Kitty Litter

(This is a LOOONG post, perhaps as penitence for the long no-posting period. Plus it's about feelings and relationships, so if that sounds icky to you try bored.com instead)


Some time ago, a friend I’ll call “Cynara” and I were in Eastwood, and she told me that her one frustration with her fiancé was that he was averse to romantic gestures, consigning them to that nether hell men term “chick flick gay shit.” “I don’t want that much,” she sighed. “I just want him to adore me every now and then…and maybe show up at one or two of the talks I give so often.”

She then turned to me and sadly said, “You know, you’ve been to more of my talks than he has.”

And I didn’t know what to say to that, because that was on my mind too.

“I know he loves you,” was my lame answer.

“I know,” she said. “I just wish I ‘knew’ it in some other way. You know what I mean?”

And if you know what she means, then you’re probably a woman.

Another friend, to whom I sent an MMS photo of a bouquet of roses on her birthday, sent back a very unhappy comment: “Buti ka pa, you know what a girl wants. My husband gave me insurance, for God’s sake. Maybe he wants me to die.” To lighten the mood, I responded, “Well, I know what a girl wants ‘cause I’m a girl too!”

A better response from me would have been that insurance is actually a thoughtful gesture, but I doubt it would’ve been appreciated. Sometimes friendship consists of knowing what not to say, after all.

I know another one woman, normally a rational soul, who actually considered breaking off her engagement a few years ago to a solid, dependable—if unimaginative—man. The reason? Her new boss, whose simple but thoughtful gestures, such as always making time for her when she needed to talk to him, constantly smiling gently at her, giving her small compliments on her work, texting to check if she’d gotten home all right, and never taking out his bad moods on her, made her think she was falling in love with him. See, her then-fiance was a very nice guy, but as is normal with most relationships, he was beginning to take her for granted and would sometimes bark rudely at her, or be mean when he’d had a bad day at work.

She later realized that her boss was kind to just about everyone who wasn’t an asshole, and that he had no romantic feelings towards her. In addition, I told her, “It’s easy to constantly show your good side to someone you have no emotional investment in.”

Her temporary insanity passed, but to this day, she still wishes her (now) husband would just, for once, tell her she’s ‘so beautiful it’s like the sun rises when you’re in a room,’ or stop walking out on her every time they fight. And if you thought the line about the sun was corny (which it is, really), chances are you’ve got a Y gene and are immune to the scene in ‘While You Were Sleeping’ in which Jack proposes to Lucy.

(Aside: That, incidentally, was how I discovered that my best friend was my best friend. Still in the first few months of friendship and a bit awkward with each other, we sat through that wonderfully silly movie and muffled our sobs when Lucy finally finds out she’s no longer “all alone in the world.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Goldie Golds attempting to sniffle discreetly while watching me out of the corner of her eye. That did it; we laughed, and she’s been one of the persons around whom my universe revolves since then.)

On one hand, I understand where guys are coming from. The average male is scared enough by the mere thought of saying “I love you,” let alone doing the kind of thing that would make him seem pussy-whipped or gay. Why buy a bouquet of flowers which will die anyway when the P 3,000 you’ll spend on it can be used to buy her a tool kit for her car or perhaps a good quality bag?

Only recently, Wynn and I were joking around about the gift of flowers. “You know what,” I told him, “isn’t giving flowers something along the lines of ‘Here’s a dead thing, I love you’”? I have some of the callousness of the Y gender, obviously, and I had to stuff my fist in my mouth to keep from laughing out loud at overly earnest romance sequences like that terrible “I’m beautiful because you love me” crap in Star Wars 3. Teenage boys dislike me because I always tell girls exactly what their favorite lines mean, and when I shattered the whole “if you love me prove it have sex with me” shitty myth in class, not a few boys protested.

