Exotica

A few years ago I got invited to an intimate dinner for selected readers of a women’s fashion and beauty magazine. It was quite an experience meeting fellow long-time readers and rubbing elbows with the editorial staff over chips, pizza, pasta and cocktail. The event was a meet-up mainly to get insightful feedback about the magazine plus a chance to get suggestions for them to improve.

They set up four tables with around 40 people in total and I was seated facing directly the well-respected editor-in-chief who I so admire since my years fresh out of college. It wasn’t a formal set-up as they made sure it will be just like the kind of conversation one would have with female friends.

As expected, it started with the usual introductions: name, age, occupation, single or taken, how long have you’ve been reading the magazine, what are your thoughts about it, and so on. After a while, the atmosphere became more casual, with some opening up on their personal details.

Even if most of the attendees were women in their 20s and I was already in my mid-30s then, I didn’t feel out of place. I might not be overly fond of socializing especially with people that aren’t my friends, but I know how to hold my own when needed. I was actually having a good time.

For whatever reason, the conversation veered towards relationships and marriage. It was no biggie for most people on the same table when I let them know my age and status, until this girl seated adjacent to me, who was sporting a Mamma Mia Christine Baranski haircut (and by the way was being a self-absorbed b*tch the whole night), chimed in: “Okay lang `yan, habang may Europe, may pag-asa.” — which actually translates to: “As long as there are Europeans, you have hope.”

I glared at her, with so many counter-insults racing in my head, but decided to just let it go as I don’t want to sound defensive if I clap back. There was a three-second awkward silence before the editor-in-chief came to my rescue and proudly said, “I got married in my forties!”

Maybe to some, the remark wasn’t offensive at all, but for me it was. While it wasn’t delivered rudely, it was meant to poke fun at me. It’s lacking propriety that she say that, let alone to someone she barely know. To think, there was never a moment the entire evening that I made it look like I was desperately seeking companionship.

I know comments are subject to one’s own interpretation and it’s up to me if I’d allow it to affect me. The problem with her statement was it’s malicious and it seemingly implied that my case was hopeless (after all, she used the word “pag-asa”). It’s just like saying that if I can’t find a pinoy for a boyfriend, then I should fret not as there are foreigners. Like only then will I have a fighting chance.

Que horror. How was it that even in this liberal age, girl-on-girl shaming when it comes to relationship status (or the lack of) still happens? And why the need to objectify another person?

Another reason why the statement was off-putting is because we are all familiar of this conventional belief of the narrow-minded that when a Filipina is seen with a foreigner, someone will always make fun of how the woman looked.

“Mahilig talaga ang mga foreigners sa pangit.” 

“Sa exotic!”

“Sa pangit nga.”

Not that I believe it, but I’m willing to bet that you have heard of such nasty remarks too. It is not uncommon for a Filipina to be judged at situations like this. Not only that many would think that she’s just after the money, the Green Card and the financial security, but people will likely attack her on the physical. That is because “pangit” for some Filipinos are the short, dark, broad-nosed women.

Exotic eh. 

I’ve also been described as “exotic” (not followed by the word “beauty”, mind you) and quite frankly I don’t like it as there’s nothing exotic about my features. Whoever said that might have something else in mind.

I know the word itself is not bad as it can mean a lot of things including being strikingly unusual but often when you use it to describe one’s looks, then it could be somewhat tricky.

“Exotic? Parang iguana?” 

Call me touchy but I don’t want a word that is often used to describe snakes or rafflesias used on me when it comes to classifying how I look.

“Mahilig kasi ang mga foreigner sa exotic.” 

I mean, are they talking about fetishization in general? It’s absolutely not the same as having a quirky feature like freckles. Saying “exotic” is definitely about a trait unique to a race or ethnicity. Was it my skin color? My naturally black straight hair?

It’s good that slowly some prejudices about beauty is changing. There are so many advocacies now that encourages everyone to embrace their looks even if it doesn’t fall in the same spectrum as the ideal. But admit it or not, we have a long way to go.

And some people should stop shaming single women, for crying out loud! Do women really require a man (whether a local or foreigner) to validate her self-worth? You tell me. 

Mine.

All those years of blogging up until I stopped sometime in 2016 (after a whopping 2,011 posts), I only used Blogger services and its subdomain. Even at my most active when I had quite a number of followers and regular readers (mostly friends and relatives who were probably forced to read out of fear that they might be on it), I never actually considered having a personal domain. Well for one, I was contented using a subdomain. Then there’s the fact that I’ve changed my blog address probably around six to seven times in its entire run.

