The Dilemma of the Shoes

First of all, on choices: Everybody has got to make them. It's a fact of life. The possibilities are endless. Which school to go to, whether to brush first before flossing, vice versa, or even your lifestyle; in Pilars case it's whom to love - if such a choice can even be said to exist. She finds herself between the proverbial rock and a hard place, forced to choose between two ideals. On one hand she has culture, and on the other she has physical beauty. Each presents a side of a coin, if you will. They are both viable choices, that is to say, they are the same type of coin, but one is heads, the other tails. 

Part of this exercise is relating this 'toss of the coin' to my own life. At the risk of sounding rude, it is my opinion that such matters are more the concern of females and in the case of males, womanizers. However, yes, I have experienced such a dilemma at one point in my life. That is not to say it was a dilemma of whom to marry, rather it was more of learning to be content with something. I don't want to delve too deep into the details, but suffice it to say, I had a choice between two. A person that seemed quite ideal, and one that didn't quite fit that particular criteria. In the end I learned a valuable lesson. Sometimes you need to settle for less, and make the best out of it. (How cliche, I know). If I had to put this lesson into metaphor, I'd put it this way:

Say, you going to buy a new pair of shoes. You already know which particular pair of shoes you want to purchase. You take them off the shelf and try them on, but it doesn't fit right. Sure, they look neat and they're the ones you've been waiting all week to buy, but the fit is just wrong. On the other hand, you spot a pair of shoes that don't quite suit your fancy, but upon trying them on, they fit snuggly. Your choice. Make of it what you will.

To My Dearest

To my dearest,

It has been far too long, has it not? It appears humorous to me to be posing such a question, as it occurs to me that I am in no position to be asking as such, for the answer is apparent. I left, without leaving a word, for my conscience could not take what happened. It is time you knew the truth of the matters between us.

I am not a single man. And my mother is not sick; in fact, she isn't even remotely dying. I'd wager a month's salary on her being able to run laps around the bukid and still have enough energy to go milk the goats afterwards (with a smile and a pep in her step, mind you).
You must understand this. What we had was something special, or else it would never have happened. Alas: There is a difference between what we feel, and what we have to do. And my family must come first. It is a sad story and one that I do not recount with joy or pride, for I had done them a wrong turn. I abandoned them, in an attempt to escape responsibility. To start anew. And just when I thought I had found it with you, I had a change of heart. I had to return. You must understand. This wasn't easy for me either. It took me all this time to work up the courage to write this letter to you. I could not make the same mistake twice. I decided to man up to the situation and take things up from where I left them.

I'm sorry,

____________________

She withdraws the letter from her gaze. The woman stares blankly into space.
She is enraged. But she doesn't let it show. She folds the letter neatly and replaces it into the envelope with such care, that no one would have thought it ever to have been opened. She tucks it equally as neatly into the deepest recesses of her purse as if it was the One Ring itself, destined to be thrown into the fires of Mount Doom. She exits the post office that is disguised as a pharmacy. The medicine is too expensive for most anyway. She walks down the dusty roads, past the palm trees, past the patty fields and the children helping their parents on the farms. She doesn't mind them. This woman has something more important on her mind. She has a purpose, a mission. And it will be fulfilled. It isn't anything grandiose. Just something she has to do, despite what she feels. She arrives home. Her husband is asleep. And before the little shrine dedicated to the virgin Mary in their home, she kneels and lights a candle. She carefully takes the envelope from her purse, and places a gentle kiss on it. Then abruptly, as if the envelope had suddenly become something ghastly and wicked in her eyes, she holds the letter out to lick of the flame, and the flame embraces it. Not suddenly, but little by little, like a wine taster savors a rare Cabernet or Merlot. She looks on satisfied. It is done. The memory and feelings passed on through the baptism of fire. They have been let go. She has another life now. Despite what might have been. She knows now there is no turning back. There is acceptance in her soul. It may not be ideal she muses. But it is a life. Indeed. There is a difference between what you feel and you have to do.

Selling the Drama

Hmmm, a time when I was discriminated against because of my gender? Well, not many times come to mind, as we Filipinos live in a more or less 'male dominated' society. This may be changing slowly as the country progresses, but evidently, some chauvinist ideals and values are still present in our society. Take Nikki's example with her father: She may not stay out as late as her younger brother, because she is female. This presumably is the consequence of the fear that she is more susceptible to rape, than her brother. Or the attitude that female drivers are inferior (ahem, hint, hint, nudge, nudge - just kidding.). So, being a male, I cannot recall any significant events. If there were any, then I would probably remember, seen as I don't, then I guess not. HOWEVER. What I have seen is girls take advantage of this situation sometimes. This is not to say that girls are opportunistic, as with many things, it is the case with a few, and I don't presume to make a sweeping generalization of the female attitude: these are just my experiences.

