Why I Hate Colegiala Party Girls

By Midge K. Manlapig

I hate colegialas, those convent-bred denizens of high society who tend to overwhelm the brown-skinned majority with their Castilian features and porcelain-like skin.  The same girls you see in the party-hopping photo spreads of all the upbeat/upmarket fashion rags.  The same girls who announce that they have come of age in the society pages of the most reputable broadsheets.  The same girls who get to skim off the cream of the Top Ten Most Eligible Bachelors’ List.  The same girls who get invited to become Ms. So-and-So 199X. 

I don’t like them because there’s always something that rings so false about them, as if most of them are trying to hide behind smokescreens of elegance to hide the awkward and insipid girls beneath all the powder and perfume.  With their affected manners and fractured English, it’s enough to make a real member of the gentry lose his lunch in the gutter because of the cloying sweetness with which these gestures and words are delivered.

In my case, my general contempt for these faux aristocrats began when my parents moved me from the academic sanity of JASMS along Indiana in Manila to the social-climbing hell that was a monk-run institution in Alabang.  At the tender age of nine and in third grade, some of my classmates were already beginning to act like princess-bitches on a smaller scale.  I noticed almost immediately that I was definitely not going to fit in with the crowd:  I did a lot of reading while everyone else compared notes about new Barbie doll fashions and the latest additions to their Sanrio collections.  I could tolerate the Sanrio stuff (my ancestry’s part-Japanese, so cute anthropomorphics are in my blood), but the Barbie dolls just didn’t cut it with me.  Besides, I was a new kid from a school they had never heard of.  (Jeez, how provincial can you get?)  Therefore, they said I had to prove myself worthy of their respect.  I told them to forget it because I was not going to let myself get turned into anyone’s patsy.  The end result was that they made me cry a lot more often than normal that I had to go into psychological counseling (much to may parents’ annoyance, naturally), and I was an absolute mess until I was about sixteen.  (I still am now, but that’s another story.) 

Under ordinary circumstances, maybe I would’ve become one of the Vicious Ones in high school.  However, the fact that I wore very thick eyeglasses and I was in the library a lot branded me as a square and not worth letting into the sacrosanct (to them!) society of the high, the beautiful, and the mighty.

The girls I had to study with in grade school had blossomed into the typical pert and powder-pretty cheerleader types you used to see in such shows as Beverly Hills 90210 and Saved by the Bell.  And, like their fictional television counterparts (or can I say role models?), they had money to burn, boys to flirt with, clothes to choose from, and parties galore to attend.  They also began to learn how to polish their mean streaks in order to chastise us lesser beings into absolute submission.  Their tongues grew sharp, their eyebrows were always uneven (one, after all, being raised higher than the other in obvious condescension of the people around them), and their lips forever curled in tacky sneers that they thought were cute but the rest of us thought annoying.  As if things weren’t bad enough, they began to speak in fractured English in high-pitched voices and to giggle in a pitch that almost sounded like a flock of shrieking imps from the lowest regions of hell itself. 

If you think that we had some respite from all this during our annual retreats, forget it!  The dorm often rang with unholy laughter even in the wee hours of dawn when we were supposed to be meditating on whatever transgressions we had done.  (Come to think of it, I don’t think the stereotypical colegiala psyche even has a notion of the existence of a conscience.)

To make a long story short, the princess-bitches ruled the roost on campus, forcing us uncool types to play Dungeons and Dragons off campus without fear of rebuke (“Yuck!  You’re so baduy, ha?  Di ba for the boys lang the game na ‘yan?”), to go into our shells, to hang out at the library where we knew none of them would hang out because it would damage their reputations (“So grabe ka naman!  You’re gonna make tambay na at the libe?  Corny mo, ha?”), and – for those who couldn’t take the pressure anymore – to suicide. 

The colegiala crowd eventually went wild when we all moved to college.  After all, college meant more freedom and, to them, it meant more freedom to go to parties till the break of dawn, shop till they dropped, and flirt around with gorgeous college boys.  Of course, we lesser ones had our revenge when the time finally came.  We became the top dogs, not them.  We won all the slots in the Student Council, ran all the organizations, organized all the fun activities, represented the school at debates, athletics, and just about everything else.

From my safe perch at a fine women’s institution along Taft Avenue where I took up communication arts instead of the ultimate try-too-hard-colegiala dream course, medicine, I saw the princess-bitches of my batch fall from their pedestals one by one.  Some married as soon as they reached the legal age.  Some got pregnant without the benefit of matrimony.  Some slept around and lived in with whoever rich preppy boy (or dirty ol’ miser) they could wrap their legs around.  Some got addicted to alcohol or soporifics.  Some did the most scandalous things (smoking was one of them) women aren’t supposed to do in public and got the ire of the manangs of society in the process.  Some dropped out of school because they couldn’t take the pressure.  And some went mad or just put themselves out of their misery. 

The few who did manage to survive the rigors of collegiate life eventually stopped being so bitchy and grew so level-headed that you would hardly believe that they were once hot-blooded ninnies, painting the town red on a Saturday night.

A friend of mine explained that colegialas were like the just-as-jaded flapper girls of the Roaring Twenties: live fast, burn out before your prime.  I couldn’t help but feel vindicated by that; it only served them right for all the pain they caused us because they wanted everyone to be just like them when we all knew we couldn’t.  They thought they were special.  The real world proved them wrong.

An Oil Burner This is great for diffusing essential oils into the air either as vapor therapy or for general area disinfection.

Essential Oil of Bergamot The citrus scent of this popular essential oil is said to promote optimism as it helps clear the mind whenever diffused via an oil burner. At the same time, it is a key element in aromatherapy for depression, the common cold, influenza, and seasonal-affective disorder (SAD). When used to scent bath oil or homemade liniment, bergamot becomes a relaxant that helps ease anxiety attacks and even muscular tension. Most people, however, prefer to take bergamot internally through a good, hot cup of Earl Gray tea – that popular beverage whose characteristic scent comes from bergamot leaves and flowers.

