Sexuality and La Pinay of the Sex and the City Generation
Monday, May 23rd, 2005By Mary Jude V. Cantorias (written pre-baptism as christian, though it’s tough to walk the path…)
I wanted to be a writer ever since I can remember. I did not exactly have in mind what I wanted to write about but I do remember wanting to expound on stuff that matters, stuff that makes for world change. I have since then become a lawyer, had one essay published in a national broadsheet, and the most that I could say is that I realized love and mush are all that I could ever write about. I do not know if these stuffs could make for world change, but I am certain they do matter.
This is as honest as I could get.
I came across Sex and the City by a stroke of luck, just surfing though the abundant channels of my cable-ready television. And there it was the TV show that would change my life forever…Well, it wasn’t all that dramatic, but a bit tad of that. I thought to myself- hey, that could be me or my life (but then again, that may be flattering myself), sans the designer pumps and designer get-ups. Oh ok, sans too the firm thighs and abs.
Before the advent of Sex and the City, I’d like to think that I’ve pretty much lived up to the "Filipina expectations" my world had of me. The 30 years of my life had been spent vacillating from good girl-bad girl persona, dithering from saccharine sweetness to all around vamp. Well, not all that vampy, but one thing is sure- the past decade of my life had been colorful and a great rush.
I will not pretend to be somebody else I’m not. I’m perky and have an infectious laugh that can be heard from down any hall. One thing I am not is timid. I suffer though from the great divide brought on by the expectations that my "little world" has of me and the “me” that I know lie in wait underneath. At 30, I think I’ve earned not only the legal but also the moral obligation to be the free spirit that I am. So I celebrate my becoming.
The hardest thing though is to be free-spirited amidst a backdrop of a pseudo Gen-X but primarily post Victorian society that just clamours for release! In a society where being comfortable with your sexuality is equated with slutty and where even law students (believed to be more cosmopolitan than your everyday folks) discuss (amidst girlish giggles and squeals) the latest Quezon City or Makati scandals in pirated VCDs, the release one longs for may just have to be an individual, personal journey that could well be a rough path towards self-proclamation. But this need not necessarily be bad. As has been said, all it takes is a glimmer of light to see in the dark.
In this dark alley, the Maria Clara of the 20th Century has the propensity to want to talk about other people’s business. It’s more fun that way, one gets to feel smug by thinking herself better off compared to some other poor soul, who probably makes herself feel better too by talking about other poor souls, on and on ad infinitum. This is not to belittle the Filipina woman. I do belong to this genre. It just is; a mind set perpetuated by the double standards that aim to please men- never mind that the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.
And we have ruled the world. We have ruled it with aimless gossiping that tries to ruin a reputation or a name, only because the object of the gossip may have well enjoyed her life more than we did ours! For what’s in a name or in a reputation but an image that transcends nothing substantial, not even one’s character? If you touch yourself when nobody’s looking, does that make you dirty or merely sexual? What good is it to be packaged in dove-white lace with pink trimmings when what’s hidden beneath is mire? In the end, you sleep at night with a restless soul that begs for release as fast as daylight can come. I dare quote, and I firmly subscribe to Oscar Wilde’s lament- the worse thing about being talked about is not being talked about!
More than fear of God, man fears society and what it can do to one’s reputation. And the women have the biggest of fears. For God (in any form one may conceive Him to be) is forgiving. In the silence of our hearts we can sin and ask for forgiveness afterwards with the corresponding absolution that the prayer carries. But society is more unforgiving, if at all it forgives. A woman will be called a tramp, a tart, or a whore if she so much as enjoys sex with the same proclivity as a man does. A bad reputation, at least for the on-lookers, is like a bad mouth sore that festers.
I learned in criminal law that for as long as the criminal intent does not manifest in overt acts, then no crime is committed. In the same manner, one can think up the sluttiest of thoughts and not be labeled a whore as long as these thoughts are not acted upon. After all, we do have those fragile reputations to take care of. But for a self-proclaimed free spirit, self-confessed bohemian soul like me, reputation counts for little.
I have long since given up looking at myself through the eyes of others. I have become kinder to myself, to my soul. Four years of catholic school for girls bound me to conform, it took the premiere public school in Diliman (and another four years of law school) to unbound me and society can very well make anything of this proclamation as they please.
The greatest beauty about being re-born in this Sex and the City Age, is that these on-screen vixens would always be sluttier, tramp-er, wild-er than I could ever imagine myself to be, and so I could still comfort myself with the thought that “Hey, I’m still Maria Clara, 20th Century style nga lang.”
