“Ayoko nga (I don’t like),” a forty-ish lady was giggling shyly as the elevator ascended ever so slowly. “Sige na (Please)….” the guy pleaded, whispering within earshot.
In that rising steel cubicle of English-speakers, I silently wondered what I had gotten myself into. Had I chanced upon a tryst in progress? Inquiring minds want to know; with an hour to kill, I decided to play gumshoe and pursue this lead.
They meandered through the cavernous halls oblivious to my presence. To the shoe store, up the quaint shop that sold unnaturally-twisted “lucky bamboo,” cork sculptures with microscopic geishas and fearsome samurais, through the discount fragrance place with its shelves of dubious bottles filled with more eau than actual parfum. Obvious from my discreet distance all this while, the guy cajoled and persuaded in his submissive body language.
We all know how loneliness has bred all sorts of problems, the marital variety being at the forefront. I’ve seen teachers I adored as a grade school kid degenerate into destructive relationships and vices.
Aha! Victoria’s Secret! I smirked, squinting through the window display of rose-colored lingerie. This guy is desperate, I thought, wooing her in the garden of plunging tops and skimpy underwear."
Read the rest of my latest article for the Inquirer here.
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