Chasing Unicorns

You'd think a guy who chased unicorns for most of his life would learn a few things after all these years.

Never make the same mistakes again.

And more importantly, that they don't exist.

I wanna stop believing in fairy tales.

But I keep falling for the next one I hear.

Against indomitable odds

When I was moving around some boxes some months back, I found a letter addressed to me. Of all the people it could have been from, it was from myself, in the past.

It was an old palanca letter I wrote to myself - something of a requirement for this retreat I joined back in high school. We were asked to write down how we saw ourselves at that time and what we wanted ourselves to be after the retreat.

I was going through a rough patch with a lot of things. The juvenile me thought a girlfriend would solve all that. So in the letter, I wrote to God, asking for a girlfriend in the future - a simple girl, who would love me dearly - someone I could see myself marrying; someone who could get me to go to Church more often; someone who would inspire me to be better and work harder. I thought little of it. In fact, after the seminar, I even lost the letter.

I hadn't realized it then, but years later, I would meet her.

She was everything I asked for and more. She was also a vegetarian. At first, I thought it was karma for defying my family’s choice to go meatless. I had always been angry with them for choosing to turn vegetarian. They said it was for my sake, because I was eating too much processed food. They forced me to turn along with them. I hated the fact that they would always tell friends they chose to do so because of me, like it was my fault. I rebelled and ate meat whenever I could.

Needless to say, they were happy when they met that girl.

She hadn't stopped me from eating meat, but at least she's taught me to be proud of my vegetarian family. It was a part of my family I always tried to hide, for fear of being ridiculed by friends. For once, here was someone who actually envied my position and made me see the other side of it; how fortunate I was to have them.

After we were together for some years, I was with my Dad in the car. It was just the two of us, so I thought it was the appropriate time to ask him a really personal question.

“What made you decide to marry Mom?”

“I feel like God gave her to me," he said, a bit embarrassed, in fact. "It’s not been perfect. We’ve had fights. We have our idiosyncrasies. But she’s always looked after me. She gave me the two of you. I don’t think I’d be as happy now if I married anyone else.”

That really resonated in me.

So much so that it's the first thing that popped in my head when I reread that palanca letter to myself.

I hadn’t realized it at first, but it turns out, that girl was everything I asked for. She got me to go back to church again. I was so grateful that every time we’d go to church together, she was always the first thing I thanked Him for.

As for the vegetarian bit, I started thinking, maybe she wasn't sent to convert me into one. Maybe I was being prepared, all along, to meet her.

As for inspiring me to be better and work harder, she did that too. She would cheer me on every time I was given a new offer, even if it was just a side job. She'd respect the strict time I had set aside strictly for work, even though that's not usually what I did with it.

Most of all, what I truly hadn't intended on was for her to become my best friend. I was reluctant to share things with her, feeling like it was baring my chest to be stabbed. She never forced me to open up, but when I did, I felt so relieved to be able to tell her everything. I ended up sharing more with her than I would my own best friends

Nothing helped me make up my mind more than those realizations.

I'll never forget the time we slow danced for the first and last time. During that brief moment, with her in my arms, I was absolutely sure of what I wanted.

I know it's rather self-centered to think that God would give you someone. It's possible that I’m just attaching meaning to seemingly random events. But I can’t help but think that they could be connected somehow.

When we broke up, I was devastated. I hadn't just lost my girlfriend, but also my best friend.

There were others to talk to and confide in, but none else who could return such a warm and reassuring feeling as she did.

The most painful part of it is the thought that I've gotten exactly what I asked for, something truly rare in life, and took it for granted, even pushed it away. I want her to know that her efforts weren't in vain.

If I could turn back time and take back all the hurtful things I’ve said and done, I would. I'd show her all the love and support she showed me tenfold. I still pray there’s a shred of hope that it can all be undone. Even if the odds are against me; just as they were against her, and she loved me still.

The Case for Clevon

Today, I met a man who, despite having nothing to do with my profession, taught me more than I could ever know about my industry and where it's headed.

This Mr. Wendal said more with each hilarious side comment than any professor could with an hour long speech. He couldn't even spell "condition" yet was more painfully aware of the human condition than any philosopher could ever elucidate. He might spend his time and money on frivolous things, yet is more aware of the needs and obligations of raising a family than any parent of the year ever will be. He doesn't even read, for God's sake, yet he knows, perhaps unwittingly, exactly why the world's best publications are closing shop.

I've often been proud of my pursuits and what I've managed to achieve as a result. Yet this unassuming fellow has managed to show me, with the kind of brevity and wit that I've always aspired to achieve, that in the end, it's all for naught.

I'm not much of a horror movie fan (give me a minute as I get to my point), as my picks wouldn't likely make it to any true horror aficionado's top 10 list. Perhaps it's because, horror movies, the kind that scare me at least, give a glimpse of the frightening extremes of the human psyche. I had nightmares about the apes in "Congo" (don't laugh) and am oddly intrigued and horrified by the villains in "Event Horizon" and "Sunshine". Yet of all the movies that could send a chill down my spine, the one that succeeds without fail, each and every instance I watch it, could hardly be classified as a horror flick at all. It's called "Idiocracy."

If you haven't watched it, it's alright. This is all you really need to know:

And while you're watching, take note of Clevon.

Please ignore my comment about it being my top horror movie pick for a moment, and feel free to laugh. I still do too. Just as I did with each and every joke Clevon's real life counterpart cracked during our meeting. Yet with each jest slowly came the realization that, as much as I tried to deny it, he was the target market of my publication. And if I want to continually be employed, I will have to cater it towards him. After all, if I don't, someone else will. A few publications already have, and they continue to reap the benefits to this day.

