22.09.2007 -17 °C
There I was, lying on my bed on a Saturday night, crying my eyes out, when suddenly...
My Fairy Godmother, Carrie Bradshaw, appears out of thin air in a cloud of pink dust!
"Hey hey mga marseeeh!!!" she shouts, smiling that million-dollar smile of hers, and twirling in her fabulous haute couture fluffy gown.
I wipe my eyes and squint at her, "Ate Carrie, is that you?"
"Why, of course, honey, it's me! I heard from the fashion grapevine that you were having trouble down here," she says plopping herself next to me on my futon, "so I just poofed myself here to make sure you're ok."
I was touched, "Oh Ate Carrie, I'm just so depressed all the time!"
Ate Carrie was fixing the straps of her Manolo Blahnik's, whilst listening to my plea, "Honey, I hear you. But I don't understand you. Why art thou so sad?"
"I have too many issues with my friends. I'm fat. I'm single. And my career is going nowhere!!! Waaaah!" I whimper and cry.
"Not to mention, you complain and whine a lot, I see," she quips, which makes me cry harder.
"Honey, the thing is, nobody likes a whiner, so first things first! Stop all that racket you're making," she tells me sternly, wiping my tears with an Hermes scarf.
"Second, you say you have issues with your friends? Who fuckin' doesn't?" she says, while lighting a cigarette, "The degree of love you have for a friend is shown by how badly you feel when you have a fight with them. You feel pretty bad right? Then that means you must really love them."
"I'm just scared I might lose them forever," I sniff.
Ate Carrie laughs at this, while spraying the stale air in my room with her signature perfume, "Lovely".
"Honey, if they are your friends, nothing would change. You may not talk all the time with each other, you may not look as if you care for each other, but deep inside, you know everything's ok and that you'd still do everything for them, just to make them happy, right?" Ate Carrie says to me softly.
"Now, the thing about you being fat. Get over it. If you want to be slim, go on a diet. But honestly, I think you look fine as it is, although you do need a shave," she quips, "Being slim doesn't make someone better, you know. And people like you not for your looks but for who you are. Forgive me for sounding like a Hallmark Card."
"Hokay," I reply, feeling better already.
"What was the other thing you were bleating about? Oh, right, you being single," she lights another cigarette, "well, honey, I can't help you there. I'm just a figment of your imagination; I'm not God."
"But I know that you know deep in your heart that there is someone out there for you," she says softly, "just be patient. And by the way, don't raise your standards too much. Di ka ganooon ka-ganda, kaya wag kang mag-feeling!"
"Now, last one, your career. Sad to say but, I think it's about time you moved on from that call center you work for," she says, shaking her abundant golden hair, "Let's admit it, at this point, you're just waiting for your 13th month pay and 5th year batch-anniversary, ain't yah?"
I smile. She's right, I think to myself.
"So, enough with the blues! Go out, get drunk, or better yet: get laid!" Ate Carrie pulls me up and spritzes my face with Evian, "You're still young! Life has so much to offer you still!"
"And don't forget! You may be fat! You may be single! But you're definitely smarter than the average faggot!" she says kindly.
And with those final words, she twirls, disappears, and leaves behind a faint smell of cigarettes and perfume...