GIGI GOES GAGA

TO THINE AND THEE BE TRUE

It just hit me -- at this very moment -- that if you're searching for your genuine self, it helps to have someone close to you around. Preferably someone who really gets you.

I suppose that seems counterintuitive; it makes more sense perhaps to find oneself while one is alone. But I find that who I am isn't what I am like apart from everyone else. In fact, it's easy to be decent or noble, maybe even almost perfect, when no one else is around -- when there's no one to challenge or annoy me or especially push all my wrong buttons.

When people ask me for my honest opinion about something, I brace myself for a moment. I don't like to lie but I know the real implications of unabashed honesty and so I have to find a way to be tactful or diplomatic. In the process, I suppose it's inevitable that a little bit of the truth gets washed away amid all that filtering.

But when my bestfriend, Rosanna, asks me for feedback (as she has been doing a lot lately because we're working on something together) -- I simply tell her exactly what I'm thinking or feeling. I groan and contort my face into impossible shapes in anticipation of the blow I'm about to deliver, and sometimes I even sprinkle apologies liberally throughout my spiel, but I tell her the truth even if it hurts both of us.

What I find is that when I am completely truthful to her -- and to myself -- that I discover more deeply what's going on in my head and in my heart. In other words, by revealing myself to her, I do the same to and for myself as well. And, yes, sometimes what pours out of my mouth is as much a surprise to her as it is to me.

It goes both ways, of course. For instance, today I finally submitted a snapshot of myself for the project we've been working on and I was obviously concerned because mine was a pathetic effort at best. So Rosanna reassured me: my face was bright, hair all in place, and she liked my agate necklace. Then: my photo was OK but paled in comparison to, say, our friend Marivic's professional-quality portrait (what she actually said was that mine was "kawawa" -- pitiful -- compared to said picture). But considering Marivic is so drop-dead gorgeous it's ridiculous, I couldn't possibly be offended. (The woman could have turned in her driver's license photo and it still would have been better-looking than mine.)

Here's the thing: I'm convinced that if crash-and-burn celebrities like Michael Jackson and Britney Spears had at least one friend like Rosanna instead of their many (paid) sycophants, their lives would be wholly different today. I suppose well-meaning honesty not only can be good for us -- it can even save us, as well.

THE POTTER CONFESSIONS

Confession#1: I've never read a Harry Potter book.
The Bad: I know, I know -- I'm missing out. And how can I call myself a true book lover if I've never read one of the bestselling book series of all time?
The Good: I've enjoyed every Harry Potter movie because I can't compare each one to its book.

Confession#2: Today, at Target, I read the last 20 or so pages of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
The Bad: Should I even read the first six if I already know what happens to Harry Potter and all his friends in the end?
The Good: Those of you who read the book reviews before July 21st really have nothing to fear. The critics didn't give anything crucial away.

SHADES OF GRAY

An ex-boyfriend once accused me of seeing the world in terms of black and white. While I can't remember the details of that conversation, I seem to recall that at the time he wanted to scale back the nature of our relationship. He proposed that instead of being in an exclusive, committed one, that things between us become more fluid, less defined. In other words, I thought then (as I still do now) that what he really wanted was a guaranteed booty call.

We broke up, he started seeing someone new, she cheated on him, and then they broke up. I wondered at the time if he was able to view her actions in shades of gray, the same way he said I should.

Although I might not describe myself as morally flexible, my worldview is not strictly dichotomous either. I strive to be good, for sure, but am aware of my failings all the time (I have to be, as I'm constantly fighting them). Keep in mind, though that I use the word "good" not as defined by any religious or political ideology or belief but in the sense that I'd like to help rather than hurt, and that I believe in living with a sense of integrity. And still, it's not that simple.

It's easy to look at a situation and judge it; once you start peeling off layers, however, one's perception can change. For instance -- and let's take a fairly common example here: you see a man who cheats on his wife; the woman and their children are devastated by his betrayal and are reacting from the acute pain they all feel. At this point, it's easy to say the man's simply a selfish bastard with no soul. Then maybe you find out about the nature of the marriage; perhaps it was toxic, they were truly incompatible, even destructive, with each other. Or maybe the wife had serious failings of her own as a spouse. And then you might discover that the man and his mistress are completely happy together, that they are genuinely in love with each other (adding here what Prince Charles once said when asked if he was in love with Diana: "Whatever that means."). And then let's throw in a bunch of other factors as well: the man didn't want to leave his family for the children's sake, divorce is not an option in the Philippines (and gossip rules as means of societal control), and all the men in his family cheated on their wives and believed it was OK to do just as long as at the end of the day, they came home.

After learning all of this, some of you might still say the man's a selfish bastard with no soul; others might be a bit more sympathetic. But let's say there were four movies made, each film detailing each party's perception and feelings about the same situation -- would everything then still seem so black and white?

That's what I'm struggling with right now, as I suppose all adults have to at one time or another, and indeed, too often. The people we love the most are also the ones who can hurt us the most, and so how to reconcile their decisions, actions, and feelings with our own? I often find myself trying to put on other people's shoes -- and then quickly realize that because they don't quite fit, I sometimes will never know what it's like to stand where they do. And that's when love and forgiveness comes in: sometimes you love someone so much that you choose to forgive that person, and at other times you realize you simply cannot forgive and that you must love yourself more instead.

In the end, I believe, the choice you make needs to reflect what's most important to you -- simply because you have to live with it, regardless of what other people say or how they might feel about it. And that's where trying to be good is important for me: so that whenever I'm in a situation where I have to make such a choice, trying to figure out where I stand is easy because it's the one where I'm standing tall.