Tea-Tree Oil A natural antiseptic, tea-tree oil helps the body’s immune system fight off infection both inside and out. As a mouthwash, it helps fight off gum problems, tonsillitis, mouth ulcers, and throat infections. Applied directly, it helps heal abscesses, bed sores, acne, boils, lice, dandruff, wounds, and insect bites. Added to one's bath water, it’s a great way to deal with arthritis, colds, dermatitis, infections, scalp disorders, sinusitis, viral infections, nettle rash, babies’ colds and coughs, bronchitis, minor children's infections, and for sweaty feet.

Essential Oils of Lavender and Chamomile Used individually or in tandem, these essential oils are great for insomniacs and for calming down the anxious. Chamomile, in particular, is also good for stomach troubles when taken as an herbal tisane.

Essential Oil of Mint This is great for clearing clogged sinuses and knocking out serious headaches. Mint leaves, as mentioned in yesterday’s entry, are good for freshening one’s breath – but I’m pretty sure you figured that one out yourself.

Essential Oil of Rose Roses aren't just a great way to show someone how much you love them, but are also a great way to keep your health.  Apart from its use as an aphrodisiac (specifically through massage and bath therapy), it's also an excellent antidepressant and suppresses anxiety attacks when rubbed on one's pulse points.  Rubbing it over your belly also alleviates nausea and indigestion.  When taken in tandem with essential oil of chamomile in a homemade vapor-rub, it also eases coughs and sore throats.  If you cant find oil of rose, sipping rosebud tea also helps.

Echinacea This isn’t very common here in the Philippines and can only be found at health-food shops like Healthy Options and GNC. It’s a tincture of echinacea blossoms in alcohol and it’s a great way to stave off bacterial infections. The standard dose is four drops of the tincture mixed with water or fruit juice. By all means, take it with the juice; you not only get some extra Vitamin C into your system, but the juice actually makes the bitter tincture more palatable.

Fruit and Fruit Juices For obvious reasons, of course! You get Vitamin C and fiber at the same time. Have some lemonade or orange, calamansi or dalandan juice to cool down a fever. Eat fresh oranges, grapefruits, and pomelos to stave off bacterial infections. Bananas are good for setting your intestinal flora to rights after a bout of gastric flu or diarrhea, while melons and coconut water keep you from getting dehydrated.

Yoghurt Yes: yoghurt! The live bacteria in yoghurt culture keeps intestinal flora in check. At the same time, lactose-intolerant people can dose up on calcium through this tart, custard-textured dairy treat.

Chocolate  Seriously stressed? Absolutely luckless in love? Or is it just an attack of the blues? Keep a chocolate bar handy. Why? It can boost your serotonin levels and add some energy into your system. Plus, in moderate amounts, dark chocolate can be as good for your heart as a glass of red wine; all those tannins, y’know? However, and this just isn’t a matter of personal prejudice, I’d steer clear of white chocolate. The stuff is pure cocoa butter and sugar – oh, the calories!

Facial Masks in Sachets A great way for helping you look your best even on the go.  Korean brand Purederm and Greek brand Apivita produce fab masks that keep you looking good.

Why, augment the cocoa with a couple squares of unsweetened chocolate, of course! The resulting brownie was a cross between the cake-type and the fudge-type: an incredibly satisfying chocolate square that was neither cloying nor insipid.

I should tell you at this point to:

• Add a tablespoon of instant coffee to the batter. You can barely taste the java, but it adds a smoky richness to the finished product;


• Add chocolate chips to the batter; just for a little more oomph for the treat; and


• If you're scattering nuts on the top, I suggest that you use a mixture of cashews and Brazil nuts. I agree with Nigella Lawson that it gives the brownies a "Rainforest Crunch" sort of vibe.

Midge's Fudge Frenzy Brownies

• 3/4 cup salted butter


• 1/4 cup unsweetened cocoa


• 2 squares unsweetened baking chocolate


• 1-1/2 cups granulated white sugar


• 1-1/4 cups all-purpose flour


• 2 eggs


• 1 cup milk


• 1 teaspoon baking powder


• 1/2 teaspoon baking soda


• 1 teaspoon vanilla


• 1 tablespoon instant coffee


• 1/4 cup semisweet chocolate chips


• 1/4 cup chopped nuts

Grease a 13" x 9" baking pan/dish; set aside. Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees / Gas Mark 4.

In a heavy-bottomed saucepan, melt together the butter and unsweetened chocolate. Once these have melted, add the cocoa and sugar. Stir until the ingredients are well-combined; remove from the heat and allow to cool for about half a minute. Whisk in the eggs, vanilla, baking powder, and baking soda.

Dissolve the instant coffee in the milk and pour the resulting mixture into the chocolate mix. Add the flour and mix until a smooth-ish batter is achieved. Stir in the chocolate chips.

Pour the batter into the prepared dish, spreading it evenly. Scatter the chopped nuts on top. Bake for fifteen minutes. Switch off the oven, but leave the brownies in it for another ten minutes. Remove from oven and allow to cool before cutting. Makes approximately 24 squares.

Chapter Five: On Saturdays and Caramel Corn

Saturday afternoon. Gilbert heaved a sigh of relief as he switched off the projector. Truth be told, he was bone-tired and his throat hurt. He had no regrets, however; this was what he wanted after all.

He spent the morning facilitating an awareness training session for some of his colleagues. Some were newbies who were completely in the dark as to how Info Architects performed certification audits. Others were old-timers who simply needed to refresh their knowledge about the various processes related to the act of certification. Since Ravi was out of town, Gilbert took over for him.

He was scared to death when he arrived at the office that morning, mortally afraid that his audience probably had a stash of tomatoes hidden somewhere to throw at him if he flubbed. His fears were, to his relief, completely unfounded. He started the session shakily, his voice trembling somewhat. Then, the second he found his groove, everything just fell into place. By mid-morning, he was keenly answering questions and personally guiding people as they did the hands-on exercises. For a first-time effort, it sure hadn’t been shabby.

Gilbert thought of going home as he replaced the projector in its carrying case. As he zipped up the case, however, he thought better of it. Earlier in the day, he gave his housekeeper the day off. There wouldn’t be anyone waiting for him at home. With that in mind, he wondered what to do next.