(Aside: If you’re wondering what I said to that, I silenced them thus: “If you idiots really love the girl you’re trying to get into bed, then why does she have to prove she loves you? If the silliness of your logic escapes you boys, then I pity whoever is stupid enough to get into bed with you.” Then I rubbed salt into the wound by telling the girls, “Never choose a teenaged boy for your first lover. 95% of them come within 60 seconds—only half of which is spent inside you, have no idea how to please a woman, and will tell all their friends about it.” I stopped myself before I added, “When you turn 40, though, and want a teenaged boy, then all the better for you.”)

Thanks to my skepticism about romance, I am able to appreciate what Wynn does give me. Sure, he will probably never dance with me to “Stella by Starlight”, but he gives me verbal bouquets that I can savor over and over in my mind, things like, “Anywhere is home so long as you’re with me.” That kind of gift lasts and truly does keep on giving because he has made me feel very special without even trying. (Plus it gives him extra credit when we fight, ha!)

Sometimes I wonder if he'll ever kiss my hand, or give me an extravagant compliment. Sure, I can live without it. But I can live without chocolate too, if I had to. Things like those make everyday life a little sweeter...pun intended...and keep you going even on the worst of days.

Those things are the reason why the romance novel is so popular (aside from the sex, okay). In a romance novel, a woman can, if indirectly, live out her fantasies. Whereas a straight male fantasy often involves two women with dildoes and size 55 boobs servicing him and each other orally (go ahead and check out the most popular porn), a woman’s fantasy has many variations on the theme of her being the most important thing in a man’s life. The sex is secondary (but always good, mind you). There are a hundred thousand variations on this—the taming the bad boy motif, the princess rescued by either a white knight like Superman or a tortured dark knight like Batman, the ugly duckling whose inner beauty is seen only by that one special man—but in each one, she is special in some way.

Making a woman feel special—that’s what a lot of male “players” are good at, and even if they have reputations, women continue to fall for them because they enjoy how he treats them (like queens, or princesses, if only for a while) and harbors the secret hope that she will be the one to “reform” him, that she is that one special woman out of the many he’s thrown away.

The other component of romance that women need is a corollary to making her feel special, like the Only One. It’s those small gestures of kindness, the courtly manners that men lose as soon as they’ve landed the woman. Notice how you can almost always tell, when seeing couples in public places, who’s at the beginning of a relationship and who’s settled into bored domesticity?

Men tend to need someone to lord it over; one guy I know, who earns less than his executive girlfriend, “punishes” her by being ridiculously “strict” with her, controlling even what she eats! And she thinks it’s “proof” of her love to “allow” him to take out his insecurities that way on her. Puhleeze…he’s just a loser, but if she admits that to herself, then she, in her own mind and by extension, is a loser…and who wants that? So men take out bad moods on their wives or long-time girlfriends while being constantly polite to officemates or casual acquaintances. Or they cheat because ‘the woman can’t bring spice to the relationship anymore’.

I don’t see romantic gestures as a sign of a man handing over control of the relationship to a woman. Instead, I see them as his willingness to make compromises in order to make his partner happy…just as she does for him.

Not that I advocate the performance of extravagantly romantic gestures like bending a woman back for a romance-movie-take-your-breath-away kiss, filling a woman’s bed with roses (OUCH), or closing off the entire CCP and hiring the Philharmonic to serenade a woman all night. At least, not on a daily basis.

But what does it cost a guy to compliment his girlfriend every now and then, to notice something good about her? Or to give her “verbal bouquets”? Or to show that he cares in little ways? Not much, just a little pride when it comes to his rep with his friends. And guys, if you love your woman, isn’t a little pride a small price to pay?

And if you need help, listen to the song “One Hundred Ways” by James Ingram. Yes, it’s true that we women can reflect that we “owe you the sweetest of debts.” And we’re very nice when we’re grateful.

Trust me. I’m a woman!