When I went back to publicly writing again (yes, I never stopped doing it privately), I thought of using Wordpress because most of my blogger friends are on it. Maybe it has something there that makes them write so good, I thought. Loyalty eventually wins as I chose to stay with Blogger because I’m already familiar with the dashboard and it’s much simpler for someone who doesn’t have the patience to learn the basics of another blog-publishing site.

After putting it off for years, I finally decided to get my own domain. My blogger friends Clare and Judie thought it was a good idea (they both have theirs) and I thank them for helping me out and being extra patient even if I might’ve asked them many no-brainer questions on how to go about it.

There couldn’t be a worse timing to have a customized domain than now because blogging is not as popular as before. This I get to experience first hand, as even my once loyal readers no longer read my posts like they used to, which I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad (as that `80s song goes) considering they were the very same people who encouraged me to write again.

But I’m not alone. I noticed that even seasoned bloggers with a large following are experiencing the very same thing. They don't get as many visits as they’d have around five to ten years ago. How do I know? Just look at the lack of comments on their posts and their sporadic postings.

It’s no secret that microblogging such as Instagram and Twitter (especially after the longer 280-character limit) killed it. Vlogs or video blogs also became so popular, where one doesn’t need any writing skills and as long as they can confidently talk while filming themselves—then they’re good. In the past five years or so, most people prefer visuals over the raw beauty of the written word. I don’t have to look far to prove this as I myself have more than 6,000 (some archived) posts on Instagram after I stopped blogging.

I also read somewhere that blogging is more of a “people-pleasing” endeavor which is why you will not be able to carry on if you are only into it to publish and impress.  In due time, you’d get tired when you don’t get as many affirmations or hits as you would have hoped. When someone says to me that he or she wanted to start a blog and was asking for advice, I always tell them that it’s not easy and that they should reflect on their intentions. If it’s anything but an innate love for writing, they will only add to the growing statistics of dormant/dead blogs.

Of course, it’s always heartwarming when people praise you and tell you how much they like what you wrote, or just the mere fact that they took the time to read your work. However, entertaining an audience is no longer my motivation. If I'm happy doing it, then I'll continue doing it, never mind if I’ll be the only one who ends up reading it. It’s like going back to a time much simpler when I write my thoughts on paper without any intention of showing it to anybody.

In my early years of blogging, one of my many shallow motivations to write is knowing that the person behind my narrative is actually reading it. Nothing can make me pound the keyboard keys than writing about my interpersonal relations.

Now more than ever, I’m writing for myself. I no longer feel any pressure to come up with something just to keep my site updated. I do a lot of reflecting on my content before even publishing it as sometimes, I can be my own biggest critic. This is not something I do before; Back then I can create a post one after the other like it's coming out of an assembly line.

So there, after a lot of problems encountered for something as simple as getting one (including credit card payment disputes and mostly techie stuff) — I finally have my own domain! I end up using my nickname and last name (dot) com. I may have mentioned how much I regret oversharing and putting myself out there before, so this is a clear contradiction. But then again, this is my space, and nothing is more personal than having your name on your site. Besides, do you know how many Valerie De Leons and Vayies are there now? Before when I type “Vayie” on Google, it’ll be just me—at least now I’m sure I’m the only Vayie De Leon out there.

It's cool having a personal space online. It kinda “legitimizes” what I do while at the same time reminding me to do it well as I’ve already put my name on it.

Dating Dread

I don’t know if it was youthful confidence or just stark recklessness, but I was audacious in my early to mid-20s. I go out on dates with guys I only met in chatrooms like mIRC and Yahoo! Two of these guys I met in the chatroom and dated became my boyfriends. One was Alex, who passed on years ago, and another ex—who shall not be named. At the time, the phrase “single and ready to mingle” was my mantra and boy, did I thrive. Haaayyy, those were my salad days long gone.

But now if there’s something I dread and could instantly give me an anxiety attack, that would be going out on a date. Regardless if it’s a blind date, casual date, group date, or double date—I just don’t know how to go about it. The fact that I will have to spend a few hours with a guy petrifies me. Maybe part of it is my declining self-esteem, plus that looming fear of rejection.

