Every night I drag my tired carcass along the Ayala walkway, and recently, I’ve been seeing a lot of couples in all manners of couple behavior. There are the hand-in-hand couples (also known as the HHWWHPSSP – Holding Hands While Walking Habang Pa-Sway Sway Pa), the arm around each other’s waist couples, and the murmuring sweet nothings (seriously, sweet nothings? Mga matamis na kawalan?) couples, among others.
They’re not completely conventional either; there are those hetero couples, with a smattering of girl-on-girl couples, in addition to the guys walking together who look completely normal except you could probably roast a chicken if you place it between them. (Come on guys, not only is it cold in Narnia, the White Witch Jadis could also catch you and strap you to her sled. Then again, leather straps and whips might be your thing, at which case I won’t judge. Moving on.)
Normally sights of such couple’s behaviors may have tempted me to approach random strangers to inform them that: a.) “Pwet, magbebreak din kayo.” b.) “Are you aware that your boyfriend is metro? As in isang metro na lang gay na?” c.) “Pag kasal na kayo, hindi ka na nya susunduin.” or d.) “Give the gene pool a favor, please don’t procreate.” Thankfully, I have been on a steady diet of mature pills and therefore haven’t been involved in any distasteful altercations. That’s always good news, because I don’t have money for bail and because I’m quite sure there is no WiFi behind bars.
Instead, I came to thinking, how suitable am I for a relationship anyway? My looks (face it, looks are always the first thing people look at) cannot be objectively quantified as cute or pretty; in fact, the last person to have called me cute in recent memory was legally blind. I am borderline bipolar (I’m actually in one of my manic moods at the moment) and hence people call me “Moody.” If I had to sit here and explain what manic-depressive behavior is until they understand the concept, we’d be here until the sun burns out.
Judging from the previous sentence, I am also excessively sarcastic. Most times, my mouth acts faster than my brain, and if I had to literally put my foot in my mouth every time I embarrass myself, I’d not only be shoeless, but toe-less as well.
My fashion sense consists completely of jeans, shirts, and Chucks. If my fashion speak is correct, this is commonly called the Rugged Look – except on me it can only be referred to as, the Dungis or Haggard Look.
I can list a thousand and more bad things about me and to preserve what little self confidence I have left, I’ll mosey onto the final point:
Like most other people in this universe, I have a great propensity for love (I have a great propensity for hate too, but let’s not get into that) and like most other people, I cling to the hope that maybe someday I’ll grab the leading role in my very own great love story. Maybe when that great love comes, I’ll be wiser and mostly not reliant on mature pills. I’ll be sure that I’m not just the evil girlfriend keeping the real leading lady from meeting her prince. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll get that happy ending.
Or maybe then I’ll be able to learn that walking by myself isn’t necessarily bad and then I won’t be terrified of being alone.