Labels: relationships

This is for my mother, who would like nothing better than for me to become a bride…and soon. :)

“When are you getting married?” I’ve heard this question so often that I have prepared responses for it. If I feel like joshing the person, I say, “Anytime, so long as you sponsor my wedding in Venice. I need a budget of $ 1 million at the very least.” If the question has been asked in a rude fashion or in a mean spirit, I say, “As soon as you get an IQ.” And if the person asking me that question is someone I don’t want to offend, I say, “We’re saving up for it.”

My boyfriend—let’s call him Wynn—and I have been together for eight years now—longer than over half the Hollywood marriages these days—and in fairness to those who have seen us dating for so long, the question does beg to be answered.

At thirty, if you’re a woman in the Philippines—where the median marrying age is 24—you’re supposed to be married. You should also have at least one child by now, and if you’re like approximately 60% of the female population, you will have a job or at the very least, a small business of your own.

One out of three isn’t bad; I have a job. But my lack of spouse and offspring haven’t escaped anyone’s notice, and there are times when I feel constrained to explain myself, even though I think I shouldn’t have to. In the 70s, women usually married between the ages of 19 and 24; any later and she would be branded an old maid.

I’m thirtysomething, and by those standards, I should be despondent over my chances. But I’m not, and I’m not alone. More women are choosing to stay single—whether by choice (“I hate men!”) or circumstance (“How can I hate men when I haven’t had a boyfriend and I’m thirty-five already?”)—and there are many good reasons for doing so.

Let’s start with the legal side of things. Ideally, marriages are made between equal partners in the eyes of God. Note the word “ideally.” That’s because Philippine law favors men when it comes to marital perfidy; just for starters, if a woman is caught in bed with another man, her husband can get away with murder—literally. On the other hand, if he has a mistress, you can’t do anything unless he “lives with her scandalously.” (Hmm, must check with Wynn about that. Correct me if I'm wrong, dear.)

Worse, you’re up against culture. Pinoy males are expected to cheat, while women are required to remain faithful. I know my boyfriend hasn’t cheated on me, and I trust him, but the reality is that ours is not a typical partnership, because he views infidelity as a deal breaker. For being faithful to me, he is considered “whipped”. But the number of our male friends and acquaintances who cheat on their wives is such that I can only think of three who don’t…as far as we know.

Then let’s talk career. The higher the educational level attained by a woman, the more likely she is to marry late in life, if at all. It’s as simple as this—why marry someone who cannot relate to you on an intellectual level? Marriages may be made in heaven but a partner who thinks it was OK for US vice president Dan Quayle to be publicly stupid cannot maintain your respect for very long.

Add jealousy to that, and you’ve got a lethal combination. A woman I know who was rapidly climbing the ladder of success at work married to a man who couldn’t hold a steady job, mainly because he was only a college dropout. He became jealous, and his jealousy turned violent; she only found the courage to leave him when he began molesting their ten-year-old daughter, claiming it was his right because he had “made” the little girl.

You know that anecdote because it’s too familiar. Want to guess who got support from friends, parents, and the local place of worship? You know he did. And should the same thing happen to you, you’re likely to get the same treatment. In some religions, you’re expected to tolerate everything your husband dishes out—even physical abuse, in many cases, depending on the advising priest, pastor, or holy man—because he’s your husband. Too many religious practitioners are misogynistic, and favor men over women.

Then there’s the economy. I’m no expert, but it doesn’t take one to see that we’re in trouble, what with E-VAT, rising prices, and fewer job opportunities. Once women get a job, they tend to hang on and work hard because they have parents or siblings to support…and that puts a crimp on marriage plans, especially when she establishes herself and begins tasting the sweetness of success. It takes a very brave woman to give up an established career and plunge into marriage, because too many macho Pinoy males dislike having working wives.

A hidden statistic in the Philippines is that of marriages ending in separation (whether formal or informal) and annulment. One social worker I spoke to estimated that at least half of all marriages these days fail, whether they result in separation or in emotional estrangement. Surely women my age have seen this happen so often that they are afraid of risking themselves.

