boys are toys

“A man who fools a woman is like a fool who spits at the heavens. His spit never reaches the sky. It only comes back to his face.”

It is not so “me” to watch teleseryes. I did not happen to have a choice when I didn’t have work one night and my sis and the rest of my cousins were watching such. Of course, I wanted to spend some time with them, so I had to get into their world. There I was in front of the boob tube expecting a lot of boredom and avoiding critical thinking. I volunteered to go downstairs to get some chips and chocolates and let them stay in tuned, not minding if I miss a scene. When I got back, skeptical thoughts are running on my mind when I saw one of the characters crying in bed. Then, her bedmate (another girl, of course) holds her in comfort and said “…dapat kasi ipunin na natin ang mga luha natin at lunurin na natin ang mga lalaking ‘yan…”

Somehow, she is right.

We live in androgyny. Everything about men is misery. They’re only gonna do us dirt.They are gonna kiss us and make us cry. They are gonna leave us hanging every moment. They are gonna lie. They are gonna fool around and make us go mad. They are gonna give us what we want, but not what we really need. They are gonna take everything and be unreachable (as in…”the subscriber cannot be reached”…low bat? Aw, c’mon!).

I am the first born. My dad was honest enough to tell me that he was disappointed I am a girl. He wanted a son for an eldest. At first, I used to get mad, because there are times that I could not get what I want or do what I want because he would take reasons against my gender – e.g. staying out late at night or going to the movies alone…blah, blah, blah! I got even furious when he told me that I could’ve done a lot more it I were a he. I proved him otherwise, and we have come to terms with this. When I was old enough, he told me the real reason why he would rather have me as a son. For him, it is a great responsibility and a challenge to raise a girl-child.

Being my father’s child, I could be identified more of him than my mom. We are both passionate about movies and old songs. He is into art and books as much as I am. He was the one who read me my bedtime stories and taught me my ABC’s. It with his strict guidance that my penciled hand learned how to write. I owe my dexterity to all of his encouragement and pride. For a while, he was the only man in my life…as he always will be. Most of all, it was with him that I learned all that was written on the third paragraph of this prose.

But my learning about men, did not end there, of course. Not just because I wanted to be fair or avoid getting stoned to death by the members of the castrated species, but because as a woman and I am an incomplete man. There are just times that they are more fickle and unpredictable as we are. They are faced with make or break choices. When they hurt the person they love, their pain is doubled. Just like we are, they loose themselves, too.

There is even no need to drown them in our tears, because they drown in theirs.

I am not a man hater. Rather, a struggling lover. I am just trying to know them so well.