“RJ is a newspaper columnist whose humor column, "Pogi from a Parallel Universe" comes out every Wednesday in the For Men section of the Philippine Star, the Editor-in-Chief of UNO Magazine, a seasoned television, events and weddings/debut host and actor."
In Christianity, Jesus was crucified, resurrected and ascended into heaven at the age of thirty-three. In Islam, Muslims believe that the dwellers of heaven exist eternally in a state of being at the age of thirty three. In Vedic cosmology, at the foot of Mt. Sumeru is a heaven called Trayatrimsha where thirty-three gods reside. In Makati City, Philippines, RJ Ledesma entered into holy matrimony at the age of thirty-three. And this would be as close to heaven as he would ever get.
The signs that your wedding day is nigh are when your house is transformed into a makeshift hotel for all your relatives who have poured in from abroad to take part in the ceremonies, when you argue with your parents over inviting relatives whom you thought were only urban legends, and when you are tripping out on pure adrenaline because you’ve been out every night on DOM-sponsored bachelors parties (We just played video games and drank beer. Ask me any more questions and I’m calling my lawyer).
So on the day of my wedding, I tried to create a little sanity in my life by lighting up some sandalwood incense, playing some Ravi Shankar sitar music, and twisting myself into various permutations of a pretzel for an hour and a half. “Breathe deeply,” I could hear my yoga guru saying in my head “Clear you head of thoughts. Be in the now.” But I found it rather difficult to be in the now when my heart was pounding so loud that a deaf man could hear my jackhammer heartbeat.
The wedding was a scant few hours away, and I felt like I was being dragged into a production number that I didn’t get to rehearse for, that hundreds of people would watch and where there would be no repeat performance. I was worried that I wouldn’t be doing the right thing on that altar: should I sit, should I stand, should I kneel, should I do the hokey-pokey and turn myself around? This ceremony had to be perfect – or else. One of my married friends, whose names I cannot reveal for security reasons, warned me right after my engagement, “When your wife is about to dismember you because you did something wrong – you failed to put down the toilet seat, you failed to change the baby’s diaper, you failed to give her endless nights of pleasure,” he cringed “Then show her that perfect wedding video.” He grabbed my shoulder and shook it furiously, “It can save your life, and your limbs. Use it sparingly.” And then he limped away on his wooden leg.
I was finally zooming into the now when my mom burst into the den, decked in three foot high rollers and a mound of cream caked all over her face.
“Anak, anak, anak (My child, my child, my child)!” she proclaimed with her arms wide open. “This is the last day you are going to be all mine!!” She wrapped her arms around me and almost toppled both of us over. “You’re going to leave me na (already)!” she squeezed me so tight that I felt some bones snap.
“Mom, OA ka naman (Mom, you’re being over-the-top). You know I’m not moving out of the house until you make me start paying rent.” I chided her. My mom hugged me even tighter. “You’re going to leave me na, anak.” her voice crumbled. “You’re going to leave me na.”
I felt the heat swelling in my eyes as I hugged my mom back. “I love you very much, mom.” I rasped. And I hugged her even tighter.
“Ok, tama na yan (That’s enough)” she pushed me away, looked upwards and dabbed a tissue on the bottom of her eye, “I have to cry now because I don’t want to ruin my make up during the wedding.” She gave me a smack on the forehead. “And, remember, anak, your firstborn is mine.” she hissed while dashing back to her make up table.
I prayed to God for twins.
On the way to church to sanctify my domestic incarceration, I was suddenly assaulted by mundane thoughts like ‘I forgot to cut my fingernails’ and ‘I hope they don’t show my naked baby pictures during the reception’ and ‘At least I don’t have to go to confession as often anymore’. These musings would have launched a full-frontal attack on my already overworked gray matter if I was not ably distracted by my barkada slash groomsmen slash heterosexual life partners, who had squeezed into the groom’s wedding car. My barkada and I have been group dating since high school, when we thought that we would pledge lifelong allegiance to the No Girlfriends Since Birth (NGSB) fraternity. But our membership had dwindled considerably after we discovered the practical applications of gayuma.
“She’s a fantastic girl, RJ!” Neekee, my moro-moro lawyer barkada exclaimed. “Imagine, she still loves you even after the gayuma wore off. Just remember that when she starts beating you into submission.” he chuckled while adjusting my collar.
“And,” added Irwin, my medical quack doctor barkada, “If you find yourself getting cold feet while walking down the aisle, what you do is,” he paused for dramatic effect, “to feign a heart attack and drop on the floor.” He flailed his arms in the air. “Then while everyone is still in shock, make a run for the church door. I have an escape ambulance waiting for you right outside.”
