Serendipity
Of magnanimous angels and star-struck demons
"Madness is like gravity; all you need is a little push." I agree a hundred percent with The Joker in the movie "Dark Knight" because yesterday, I went berserk while I was walking toward Serendipity 3 (where John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale shot thatunforgettable scene in the movie with the same title as the restaurant and this column) in Manhattan. My "little push" came in the form of a celebrity athlete who happened to share the same sidewalk with me while being hounded by the paparazzi (obviously, the paparazzi were after the celebrity, not me).
I don't know what came over me, but it felt like I was possessed by some groupie poltergeist, some star-struck demon. The demon made me do things I would normally not do like grovel at Alex Rodriguez's gigantic feet (encased in expensive, black leather shoes, no less) in the middle of Park Avenue. The thing is, I am no Yankees fan, ergo, I don't and have never gone gaga over A-Rod (especially after the Madonna fiasco). But one look at his towering height, massive shoulders, and green eyes, and my (usually) rational brain snapped. Suddenly, I had the strongest compulsion to take out the pom-poms, perform death-defying cartwheels, and rah-rah for the New York Yankees.
I was aghast when I caught myself shamelessly asking A-Rod (okay, begging was more like it) if I could please have a photograph with him. Ugh! Was that really me saying those pathetic words? The poor guy (yeah, right, he's impoverished with his $250M paycheck) was trying to escape from the paparazzi and there I was, trailing after him like a homeless puppy without a leash.
Instead of literally walking over me to get to his Trump Tower abode (he could have done so with his height and impossibly long legs), he surprised me when he apologized by saying, "I'm so sorry, I can't stop right now", while looking at me with his deep, penetrating eyes. Huh?! I sputtered and stuttered incoherently, and I swear I probably looked like I was mentally-handicapped. I was also quite positive that my brain was slowly melting like ice cream under the heat of the sun during a Yankees vs. Mets game. If my skimpy, black shorts were a tad loose, they would have fallen off my waist right then and there at the corner of Park Ave. and 60th St. My worry now is, will I be TMZd? I guess I'll have to go to their website to check that out and hibernate for a year if I get my 15 minutes of shameful TV- tabloid fame.
To save me from completely losing it, I went home yesterday to a brand new HP notebook. If you were able to read my column (Perfectly imperfect) the other week, I was yakking about the fact that I was in literary limbo because I didn't have a laptop (yes, and I'm in the land of laptops at that – oh, the irony!). Well, guess what, magnanimous angels read that piece, took pity on me, and sent me one! Those "angels" are my Tito Eddie Combong (my dad's younger brother in California) and Tita Mae, his wife. Tito Ed and Tita Mae told me that this HP notebook (I'm using it right now, yahoo!) is their gift to me in honor of my Lola Exal whom I have somehow "immortalized" by keeping her legacy alive through my writings. My late grandmother, Exaltacion Combong, was a poet and a playwright. She has written at least four full-length comedias (in Hiligaynon), one of which was staged in the UP Theatre a few months back. I know I pale in comparison to my Lola's knack for the written word, but I know that in my own humble, albeit warped way, I am making her proud.
Lola Exal was a brilliant writer, and for my uncle and aunt to say that I have given life to her through my writings is perhaps an insult to her great talent. But nevertheless, I'll take it. I am, in fact, my Lola's granddaughter, and for that I am deeply grateful. To Tito Ed and Tita Mae, thank you for the wonderful gift.