Nevergirl’s

I have a confession – and it’s one that I could lose friends for. As Mariel puts it, I’m baduy – they’ve come to accept that as a given – but I’ve no business crowing about it to the world. After all, she is my best friend; that, by association alone, makes her baduy, too. Nonetheless, I really need to get this off my chest because it’s 3:29 in the morning and I’m sitting here overflowing – simply overflowing - with love for Queen.

I love Queen – that is my confession. I’ve loved them since I was 10 and I loved them so much I had the lyrics of Bohemian Rhapsody memorized long before I learned the wordings of Awit sa Bohol, which we had to sing every Monday and Friday in school. So what if Freddie Mercury died of Aids or that he openly admitted that he adores Liza Minelli and Cabaret? That doesn’t make him any less of an artist. If anything, it makes him even more of an artist. After all, the rock music industry is notoriously homophobic. For someone like Freddie to make it big in a testosterone-heavy arena is proof that – to borrow from Rizal – “genius knows no country, genius sprouts everywhere, genius is like light, air, the patrimony of everybody, cosmopolitan like space, like life, like God.”

Freddie was born Indian. Before there was a Freddie Mercury, there was a Farrokh Bulsara – and for Bulsara to conquer the music industry the way he did is sure evidence that sometimes, talent triumphs over clever packaging. Freddie had no machismo, no good looks, no bad boy image to sell. In fact, Spanish soprano Montserrat Caballe even said that the difference between Freddie and practically all other rock stars was that they sold their image while he sold his voice. He had to; there was nothing else he could do better or be more passionate about than making music.

Ironically, the man who is considered one of the greatest rock singers of all time never had formal voice training. I’m not sure if he had any training in songwriting, too, but with or without training, that guy sure writes well! He wrote complex harmonies and intricate melodies, used a wide range of genres, and utilized just about all types of key signatures. He was a singer, writer, musician, and performer and I would have given just about anything to see him perform live. I would have loved his flamboyance, his eccentricity, his ability to excite an indifferent audience and hold them in the palm of his hand. I would have loved the way he stuck out from other musicians like a sore thumb.

You see, I have always had the highest respect for people who dared to be different – and Freddie wasn’t only different, he was wonderfully odd, too. He took his music to the edge, drove his creativity further than the rest, and wore tights. He had gaps in his teeth and looks like he had swallowed a golf ball each time he sang. He was also – in his own words – as gay as a daffodil. How could anyone not love a man like that? And because I can’t NOT love him, I’m leaving you with one of my favorite Queen tracks, the song that best expresses what I’m feeling right now – at 3:29 in the morning. And no, I don’t mean that part about feeling like a sex machine ready to reload.

Posted in Harking back, Quietly beautiful things, Wee wonderfuls | 4 Comments »

Yep, I had way too much time and more – so I dragged the hub to David’s Salon early so we could get a manicure and pedicure. I got bored waiting for my nails to dry so I decided to mess with my hair again. I wanted to do something outlandish; almost asked them to dye my hair violet, truth be told. But the hub was with me and he doesn’t tolerate mad experimentation (not on my hair, anyway) so I had to settle for a haircut, instead of a full hairjob – layers, bangs, violet hue, and all.

Friends, meet my new do. It’s ugly and it reminds me of the bowl cut my mom used to give me back in kindergarten. But I refuse to stress over my tresses. It’s just hair – it will grow back. Then, too, I’ve done worse things to my hair so having it cropped this short isn’t really a tragedy of Bush-presidency proportions. And hey, I made Alex laugh with my new do. She thinks it makes me look like a homo. How many haircuts can do that? So yeah, this is me grinning over a botched cut.

Agyness Deyn, you are so paying for my therapy. I have learned my lesson. Each time I see you rockin’ your short do, I will tell myself you’ve been heavily airbrushed because it’s simply not possible for a human being to have her hair cut that short and look that hawt.

Posted in A'traipsing we go, Family | 3 Comments »

When you spend almost five years of your life with people you don’t know but have had to weather the worst possible storms with, you cannot share cubicle, elbow room, heartaches, and breathing space with them and NOT think of them as family – you just don’t. You hurt when they hurt; you worry when one of their loved ones die; you fear the worst when they blog about choosing to cope rather than whine about something they have no control over; you jump in glee when they say goodbye to a bad relationship and say hello to the possibility of a better one; you get excited about their marriage or impending parenthood; and above all, you make their happiness your own the moment they realize a dream. Short-term or long-term, who’s counting? The point is, their sorrows and happiness become yours and at some point in time, you stop thinking of them as friends and start thinking of them as kin.

I will write about this only once because it’s too hurtful to dredge up and rehash ever again. When you promise the people you care about you won’t ever leave them but eventually end up doing so, you go away hoping they know – even without your spelling it out to them – that the only reason you broke that promise is so they need not feel torn and stricken over things they couldn’t possibly do anything about. After all, it’s not every day you’re made to choose between what’s left of your principles and idealism and the people you care for – and the only way you won’t have to make that choice at all is by going away.

So to you, and you, and you:
You will never know how much it cost me to smile and act flippant that afternoon I came to say goodbye. You will never know how dangerously close I came to crumbling and tearing up the moment I realized what terrible knowledge you’ve had to live with for some time. But you see, I smiled and laughed and pooh-poohed your concerns away because it was the last gift I could give you. I do not want you to choose between him and me – it was never meant to be that way; it shouldn’t ever have to be. But just so you know, if I ever have to make the same choice again or go through that afternoon one more time, I wouldn’t do anything differently. I would still have sniggered at your crestfallen faces, hooted at your soul-searching, laughed at your apprehensions, ribbed you about your two-timing would-have-been girlfriend, insisted that we go boozing real soon or you’d be too sober to function, poked you back so you’ll know I’ll miss that weird habit of yours because I know that my laughter – no matter how hollow – will give you peace of mind.

For you, a thousand times over.

Posted in Big Sad, Heartstrings | 3 Comments »