Ideal Man

Marami ang nag-aakala na crush ko si Sir Rod. Well, siguro nga, but not entirely. Si Sir Rod kasi ang ideal man. Actually, he is a husband material (well, he is already a husband). ‘Ano bang qualities ng isang ideal man? Una, mabait, generally sa kahit sinong tao. Maloko pero hindi bastos sa tao, especially sa babae. He is responsible and most importantly, he has the sense of responsibility, the initiative. Siya ‘yung may option A, option B, option C. He has plans for his family, especially for his children. He already knows what to do with his children’s future. If you will get to know Sir Rod, you will know that he’s loyal to his partner and his very serious in keeping his family together, strong and happy. Fidelity runs through his blood. You will not hear from him the “bastos and maloko ways of the men” towards their partner or to other “sexy, hot”women. Yes, he has admired “hot” women celebrities and has been vocal about it. But, that’s just it. You have not heard any past rumors and as of this time, no rumors still of infidelity. He loves his wife and his children and he takes care of them. That’s why, he makes it a point to see to it that he finishes his work early, so that he could go home and be with his family. Nakatutuwa lang talaga isipin that I am a witness to this miracle, that in this very rude and realistic world of sexism, machismo and misplaced pride, there exist an ideal man. Personally, I find it disappointing to still look for an ideal man in this world. Looking for an ideal man nowadays, is like finding a needle in a haystalk, very difficult and frustrating, heartbreaking. That’s why, for me, it’s really a sigh of relief to get to know Sir Rod.            

I suddenly remember Sir Galutera, another ideal man. Perhaps, I will never forget their moment (with Mrs. Galutera) at the Retreat House. The last day of the retreat was their wedding anniversary, 15 years, if I’m not mistaken. Very early in the morning, 7am was the call time for breakfast. Most of us gathered outside around 6:30 while waiting for breakfast for some bonding time. Mrs. Galutera was with us outside. When a taxi stopped by, and apparently, Mr. Galutera went down the car with a beautiful and quite expensive looking bouquet of flowers. It obviously did not look like the flowers for the mass offering. So, everyone was whispering, “Ay, bakit may flowers? Anong meron?” Then Sir Galutera went to his wife, gave the bouquet to her, kissed her and told her “Happy Anniversay”. To witness that very sweet moment was a foreshadowing of more sweet moments that came during the day. Little did we know, the retreat priest arranged a renewal of vows for the couple.  Before the retreat ends, they had their renewal of vows. It was my first time to witness one epiphanic event. I’ve seen renewals of vows of celebrities in television but, I think nothing beats a first-hand experience. The couple was not emotional, they were just happy, actually joyous is the perfect term, a spiritual form of happiness. Everyone was emotional. Joan and I who were standing beside each other were teary eyed. It was a perfect moment to end a spiritual journey each of us just had. Parang lahat kami ay kaisa nila sa kaligayahan. Walang pumigil. Lahat Masaya.  

Sir Rod and Sir Galutera are my living proof that men can do it. They can. They can be loyal with only one woman and one woman only forever.  They can be committed and still be happy with their decision. Ang tunay na lalaki marunong manindigan. They can be responsible. They can be sweet despite their masculinity. They can and will love and take care. They can. It’s really refreshing to know that ideal men do exist. They give me hope that somewhere, at some time, in the near future, I will also meet my own ideal man and get to know him, and as reciprocation, I, too, despite my many flaws can and will also be his only  ideal woman.    

Why I Chose to be a Literature Major?

          Once, two and a half years ago, I attended a Course Placement Orientation at the university. Honestly, I never envision myself being in the teaching field much to dream of it. I really wanted to become a journalist; a correspondent in the field, gathering news for the Filipino people to read. But resources and circumstances would not allow me to continue to desire for it, which I do not want to go to any further because it’s another story. What was clear to me was that I do not want to add to the chain of bookkeppers in my clan who all ended up without any success stories for our next generations. I guess, if half of my bookkeeper relatives are business tycoons now, I would be the first in the line to join their boring assembly.

            Change.  A breakaway from the monotony. Be different. The ideas kept messing my head. Choosing to become a teacher was the nearest possible stepping stone I could take (taking into consideration the resources and circumstances of my life, but then again, it’s another story) into reaching my desired career. I do not want a life of accounts and ledgers. I aim for a life of action, of dynamism, and of pressure. To go away from the usual, and expected career path of my family served as a key for me to unlock my door to liberation and to growth. It allowed me in hoping to break the twisted chain of poverty that continues to reign in our family.