He carried his laptop and the projector back to the office he shared with Ravi and carefully locked them up in one of the steel cabinets. Leaning against the cabinet, he stared out the window and at the street below. Ayala Avenue was totally devoid of traffic; the thoroughfare that was so congested during weekdays was absolutely silent. Save for some few pedestrians (mostly call center denizens heading home or students from the nursing school run by the Makati Medical Center), it was totally deserted.

I could go to the mall, Gilbert thought as he got ready to leave. Then he remembered that it was a payday weekend: the malls would be packed to the eaves with eager shoppers. Crowds of that sort gave him a headache, so the mall was definitely not a viable option.

He put his earphones on and switched on the iPod in his pocket. At once, L’Arc en Ciel blasted into his ears:

Ware ni tsudzuke saa ikou karada juu no kara wo yaburi
Sarakedasu ai wo tsunagou dakishimeai tashikameai
Yurameku rakuen made shissoku shinai macchakurenai
Tsukami totte yaru sa tabun Stairs to the seventh
Running up to heaven, Yeah!

He cheerfully whistled along as he stepped out of the office and made his way to the elevator. For some odd reason, the music gave him an idea as to where to go next.

When he alighted on the floor where he parked his car, Gilbert decided to head over to Little Tokyo.


***

Little Tokyo – the Philippines’ version of Japantown – went beyond the little corridor lined with quaint little shops and eateries that offered authentic Japanese cuisine. Those in the know were aware that there were a few other places that were considered part of it.

The line of Japanese cafes, groceries, and those euphemistically called “gentlemen’s clubs” at the adjacent Mile Long were a part of it. The Japanese grocery just across the street from the Makati Cinema Square was, too, along with the little shop on the Square’s third floor that sold manga, J-rock discs, and a choice selection of griddle-cooked treats. There was also a manga café just a little over the way where the waitresses were dolled-up in Gothic Lolita and French maid dresses.

Gilbert parked his car in one of the slots close to the stand-alone McDonald’s and sauntered over to the grocery beside the torii gate that was the main entrance to Little Tokyo. A welcome scent of tempura frying somewhere within the vicinity wafted over to his nostrils; he breathed in deeply and smiled.

There was a cheerful jingle of chimes as he entered the grocery and he nodded in response to the bows and shouts of “Irasshaimase!” from the staff. He browsed idly through the aisles, then stood before the snacks startled by what he saw.


“Is…is that what I think it is?” he murmured to himself, fascinated by what he saw.

Bags and bags of Tohato Caramel Corn – in different flavors, to boot!

A faint smile appeared on his face as he remembered the first time he tasted that particular snack…


***

He was just eleven at the time.

It was a Friday night and he was curled up in his favorite armchair, rereading his older brother’s battered copies of David Eddings’s Belgariad series. There would be no school tomorrow and young Gilbert could stay up late. Best of all, as was their custom, the twins were coming home for the weekend.

Mama and Papa were on the couch, watching television. Well, more like Papa was watching basketball and Mama was humming to herself as she went through the ledger where she wrote the family budget.

“We’re home!” an ebullient voice declared from the foyer. Bettina and Graham came hurtling into the living room, dropping their bags as they flew over to hug their parents.

“And how was the first week of the new term?” Papa asked them with a smile.

“It was cool,” Graham declared as he flopped into the couch across from theirs. “Chem lab was fun and I’ll be trying out for the wushu team next week!” He grinned hugely. “Coach Tiu says it’ll be a first ‘cause freshmen don’t usually try out.”

“Oh, and look, look!” Excitedly, Bettina zipped her knapsack open and began tossing out packages to Gilbert. “Lusia’s dad attended a conference or something in Japan – and he took her along during the sem break!” Bettina looked thrilled as she handed small packets beautifully wrapped in Japanese fabric to their mother. “She was sweet enough to get us presents from her trip. Little combs like the ones geisha wear in their hair!” She turned to show them how her own long locks had been coiled into a spiral and secured by a comb decorated with what appeared to be strands of small purple flowers. “Isn’t it pretty?”

Gilbert rolled his eyes even as his older brother laughed and their parents uttered admiring exclamations over Bettina’s hair. He was far more interested in the colorful packages Bettina’s haphazard rummaging scattered on the floor. The boy slid off the chair and sat tailor-fashion on the floor. He held up a bright red bag with a smiling face printed on its surface and the words Caramel Corn beneath.

“Is it okay to open this, Achi?” he asked his older sister.

Bettina turned and nodded. “Do!” she exclaimed. “That stuff’s the nicest!”

“Popcorn?” Gilbert asked as he ripped the bag open.

“No, it’s sugared corn curls. Um, you should have shaken the bag before you opened it.”

“Why?”

“There are peanuts at the bottom of the bag and shaking mixes ‘em up with the corn curls.”

“Oh?” Gilbert held up a curl, studied it for a moment, then popped it into his mouth. “Hey!” he exclaimed. “These ain’t half bad.”

“Aren’t, syoti,” their father reminded him gently. “’These aren’t half bad.’”

“Sorry, Papa,” Gilbert apologized around a mouthful of curls. He looked at the bag of curls and wondered aloud, “Can you buy this here?”

Graham frowned and went over to sit beside Gilbert. He dipped his hand into the bag and drew out a handful of curls. “I don’t think so,” he said, munching a curl. “I haven’t seen that in any supermarket we’ve gone to.”

“Hmm…” Gilbert sighed and looked up. “Your friend’s nice, Achi. I wish I had a friend as nice as her.”


***

Lunchtime found Gilbert studying a bag of caramel corn as he sat in a booth at a small Japanese burger joint. He was tempted to buy one of each flavor at the grocery store, but he stuck to buying the regular kind in the red bag, the same kind his sister let him open so many years ago.

He wondered what had happened to his sister’s best friend, the kind girl who brought back the most amazing presents from Japan. The last time Bettina mentioned her was when she called during their mother’s wake nearly five years ago. All he could remember was that she had been very distraught at the time – probably because of a break-up or something to that effect – and that she was quitting her job in Japan.

Her name was Lusia, Gilbert thought as he put the bag of corn curls back in the grocery bag. It was odd, but the name made him think of Miss Luce at IntelliSystems. He wondered how she was, as well. It had been months since he last called her.