Of course who can forget the financial aspect? Marrying is no joke, and if you’re like me, your wedding will become a place to repay old debts and acknowledge your elders. Not exactly a recipe for success, and likely to be very expensive. A modest wedding these days can run up a tab of at least P 50,000…money which you might think could be better spent paying bills, buying appliances for your new home with your husband, and so on. Working for Wedding Essentials is sweet torture for me, because I see all the beautiful options for weddings which I probably can’t afford because I’m worried about buying a home and furnishing it while leaving something for me and Wynn to live on.

Sure, I dream about walking down the nave (not the aisle, please) in a frothy gown I’ll never wear again, with flowers galore and all the trappings…but when I wake up, reality bites me, literally, because I have to work for a living.

Wynn and I both believe that marriage is the ultimate commitment, and that probably explains why we’ve delayed for so long. I’ve done my share of soul-searching, and while I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t get married in a heartbeat, experience and my job has taught me that marriage isn’t a two-person production…it involves friends, relatives, and, if they arrive, children. That’s a lot of people to be beholden to, and it’s a serious responsibility.

In addition, I know I still have many issues to work out, both with him and with myself…and then perhaps I can get started with my issues with other people. That’s because I’ve seen so many impulsive marriages go wrong, with horrifying results. And when the casualties include small children, with ex-husband and in-laws holding them hostage to force the woman to do what they want, nobody wins, least of all the poor woman, against whom the deck is stacked…and how. I don’t want to be in that situation, and those women I know who are in it deserve better than that kind of putrid behavior from people who are supposed to love them.

I’m both fascinated with and afraid of romance, because it gives women too many expectations, and puts a lot of unnecessary pressure on men. While stories of whirlwind marriages fascinate me, I choose to continue working on myself to be a better person. That way, I bring something into a lifetime partnership.

When I get married, I would like to bring someone into that marriage who is stable—emotionally, physically, and financially—and willing to make the many compromises marriage entails, and that someone will be me. I also want to be very sure that my husband accepts me completely and loves me because of and despite all my faults.

That’s a lot to ask of any person, and even though nothing in this world is an absolute certainty, I want to be sure that when I append my husband’s last name to mine, it’s because I’m proud of being his partner, and not because I’m afraid my biological clock is winding down, or because it’s expected of me, or because I’m afraid of growing old alone. Marriage is hard enough without bringing unrealistic expectations into it. The bottom line is, I want to get married when I know and feel that the time is right. Perhaps then Wynn and I will be able to make a true partnership that will not wind up as a pair of broken hearts in the wayside of life.

Labels: rants, relationships

Since this entry was first destroyed by some inconsiderate blogger some time ago (see previous entry), I've had some trouble reconstructing it. It does bring home something important about writing, though: that one should always save a copy of whatever one writes in order to avoid the sinking feeling of "not getting it right" when one tries to reconstruct what has been lost.

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Someone emailed me to ask whether I wrote about Polar Bearball (EDIT: Also known as "Wynn" )in almost all my entries (never noticed, really) in order to "...rub [our]perfect relationship in the faces of those who don't have significant others."

Did I ever say the relationship was perfect?

Good God, woman, go out and click the "Next Blog" links and see how many people write about their partners. I even stumbled on one blog that called itself something like "my boyfriend is sexy" which chronicled this couple's activities. (I don't dare post the link here!) Compared to that, I've been oh-so-discreet.

When I blog, I tend to put Polar Bearball (Wynn) in because he is that much a part of my life. I take his presence for granted, the same way that he does mine. Friends tell me that it's hard to determine which one of us mentions the other more often. He's picked up my lingo ("Hello?!? As if. Asa pa you,") and now dresses in something other than Urban Sloppy Fashion, while I've learned to walk fast and cross-examine people who talk to me.

