Who Wants to be Miss Universe?

                                  (photo: setcelebs.com)

There is this anxiety among the gay community and the enthusiasts on the forthcoming Miss Universe pageant. They are, of course, rooting for the country’s bet to win the most-coveted crown in terms of beauty pageants. The young gays who are still in high school are planning to be absent on Monday for them to see the pageant live on cable TV or the live streaming. The older ones who are already working already filed their leave of absence from work for the said event.

Two things come to mind? First, why is it that this event is being linked to gays? Second is: Do the people understand that this is a franchise, meaning a business of its own?

Let us try to understand the psychology behind the first question: The reason why gays gravitate on the pageant. The Americans introduced the popularity of beauty contests in the early American colonial period. According to Prof. Wendell Capili, Philippine carnivals were already present in 1908 which was supposed to promote different products from the Philippines. Then, the influx of the different beauty contests emerged. During those times, homosexuality is still considered as taboo and a “sin”. Thus, the word closet gays were coined. Most of these people were so obsessed with dressing up like women inside closed doors to avoid ridicule and condemnation. They pictured themselves as the most beautiful women being looked up and adored by many.

The evolution of the so-called open-mindedness happened because of cross cultures and the influence of mass media. When the LGBT (lesbian, gays, bisexuals and transgenders) movement heightened, more gays come out of the open. Trans-women then became present in conspicuous areas of the society that they started to be part of it. In, short, they have become accepted as part of the diversity of cultures in the ecology.

Despite this, oppression and prejudice are still hurled to the gays. This is probably the reason why they attract to the highest affirmation of beauty in the land, er, the universe. They fantasize to be as beautiful as the crowned woman since she is the epitome of womanhood. If the universe accepts this girl as the most beautiful one, why not affiliate oneself to her? They even claim to be of similar poise and bearing of the current Miss Universe so to convince themselves that they are beautiful even with the obvious raised eyebrows of others. Of course, they understand that they are not, they just have to air out such need to be “accepted” by everybody.

Also, the majority of us Filipinos experience oppression and ridicule of sorts. Take for example the brouhaha over the side comments of that Jordanian actress named Mais Hamdan generalizing how Filipino workers mispronounce words with a funny accent. She was shocked by the flood of retaliation to her by the Pinoy netizens to the point that the actress publicly apologized because of the words she uttered two years ago. We dislike being criticized and looked down. We had enough of colonization that we must strike back. One way is being acknowledged as the most beautiful person in the universe.

Still, we have to understand that our fixation to such beauty pageants made the organizers and the franchise owners millionaires. The advertisers and the network who air the event (who are also the co-owners of the franchise) would raise hell in buying air time for the coronation night. Miss Universe Organization is even thankful to the Philippines and the Filipinos in general for the support in making the event one of the sought-after live shows in the land.

But then, why do we have to be analytical on such things? What matters most is the exhilaration of the moment. The time when we clutch the pillows in our bedrooms and pray hard for Miss Philippines to be the one; The presence of that bitter taste in the mouth when the Q & A will come and we try to compose the right answers in our heads as if we are the contestant; The unexplained glee when Miss Philippines will be in the Top 5… Yes, we seem to be her. She represents our insecurities and when she wins, it is like slapping the world in the face while screaming: WE ARE BETTER THAN YOU!

Eavesdropping

Have you experienced being in a passenger van and someone is talking to the phone as if he/she is the only person inside? You will then be hounded by the personal stuff they leave behind the highways. There are those who quarrel and scold someone to the point that cursing the other seem to be the sound track of the trip. Some would seem to instruct a simpleton on how to open the cabinet using the key he left on top of the fridge.

But then I guess the most annoying thing is the time when the driver himself is the one taking the call and long discussions will happen. You often hear the driver informing the other end that he is driving but the caller would then insist on talking over the mobile phone. You will then look at the road and thought about an impending accident to occur. You’d like to yell at the driver yet it might be the cause of the accident!

There was one time when I had a seatmate in a jam-packed PUV who giggled a lot while whispering sweet nothings to her lover. I could sense that that the woman was married due to her built and the ring on her finger. Yet I could sense that she was not talking to her husband. I may be prejudicial but the things she said were not meant to be spoken to a husband. I might sound as an eavesdropper but I can’t help it! I am an auditory person and words seem to play a lot of stuff in my mind. My imagination is strong and inference is a competency I was able to master.