THE (UNFUNNY) LATE NIGHT SHOW

It's 3 am and I'm failing miserably at being funny.

I mentioned a while back that my high school class is putting together a memory book consisting of photographs and inspirational stories. Some of you might even recall that I gave up trying to submit a current solo picture of myself, and I didn't attempt fulfilling the latter either because nothing in my life, past or present, can possibly inspire a large group of mostly pious and devout Catholic women (especially the nuns who will also be reading this book).

So the wonderful folks manning the project have agreed to accept only a group photograph from me and have assigned me to write something funny instead. I thought this would be easy: I could choose from one of more than 350 blog posts, revise, and rewrite. I've just gone through my archives, however, and I've discovered I'm only funny when I'm being inappropriate. Or, at least, when it's the last thing I want to be.

But because it's exactly what I want to be right now, I suck*. Next time I watch a comedy that doesn't make me laugh, I'll be a hell** of a lot more sympathetic to the writers -- who really tried, after all. It's all about karma***, and I don't want it to bite me in the ass****.

(*can't use this word in the book.)
(**can't use this word, either.)
(***nope, not this one.)
(***especially not this one.)

BAGS AND THINGS

I've realized that I own too many things.

I don't say this in a bragging sort of way, you understand. I don't have even a third of the possessions that, say, Britney or Lindsey can boast of -- but they live in much bigger homes and can store their things so they don't have to live with them quite so closely. I, on the other hand, inhabit a two-bedroom townhome and have exhausted every creative means to give my things space; so much so that I've run out of my own room to belong.

So I've started going through every closet and every storage bin, weeding out what I no longer use or need (and in the meantime trying not to shop during this splendid summer sale season). With horror I've discovered that I've forgotten I already have certain items -- which I then end up repurchasing as a result -- so now I have two, or three, or more of something I still don't know I own.

Today's project was the coat closet downstairs by the foyer. Inside are perhaps six coats -- and an untold number of bags. My bestfriend Rosanna stayed with me for about a week a few years ago and was the first to alert me that I owned too many. I didn't quite believe her then because I don't salivate over bags the way I do over shoes or makeup or even bras. So to make her point, she borrowed one every day and then said I didn't even notice. Which I hadn't, really.

Today I hauled out everything in the tiny closet to take inventory before putting not-everything back. Rosanna, as usual, was dead-on right. I even have a few bags in there that are older than my nieces -- who are old enough to use my things now (I say with pride, however, that I keep my things in pristine condition so I can pass them on, if I choose to).

I sorted my bags by material, style, and color; then I dusted them off and cleaned out their insides, the detritus of a life lived outside my home. Every single one still had things inside of them. My things have things! It's possible, I realize, that I am still the same girl I've been for at least the last 15 years because I've continued to lug around the same items with me everywhere I go: lip balm (I've kept Burt's Bees in business all these years, I'm convinced), spare tampons, mints or gum, pens, pocket boar bristle brushes, allergy and sinus headache medicine, sewing kits (filched from hotel rooms), and tissue packets. (I will confess that I found a condom inside one of my satchels -- which not only tells me how long it's been since I used the damn thing, but also of what my life was like as a single woman.)

I'm proud to say that I found the strength within me to part with quite a few things, all now headed for the Goodwill. Better yet, I know now for sure I have no need for another black leather bag (of any kind). But best of all, I'm on my way to living a lighter kind of life, where I don't have as many things, and my things no longer own their own things. I don't know if I'll ever get to a point where I only have what I really need, but it would be great when I reach the day when what I need is not more space to live in, when I have all the room I need.

MY GUY

I married a guy's guy. A guy who doesn't like to talk about "feelings" and in whose world subject matters like philosophy or religion barely exist (I rather suspect they don't, in fact). Things either are or aren't, and they only matter if they are at least of some practical value to him.

We both enjoy spending hours in the bookstore, but he can be found only in the following sections: business, computers/tech, and sports (actually, just golf). And he loves reading all about watches, sometimes cars. Once in a while I do find him in front of the philosophy or religion bookshelves -- but only because he claims it's usually quiet there and he can read undisturbed.

He likes movies that have more action than dialogue; he says he doesn't like it when he has to think because he'd rather be entertained, especially if he has to pay anything to see the film. When we first started dating, I took him to watch High Fidelity, thinking he might get the message. When I asked him what he thought of it, he said it was like watching Star Wars for the first time -- but only if Chewbaca and R2D2 had all the talking parts.

He's actually a really smart guy -- especially if you give him facts and numbers to play with. And he's also quite handy around the house, including inside the kitchen (and he can watch The Food Network all day). We share household chores, and I'm lucky that he does quite well all the things I hate to do (like vacuuming, for instance). We're both lucky that he actually reads the manuals that accompany all the things we buy that have moving parts or need assembling; I'm the sort of person who thinks I'm just going to figure it out through sheer instinct. And the best part is that he's extremely funny; I find myself laughing at his comments all day long (sometimes even guiltily at the un-PC things he says, which he shamelessly says all the time).

My guy's guy never said he wanted to marry me because he loved me, although I always knew he did, just as I'm certain he still does. Like I said earlier, he prefers action over dialogue. Still, once in a while the guy surprises me.

Overheard one amazing afternoon.

Husband: Why don't you just marry the girl?
Friend: Because we live together, so we don't have to. It's the same thing.
Husband: It's not the same thing.
Friend: Why not? We're still committed to each other.
Husband: But the commitment is different. When you're married, it's a whole lot deeper.
Friend: Why would it be any different?
Husband: Have you ever been married?
Friend: No.
Husband: So shut up, you don't know what you're talking about.

My guy, sometimes he really gets it.