Someone once told me that breaking up with someone who's been with you for more than five years (I think we're going on seven roundabout December, on-and-off time included) is like cutting off a limb: you suffer from phantom pains when you refer to something, only to remember that the only person who will understand what you mean is gone. I think that would be true for us. Or, at least, for me.

I would argue that the reason why we've stayed together so long is precisely because we haven't had an easy time of it. We never went through a phase in which we "billed and cooed" at each other; we just sort of fell into it. If you ask us when our anniversary is, we will both pull a blank. I do know I've outlasted both his exes combined, and I think that counts for something.

Nothing is easy in this relationship, and I think that's why it matters so much to me. Ask my best friend Goldie Gold, on whose shoulder I've cried so many times, I think I owe her a couple of new blouses. (Happy birthday dear!)

I hate the way he hangs up on a cellphone call when he's irritated or in a hurry; sometimes, I'm left talking to dead air. He hates the way I shift back to topics we've already agreed to bury the hatchet over when I'm losing an argument. I wound him when I don't notice the little ways in which he shows how he cares...or worse, when I make fun of them. He hurts me whenever he walks out instead of finishing an argument or explaining why he's reacted the way he has. He bullies me with clenched teeth or a raised voice if he doesn't get his way. I whine and bring up unrelated topics to get my way.

So why do we stay together?

Our mutual friend Buddy Bear (and I'm sure he'll kill me for using this alias for him) once said, during a terrible moment in my relationship with Polar Bearball, "Ask yourself whether the bad times outweigh the good. If they do, then it's time to bail."

What do I consider the good times?

Polar Bearball standing up for me in a hostile room.

His never mentioning my past sins, not even to rub it in my face.

His getting along with all my relatives, big and small...sometimes better than I do.

His calling me "Pompom."

His never being able to say the magic words, but showing me in so many small ways how much I mean to him.

His patiently putting up with my ideas for making him over, including a disastrous nose strip incident (in which I injured him!).

His texting me little messages of encouragement when I'm tense or nervous.

His going to various bookstores and asking for my book in order to make salespeople remember that I exist.

His spending as much of his free time with me as he can, literally forsaking all others.

His never giving me flowers, but giving me emergency flashlights, first aid kits, a cell phone and line, and other practical things.

His putting up with Divisoria soot and traffic when I wanted to get cheap plus-size clothes.

His never telling me that I am fat or ugly. His belief that I am beautiful, talented, and smart, despite occasional evidence to the contrary.

His telling me of his plans in the future, and always including me in what he sees of tomorrow.

His reading of my blog, and pointing out little errors so that I can correct them and not look silly.

Him calling up our friends one by one the night before I was to appear on TV to ask them to watch.

Him texting people to greet me on the eve of my birthday.

Him playing with my hair idly.

Him looking at me and smiling for no reason other than seeing me.

Him accompanying me even to the OB-Gyne for checkups.

So many small things. They do add up, you know. And though the point of a relationship is not to weigh the scales of good and bad times, I feel that the good times do outweigh the bad...and I hope he feels the same way.

It is true that sometimes, the small things can matter much more than the others. Even though there are times when, to borrow a line off Stephen King, I could vote the death penalty on him for no good reason, I find myself thinking of him even when I'm alone. Not because I miss him, but rather, because I want to know what he'll think of what I'm eating, seeing, saying, or doing. I see the evidence of how he feels about me in the little things; I even drink my daily tea out of a teapot and cups he gave me after observing that I liked tea.

I don't think this relationship would have been as important to either of us if it were something that came easy. "Easy come, easy go," after all. I've heard about and seen a lot of fairy tale relationships, and I always wonder whether the couple is trying too hard to make the relationship look good. I'd imagine that kind of effort takes a lot out of you.

Is there a conclusion to this? Words of wisdom from my experience? Certainly not. I'm sure that Polar Bearball and I will have many more sullen, silent drives to take together, yet I hope they will continue to be that way. Together, that is.

Labels: relationships, Wynn