One study is claiming that persons who take lots of calls have some important relations that they could not attempt to disconnect themselves to the significant others. They might be close friends or others might have romantic ties. The validity of the study is still in question but common sense allows us to nod on the theory. Could the things to be discussed wait in the proper time and proper place?

Of course, there are important ones that you need to take. What if it comes from your boss and there are pressing matters that you need to address? But these are isolated cases and the etiquette of answering phone calls should be practiced most of the time if not all the time. I was even doing it one time when a personnel from the Central Office of our department called me up for an important matter in an area when signal is at its weakest. I had to raise my voice to be heard!

But then, there are those who take their calls with loudspeakers discussing on their business and how to bury the dead rat found in the bedroom. These times make you scream inside the passenger van. It is a public space and one must act and behave well. This is the reason why we study so for us to attain socially-accepted behaviors.

One time, I guffawed when I also chanced upon one of these these call-takers and unexpectedly, a reasonable woman shouted at the back : SHUT UP! My laughter sounded sick and uncalled for. Yet, I felt mirth when the thing that I like to do long before was realized.

Torn

She arrived wearing distressed jeans. She topped it with black silky material exposing her shoulders. To make a poignant statement, she wore high-heeled shoes. Of course, people ogled her clothing but deep in her, she was confident enough to wear something “in”; something en vogue.

This is a free country, that’s a given. But we are also free to reflect on the things we communicate directly and indirectly to others. Clothes masquerade as our identity. It is how we signal who we are. There is nothing wrong to dress up or don something which we fancy. But we must remember that decency is taught to us.  We are being told to let others respect us through a dignified presentation of ourselves.

We are not saying that those who wear something fancy lack the dignity or respect but there is always a time to wear clothes in the right place and proper time. Could one imagine wearing pajamas inside a church during service? There was even a debate over wearing slippers as a part of a fashion ensemble yet a pair of Havaianas is still for the beach and tropical streets. It could never exchange the function of closed shoes…

Torn, distressed or tattered jeans could raise eyebrows inside educational institutions, offices, banks and of course, churches. We understand that the pair might be designed by Georges Marciano of GUESS and it is worth three grand yet the function of the clothing is not suited for the place. Going to an office is different from attending an all-the-way party and similar events.

Let us go back to indirectly communicating our personalities through our clothing. There are those who would be slighted and insulted when some people judge them through their clothes. But, we need to adhere to the reality that the first sense to be used by people is the sense of sight. Marketing personalities often spend a lot on packaging their products and mounting window displays in shops to lure the eyes which will lead to judgment on what to like and purchase. Similar to our choices of clothing…that is how we signal what is our brand.

But then life is short and we might try some of the things we fancy, right? It’s OK to do such things during thematic events and quirky times. But to “die for it” is another story.

Same thing happened with the onslaught of the short shorts being “accepted” as staples for street wear. And it should remain as that. We then wonder why girls are donning such skimpy clothing inside schools and offices. Is it because they want to highlight good skin and complexion? Then why is it that others who do not have them still do the same? Why are they showing their liabilities, not their assets?

We overhear sisters complaining how their brothers make their basketball jersey as a fashion statement, pairing them with jeans and basketball shoes… Such complaints have a common denominator: unsuitable.

But then, with this uncertain times, we expect the unexpected. We might not consider clothing as a means of communicating our personalities but a simple need of covering our mortal beings. We might as well transcend to become persons of substance not minding what is naked in the eye but what is beyond the packaging.

Dark Niche

                        (photo: prisonphone.co.uk)

He mumbles obscenities in the air. He also throw punches to the man on the moon. Cursing is not new to him as he does this often to the shadows in his assigned cell. The others who are with him often dismiss him as weird…his companions even mouth the word CRAZY to each other. This is not the place for me! That inner voice screams like it’s the end of the world. Indeed, this thing, this cell is the apocalypse.

His world before was vast. The opportunities were as clear as the crystal…similar to the thing they would soon put on foil, heated and inhaled. The happiness and enjoyment seemed to be endless. The world was like a wide area where there was no tomorrow…only the unequaled happiness one could experience through parties, booze and, of course, drugs.

But suddenly, the lights went off.

