Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Lonely Queen

The preparations for the party were well underway that Vida decided to freshen herself up. She soaked herself in the bathtub for over an hour, letting the aromatic oils soothe her tired body. True, she didn’t have to wash the dishes, polish the silverware and crystal, and arrange the setting, but supervising the household help was exhausting in itself.

She belonged to high society. Her soirees were attended by no less than the denizens of society rags, their hangers-on, as well as a bit of the try-hards flashing their tawdry bling bought from some ragtag department store. But who cares? All that mattered to Vida was that she pampered their palates with the best food and vintage wines, and entertained them with glitzy gigs that her husband’s money could buy. To constantly appear at society magazines was the only point, she thought, even if you have to spend heftily, or elbow your way in to join so-called charitable clubs to promote yourself.

Vida carefully examined herself in the dresser mirror. There were a few wrinkles near the corners of her eyes and mouth, marring her otherwise smooth face. She knew that these blemishes were unremarkable and indistinguishable, but her vanity was stirred. A visit to the cosmetic surgeon was called for to smooth over the lines with Botox injections. In the meantime, she began to apply liquid foundation and blush-on to conceal the depredations of age.

Vida had always been conscientious of her image. She had to be perfect in her manners, style, and taste. Her mother had ingrained that sensibility in her. Didn’t she spend her childhood learning how to walk gracefully, choose the right fork for the salad, wear the most fashionable styles, and engage in agreeable conversation? All in the name of seducing and hooking up with the right man. She grew up adulated by the in-crowd. Wasn’t she the queen of the lot? Many have tried to upstage her, but no one ever succeeded in trouncing her from the throne.

Vida smiled wryly at her reflection. With her left hand, she gathered her flowing hair into a bunch, giving an unobstructed view of her face. Deep inside, she felt that gnawing loneliness -- a solitariness brought about by years of deliberately deceiving oneself, of surrounding herself with lackeys and sycophants, pompous in their praises yet spewing venom behind her back. But Vida had learned to steel herself from these disappointments. She had the wealth and pedigree to ease her way through.

The dress she planned to wear that night was neatly placed on her bed. She had bought it at Zara’s the day before, a simple elegant black dress with Swarovski crystal accents. She had no qualms in buying it since her husband was liberal in giving her all the comforts, just to keep her quiet and happy. Vida had not married for love, but for the practicality of living the indolent life, free from the hassles of a career. Sure, she allowed her husband his infidelities in exchange for the right to max his credit cards and checking accounts. She warned him as well to avoid getting caught in the gossip columns and besmirching their good name. The fiasco that one of their acquaintances had gotten himself into -- getting caught in flagrante delicto humping his mistress in one of the stables of the Polo Club -- gave the society wags enough cannon fodder to destroy a family and overturn lucrative business deals.

I’ll turn a blind eye, but keep me happy, she told her husband. It was a sensible agreement to keep them mutually content.

Vida finished applying her make-up and peered at herself through her long lashes, satisfied at her alluring visage. She daintily dressed herself, smoothing over the creases and arranging the crystal accents to achieve the appropriate glint.

Everyone learns to deceive to survive loneliness. It’s all artifice.
Vida looked at herself one last time at the mirror before she turned off the light in her room. She was ready to face her guests.

Friday, June 15, 2007

Evie’s Choice

Take my hand, I’m a stranger in paradise / All lost in a wonderland, a stranger in paradise. / If I stand starry-eyed / that's a danger in paradise / For mortals who stand beside an angel like you…