The flat-screen television on one side of the burger shop flickered to life with the opening sequence of Gackt’s The Sixth Day and the Seventh Night concert. Gilbert watched with great interest as the lights onstage flickered in time with the rumbling of the drums, as the crowds cheered when Gackt and two of his band-mates began strumming their samisens in a dynamic way.


His lunch arrived: a particularly toothsome-looking cheeseburger with a deliciously scented splodge of what appeared to be some kind of Sloppy Joe sauce, a packet of thick-cut fries with a small tub of catsup, and a milkshake made with green tea ice cream. Muttering a short grace, he sank his teeth eagerly into the sandwich. However, he nearly choked when a heavy hand clapped hard on his shoulder.

“Gilbert Huang!” a hearty bass declared. “I haven’t seen you in ages! How have you been?”

Dabbing at his lips with a napkin, Gilbert looked up to see a tall – almost massively tall – young man with impressive biceps, long hair pulled back in a samurai-style ponytail, and an earring in the shape of a skull on his left earlobe grinning down at him.

“Nikolai!” Gilbert exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “I didn’t know you were in town!” He waved the newcomer to the seat across from his and sat down. “I’m fine,” he told his friend. “Been a bit busy; I was handling a training thing at the office this morning.”

“Still a workaholic, eh?” Nikolai Imatani chuckled as he slid into the booth, carefully placing a box covered with maroon velvet on the table. “I remember how you freaked out when you were doing your thesis! You were a nervous wreck even after your defense.” His laughter boomed, making some of the other customers turn their way. “Still, I’m proud of you, kid. You were always one of my best students.”

“Thanks, Nikolai.” Gilbert blushed, both embarrassed and pleased by the praise. “So, what brings you to Little Tokyo on a Saturday?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Nikolai chuckled. “Being what you are, I’m surprised you’re not in Greenhills right now.” He gestured towards the box he carried in. “Favor for my wife,” he explained. “She’s into making dolls these days.”

“Dolls?”

Nikolai nodded. “Custom-made dolls,” he said. “You know those Volks dolls from Japan and SOOM dolls from Korea, the ones made to look like some J-rocker or a character from an anime? She makes them; there’s quite a demand for them among the J-rock and anime junkies here.” He pulled the box towards himself and carefully opened the lid. “Here: let me show you.”

Gilbert’s stared in awe at the doll inside the box. He wasn’t really into toys (let alone dolls!) and the whole model-kit-build-it-yourself thing, but he was impressed by the superior craftsmanship displayed by his former mentor’s wife.


The doll was made to look like a young woman clad in a sleeveless black knit dress with a black cap on her brown hair, hands and arms encased in fingerless gloves almost to her shoulders, her legs in black-and-white-striped stockings, and her tiny feet shod in minuscule black platform mary-janes. Her skin and features were so realistic looking: creamy fair complexion, a delicate face with full, cupid’s-bow lips painted the color of strawberries at the peak of ripeness. It was a face that sent a cold shiver down Gilbert’s spine; it was a face that he found disturbingly familiar.

“Is something wrong, Gilbert?” Nikolai asked him, snapping him back to reality.

Gilbert blinked, startled. “Er, no!” he replied. “Um, who’s she supposed to be?”

“I take it you’ve never played No Need for Normalcy?” Nikolai rumbled.

“What’s that? One of those RPG things for the PS2?”

“Yup,” Nikolai rumbled. “You’ve heard of the band Pleiades Project?”

“I’m a fan,” Gilbert said with a faint smile.

“Ah, so you’ve read Subaru Nishiyama’s short story N3?”

Gilbert nodded eagerly. The story had been translated to English and Mandarin and both translations had been posted to the band’s official site. The eerie tale of the girl who voluntarily turned her back on the land of the living was a personal favorite of his.

“N3 is the short form of the game’s title. Story goes that Nishiyama wrote the story and the basic premise of the game as a tribute to his publicist.”

“Did she die or something?”

Nikolai shook his head. “No,” he went on. “She left the Pleiades Project team for personal reasons and just disappeared. Nishiyama was one of the few people who knew the real reason why she left and was more than sorry to see her go.” He looked particularly thoughtful as he covered the box with the same amount of care he put into opening it. “She was, according to hearsay, the best in the biz and Nishiyama didn’t quite know how to thank her. So he wrote the story and based his main character Imogen after her.” He looked keenly at Gilbert. “Why did you ask? I noticed that you were startled when you saw her face. Is something wrong?”

“No,” Gilbert said with a shy chuckle. He patted the box absently. “She…she kind of reminds me of someone I met a while back. Beautiful face, stern expression and all.” He rested his hand on the box. “Did someone order her?”

“Actually, she’s a present for someone,” Nikolai replied.

“Oh.”


***

“Kuya Nikita!” Luce exclaimed as she opened the maroon box her cousin handed to her. “She’s exquisite! Ate Candy must have spent hours making her!” She turned to the beaming couple, a touched glow lighting up her face. “Thank you!” she gasped. “Thank you so much!”

Nikolai and Candy Imatani smiled. Luce’s birthday was in a week and she was planning a major bash. However, Nikolai was attending an academic symposium in Sydney on the day. Candy was going with him, so neither would be able to go. As a result, they delivered Luce’s present to her in advance.

“She really does look like you, Luce,” Candy murmured as Luce replaced the doll in its box.

“I showed her to someone,” Nikolai rumbled. “He said the face looked familiar.” He eyed Luce critically. “You haven’t been hanging around young, impressionable Chinese workaholics, have you?”

Luce looked up at him, puzzled and amused at the same time.

“Now, why in the world would I do that?” she asked him.

Chapter Four: [Don’t] Get Thee to a Nunnery

“Oh m’gawd!”

Luce didn’t have to turn to know who just screamed. She would know that incredibly nasal, rather effeminate, yet utterly charming voice anywhere. She spun around and waved at the speaker, a wide grin threatening to split her face.

“Yuya-chan!” she shouted, pushing her way through the wave of new arrivals at Narita.

Yukinojo Yamazaki – nicknamed Yuya – was Pleiades Project’s lead guitarist and one of Luce’s closest friends. Back when Luce was still the band’s publicist, they had tons of fun playing pranks on everyone, shopping in Harajuku, and pigging out on the magnificent tonkatsu over at Tonki in Meguro with the band’s rhythm guitarist Shura Hasegawa. Even after she left, they’d kept in touch and he was always the one who picked her up from the airport whenever she came to Japan for her summer vacations - and the one who helped her raise hell almost as soon as she got settled in.