            Going back to the Orientation at the university, I heard educators battle it out in advertising their programs. But I have made up my mind. English. I would take up English. It’s marketable even in abroad, which my mother assumes to be where I will soon be. Since I already dumped Biology (even though I love it), because it’s quite risky to still go for it.

            Then, there was this well-poised woman ascending upon the rostrum of the center stage. She was like an apparition illuminating rays from her aurora, a motherly love. I have always been attached to the old stuff, I do not know why. I guess its filial piety, or was it because of my grandmother’s influence inflicted on me, but it’s also another story.

            Who was this woman? From what department was she? I do not know. Until I heard from my classmate that she was from the LBEL department. From what? LBEL Department? LBEL? What does it stand for? LBEL. Back then, I really have no idea what LBEL was about but the aura of the woman talking just keeps on enticing me to listen to her. LBEL. LBEL. LBEL.

            “ You will have the opportunity to become Highschool English teachers.” I wonder was it just like taking the English Specialization. So, why put up a program with a different sounding acronym with the same description.

            But then, came the music to my ears that finally rocked my decision. I heard it loud and clear. Not too loud and not too soft, subtle is the word to describe it. The apparition played her golden lyre of words that a beast like me was tamed by the harmony. “ You will also have the opportunity to become editors of textbooks, columnists and writers.” Columnists and writers. Columnists and  writers. Opportunity to become an English teacher.

Recurring Dream

            I was dressed for the occasion, though I was there to act my part as proxy. I donned a signature Filipino brand of a dainty carnation pink dress fit for a ranch heiress in a rural place in the Philippines.

I drove my SUV alone listening to the music of Enya, acting like a balm, soothing my mind to take away the irritation caused by my big brother for asking me to take his mission rather than himself. It was more like a duty bound by rituals and traditions.

I kept my fly-like eyes (for the scorching heat of the midday sun led me wearing my huge shades, which I rarely do) fixed on the road. But it seemed no longer necessary because I found the bumps and turns too familiar. I felt I have been there so many in my life, that I swerved the steering wheel with ease. It felt like I was going to a destination I already been to since time immemorial.

Finally, I was almost there. First hump to signal the start of the barrio, then I saw the chapel. There was another hump to signal the school zone. I searched for a parking space. There was one in the middle of   the parish. I stepped on the brakes, drew out the key but let Enya continue to play. It was exactly three o’ clock. The place was starting to have the hullabaloo, which I anticipated as a typical Filipino barrio Fiesta.

I forced my mouth to smile. I separated my upper lip from the lower lip. I inhaled Enya’s melody until I could feel the rhythm and beats enter the sides of my cheeks. But instead I inhaled the carbon monoxide of the air-con. It was intoxicating. I guessed I really had to go out and meet them. I had to exhale Enya. I stepped out of the car and ascended the newly cemented ground of the church. The parish church had undergone drastic change. It was now as I assume was the biggest church the town could offer. It was not totally constructed though. The rough edges of the side pews were replaced by lime colored tiles. The altar gave the irony of the whole place. Its regal and royalty of gold and ivory saints contradicts the wooden front pews and unfinished stained glass windows. I wondered what happen to the monthly contributions of the townsfolk for the construction of the church.

I was greeted by a woman in her early fifties. She wore a finely ironed black pants and an old-rose colored blouse. She wore these eccentric cosmetics of bright red lipstick with the brown eyeliner which lined profusely her three-strand brows. I forced myself to smile back and reminded myself that as soon as this thing was done, I would drive fast my car home. The parish priest was late for about a quarter of an hour. The three-month old infant started to cry her lungs out. The mom, whom I was not well acquainted of, whispered to her sweet nothings that tamed her. She appeared faceless to me. Fanning them was my big brother’s friend. Actually, they are family friends, the family of my big brother’s friend. Well, they were more of a friend to my big brother and mother than I. He accidentally looked at my side and raised his eyebrows for acknowledgement.

 I heard an alarm. It was so loud; it irritated me. I forced myself to get up, in spite of the darkness looming the room, and turned off that stupid alarm. It was not very long before I realized it was all a dream. Or was it just a dream?

Let’s fast track to four months later. It was exactly three o’ clock in the afternoon. A visitor was asking for my big brother, said he had something important to tell him. “Dude, my girlfriend’s pregnant.”