I never really understood why, yet was always a bit jealous at the mediocre rag's success, as opposed to the depth and breadth of my literary opus, up until I had this chance to observe clever Clevon do his thing, without pretensions or any desire to please. The epiphany came when I compared how he browsed through a magazine to how I would browse one. And the startling reality was that there was absolutely no difference.

We're all only human, after all, and that is the most horrific thing about it.

I may not live long enough to see the grim picture of the future that "Idiocracy" paints. Mortality may very well be humanity's greatest gift. Yet while my time has not arrived, grant me a moment to weep for my gender. And a few weeks to weep for the slow and painful demise of humankind.

It's rather ironic how we have battled insurmountable odds to become the dominant species on the planet, only to allow evolution, the very means by which we have become dominant, to be our downfall.

Bill Watterson once said that the greatest proof that there is intelligent life out there is the fact that they haven't contacted us. They're afraid they might get infected. The plague of the century isn't AIDS or cancer. It's stupidity. It's genetic (well, partially), it's contagious, and it's spreading. God help us all.

Tu Hijo Piensas Asi

More and more of my friends are approaching that age when wedding bells begin to ring in their girlfriends’ ears and the subject tends to come up more often than they’d like. One has even gone as far as having a detailed discussion with his girlfriend with regard to the future of both their careers. He will continue to work while she will be a stay-at-home mom. It wasn’t exactly democratic and he’s learned to avoid all conversation on that topic since then.

It was funny at first until we started projecting about where we’d be sending them to school, what first car to give them, and how often we’d allow them to go out. I, coming from a conservative family, vowed to put him through all the misery my mom has done for me. It’s for his or her own good after all.

Because my mom loved me so much, I couldn’t drive myself out to gimmicks until I was 19 and couldn’t stay out past 12 midnight until I was 20. You can imagine how much worse it was for my sister. Of course my mom had always justified these rules of conduct by recounting the instance the same rule had been imposed on her, when she was our age. Her conservative ways haven’t been updated since the Spanish era, apparently.

There were rules like:

No phone calls after nine o’clock.
A girl should never call a guy.
A girl should always be chaperoned by her brother or cousin on dates.
Never let the boy into the house unless he’s courted you for one year.
If you invite out, always pay for the bill.
A boy should never enter a girl’s bedroom.
When dropping off a girl, always wait for her to enter the gate of her house before driving off.
All boyfriends and girlfriends should meet the parents in a formal dinner for approval before the courtship is deemed official.

Come to think of it, it’s that formal dinner that I’ve always dreaded. My father was easy to please, but my mom was another story. She needed glasses to read but had no trouble spotting the way anyone held the fork and knife (or struggled to), through each of the five courses. Intelligence, beauty, and table manners were standard requirements. Manner of speaking, interests and clothing preference were subject to scrutiny.

There was a skin whitening commercial on TV that seemed to depict my conundrum to a T. A strapping young man had brought a girl home to meet Mom. Gently lowering her glasses the mother inspected the girl head to toe. “She’s beautiful, but is she intelligent as well?” the mother asked in Spanish. “Si Tita,” the girl replied. “Tu Hijo Piensas Asi (He seems to think so).”

Yet, as absurd as the commercial seemed, Mother’s powers were stranger than fiction. They weren’t simply limited to perception but delved into the telekinetic. She could tell what the girl’s family business was simply by the last name, quickly followed by that particular girl’s hidden agenda for going out with me.

It’s why I’ve always kept quiet about who I was currently dating at the dinner table. It’s why I quickly change the subject when my girlfriend asks why I haven’t introduced her to my folks.

Mothers are like the omnipotent narrator in fables, unfortunately. She had ways of finding out. She seemed to suspect I was out philandering and doing drugs every time I returned home late. I still wonder if the threats of disowning me if I got a girl pregnant were a stone cold bluff or well informed intelligence.

It’s not simply a Mama’s Boy thing. Who wouldn’t want to meet a nice girl they can take home to meet mom? Only a spiteful one, I imagine, would bring home one that breaks all her rules.

Over the years, I’ve found her advice has helped me avoid potentially long and masochistic relationships. Ironically, the few disastrous ones were those I could call after nine, or kiss on just the first date.

True class, as mother has taught me, is not determined by what you do or say, but what you hold back. Impossible standards for this day and age, my friends would argue, but I’ve been fortunate to date a few that pass with flying colors.

When I look back at the girls I’ve dated, including the ones she’s told me to avoid, I realize that there might have been some hasty generalizations as well as some sad truths to her beliefs. Nevertheless I’m still glad I’ve followed and broken her rules in equal amounts of measure.

I remember saying “That’s so last century” in response to the rules. I realize now what they were really for. All the emphasis on tact, courtesy and graciousness were more for our own upbringing than for finding worthy husbands or wives. You could say it’s a quaint home-style finishing school in many ways.

As for mother, her vigilance has waned into the occasional query about my love life. Her trust took a hefty 25 years to gain. She’s also managed to secure an early retirement, not having me or my sister to worry about, seeing as how we’re realized for ourselves the kind of qualities we ought to be looking for in potential life partners.

Great plan, I think. I wouldn’t want to hasten my baldness (if what my Dad says about worrying too much increases hairloss [plus the fact that baldness is hereditary]), by worrying about my kids either. So torture them it is. Hey, I’m only concerned about their future.