It was early dawn when he heard muffled movements outside. He was roused realizing he was in an acquaintance’s house. They passed out after the blissful combination of rum and methamphetamine. His tongue was still bitter and white, when he checked it, with the residue of their happy moments. He noticed he was in a room with male friends who were still in oblivion. One had his penis half-exposed from his jocks out of the promiscuity of their party. He nudged the friend beside him. He just grumbled and continued his dazed sleep.

The police arrived with guns and a search warrant. He was pinned down on the floor with his companion. The half-naked one was pushed hard beside him with the exposed cock mockingly facing him. It was fast. The cold embrace of metal on his arms and the jerk towards the police mobile were so swift that his presence in the local PNP headquarters was surreal. He heard some of his companions complaining but the word RAID reverberated in his head.

He was then introduced to his new world, his cell.

The odor of refuse and sweat merged like a nightmare. There were some cockroaches whispering to him as if they have a secret they share. The indifferent expressions of the inmates was chilling. A dark intent was lurking at the back of their stoic expressions. He wanted to flee; he wished this was just a bad dream and he prayed that he would be awakened from it. But the cold floor of the cell made love to his feet like a long-lost lover and the eerie silence of the place told him that all was real.

He wept for the first week. He felt unsustainable pain in his heart for the next months. He could not imagine that his life will waste in the claustrophobic room. He started feeling regret: that bitter feeling of blaming the self and bargaining to the unknown force happened.

But his God was not listening. He started to feel numb inside. Slowly, the life in him started to fade away like his dreamed twilight and dusk. He started to see the world differently. He adapted to his small niche.

Yet, interludes come. The anger and regret in his subconscious mind sometimes peep. He would then give the middle finger to the air and hiss on the wall…He mumbles obscenities in the air. He also throw punches to the man on the moon. Cursing is not new to him as he does this often to the shadows in his assigned cell.

This is probably his hell. The atonement would soon come when his deaf God hears his silent screams. How soon? No one knows.

(Got these thoughts when I held an inmate in my arms with tears overflowing when I visited a prison facility lately…)

Fade Away

Your mind is just a program

And I’m the virus

I’m changing the station

I’ll improve your threshold

I’ll turn you into a super drone

And you will kill on my command

And I won’t be responsible…

- Muse (Psycho)

Feet stomped on the forgotten graves. The grass concealed the names of the departed, making them look like faded memories. The other side of the fence where tombs were so shiny with granite finishing populate the calla lilies and stargazes smiling and mouthing the names of the rich departed. Even in death, there is a disparity between the rich and the poor… No one visited the forgotten souls while the beloved ones have cotton-clad relatives sipping iced tea and tinkering on their electronic gadgets.

But when the afternoon sun peeped at the rich tombs, its cruel rays screamed at the flowers and the scented candles started to melt. The flowers wilted and joined the expired occupant of the tombs. The grass on the poor side eased their way up and started to perform the process of photosynthesis. They feed on the sun and survived another day. The visitors went home and the place was then covered with silence. The norm came back: the dead is the same… No rich, no poor. They are simply NOT HERE.

The living continued their lives. Some got drunk since they considered coming over the tombs as another day of gratifying themselves. Some said their prayers and others asked the priest to bless the graves…There were kids, clad in their clothes which has Poverty labelled over them who stole the adornments and candles to be sold for some food. Their bodies were decorated with dirt and Hunger seemed to be their family names.

The drunk swaggered home. Their intoxicated dreams were incomprehensible. Those who were clinging to their emotions continued to wallow in distress on their relationships: others were selfish, some were on the rocks. Some of the adults were thinking about money - on how they will sustain their families for the next few days. There were those who salivate on their elicit affairs and the youngsters plan for events to fill in their bored minutes. The living continued to find their niche, their reasons and their meanings.

When darkness defeated the day, heavens wept.

You continued with your introspection. There is a need in you to broaden your horizons. You need not strive too much on things that could make you unhappy. You must discover who you really are and what path you are going to trek. There is also this realization that everything is temporary. There is no need for you to chase something beyond yourself. You could live simply and be rooted on good ground. Material things won’t be there forever. You can't bring them to your grave...

You are fleeting. You may be the forgotten grave or the well-adorned one. But it is the same. All would be gone. You will be gone. There are some who will be obliged to visit once a year. But for the rest of eternity, you are alone. 

Better, become the flower for the living. Let them smell the beauty of life. Be the candle for the young. Instead of melting uselessly, be the light....the guide...the beckon. LIVE!