The faint strains of Borodin’s ballad wafted through the aluminum-screened windows of the room, suffusing its otherwise dismal air with a mellifluous calm that Wilfredo had long since forgotten. He sat on a chair by Evie’s bed, cradling his son in his arms and gazing listlessly at the inert form of his wife as she slept. Wilfredo knotted his brow when he heard the melody from his neighbor’s radio, painfully reminded of his all too short marital bliss and the prospect of single fatherhood.
The melody was his and Evie’s love song. It was maudlin to some, but Wilfredo didn’t care. It declared his affection for the woman who made his life complete with her vivacious laughter, passion, and free-spiritedness. After living happily for a year, Evie was diagnosed with incurable breast cancer.
It’s all my fault,” Wilfredo mused bitterly, “I could’ve stopped her.” He knew that Evie had been a candidate for the disease. Her mother died of it five years ago, while he and Evie were starting out their relationship. A few weeks after their marriage, Evie had undergone a breast examination, and the doctor confirmed that her breasts were mottled with small tumors that seemed benign, yet he prescribed Tamoxifen, an anti-cancer drug, for her to assiduously take for the next five to six years.
Evie wanted a child. But the doctor warned that the cancer medication would cause physical defects on her baby, and if she withheld taking the drug, her increased estrogen during pregnancy would possibly stimulate the benign tumors in her breasts to metastasize into cancer cells. It was her choice, he told her -- remain childless for the time being, or risk it out.
Evie was in tears when she told Wilfredo of their predicament. She was in her late thirties, and if she followed her doctor’s advice, it’ll be too late to have a baby and start a family. Wilfredo was apprehensive of the risks, yet Evie was stubborn to change her mind. In any case, he too wanted a child to carry his name.
God is good…he won’t let Evie die and let the child go motherless,” Wilfredo earnestly prayed.
That was a year ago. Wilfredo hated his naïveté. How could he have believed that God would shield them from this misfortune? He knew that it was their fault -- both of them tempted fate and must now face the consequences.
It was a difficult pregnancy. Evie gave birth to a boy, whom they named Carlos. A few weeks afterward, she complained of searing internal pain, and the check-up confirmed the worst. The doctor ordered chemotherapy and radiation treatments immediately, but it was unendurable for her. Tufts of Evie’s hair fell out, and she promptly vomited any food ingested, transforming her once healthy figure to nothing more than a skeletal frame. Each day, Wilfredo noted that Evie was gradually dying, and he couldn’t stand the affliction on her face.
The doctor’s pronouncements were discouraging.
I’m sorry, Mr. Castro, there is nothing more that I could do, but alleviate your wife’s pain with proper dosages of morphine.” His stoical voice was a rumble of deafening words. “The cancer had already spread to her vital organs. She’d hold out for a month.
Wilfredo lost his vitality, and slumped down on a chair.
* * *
Oh, won't you answer this loving prayer / Of a stranger in paradise? / Don't send me in dark despair / for all that I hunger for. / But open your angel eyes / to the stranger in paradise / And tell him that he will be a stranger no more.

Evie managed to smile when she heard the song, waking up from her drug-induced slumber. She moaned feebly, patient with the snaking agony in her body. Her eyes focused on Wilfredo, cradling their baby in his arms. He propped up Carlos for Evie to see.

He would make a wonderful father, she thought.

It was arduous to say goodbye to the man she loved…to the son she wouldn’t see grow up. Wilfredo hung his head in sorrow. He was teary-eyed, filled with ineffable grief at Evie’s labored sighs. Wilfredo tenderly kissed her emaciated hand.
It was time to let her go.

Monday, June 04, 2007

Generation
Lyrics from "American Dreams"

You're comin' up like a flower
You're comin' up through the cracks
That live 'round here
Everybody knows we have no fear
This is my generation
'Cause we just want to dance all night
Live inside the spark of life
This might be the only time around
We wanna know the face of freedom
We wanna make a place where we can learn to love
Build a world that we can be proud of
This is my generation.

Friday, June 01, 2007

In The Balance

In my own wavering balance
Desire fluctuates with modesty
But I choose what I see
I bow my neck to the yoke
For the burden is sweeter after all
And so I take it upon me
In Trutina
In trutina mentis dubia
Fluctuant contraria
Lascivus amor et pudicitia

Sed eligo quod video
Collum iugo prebeo
Ad iugum tamen suave transeo