Jonathan J. Castellon on Unsplash

Quite frankly at my age now, I don’t get asked out that much—which is okay, because I’ve gotten so uncomfortable with the whole “protocol” anyway. If I do get an invite for one (no matter how friendly), I always end up turning it down politely.

Yes, people—I’m riding on a bus to my doom to singlehood.

Nonetheless, this irrational fear didn’t stop me from creating an account for a popular dating site back in 2014.

Many believed that online dating is for the desperate and that it's the last resort for people who can't get a date in the real world. I'm fully aware of this negative stigma, which is why I don't go around telling people, even friends, that I joined one.  There's nothing to tell anyway, as I wasn't counting on meeting someone and hoping it'll take off from there. I did it more out of curiosity (promise!) and just to see how it is. I didn't even pay for the membership and just opted for the free account which gives very limited access. Guess I'm not that keen to start a new romance.

Of course, it wouldn't hurt to fantasize something similar to “You’ve Got Mail” but who am I kidding? These days finding a Joe Fox who would be interested with a woman my age is a long stretch.

Besides, I'm so torpe; I have gotten so socially inept that I have more courage to talk to men in such a platform knowing that there will be no physical interaction. Well, not unless temporary insanity made me decide to meet with the guy in person and the probability of that is = 0. You can say that the point of having an online dating account is moot in my case.

This particular site I joined is frequented by foreigners that are not based in the Philippines, which is better. See, if I install a location-based dating app such as Tinder, the possibility of coming across the guy is higher and I don’t want to be within close proximity to someone I met online. The obvious downside though is most of these foreigners have Asian fetishes, so I kinda expected that I’d encounter a lot of shady and deviant characters.

As it turns out, creating a wholesome profile didn’t stop the pervs. It was discomfiting at first getting indecent proposals and invitations for hookups one after the other. As it got so frequent, I learned to just laugh off at their pathetic attempts. For one, I got so used to being sent unsolicited dick pics of all shapes, sizes and colors which would be enough to spread it like wallpaper.

It wasn’t all bad. I met a British guy almost 18 years my senior who I ended up liking because we always have interesting talks. If there’s one thing that would get me attracted to the opposite sex, it is the way he carries a conversation and this man is just that and more. He’s divorced with two grown-up kids and also a retired law enforcer, so his stories about the IRA and “The Troubles” fascinate me.

He was a perfect gentleman, never hinted sexual innuendos even if he was—as he said—very attracted to me. But before it could turn into a full-blown romance with him whooshing here or me packing my bags to Northern Ireland, something happened along the way that it just didn’t pan out. No harm done; I'm just glad that apart from Skyping, sharing of stories and photos—nothing else was “exchanged”—if you know what I mean.

Since then I didn’t take any invite seriously from the same dating site. I don’t like going through the motions again only to end up like what happened to me and the British guy. It's good that there wasn't a lot of options anyway. I get messages from octogenarian guys to creepy Arab men. I once got a proposal ala-Fifty Shades of Grey minus the billionaire angle (so it’s just like saying he just needed a submissive but is too poor to pay for one). And perhaps my all-time favorite was when I was asked: “Are you a ladyboy?”

The only one quite promising was this Michael Biehn look-alike but ruined it all by saying the wrong hirit. He flatly asked me minutes into what I thought was a fun chat: "Are you going to ask me to send you money now?" Grabe, I was too insulted to come up with a ball-busting counter. When he realized I got upset, he went on explaining that most of the Filipina girls he meets on the site would ask him for money so he was just cutting to the chase. I went rambling on how I have my own money ready to slap it to his face (Charot lang). He apologized and was very resentful that I got close to a hundred messages from him saying sorry and begging for another chance. Too late, my interest fizzled.

There was no way to delete the account, at least no way that I know of, so even if I have long been inactive, I still get matches via e-mail twice a week. Almost four years after Mr. British Guy, none of them got close. Don’t get me wrong, there's quite a handful of good-looking guys I see there but maybe I don’t have the level of confidence I had when I was younger to ramp it up. Plus, it's not always the physical that counts.

In short, whether online or IRL, I don't have any luck when it comes to dating in general. My dating diva past is all behind me now. Well-meaning friends were telling me to give it a try a little more this time because I’m single, available and got nothing to lose. What they don’t realize is I have my dignity to lose if things don’t work out again since I get attached too quickly. But then, maybe they have a point. A good guy will never fall into my lap because things like that only happen in the movies.

And if my life was a movie, it was never a rom-com.