“Gawd, you are just so too beautiful!” Yuya shrieked as he enveloped Luce in a rib-cracking hug that seemed at odds with his ethereally slender appearance. Playfully, he poked the tip of her nose. “And to think you wanted to enter a convent!”

Luce groaned and nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. “Don’t remind me!” she exclaimed as they made their way out of the airport. “So: did you drive over here in that rickety old jalopy of yours or did you finally ditch that wreck for a new car?”

Yuya laughed – a totally wicked cackle. “Still insulting Cress after all these years!” he declared, shaking his head. More soberly, he added that he finally sold his old car and bought a new one. “But I didn’t drive my new baby over here,” he said. “I came in Shura-kins’s Roadster!”

As if on cue, a crimson BMW Roadster pulled up and stopped in front of them. The driver’s-side window rolled down to reveal a cheerful young man with a ready smile and short hair dyed a reddish blond.

“Oi, Luce!” he greeted her. He jerked a thumb towards the trunk of the car. “Just chuck your stuff in the back and we can hightail to Tonki for some grub!”

“Hey, Shura!” Eagerly, Luce stowed her luggage into the trunk and practically flew into the car. She slammed the door loudly (the way everyone in Pleiades Project did) and shouted, “Let’s go!”

“Hasn’t changed much, huh?” Shura asked Yuya, grinning at the latter through the rear-view mirror.

“Nah,” Yuya drawled as he draped himself artfully over the backseat. “Same ol’ nutcase Luce.”

Luce stuck her tongue out at him. “And someone’s still as bitchy as he was when I left!” she snorted.

“One has a reputation to keep, darling,” Yuya declared loftily.

Everyone laughed at that. On the way to Meguro from the airport, the boys filled her in on what the band was currently doing. Shinichi was currently starring as a feudal warlord in a taiga drama on national television. Their bassist, ‘Zuma, was presently touring with another band; in his place was a slightly younger guy who did some major-league bass work. Ranmaru, their producer, had his hands full (as always) with making everyone toe the line and stick to schedules. Of course, this was particularly fruitless as far as Shinichi was concerned.

“Shinichi’s acting again?” Luce’s eyes twinkled mirthfully as she posed the question. “I thought he gave that up after Into the Silence bombed at the box office!”

“You should watch Genji no Monogatari,” Shura suggested. “He’s positively brilliant as Hikaru Genji!”

This prompted Luce to slide a glance at Yuya. The former raised an eyebrow while the latter was trying his darndest best to stifle his giggles.

“Um, I’m pretty sure he is, Shura,” Luce murmured with a faint smile.


***

“Hey, waiter; more cabbage and rice here, please!”

“Gods, how I’ve missed Tokyo!” Luce declared as she happily tucked into her tonkatsu lunch. Perfect pork cutlets – fillets and loin cuts – with endless helpings of rice, sesame-infused cabbage, and tea were a great way to start her week-long vacation. “I mean, really: we don’t get pork cutlets like these back in Manila.”

“I’m just happy we can eat rice right now!” Yuya exclaimed between bites.

“Is that Shinichi’s latest fad?”

“Yeah!” Shura grunted as a waiter plunked down a tray bearing bowls of cabbage and rice before him. “He wants to have as little body fat as possible, so he’s scrapped carbs off his diet – along with everyone else’s!”

Luce paused and raised both eyebrows at him. “Tell me if he still eats croissants.”

“He does!” Yuya snickered. “He says they don’t count because he works off the calories ASAP!”

“I don’t really mind,” Shura remarked sheepishly.

“Meh!” Yuya sneered. “Don’t you always go along with what Shinichi says?”

Shura frowned at that. “Well, we’ve been best friends since high school,” he began somewhat defensively. “We’ve always done things together.” He busied himself with demolishing the food in front of him. “It’s what friends do.”

Yuya and Luce looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

“Speaking of friends,” Yuya went on, leering a little at Luce. “Got anyone special back home?”

Luce threw him a dirty look. “Puh-leeze, Yuya!” she groaned. “After what Martin did, I haven’t been in the habit of looking for potential partners.” She speared the last slice of tonkatsu somewhat savagely with her chopsticks. “I meant what I said years ago about entering a convent,” she continued.

“Bah!” Yuya sneered. “I remember when that happened! You were so distraught…”


***

“Have you gone out of your mind, Lusia?” Yuya shrieked as he sat at the foot of Luce’s bed. Luce was busy pulling dresses out of her closet, yanking them off their hangers, and tossing them to the floor.

“I won’t need them where I’m going,” Luce declared as she tossed two Atelier BOZ frocks. “They frown on such clothes there.”

“Where are you going?”

“The Pink Sisters’ convent in Tagaytay. They’re a cloistered order, so I can effectively seclude myself from all this madness.”

Yuya’s expressive eyes went round at this. “You’re throwing your life away on account that some libidinous bastard broke your heart?” he asked archly.

Luce stopped what she was doing and snarled at him. “What I do with my life,” she grated, “is none of your business.”

“Darling, I happen to know for a fact that you aren’t exactly nun material.”

“That’s what my kid brother said when I told him,” Luce muttered as she went back to work. At the time, Luce’s younger brother was a seminarian in the sophomore year of his graduate course in Theology. “He says I’m entering the convent for all the wrong reasons.” She slammed her now empty closet hard. “What’s wrong with turning one’s back on the world and swearing off men forever?”

At this point, despite the grim look on Luce’s face, the tears were already streaming down her cheeks. Miserably, she plunked herself down beside Yuya and began, in earnest, to cry.

“It’s just too damned unfair!” she wailed as Yuya hugged her. “Where did I go wrong? Is it because I was never around? Or was it because I never put out?”

“Hush!” Yuya murmured as he patted her back. “Don’t say such things, Luce. Never blame yourself for something that obviously isn’t your fault.” He chucked up her chin and met her teary eyes with a kindly look. “I could have warned you ages ago, but you would have accused me of meddling.”

“Yeah,” Luce agreed, dabbing her eyes with the hem of one of her dresses. She eyed him curiously. “Do gay guys like you have it harder than us girls?”

