Vagina

As I was scrounging through PowerBooks in MegaMall looking for an appropriate gift for a friend’s coming birthday, I decided without giving it much thought to get a book to read for my self. The worst was over in school and I can foresee some excess bandwidth that I can use to read. Then the question made it self plain… What do I get? Feeling a little crazy I decided to tear my self away from my usual haunts and explore areas I normally didn’t dare tread. I considered fiction, or all those new, old, new age books that became in vogue after the ruckus kicked up by The Da Vinci Code, not withstanding the fact that the Gnostic scriptures and all those things had been around for centuries. I moved on and checked out some books in the Filipiniana section and browsed a bit, all those management, leadership, and how to make money books. Then I saw it, having heard all the fanfare and ravings about the play, I considered it for a moment. I had refused to read it before specifically because it was so popular. But now, I asked my self; why not?

Now amidst all my books on computers, history, first aid, and war, will soon sit an odd and seemingly out of place stranger called The Vagina Monologues. I thought about it and realized that I only had two books that were about women, the first was about a young girl called Anne Frank, but that was set against the back drop of war and the holocaust, I did find reading her diary somewhat peculiar, as if I was looking into the private thoughts of girl. It was fascinating. The other was The Joy Luck Club and that was required reading. I guess I chose this book in a desire to understand the fairer sex a bit more. The complexity of a totally different perspective, the absurdity of it all, and the sheer insanity! Now, stay thy wrath…. This is my blog and I will write it as I wish.

Now this isn’t going to be a review nor will I discuss the topics covered or the ideas discussed in the book. If that is what you are looking for then go read the book! I have always considered my self a fairly reasonable and liberal minded person. But here and now I shall confess my guilt. I was once guilty of violence against a woman. I once kicked a classmate in third grade after she poured a bottle full stinking orange juice that smelled more like medicine than juice, over my head. I don’t know if she ever forgave me but she did become my S1, as I ran the CAT Corps during our senior year.

Now I’ve never really viewed women as the weaker sex. By all means I expect that women should be as capable if not more, in any endeavor. I'm not trying to be politically correct nor is this an attempt to win brownie points. In truth and from experience I speak. I had engaged in combat a member of the fairer sex in what is referred to as “Kumite” when I was student of Karate. To make the story short, she beat the crap out of me.

I was by no means a weakling, I had a nasty roundhouse kick that had on several occasion caused the hook and chain that held up my punching bag to break and for it to fall to the ground. I could deliver a side kick higher than my head, and I worked out on my punching bag at times till my bandaged knuckles nearly bled.

I could try to rationalize that she had beaten me because I was being considered for promotion to yellow belt while she was about to don a black belt not to mention that she was the daughter of the head instructor. I could also add that I had an accident three days before and had a lot of cuts and bruises on my legs. But I had taken down a competent brown belter before and I was no stranger to injury. So what happened?

Maybe it was her cute and pretty face that left me seemingly in a swoon laid vulnerable and open to attack. She stalked me as predator would its prey. She watched every movement of my hands and feet anticipating and parrying every half hearted move I made, while I could only look into those beautiful eyes and pretty face. I barely extended my legs to its full length when I threw a kick and I doubt if my punches would even hurt a girl scout. It seemed like all she needed to do was purse her lips and bat her eyes and it would have the same effect as a baseball bat wielded by a 250 lbs hitter for the New York Yankees. I did land a few lucky punches which infuriated her even more. Sufficing to say I was doomed.

It is often said the end is not known at the beginning. That is true here for I don’t really have an idea what I am writing about and why I chose that title. I guess this is an ode to women; strong and powerful yet graceful and sublime.