Maria Clara No More!

To the uninformed, Maria Clara is a character created by Philippine National Hero G. José Rizal. Once upon a time, she was the epitome of who a Filipina is: demure, beautiful, mestiza (of mixed blood – typically between Spanish and native Filipino), semi-intelligent, conservative, obedient (sunud-sunuran in Tagalog), and whose life’s mission is to be her husband’s decorative asset within the household. Now, oh god, you’d be lucky to even find someone who even remembers what Maria Clara epitomised.

Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of literature, scholarly articles, and research materials have documented the evolution of modern woman. I had watched this documentary on the National Geographic channel that featured the changes Chinese women have gone through – from their formerly highly-revered lotus feet to their power suits to their everlasting overt sexuality. La Oprah had sent people around the world to “introduce” different women of various nationalities to her American audience (*gasp* A Thai woman can go the spa everyday, with overall body massages costing only five US bucks??!! *double gasp* That’s the typical day-to-day outfit of an Kuwaiti woman? Where’s the burdah that CNN claimed all Middle Eastern women wear? Damnit, she looks better than me on any of my normal days). Official institutes of study, non-government organisations, and online groups have been formed to intricately monitor the daily/monthly/annual activities of the late 20^th and early 21^st century women. Books focusing on female romantic and sensual fantasies have been bestsellers in any important booklist in today’s public media (think of authors Nora Roberts and Christina Dodd, whose *ehem* “graphic” novels are perhaps many women’s outlet for sexual deprivation). Inhibitions have (mostly) been damned: clothes are coming off, veils are being lifted, voices are being heard, and looks are forever being changed.

At lunchtime today, I entered into an all-gloves-off conversation about men, sex, and relationships with my two best friends from work (there are only six of us in the office, myself included, so I’m quite lucky to count two of them as good friends). See, both of these ladies are married women – and they see it as their responsibility to educate single ol’ me about the opposite sex and “making love.” We talked about doing it with the lights on and off, with the eyes open or closed, with a mirror or without one, in the house, outside the house, on top of the house, in the car, hand jobs, and blow jobs. I tried not to show it, but sheesh mareesh… I am now realising how pathetic my life completely is.

Hence, I’ve decided. I shall be Maria Clara no more! If someone asks me who Mona Lisa is, I’ll say, “well, she ain’t me, that’s for darned tootin’ sure!” Look out, world – cleavages shall be shown; skirts shall be hiked up; and, nails shall be sluttily painted. I’m pretty sure none of these tactics will work though, not as long as I don’t lose the extra pounds I’ve been carrying for, oh, the last twenty-six years of my life. However, who gives a crap? It’s the twenty-first century. I’ve seen pictures of girls more voluptuous and more horizontally-challenged than me on the Net, baring skin, tits, ass, and all.

My new mantra: “Who’s Maria Clara?!”