What If Destiny Had A Wicked Sense Of Humor

In my last “Woe-is-moi!” episode, John Halcyon Von Rothschild commented, “I think we’re all destined for something better.” Notice that the statement said “something” not “someone.” Perhaps John meant a more general “could be something or someone” but I’m going to go with a more literal interpretation of his comment.

To be honest, that thought first crossed my mind back when Marcos was just about to flee Malacañang to go to what he thought was Paoay but turned out to be Hawaii. Yes, the song “State Of The Nation” by Ministry was still blaring on the Pinoy airwaves when I first entertained the notion of, “Hmmm, maybe I’m not meant to be with someone.” Even that early on—me still in third year college, so I have no right to be uber-cynical; I only have the right to pretend to be uber-cynical and put on the trappings of cynicism—I decided to broaden my mind a bit and actually stare into a scary abyss: a life of solitude.

So I asked myself: “What could possibly be better than being always a bridesmaid, never the bride?” This is an exercise in positivity, so bear with me.

• A life of solitude ala-Kung Fu—In that TV series, David Carradine’s character is a kung fu fighter destined to move on from town to town, helping the helpless. I’m not sure if he formed any attachments or even had a sex life (this is the 70s, folks) but he always solved the problem within the hour—including commercial breaks. That will be my life: Do good without “doing” anyone. (Gulp.)

• A guru’s life—Well, I have to have teachings to push. And I have to dedicate myself to a life of teaching, monochromatic fashion, and a lack of hair products. But I promise to avoid speaking with a tiny voice, a silly accent, and the sentence structure of Yoda.

• The favorite bachelor uncle—Ah, the numerous nephews and nieces will be expecting the biggest gifts from me during birthdays and Christmas. If not the biggest, then The Gifts Mommy & Daddy Cannot Afford. I should work up to vice president level if I want to keep those leeches happy for approximately 12 years while having some Puerto Galera money for myself.

• A politician—Okay, so I have to enter into a sham marriage to enter the political arena, unless I’m content to stay within the local government level, in a position lower than vice-mayor. And I should be more discreet than John O., Ernesto M., and ilk because I don’t belong to a very rich, very established political clan. (With them, money and power speak louder than swish.) But I should support—or if that’s too much of a giveaway, then at least not oppose—any pro-gay rights bill. Otherwise Danton and company will be on my back, Migs will call on his readers to boycott me, and Gibbs will return to gay militancy.

• The rich Papa/beeyotch of needy young things—Aka Central Bank Account. Again, I need to fatten my wallet to be able to reach “rich” level. Technically I won’t be alone—I can practically have a harem, depending on my budget of course. But the tugs I’ll feel won’t be for my heartstrings but for my purse strings. No one will own my heart; everybody’s too busy putting their hands down my pockets and my crotch—as a way to my pockets.

Okay, this is giving me a headache. Did I say positivism? Next episode, please.