“Believe me, darling, it’s much, much worse,” Yuya assured her. “There will be others, you know.”

Luce shook her head adamantly. “There won’t,” she spat emphatically. “Who would want a control freak like me? Most men want women who give in easily.”

“And just because of that you want to throw yourself into a nunnery?” Yuya shook his head. “Lusia, Lusia, Lusia! Such an intelligent girl as you has more options than that!”

“Yeah, so everyone tells me,” Luce sighed. She had a somewhat lost expression on her face, a distant look in her eyes. “I’m taking a break from PR and publicity for a while,” she told Yuya. “Maybe I’ll teach or something, or go into the diplomatic service like my dad and granddad.” She dimpled, albeit sadly. “Maybe try something new like make software or something.”

“Will you ever come back?” Yuya asked her gently.

Luce threw him a stricken look and shook her head. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I really, really don’t know.”


***

“Well!” a deep, familiar voice announced. “Look who still hasn’t entered the convent!”

After lunch, the guys took Luce back to Pleiades HQ, the posh office in Harajuku from which the band held court. Luce delightedly immersed herself in everything that was old and familiar to her. She discussed PR plans with Akiko, once her assistant and now her successor. Ranmaru Yoshida, the band’s producer and father-figure, welcomed her back with open arms, and gleefully chattered about the image for the upcoming album. She jammed a bit with the band and was more than a little impressed with Jules, the new bassist who was half-English and Oxford-educated.

It was now pushing eight in the evening. Ranmaru ordered out for supper and now poured glasses of a particularly fine Merlot for everyone. Almost as soon as he uncorked the bottle, they heard soft barks coming from the lobby and a familiar voice snapping orders left and right. The door to the conference room slammed open and Shinichi appeared, leaning in his usual cool fashion in the doorway.

“Howdy-do, chief!” Luce greeted him irreverently, raising her glass to him. Her dark eyes sparkled with fun. “How was filming?” She grinned rather evilly at him. “I caught an episode of Genji just now,” she told him. “I’m amazed at how much your acting’s improved. May I say that your new drama coach is probably a great lay?”

The room burst into laughter at that, and Shinichi threw his trademark smirk at his former publicist. Gamely, he clapped his hands as he entered the room.

“You honestly think any convent will accept you with that sort of mouth, you shameless little fiend?” he exclaimed as he dipped an exquisite bow and kissed her hand.

Luce laughed aloud and shrugged. “Hey, I might just get away with it!” she replied in a challenging manner.

Shinichi threw his head back and laughed. He regarded Luce most fondly. “Damn it, but we’ve missed you, Luce!” he said. He stooped down to pick up a tiny puffball of a Chihuahua yapping at his heels. The little beast barked and wagged his tail at Luce. “Have you met Koyuki?” he asked her. “Latest addition to the zoo I call home.”

“What a darling!” Luce exclaimed, gently patting the tiny dog.

“Jules’s Shiba Inu’s cuter,” Yuya muttered. “And Shura’s dog is just plain goddamned fugly!”

“Don’t be nasty, Yuya,” Luce chided him with a smile. “You’re just jealous because you’re not Shinichi’s pet anymore.”

“Oh, he was never the pet,” Ranmaru snickered. “That‘s Shura.”

“So, tell me how you’ve been, woman!” Shinichi said as he settled into an armchair, Koyuki flopping into his lap.

“There’s not much to tell,” Luce admitted. She told him about her life at IntelliSystems, how she felt challenged by her work and how interesting it was. She mentioned her brother’s ordination to the priesthood some months before and her younger sister’s graduation from high school. “It’s been a quiet life,” she said with a shrug. “Not what I used to have, but I don’t mind.”

“How’s your social life?” Shinichi asked her.

Luce laughed at that. “What social life?” she asked in return. “I get to work at seven in the morning, leave at six. I go straight home. I do my grocery shopping, browse the bookshops, and try new restaurants.” A look of deep pain marred her face. “I’ve been trying to steer clear of situations that might draw me into the same circles as Martin.”

“Still smarting, huh?” Shinichi remarked soberly. “But surely someone must be paying attention to you?”

Luce smiled rather forlornly. “There’s no one, chief,” she said. She added somewhat wryly, “Unless you count the pesky guy who tried to sell me some software a couple months ago. Damn, he was persistent!”

“How persistent?”

“I mean, he called me every day for two weeks straight!” Luce exclaimed. “Isn’t that a little too much just to get someone to buy a product?”

Shinichi and everyone else fell silent at that. He looked to the others and, judging from the looks on their faces, knew they had the same suspicions.

“Well…” he drawled slowly. “Who knows? He just might get lucky.”

Luce didn’t have to know, of course, that Shinichi meant that in more ways than one.

Chapter Three: Advice from Those who Matter


It was Sophia Kua’s 85th birthday and she summoned her remaining children along with her small army of grandchildren and great-grandchildren to Hong Kong for what she hoped would be a magnificent celebration. The elegant matriarch had commandeered the Spring Moon at the Peninsula for her birthday banquet. About an hour before the festivities, she had her chauffer drop her off at the Pen to personally supervise the final arrangements.

She was overseeing the placement of the towering floral centerpieces on the tables when Gilbert Huang, youngest son of her deceased favorite daughter Anastacia, arrived.

“Syoti!” Sophia exclaimed as she hugged her youngest grandson. “Goodness me – I thought you weren’t going to make it!”

“Hi, Waipo,” Gilbert murmured, bowing as soon as his grandmother released him from her death-grip. He kissed her cheek and handed her a small package wrapped in gold paper and crimson ribbons. “Happy birthday.”

“Look at you, sweetheart: such a handsome boy!” Teasingly, she pinched both his cheeks. “I’ll bet you have all the girls swooning at your feet.”

Gilbert managed a wan smile at that. Sophia could tell something was wrong, but she held her tongue as she led him to a table. Summoning a waiter, she called for tea and a selection of dim sum. When the order had been taken, she regarded her grandson soberly.

“You look pale, Gilbert,” she said. Gently, she pressed the back of her hand on his forehead. “Not coming down with anything, I hope?”

“No, Waipo,” Gilbert replied with a shake of his head. “I’m fine; a little tired is all.”

