Feelings
Posted on January 22, 2006 - Filed Under Feelings | Comments Off
What does it take to be a Queen?
By Emmanuel
Mythology or history captured in multi-dimensional frames has always been a source of fascination to many of us. There is no better way to view the reality of the past, or its lack, than to let its boring and tawdry details go through the hands of the most brilliant of scriptwriters and directors – so one may gape at it through the big screen, body drowned comfortably in plump seats with air conditioned cool to full blast, one hand clasping a plastic cup of soda with ice tinkling, the other hand dipping now and then into big buckets of cheese or barbeque flavored popcorns tucked between the thighs. So much better than viewing it on DVD at home, where the actors’ accents get on the nerve when married to home noises and the fabulous cinematography and costumes (worth millions!) get sidetracked with the sight of fellow homebodies traipsing around in ragtag shorts or form-defying dusters. One would rather pay the price of the ticket and blank-out in semi-darkness the stark realities of today.
So, whose eyes were without tears about the way Hector died, leaving his wife’s head threatened and never to be crowned queen? On the other hand, we were de-mystified with spoiled A chilles as played by actor Brad Pitt in Troy, no matter how deliciously godly Pitt’s muscles bulged in the oh-so-right places, no matter how he made our collective hearts melt with the way he combed his long hair with his fingers. So, we felt our chests swell with sympathy for Alexander roaming around and conquering almost half of the earth when it was so obvious that he was just simply running away from a very personal problem – a futile bid to rid himself of this Electra-complex binding him to his mother (the very un-Tomb Raider Angelina Jolie) whose only desire was to be crowned queen of all the lands her son conquered. And even more so, we would never forget the varied film versions of the tales of the six wives of King Henry the VIII of England, most of them ending to the queen-wives’ grief, with their royal heads chopped clean off.
The above rambling has everything, or nothing to do with the topic for this week. I was just letting my mind – and Louis my computer – wander, wonder, mosey around with thoughts and opinions unaired. These merge to this point – aiming to be or being queen is not all fun and grandiose galore. It may cause you your precious peace of mind, or the loss of the head that housed it.
And, haven’t you noticed, in supposedly-democratic Philippines, we also have this penchant to have ourselves, or one of our daughters, crowned queen – for beauty above all others, for the face to front a charitable or civic-oriented organization, or for the winner’s reward of being fiesta queen for having raised the most money for the community. These glorious reigns have one uniform tour of duty – one is queen for a year. At the end of which reign, no head is cut off. Or, theoretically, we hope so.
And I do not know if I should be happy or depressed, for somehow, I helped a girl to be crowned queen. By virtue of having written gratis for a general and of his promotion in two series of this column last year, I was gifted with that general’s (and his family’s) full trust and confidence. The decision to write those articles primarily has stemmed from the fact that the general’s elder sister helped rear me up from a wide-eyed high school innocent to a post-college street-wise brat. But being the author of those articles is a reputation I would have to live down all my life, considering my known background; and that, previously, I refused to have absolutely anything to do with topics smelling with even a whiff of the military.
During the time the general and his wife were mulling over whether they will join the fray (search for his town’s fiesta queen), they gathered around them people who were either pro or against the idea. After substantial research and interviews on the work and the people involved, decision time came. I was the only one against, for three reasons: one, when one deals with money, it can be messy. Two, when one becomes too thoroughly engrossed with winning, one may become unwisely bubble-headed; there are more worthy endeavors to involve one’s self in. Three, the daughter must be a willing participant, not forced into it.
The pro-advisers merrily and triumphantly pooh-poohed over the first two objections. I looked into the eyes of the daughter, this beautiful offspring of Pangasinense and a Tausog-Maranao. Her eyes were bright with the boxer’s challenge before the match, but her hands were so cold and clammy. We grasped hands tightly. She said: “It’s okay. This is what they want. It is what I want.”
Last objection demolished.
Congratulations to Karen Pangandaman Dulay , crowned Queen of Pozorrubio Town Fiesta 2006. She is, like me, a Paulinian, an HRM graduate of St. Paul University. She is the daughter of General Wilfredo de Vera Dulay, Jr., Director of Legal Services, Camp Crame, and Grace Pangandaman of Jolo, Sulo, who is also a Paulinian.
(To be continued next week.)
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