Slash of the Pen

Time was when communicating via e-mail was virtually unknown, mobile phones were not de rigueur, getting to talk with someone was somewhat of a romantic exercise. Asking for a phone number represented the highlight of a boy-girl interaction (well, I did go to an exclusive boys' school, so that was that). It meant taking the first step in achieving the Holy Grail.

Or so it seemed at that time. After the few obligatory phone calls, if there's a hint of the girl liking you, you work on her a little, sweat out the little details, find out some juicy secret that will get you some leverage, and then...

"Gagamitin ko ang telepono!" ("I have to use the phone!") Your elder brother or sister or worse your parents have to use the phone. It's either on her end or yours... So sod off, get off the line, that marathon conversation record ground to dust, or to use a better expression, vanishing into thin air.

Since this was high school and getting permission (and the money) to go anywhere would be limited, there was one alternative - getting the girl's address and sending her a note now and then. It was my particular tactic during those years, and it almost always worked to perfection. I was a bumbler in most cases speaking face-to-face, a lot better on the telephone (I dug James Earl Jones and could pass off for someone a few years older, which was a solid hit with the ladies), but on paper, I was a swashbuckling swordsman. As the phrase went, at least.

Coupled with the help of my sisters' collection of prized stationery I could have gone anywhere. But the task, being easier than I thought, soon bored me ---which led me to conclude, just as Annie and Becky did, that verbal ability in men was overrated, but the hard part of it, was that, I realized that the same was true for women. So it could happen that one could put in three pages for a single letter and then get a short missive with no substance at all.

(Ehem, that's in the line of sour graping, Chief. Take it back! Take it back!)

Anyway, even if I did notice, I didn't mind - after all, beautiful but intellectually challenged girls can get an education. The - er, how do I put it - appearance-challenged smart ones would have a hard time making themselves over. Naturally, they were more interesting. Still, like me, they were more likely into pretty boys or, as most girls my age then desired, the ones with a cool or hip edge.

But that didn't stop me at all. I didn't read "Cyrano de Bergerac" then but I was the Cyrano to my brother's Christian for his first girlfriend. Though that relationship eventually soured for a host of reasons, I felt really good about how it came about. To his credit, my brother 'fessed up and to her credit, the girl was of a more open mind and accepted him anyway.

After high school the real world interrupted and literary legerdemain was replaced by smoke-and-mirrors, i.e. pretending to be someone else, a.k.a. lying. Or, if your stomach could stand it, huge doses of alcohol or perhaps the random recreational drug. Letters were reserved for some of my former trainees who were going on their graduation retreats - we were on the front end of the "recollection revolution" as these seminars were one of the best ways to meet members of the opposite sex, especially for the trainers.

The sword was getting some use, but would anyone use Excalibur to cut firewood or dress meat? There were of course, some heartbreaks --- as clever or as romantic I could get, I could not bear to be dishonest, and quite frankly, trying to be subtle can get you as much censure as plaudits. People misunderstand, and sometimes at the most inappropriate time.

So I put that part of me away, and spent the better part of the middle '90s writing lectures, research papers and prayer services.

The Internet boom and the sudden popularity of mIRC ushered in a whole load of opportunities, and the cloak of anonymity helped even more. Thus I became a creature of the chatrooms. But soon the novelty faded, and after two near-hits (which I'm glad I missed), I'm glad that episode is done.

(Sidebar: the pederast in me would have to admire the gumption/soullessness of those predators over the Internet. Both victims and the captured felons get their just deserts.)

And then GSM became a household name and the texting revolution was on.

Now, I was never really a fan of text, primarily because it made you stupid and a wastrel at the same time (a fact alcoholics are well-versed in), and call me old-fashioned, but it never did take. So it has been since then.

Now, I still put away my gift, a sword still put away. That didn't mean, of course, I didn't get to use axes or knives...

I still dream when I can unsheath the sword and wield it in the name of true love.

KISS LONELY GOOD-BYE (Stevie Wonder)

Give me a chance to catch my breath
'Cause I'm in a state of awe
Guess miracles do never cease
For we're back together now

Pardon me please if I pinch myself
So to know this is not a dream
As I reminisce the love we shared
And the pain there was between

Look at the clouds in the sky
They seem so happy now
Look at the sun, feel its rays
With such a smiling face
Maybe we can't but maybe we can
With the love that we're feeling inside
Share it with all the world and see each heart
Kiss lonely good-bye

If given a chance to live again
I'd change not a single thing
'Cause that little change could sadly mean
That you to me Fate wouldn't bring

Partly I cry for those lonely nights
And a heartache I thought couldn't end
Yet joyfully I cry cause I know our love
We won't let us lose again, never again

Look at the clouds in the sky
They seem so happy now
Look at the sun, feel its rays
With such a smiling face
Maybe we can't but I know we can
With the love that we're feeling inside
Share it with all the world and see each heart
Share it with all the world and see each heart
Share it with all the world and see each heart
Kiss lonely good-bye

Share it with all the world and see each heart
Kiss lonely good-bye