Erebus Garden

So much for my cynicism…

While I was rummaging through tons of law school papers, sorting out which garbage to keep for “The Bar” last year, I stumbled upon a note I’ve written not too long ago. It reads:

“Yes, I am twenty-two (22), and yes, I have never had a boyfriend! Now what is so outrageous about that statement? Up until this point, the logic as to why people can’t seem to grasp the simple fact that some people, myself included, enter perpetual singledom by choice, still escapes me. Yes people like me are not the trend. We are the aberration, if you wish. But there really is nothing novel about our condition. We just don’t see any intelligent, nay promising consideration in entering into this over- rated human conception called “boyfriend-girlfriend relationship”…plain and simple.

Relentlessly, I have been an unwitting subject to all forms of speculations by reason of my being unattached. My person has been a favorite specimen, placed in a petri dish and scrutinized by people who desperately try to come up with an intelligible explanation to my perpetual state of singlehood. With the hopes of bringing about enlightenment to these people, as well as deliverance to all those who are similarly situated as me, I will address the questions raised thus far about my state namely:

1. Is Xancha a lesbian?

2. Does Xancha have a heart of stone?

3. Does Xancha have any traumatic experience with guys?

4. Is Xancha really that undesirable?

Issue # 1: Xancha is 22. Xancha has been single practically since forever. Xancha is from an all-girls school. conclusion: Xancha is a lesbian.

Not quite. The conclusion is non-sequitur.

I may have testosterone production, which is a little more than normal but no less than my pituitary gland assures me of my femininity…and GAAADD!!! Just why would I envy the male species to actually want to be like them? Even just the thought of possessing cylindrical and spherical protrusions (which, by the way, never seem to find their proper resting place) in between my thighs is unthinkable, much less desirable.

So much for Freud’s penis envy. I am a woman and my sexuality is beyond doubt.

Issue # 2…

I never got to finish what I’ve written for obvious reason — I have already sacked “Thy Boyfriend”… or Thy Boyfriend has sacked me. Luckily (or otherwise), it has already been four years and we are still counting. I guess I have truly seen the light in the dark (to THY BOYFRIEND, no pun intended).

And yes…it is still by choice...

Over a glass of Extra Joss and Agbayani’s Negotiable Instruments Law Book, it dawned on me “Has boob size become the defining factor of women's beauty?” (at least looking through the eyes of the male specie)

Really.

It baffles me to no end how those pair of bulging masses on women’s chests seem to have taken on the role of primary, if not, sole determinants of women’s aesthetic value. There now appears to be a consensus (among guys in particular) that beautiful means having a bra cup size of at least 34. Falling short of that… is second-class. And judging by FHM standards one must have a pair boobs just a little smaller than a human skull or at least a pair, humungous enough to rock the entire universe for one to qualify in this elite circle of the ‘physically endowed’.

But what is even more baffling is this seeming mystifying link between guys’ subconscious and boobs. Guys and boobs seem to have this unspoken connection. Especially when the boobs are the size of full-grown watermelons. Guys get hypnotized! (not an exaggeration) It is as if the boobs are screaming, “Devour me! Devour me!” and poor guys just couldn’t help but jump to the opportunity.

Thing is, this appears to be to the serious disadvantage of the boob-less class. Sure, silicone implants and other sorts of stuffing machinations may offer temporary refuge. But c’mon, engineered boobs will always be sub-par! I bet Maui Taylor would say otherwise. But that’s already digressing.

Point is, is it not better to wake up beside a pretty face than some monstrous veal of female protein?