LYNIE OH LYNIE

My dear friend Lynie tells me I’m beautiful. I had to laugh out loud, because I know I am not. I do not merit second glances from the testosterone-filled majority of the populace when I walk by, and the moment I stand next to lithe, beautiful lasses who toss their straightened hair every minute (a flirting ploy, apparently), my genetic betrayal gets exacerbated I have to scurry away. Sigh. Some girls just have it all. And she tells me again I’m beautiful. I laugh uncomfortably this time. I love her. She’s sensitive, a very vocal person (would equalize my other genetic disparity whenever we’re together), loving and sweet. But she tells me over and over again that I’m beautiful, I’d like to squeeze her face. She tells me I look sophisticated. She tells me I’m smart, witty, and nice and wonderful. I told her to go slow on the ass-kissing because we’re already close friends. And we both laugh. It was then when I realized that I won’t really get the merit I desire in this worldly environment because it has its standards that I won’t be able, and I wouldn’t want to be able to reach because, again, it is worldly. Uh uh, I’m not being judgmental here. I really am not beautiful in the world’s standard because if I am, I would be one the exploited candidates in beauty pageants like “Binibining Chorva,” “Mutya ng Ilog Pasig,” “Ms. Earth,” “Ms. Neptune,” (yea, if all the planets have room for pageants like that), and the like. Yeah, you read it right – exploited. Why? How would you exonerate the part where these (you say) bright ladies walk on the stage with two-piece bikinis hugging their private areas, and a swimming pool is nowhere in sight? Contestants don’t need to strip off their clothes in front of the unrelenting public and show off their thank-you-doc bodies (heheh) or their muscle-and-motion bodies (naks!) just to get the title they desire. C’mon girls, wake up! I believe we’re not created to be nitwits. Enough acting like a damsel in distress. Oh well, I love Lynie.