You Belt

Leigh gave the belt to me as her pasalubong during one of her out-of-the-country business trips.

It’s easy to see why it immediately became my default belt of choice.

One morning I was dressing up at the gym locker room. I was still shirtless, but I had my pants on with belt firmly in place. Nearby I noticed this Caucasian guy looking towards my direction. Since I’m in my sticky rice queen phase, I didn’t pay him any heed; instead, I turned my back towards him to get my t-shirt from my locker.

Suddenly I heard Caucasian’s deep baritone voice: “Nice belt you have!”

Eh?! I turned around; Caucasian was looking near my crotch area.

“It’s a pretty cool belt you have,” Caucasian repeated, and pointed his fist towards me, expecting me to return the gesture with my fist in a hetero-version of a high-five.

Belatedly I realized he was referring to my belt. “Oh yeah!” I replied and returned his gesture. “My friend gave this to me.”

“I am not a Republican. I am not a bigot,” Caucasian read out loud from my belt. “You know, at this day and age,” he continued, “I can’t imagine anyone who’s a bigot.” And then he picked up his gym bag and moved towards the exit. “Have a nice day,” he said and left.

It dawned on me how lucky I was to have met a Democrat. And I made a mental memo to me: Next time, avoid unnecessary displays of the belt whenever there are Americans around.

It’s not that I can’t defend my belt; I just don’t want the inconvenience of having to. (Jeez, this last statement sounds so Manny Pacquiao-ish, eh?)