I was supposedly at Boracay.
My version of Boracay is one which has a very narrow coast line which swells up at the middle to accommodate a whole row of ihaw-ihaw restaurants. The water was still pristine and clear although not as calm as we have known it to be in the waking world. It was always full of people enjoying the feast that came from the endless rows of spits and fires.
I think I was at an uncle’s house, which was nestled on the hills which line the coastline. It was a nice Mediterranean looking house, complete with stucco walls and a high ceiling. It was essentially just one big hall with no dividers to make up rooms. The house was deprived of furniture save for a few lounge chairs and a long wooden rectangular table in the middle. Outside, there was not much foliage although it had a huge rectangular swimming pool out in the yard.
What it lacked in furnishings was compensated by the fact that it had every imaginable electronic entertainment device known to man. Every television, radio, CD player, gaming console, MP3 player, and other electronic oddities were stocked up in the great hall of my uncle’s house like one big warehouse.
Of all the things I should be doing in Boracay, I was sitting on a lounge chair in a corner of the house which had the HDTV.
I was watching porn with myself.
No, I was not in the porn movie I was watching but rather, I was literally seated beside another me in another lounge chair, both of the same make and feature. We each were both enjoying a can of beer and the exquisite volumes of Patricia Javier.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if you married a girl whose family name is Javier,” said the other me without taking his eyes off the TV.
“Why is that?” I replied.
“ Well think about it. She would have to take your family name once you get married and so she would be an Abola. But then, her middle name would be Javier, your first name.”
“So?” I queried.
“ So in effect, your wife will carry your complete name with her. Imagine for example, Catherine Cruz Javier will become Catherine Javier Abola. She will be stamped with that `Javier Abola” forever. It will be just like branding cattle. You won’t just be married to her, you’ll own her, man.”
I paused for a minute, amused by my other self’s logic on my marriage to a Ms. Javier I may meet one day. Marraige. Cattle rustling. What a great pair!
“ Of course, when one of us dies, she will no longer be obliged to carry my name,” was the only reply I could think off to answer my apparently inebriated other self.
“And it doesn’t end there,” he said as though as he had not heard me. “ Your children will also carry the same middle and last name of your wife…”
“Of course.”
“ And the great thing is, you get to choose what comes before the Javier Abola. For example, you can follow the amusing Filipino practice and name your son Lord. So in effect, his full name will be Lord Javier Abola! Then you can name your second son King. Next will be Baron. The list goes on, man!”
“ I don’t think my fourth son will appreciate it if I name him High and Mighty Emperor,” I said.
“You might have trouble though if you have daughters. I mean, Princess Javier Abola would certainly give you issues and I don’t mean a pregnancy scare. Although, Love Javier Abola would sound nice.”
The TV was now off and I just sipped on my beer.
“What’s the point of all this?” I finally asked.
“ The point is, you have had issues when you were a kid about your first name. You had problems with it since Javier is more common as a surname. You even made up that nickname `Jeffy’ for yourself so that the other kids would stop pestering you with questions on why `Javier’ was your first and not your last name. Well, buddy I’m just showing you the advantages of your situation. You have the unique opportunity to legally add a royal title to your name. Your wife and kids will know exactly to whom they belong. You have the chance to be surrounded by a family of Javier Abola’s.”
I could not really take much more of it so I just sat silent in the blue lounge chair. I gulped down all the beer that was left in the can until I drank myself to wakefulness.
I got up from bed wanting to kick myself.
My version of Boracay is one which has a very narrow coast line which swells up at the middle to accommodate a whole row of ihaw-ihaw restaurants. The water was still pristine and clear although not as calm as we have known it to be in the waking world. It was always full of people enjoying the feast that came from the endless rows of spits and fires.
I think I was at an uncle’s house, which was nestled on the hills which line the coastline. It was a nice Mediterranean looking house, complete with stucco walls and a high ceiling. It was essentially just one big hall with no dividers to make up rooms. The house was deprived of furniture save for a few lounge chairs and a long wooden rectangular table in the middle. Outside, there was not much foliage although it had a huge rectangular swimming pool out in the yard.
What it lacked in furnishings was compensated by the fact that it had every imaginable electronic entertainment device known to man. Every television, radio, CD player, gaming console, MP3 player, and other electronic oddities were stocked up in the great hall of my uncle’s house like one big warehouse.
Of all the things I should be doing in Boracay, I was sitting on a lounge chair in a corner of the house which had the HDTV.
I was watching porn with myself.
No, I was not in the porn movie I was watching but rather, I was literally seated beside another me in another lounge chair, both of the same make and feature. We each were both enjoying a can of beer and the exquisite volumes of Patricia Javier.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if you married a girl whose family name is Javier,” said the other me without taking his eyes off the TV.
“Why is that?” I replied.
“ Well think about it. She would have to take your family name once you get married and so she would be an Abola. But then, her middle name would be Javier, your first name.”
“So?” I queried.
“ So in effect, your wife will carry your complete name with her. Imagine for example, Catherine Cruz Javier will become Catherine Javier Abola. She will be stamped with that `Javier Abola” forever. It will be just like branding cattle. You won’t just be married to her, you’ll own her, man.”
I paused for a minute, amused by my other self’s logic on my marriage to a Ms. Javier I may meet one day. Marraige. Cattle rustling. What a great pair!
“ Of course, when one of us dies, she will no longer be obliged to carry my name,” was the only reply I could think off to answer my apparently inebriated other self.
“And it doesn’t end there,” he said as though as he had not heard me. “ Your children will also carry the same middle and last name of your wife…”
“Of course.”
“ And the great thing is, you get to choose what comes before the Javier Abola. For example, you can follow the amusing Filipino practice and name your son Lord. So in effect, his full name will be Lord Javier Abola! Then you can name your second son King. Next will be Baron. The list goes on, man!”
“ I don’t think my fourth son will appreciate it if I name him High and Mighty Emperor,” I said.
“You might have trouble though if you have daughters. I mean, Princess Javier Abola would certainly give you issues and I don’t mean a pregnancy scare. Although, Love Javier Abola would sound nice.”
The TV was now off and I just sipped on my beer.
“What’s the point of all this?” I finally asked.
“ The point is, you have had issues when you were a kid about your first name. You had problems with it since Javier is more common as a surname. You even made up that nickname `Jeffy’ for yourself so that the other kids would stop pestering you with questions on why `Javier’ was your first and not your last name. Well, buddy I’m just showing you the advantages of your situation. You have the unique opportunity to legally add a royal title to your name. Your wife and kids will know exactly to whom they belong. You have the chance to be surrounded by a family of Javier Abola’s.”
I could not really take much more of it so I just sat silent in the blue lounge chair. I gulped down all the beer that was left in the can until I drank myself to wakefulness.
I got up from bed wanting to kick myself.