“You’re not fine,” Sophia was quick to correct him. She peered kindly at her grandson. “Come on, syoti: you can tell your Waipo anything.”

Gilbert gulped visibly and looked away. He shook his head and refused to speak. This worried Sophia a great deal. It was not like Gilbert who was always truthful and candid with his elders as a child to be so reticent.

“Are you in trouble?” she asked gently.

“No, Waipo,” came the quiet reply.

Sophia considered that and pursed her lips thoughtfully. It was at that point that she had an idea what was going on.

“There’s a young lady involved, I suppose?” she asked him. To her satisfaction, Gilbert looked up sharply and began to nod. She took this as a sign to press on. “I take it she’s sai yan?”

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” Gilbert murmured. “The more traditional members of the family would call her huana.”

Sophia winced at that. It was one thing to be sai yan, a foreigner, but to be referred to as a barbarian - !

“Surely she can’t be that bad!” she exclaimed.

“She’s not,” Gilbert agreed. “But you know how our relatives are, Waipo; they have these ideas.”

“Hah!” Sophia snorted contemptuously. She herself had not married in the traditional fashion; hers had been a love match. Her parents disapproved of her man who had been, at the time, barely more than a dry goods merchant – not at all what they wanted for their daughter’s husband. As a result, she decided to sever her ties with her family and elope with him. Her husband rose tremendously in the world – became a tycoon, as a matter of fact! Until the day he died, they had always been happy and Sophia never had any regrets. She hoped that her children and grandchildren would have the same satisfaction, especially her favorite grandson.

“So what if the young lady isn’t Chinese?” she demanded, eyes flashing in indignation. “Does that make her any less a person as the rest of us? Does it make her more animal than human?” Impulsively, she cracked her knuckles – an act that made her grandson flinch back a little. “As long as she’s decent and educated, I am willing to welcome her into the family!”

“She is educated, Waipo,” Gilbert declared emphatically. “More than most, I would think. She doesn’t speak like most Filipino women; she sounds like an American girl from an Ivy League school.” He sighed disconsolately. “But I don’t think she’ll have me.”

“Why not?”

“Women like her…” Gilbert’s voice trailed off into another sigh. “Women like her should have captains of industry for husbands; not pipsqueaks like me.”

In her own opinion, Sophia liked the reverent tone in her grandson’s voice as he spoke of the object of his affections. Not many men used that tone to talk about women in this debauched day and age. Gilbert’s humility spoke well of him, but Sophia wished that he was just a tinge braver.

“You are not a pipsqueak, sweetheart,” Sophia assured him, cupping his face in her hands. “I think…” At this point, she chose her words carefully. “I think you just need to grow up a little more.”

“That’s what my boss said,” Gilbert mumbled, not daring to meet her direct gaze.

“Then wait,” Sophia insisted. “Just wait.” Gently, she patted his hands. “Trust your old Waipo: things like these usually sort themselves out in the end.”

***

“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Gilbert turned to look at his older brother, but sullenly went back to pushing food around his plate with a pair of chopsticks.

“Who cares?” he muttered darkly.

“I do.” Graham moved his chair closer to him. “It’s not like you to leave food uneaten, Gib.”

“I’m not hungry.”


Graham frowned and looked at the magnificent spread on the table before them: buttery crab smothered with chili and garlic, scallops with celery, steamed prawns with a peppery vinegar dip, a whole red snapper lying in a pool of ginger sauce, a platter of oriental cold cuts, and another dish piled high with ngohiong: pork-stuffed bean curd skin rolls. The last item was Gilbert’s favorite dish and that they remained untouched was a cause for concern for his older brother.

“Talk to me, Gib.”

Gilbert looked up, despair written all over his thin face, but shook his head.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he replied bitterly. “I mean, you’re married.”

“Ah, so it’s a bachelor’s complaint, then?”

Miserably, Gilbert put down his chopsticks and nodded. “I want what you and Mardi have,” he declared. “You’re so happy whenever I see you that it sometimes makes me sick!”

Graham was taken aback by this. For his brother to be so adamant was completely out of character. “First off: you have no idea what Mardi and I went through before we got married,” he snapped at Gilbert. “With Mama and Papa both dead, only Waipo and Achi were there to take my side – everyone else told me I was marrying a gold digger!”

Gilbert looked up sharply. “They didn’t!” he exclaimed.

Graham nodded and his face went grim. “You don’t have to listen to what anyone says,” he told his brother. “If you think that the girl you want is the one you want to be with, then go get her by all means.”

Gilbert let out a long, forlorn sigh and resumed picking at his food. But he managed a faint smile this time.

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said as he spun the lazy Susan to get the platter of ngohiong.

“She’s not Chinese, I take it.”

“Nope.” Gilbert eyed him critically. “I know you won’t talk me out of it, but I won’t have anyone slamming me and my choices.”

“Good for you!” Graham clapped a hand on his shoulder. He leaned in, grinning. “So, what’s she like?”

Gilbert grinned back and stuck out his tongue.

“I’m not telling you,” he said.


***

“Jiu-jiu, carry me!”

Gilbert smiled and picked up the chubby-cheeked little fellow who had been tugging at the knees of his khakis.


Jacob Gregory Huang-Tanner, known to everyone in the family as Ginger, smacked a loud kiss on his uncle’s cheek and pointed to the lobster tank. “’S a lobster!” he declared.

“Yes, Ginger, it’s a lobster.”

“But why isn’t it red like the lobster we had for dinner?”

“It’s still alive; lobsters don’t go red till you cook them.”

“Oh.”

Bettina, four months pregnant with her second child, came to stand beside Gilbert and reached for her inquisitive child.

“Come to Mommy, Ginge,” she coaxed the little boy. “Jiu-jiu hasn’t finished his supper. It wasn’t nice of you to disturb him.”

“I don’t mind, Achi,” Gilbert protested. “He’s not too heavy and he’s behaving properly.”

“Be that as it may,” Bettina said firmly, “it’s almost eight and one little gentleman should be in bed by now.”

Gilbert and Ginger frowned at her, but the former sighed and gave the latter back to his mother. Ginger began to protest, but Gilbert gently yanked at a curl in the middle of the child’s forehead and pressed a finger to his lips.

