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BEYOND THE NAKED EYE |
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By: Joyce Babe P. Pa�ares Do you ever get fed up with your life? Do you feel the need to change the way things have been going? I do. That is why I always fantasize of my own world. So perfect. So wonderful. So filthy First, I will have Erap as my father. Is he not a most loving dad who supports all his children down to his last whore, er, other women in his life whom he did not His mind-boggling billions stashed away in local and foreign accounts will not hurt, either. Ha! Let's see the great Imeldific match my obscene collection of Bally and Ferragamo shoes. Of course, being a wealthy scoundrel's illegitimate child will make a difference on my choice of school. Who cares about the University of the Philippines and its firebrand activism when the gates of Ateneo, La Salle, or even Harvard await? I will enroll in an expensive diploma-mill where education is scant and socialization (read: parties) is a-plenty. I cannot wait to learn their barok English that students deliver with much aplomb. As in, Gosh! Look at all those jologs! Kadiri to death naman! In line with this, I do not think I can afford to be a journalist. I abhor beating deadlines all for a few bucks. I think being a bureaucrat will suit me better. You know, one of those cyborgs who all look alike with their coat and tie and blazer and skirt. Not to mention their sense of bejeweled-ness that involve wearing half of Saudi Arabia's entire gold deposit. And instead of the journalist's lingo, such as salsal, ngarag, or kuryente, I will prefer the language of the gods, which include red tape gobbledygook. But I think the payola will remain, only not inside sandwiches this time but in ATM. This kind of lifestyle will also demand that I be more discriminating when it comes to my culinary preference. No more isaws, toknene, fishballs, kikiam, cheese sticks, or adidas. My father and several half-brothers and half-sisters will all be mortified to know that I enjoy these street food that serve as the daily bread of the masang Pinoy. For the drinks, I will have to give up gin-bulag that my former colleagues in the Philippine Collegian guzzle after every presswork. I will also need a radical change in my standard for friendships. Anybody who takes the jeepneys or even FXs for that matter is a pariah. My friends will no longer include sweaty activists who never seem to tire waving their fists in the air. My inner circle will exclude those militant students whose rally baon include two wet towels, one for covering the face if a tear gas is thrown by so-called peacekeepers and another for picking the grenade and throwing it back where it duly belongs. My God! Such barbaric acts. I will never touch them with a ten-foot This is my idea of a perfect world. Unfortunately, even with all my billions, I cannot buy love. I cannot bid for my cute Nakago-look-alike classmate or that animalistic varsity player who has been driving me mad for three years now. But I guess I can settle for the next best thing. I want Cardinal Sin for my lover. After all, I have always wondered how holy men will perform in bed. 
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COPYRIGHT 2001 |
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