Loving Women over Men

             “… and it was because I had happier moments with women than with men”

            “Life never is the way we want. Rather, we are the way it wants,” a friend of mine once said in one of his articles. In this brief sojourn between existence and death, we experience many memories; some that are adored, which we never ere to let go, while some are painful enough that we never again wish to recall. In 1999, I was as young as ten when I had a stalker; an unforgettable experience with my male accompanies when I was in my elementary. I left our house for school before the clock struck 6:30 in the morning.  Despite the birth of a new day, mornings never did feel warm because the figure of a stalker reaching me in the brisk dawn sent a chill down my spine. I felt his cold fingers creeping below my back every time I rode a tricycle or a jeepney. It had always been like that for a year. I was too afraid to tell about his presence to my father; whom I believe was the only noble man in the earth. It continued not until one day I had the courage of disclosing it to Papa. Nonetheless, it had happened. It was a man and I was the helpless victim; a woman. 

            However, the incident did not really frighten or threaten me to be together with their company. It’s just that the experience I had with the stalker was totally different. Back in the decade, I was also considered to be one of the boys. Consequently, I did not take the instance of being harassed to generalize men. In fact, I was always with a roster of men; playing and conversing with them, and even attempted to become one of them. Often times my girl classmates would call me a tomboy, for I even dressed like a man with large T-shirts which I used to borrow from my father’s wardrobe, baggy pants and a pair of white sneakers larger than the size of my feet. As I now look back the bygone days, I fail to reason what caused me to be around with men more than my sex, but perhaps it was because I was comfortable with them. I act like a man. I think the same way they do with conviction and pride, not to mention having the proud attitude they possess. I like their thoughtfulness and the linear perspective of life that they live. Nevertheless I liked them because they are men. 

            Being with men to me was gaining a sense of freedom; a sense of freedom that I could only achieve imitating the patriarchal man. Women never are free in our patriarchal society. They have to abide by the rules defined by its ideology. We are the other sex in the society we live in; an object to be gazed at, and are taken for granted. No wonder that is why Oscar Wilde says, “Women are meant to be loved and not to be understood” while Aristotle, one of the great Greek philosophers said that women are an “unfinished man”.

           It is commonly believed that women are more emotional than men. During my assimilation with men, I came to find the reverse. It’s just that they tend to conceal their emotions more differently than women. They keep it with them. Women are more expressive but men are more emotional. During those times, I acknowledged the fact that I love myself more than anyone else in this world. I also came to know that the more I got close to men, the more I came to understand the existence of women.

            Apart from men, I also had friends from my sex as well. The first was during the elementary. I was a year older than her and we both went to the same school. It was only then that my life became worthy to live in the absence of Men’s love apart of my father’s. Just like me, she too had a best friend before we met. However, unlike to her former best friend, mine wasn’t as loyal as hers. Together, we shared merry memories way back in the elementary. Our friendship was a bliss that I wished would last forever, and I prayed for it. We made a point to meet one another every afternoon so as to spend some time together; sharing our problems and confiding whatever we needed to reveal. We never shared a dull moment together.  There was so much to talk to…so much to share about. We both were enticing, one way or the other. A week has weekdays and weekends. Since we did not meet during the weekends, we made a promise to write letters to one another and hand it on Mondays. The letter itself showed our rich time, the things we had to talk about, and share. There were letters about what we had dreamt; details of the persons and the setting were all recorded in jubilance.  Although we had been away for only two days, it seemed eternity to see one when we met on Monday to hand our letters.

          She was one of the most important persons of my life. I admitted it in days and nights; thanking God for making us meet and share moments of pure bliss. However, when you laugh a lot, you are sure to cry. When you love a person dearly, you are ought to be heart broken in the end. Consequently, after two years of our cherished moment, we finally put an end on our friendship. There wasn’t even a slight chance to relive what had been broken. The damage had been done, and it could at no cost be repaired. There were attempts to patch up things. But who would want to make peace to a friend who never knows how to accept an apology? I tried to reach out but she would shut her door. There was a moment when we promised to each other that whatever happens we won’t leave each other. But where was she when I needed her the most? It was hard for me to accept everything. I was really desperate to have a best friend, to have her back. I begged her not to leave me. I begged her to stay at least for just a while but she kept on telling me that she had had enough of our friendship, she was hurt. It was deep black. No matter how much the wound heals, the scar continues to remain and remind us of the wound. To her, I was the wound that healed and yet again, I was the scar that reminded her of the wound I caused.

          The abrupt “THE END” forced upon our friendship made it seem like a dream. It seemed that our friendship was all but a dream. Only I realized that I had been dreaming for a long time. Those sweet memories, the never ending giggles, laughter, stories, those letters all seemed a dream. It reminds me of Shakespeare’s words in As You Like It “All the world’s a stage/And all the men and women merely players/They have their exits and their entrances/And one man in his time plays many parts.” And as I now recall her memories, I view in Bard’s aforesaid lines. Indeed, the world is a stage and we all play. We come, share some wonderful moments together and then we go. In the end, what is left to us are the fine memories and those heart-rendering departures; our friendship is the example.

         “Let destiny choose its doom.” I cannot have what isn’t ordained to me. As I trace our friendship, I still recall those pleasant moments we had shared together; those very laughter and never ending talks, and I smile, but deep within, I still recall the “THE END”. I know, I will never have her back, even if I wished to. But I know that those passing memories that we were together will never leave me even though the person who promised to stay with me forever had already left.

          No matter how many good deeds one does, a single wrong doing will overcast his/her good deeds. Like it, despite the many memorable moments we spent together, everything about it seems painful because of the departure that I did not long to. Even the happiest moments turned harrowing. I felt my weakest when I was alone, without my best friend’s comfort. It is said that hope shines brightest in the darkest of times. But, did she come when I was in dark? When I needed her the most? When I needed her comfort? When I needed to talk to? To share to? Indeed not. Even the air that I breathe could not comfort me in my weakest. It merely would surpass my shoulder offering the howling whisper that brought back those troublesome moments rather than a sigh of relief. It was as if everything about our friendship had come to nothing but only failure as I fail to understand my own being.

           I thought I could find my redemption through women. Never did I know that it also is a woman who’ll hurt another woman.  Men taught me to get up but women taught me how to battle with pride.

            Pain loves to glide through my flesh. I love everything about women even if one of the most important persons in my life, my elementary best friend, a woman, had caused me so much pain.

           Today, I have my new best friend; still a woman but the only difference is that she’s a writer. We’ve been together for almost 3 years now and just like any other friendships ours is also peppered with heartaches and pains. I once recalled a friend of mine who said, a relationship becomes abnormal when the people involved in that relationship are always happy as if they never knew pain. Ending the friendship with my elementary best friend was painful but this time, I’m giving myself another try.   

            I know that the experience I had during my elementary years had really brought an impact to what I am now. The memory of the stalker sometimes haunts me in my dream; I could feel his cold fingers creeping below my back and his figure trying to reach me in the brisk dawn. Nevertheless, I know I was happy with the company of men but I more certainly believe that I am happier with women, with pain and laughter, with letters and words. The only sex that could give me satisfaction is another woman whose heart is just like mine. After all, who else can understand me other than my own same sex? 

Thanks to one of my personal editors, Mr. Pratik Rimal