“Go with your mom now,” he admonished gently. “Otherwise, you’ll be too cranky to go to Ocean Park with me tomorrow.”

Glumly, Ginger rubbed his eyes and nodded. With a loud sigh, he leaned his head on his mother’s shoulder. Bettina smiled at this and beamed at her brother.

“You’re so good with kids, Gib,” she complimented him.

“Nah,” Gilbert replied, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about taking care of kids, Achi.”

“Yeah, right,” Bettina snorted. “You kept everyone’s kids quiet tonight; Waipo wants to thank you for that.”

“Well, everyone was so busy showing off significant others and newborn progeny that the older kids were starting to feel neglected.” He fished out a small pack of Magic cards out of his pocket and smiled. “It’s amazing how even the most tech-savvy kids will drop everything so as not to get left out.”

Bettina chuckled and patted his arm. “Graham and I were talking about you while you were at Uncle Daffy’s table,” she said as they headed back to their table. “You should have a family of your own.”

Gilbert frowned at that. “Are you pressuring me?” he asked.

“No, of course not,” Bettina was quick to reply. “But he and Waipo told me you’ve been brooding over some girl.” She gave him a pointed look. “I hope she’s a decent sort, Gib; Mama will turn over in her grave if you bring home some floozy just off the streets.”

“She’s decent,” Gilbert assured her. “More than decent, as a matter of fact.” A dreamy look seemed to settle over his face. “You know the sort: educated, well-spoken, strong personality.” He regarded his sister thoughtfully. “I don’t know why, but she sort of reminds me of you.”

“Really? So, when do we get to meet her?”

It was at this point that Gilbert’s shoulders seemed to sag. “I don’t think you will,” he replied sadly. “I doubt if you ever will.”

Some Notes from the Story...

Waipo - Mandarin for grandmother; specifically, one's maternal grandmother.

Jiu-jiu - Mandarin for "uncle"; specifically, one's maternal uncle.

Sai yan / huana - the same as gwei lo: a foreigner, one who isn't Chinese.  Sai yan is the polite form; huana (barbarian) is derogatory.  Both are used in the context that some of the more traditional Chinese-Filipino families go up in smoke whenever one of their number opts to marry someone who isn't Chinese.

Anmitsu

It was a sweltering hot day outside, but inside was colder than the inside of a refrigerator. Small wonder most people were either sneezing or coughing.

I sat at my desk, staring blankly at the monitor. There was nothing to do; everything that needed to be done by the end of the month was already finished – and we were barely a week into the month. I wanted something to do, something to get him out of my head – that lanky, bespectacled, pale-faced man I wanted to call my own. But, alas, even my boss couldn’t give me anything apart from what he previously assigned.

I was distraught. I was annoyed with myself.

Hang it all, but I was bored - practically bored out of my mind!

Damn the heat, I thought, staring glumly out the window, feeling the hot glass beneath my hand. Damn this summer…

I never liked the summer. Even as a child, I loathed it because I usually fell prey to everything from measles to chickenpox during the sultry season. My last boyfriend broke up with me one horribly warm summer, just as Lent gave way to Easter; my season of rebirth became my season of emotional death. I was a math dunce, so I always had to go back to school for remedial classes in high school while everyone else was frolicking at the beach. In college, I took advanced classes – just so I wouldn’t have to go to the beach where people would make fun of my less-than-perfect body. Summers were, truth be told, one of the banes of my existence.

Just pretend to be busy, I told myself. Blog, write, go for those online tarot readings - anything to get him off your mind! Bitterly, I admitted to myself that it probably wasn’t meant to be, anyway; for all I knew, he probably had a girlfriend – some pretty Chinese-Filipino girl picked out for him by his parents or something. He won’t care for me. I’m just the fat contact person for a project, no one special.

I checked my watch. It was one in the afternoon; six PM was ages away. It was so hot – seeing how I flinched at touching the windowpane – that I decided to go for an anmitsu after hours. I closed my eyes, my mouth watering at the thought of shaved ice topped with all sorts of sweet, luscious things.

Then, the phone broke me out of my reverie.

“Hello,” I murmured, my voice bland.

“Miss Driesl!” the receptionist exclaimed. “Thank God, you’re here! Sir Lou’s out of the office and there’s someone here looking for him about a software installation, and…”

I raised an eyebrow at that. Lou and I were from different departments and our work rarely ever crossed, except for that…

My eyes suddenly went wide, my mouth went dry, and my heart began pounding within me. It can’t be! I thought, my mind whirling like a tornado at full blast. The big boss didn’t sign the contract! We’re not supposed to… They can’t possibly…

“A Mr. Nicholas Shen’s here to see you,” I heard the receptionist say. “He was told to look for you just in case…”

“I’ll be right down,” I managed to say, and slammed down the phone. I don’t know how I did it, but I locked my PC and then scrambled off.

“Driesl!” my boss called. “What’s up? Where’s the fire?”

“Nicky Shen’s downstairs!” I replied as I opened the door, barely concealing the excitement in my voice.

The elevator doors were wide open as I stepped out and I practically hurled myself into the waiting car.

“You look excited,” one of the girls from the fourth floor commented.

“Me? Excited?” I laughed the idea off; however, my heart wouldn’t stop pounding. “What a notion!” Liar, liar, pants on fire…

“Maite just came up from the lobby,” my companion confided with a giggle. “She says there’s a cute boy downstairs!”

“Really?” I kept my voice as neutral as possible. “She was probably seeing things; there are no cute men in this company!”

“That’s what I told her! She said I had to see it to believe it.”

“Meh, it was probably a heat mirage or something.”

It took what seemed to me like an eternity for the elevator to reach the ground floor. Almost as soon as the doors opened, I flew out and ran straight for the receptionist’s desk.

“Hey, Annie!” I greeted her with a jaunty wave. “I have a visitor?”

She nodded over to the couches behind me. “Mr. Shen from X-Corp,” she replied. “He was looking for Sir Lou, but asked for you when I told him that he went out for lunch.”

“Hi, Miss Driesl,” a perky male voice greeted me.

I turned slowly, scarcely hoping; even dreading that what I was about to see was just an illusion. But it wasn’t an illusion: he was there – he was really there!&nbs