staring at a sad future
“i want to grow old without facelifts... i want to have the courage to be loyal to the face i've made. sometimes i think it would be easier to avoid old age, to die young, but then you'd never complete your life, would you? you'd never wholly know you.” -- marilyn monroe, the screen goddess who allegedly committed suicide at age thirty six in nineteen sixty two. to this day, her death remains a mystery.
last night, at the formerly upscale bar and restaurant in greenbelt two, i saw and heard an ageing but still flamboyant high to middle class society fixture and columnist asking for a young man's name and number. when the young man, a trainee at the restaurant, refused, he asked the pretty waitress to do the deed. i overheard the waitress telling the handsome young waiter in training: "sige na, makipagkilala ka na. mabait at mayaman yan." the young man retorted: "ayoko nga, mukha ng bangkay yan."
i was staring, sadly, at my bleak future.
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why is the world cruel to older people, particularly women and gays? didn't audrey hepburn once said that "the beauty of a woman, with the passing years only grows"?
most of my friends argue that age is just a number. but please try telling that to the probably lonely society columnist, whose botoxed face indeed looks like a cadavere.
too, on his way to the rest room (i was on my way out), he walked oh so slowly and unevenly, as though he was just learning how to walk. it's a pathetic sight considering that this is the same columnist whose audacious face and colourful outfits have been photographed (and graced countless magazines and newspapers) partying in various upscale places and usually surrounded by a posse of appetising young men who are eager to please and gorgeous women, young and not so young, in expensive outfits and are ready to rock.
it may sound cruel, but i totally sympathise with the young waiter in training when he refused to join the columnist in his table. who would indeed want to flirt with someone who looks like he belongs in a wax museum or should already be resting inside a coffin instead of hunting for an innocent prey in a posh place like greenbelt?
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having said that, i really felt sorry for him. and as i had mentioned earlier, sad as well. because god knows my time will also come when young men will already feel like vomiting when i approach them. in fact, it has already started. there are already some guys who make excuses (baka magalit si mommy pag umuwi ako ng late eh; magkukula pa ako ng mga puting labada), some unbelievable (malayo kasi bahay namin, sa unranus pa), when i ask them out very politely of course for dinner or/and drinks.
that is why i always tell friends that in a few years (two to three perhaps), i would stop this silly hunting business. i would hate to see myself humiliated simply because some young lad has turned me down. i would probably die of shame.
i want to quit while i am still ahead because i don't want to find myself in an empty hall, drunk, at five in the morning, when everyone has left, surrounded by empty glasses and bottles, some broken, and ashtrays full of long dead cigarette butts, staring blankly at the dimly lit room and wondering where is everybody.
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at around two in the morning, while the band was singing adel's rolling in the deep (yes, it's still a favourite among the mostly middle-aged crowd a few years after the song became a hit. or maybe i was just in the wrong party place with the wrong crowd?), my date for the night sent me a text message: sorry for keeping you waiting. we are at xxxx in quezon avenue. pls join us. mwah!
already tired, tipsy, sad and sleepy, i texted him back: already home. maybe next time?
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welcome to the twilight zone, dahlins!
that's all.
(ps: the picture of the handsome young man was taken from the internet. he has nothing to do with this post. no copyright infringement intended.)
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