I remember a time during one of my classes in DLSC, that the whole class was asked to move the tables and chairs into a certain position. This of course entails manual work i.e. lifting, dragging etc. And not that I'm complaining (this is a delicate topic to speak about, it's a challenge not to appear sexist) but I guess the females in the group thought they were exempted from this task. Some stood at the side, others pretended to be busy with their phones, and none of the males asked them to help. Now to be fair, there were some males who weren't helping, but I guess that boils down to plain laziness, but the reason why so many females appeared idle, was a mystery to me. Is this perhaps one of the perks of being a female in the Philippines? Gentlemanly conduct dictates that you try to make women feel at ease etc. and being polite, but it just took me a bit by surprise.

Hmmmm.... gender discrimination... You know, come to think of it, I don't think it's ever happened to me significantly. Race discrimination: sure! Plenty of times. It's one of those problems that comes with being half. Here, I'm white: sometimes I get ripped off, sometimes they think I shit 100 dollar bills. In Europe, I'm brown: either mistaken for a Turkish immigrant, stealing jobs from Swiss people, or just in general for having a darker shade of skin... 

In Another Life

Well, if I had to choose, I'd probably Eddie Vedder. Seeing as all the other greats from the grunge era are all dead, or addicted to drugs. Eddie and Pearl Jam have been making great music for years now, never compromising their sound. They don't make music videos and don't sell out. To me, this shows that the reason they do what they do is for the music. Of course they make a little money on the side, but at least they aren't commercialized like most of the new bands that are out there, who sell an image. It seems to me that most of these kids that famous nowadays possess little to no talent at all. In fact, they all kind of sound the same. Pearl Jam on the other hand is still true in your face raw rock and roll. What I wouldn't give to front Pearl Jam for even just one tour. Millions of people all around the world listening to your music. You step on stage to the sound of thousands of people cheering and focused solely on the sound you make. Awesome. My ultimate fantasy. And, well, it's not much, but that's all I have to say about that...

The Belle of the Ball

It's nine in the morning on a perfect summer day. There isn't a need to elaborate on this. It's just perfect on the surface. We've just finished breakfast, a concoction of bacon, eggs and rice. The kids have been sent off to school and now my wife is puttering around in the garden. She's wearing those revealing shorts again, the ones that showcase her perfectly tanned legs and a bit of her butt-crack when she bends over to inspect a daffodil or a rose. Perhaps she feels that these flowers are an extension of her beauty. Of her perfection and how she has to extend this perfection to everything around her. We are the perfect family, and she intends to keep it that way. She is in every sense of the word: a jewel. A jewel I came to possess while in college finishing my master's degree in mathematics. As if she was some prize waiting to be snatched up by the person who best at number crunching and later in life, be the bane of every college student. I examine her. She is beautiful. Long legs, firm breasts, a pretty smile, having the kids didn't affect her figure. But even the most beautiful of possessions is subject to loss of interest over time. And thus, I have turned my attentions to something outside of my little world. Outside the daffodils, outside the Mozart records that I play, outside the little nuisances that have compiled over the years. For another jewel has caught my eye... And it sits upon the finger of another man.
Truth be told, I have already touched that jewel. I have stroked it in places that have long been forgotten by it's owner. It happened while we were touring the cottages. A quiver in her lips told me she wanted it and apparently a sparkle in my eye or some other subconscious cue gave my intents and desires away. And then, in that moment, it happened. A sweaty and passionate thirty minutes later, we lay on the floor smoking cigarettes. She is my neighbor. In between puffs, she tells me that she doesn't usually smoke. But then again, today was a day of firsts. I take a long puff on my cigarette "Your husband must never know". We agree, and that's the beginning of how it all started. There is more of course.
I come home and my wife gives me a suspicious look. My hair is unkempt, my tie isn't positioned in its usual perfection. "How was did you find the cottages?" she asks me, her voice strained. I manage to groan out an answer. I am no longer in our dinning room. My conscience is next door, inhaling Belle's sweet aroma. But right now, that's not possible. There's a fight going on. I'm listening. "Yes." My mind whispers in Belle's ear. "Tell him to get the fuck out of your life. To take you off his finger, Belle. There's a new jeweler in town." My wife goes on and on, and I'm still only listening with half an ear then suddenly a sentence registers in my ear "I'm want to put up a fence."
"What?"
"A fence."
"I just feel we need some more privacy around here."
I know what this really means. She can probably smell Belle on me. She despises that woman and has developed a sense for her. Right now, I got Belle written all over me. But she won't let another woman ruin her world, no. She'll shut her out. The fence has a double function: To keep her out and keep me in. Psychological warfare. Perhaps she doesn't know that I've noticed Belle's husband's hungry stares. While she's bending over to inspect a daffodil. Like a starving wolf might stare at a piece of meat; with fervor, with intent, with lust. Prick.
We finish dinner. I am silent, while my wife goes on about how pretty and perfect the white fence will be and how it will be the perfect addition to our little set up here. All I can think of is how to reach Belle. I walk over to the phonograph, I play Mozart. I pour myself some whiskey into a tumbler. Chivas Regal on ice, the good stuff, the perfect compliment to the occasion. Today was good. Finally a little excitement in 'perfect-ville'.
"Do Belle and him fight often?" I muse, "Perhaps, I'll ask him one day..."