their native tongue, perhaps because they think it is courteous, out of presumption that I don't speak English. Idiots all of them. Rich idiots. But you have to humor them. Take it in your stride. The world isn't fair, and sometimes, that's why it's a funny place. 

I'm starting to find this a very tiring and tedious exercise. Finally when the introduction and inspections are over, I finally find some alone time. I plop onto the couch and return to my musings. Perhaps things won't always be like this. Maria is different from these people her and I can find middle ground. After all opposites attract don't they? I begin to lose myself in idealistic thought. "Is this him?" says a large mestizo man, whom I had not noticed in the room before. He's standing just to the left of me. I look up. He's a mountain of a man. An obstacle. A barrier. Standing next to him is Maria. She gives me that look, the one she uses when she's cuing my up to say something. She has no idea. He's scrutinizing me, I just know it. Behind those dark beetling brows, he's calculating whether I'm good enough of not. Well, I've made some calculations of my own. "You must be Noel." He says flatly. "That's not my name." I reply aloud.