“Pare, hindi na pwede. (Hey guys, I can’t back out anymore)” I snickered. “May mga regalo na eh (I already have wedding gifts).What will I do with the microwave?”
“Don’t worry,” Neekee chimed in. “I’ll take it.”
We all laughed until we choked on our spittle. Then we held onto each other’s hands in the most masculine way we could. “I don’t understand why my bride wants to ban you from our house.” I moaned while gripping their hands.
Little did I know, there was parallel conversation running between my (hopefully) soon-to-be-bride and her father in her bridal car. With full knowledge of the wedding celebrant and several police officers, her father hogtied the driver, commandeered the wedding vehicle, and drove her up and down the length of EDSA several times.
“Sigurado ka ba sa kanya (Are you really sure about him)?” he observed her eyes to see if she would flinch, “Nasa akin pa yung susi ng chastity belt niya (I still have the key to his chastity belt).”
Her dad shook his head and held her hand. “Are you sure you want to go through n this, anak?” he sighed. “You’re my last unmarried daughter. You don’t know just how much I love you.”
She cupped her dad’s face. “Do you remember what you told me when I was growing up?”
“That you should join a convent?”
“Aside from that, dad!” she slapped him playfully on the cheek. “You always asked me ‘Do you know how much I love you?’”
Her dad grinned.
“I love you up to the sky, dad.” she spread her arms wide. “Because the sky has no limit.” And she hugged her dad snugly. Her dad rubbed his eyes.
“Ok, sweetheart.” He sighed. “But just in case I will keep the engine running.”
I had gone to the bathroom a total of thirteen times before the wedding coordinator stuffed me with an adult diaper, shoved me to the foot of the altar, and nailed my shoes to the floor. “Stop fidgeting already” my brother Rico, the best man, nudged me. “It’ll all be over soon enough.” He chuckled. My head was throbbing, my teeth were chattering and my heart felt like it was going to burst out of my rib cage when the musical strains of Carol Banawa’s Panunumpa – a song that has the mutant power to activate the tear glands – filled the church. After the first few notes, I felt the song’s mutant power working on me. I breathed deeply, whispered a prayer, and glanced towards the entrance of the church. The main church doors were fantatically backlit and I could see my bride’s silhouette peeking through the stained glass. I closed my eyes and lips started to tremble.
When the church doors swung open, I thought my bride would surprise me with some drama. But there were no smoke machines, no midget circus acrobats and no slow moving doves from a John Woo movie. But watching my bride glide down the aisle was dramatic enough. And she glided down like an angel. I wished time would slow to a crawl so that everyone in the church could marvel at how radiant my bride looked that evening. And it almost felt that way as she moved slowly yet regally towards the altar. Later on I found out she moved so slowly because the wedding dress weighed about three hundred pounds.
It took her a good thirty minutes to make her way down the aisle because one of her bible-thumping aunts hopped in front of the walkway and played patintero with my soon-to-be-bride while screeching, “Pray to the Lord! Pray to the Heavens! Pray to God that he is the right one for yooouuu!!!” After my mom had knocked her aunt out with a stiletto heel, we thought that everything would proceed smoothly, except that her dad had feigned a heart attack.
But finally, after three years of dating, mandatory drug tests by her dad, prostrate examinations from her brothers and exorcisms performed by Vatican-accredited priests, here was my earthly reward standing right in front of me.
My eyelids quivered as I tugged ay my brother’s sleeve. “She’s beautiful.” I sighed. My brother smiled. Then from the corner of my eye, I spied my mom glaring at me from the pews. She pursed her lips and wagged her index finger at me “Huwag kang iiyak (Do not cry)!” she growled. “Huwang kang iiyak!”
And that’s when my tear glands burst into torrents of joy. Damn you Carol Banawa.
When I took my bride by the hand into mine and led her to the altar, my world just melted. I felt like I had entered into one of those cinematic dream sequences where everything gets hazy around the fringes of the screen. It was almost like an out-of-body experience where I was watching someone getting married, but I wasn’t quite sure if that person getting married was me: Was this really me reciting those wedding vows? Did that priest really slap me on the cheek (Or was that during confirmation)? Was that really Charice Pempengco really belt out The Prayer? Did my yaya really howl like a banshee when I said ‘I do’? Or did somebody slip something into my water before the ceremony? And then it struck me: This whole wedding thing seems awfully similar to the modus operandi of most kidnap-for-ransom gangs. Think about it, the groom is dazed and confused. They tie him up with a cord, cover his head with a veil, finger-cuff him with a ring, and then he offers up an arrhae as ransom payment. But despite the threats to life and limb, my three female readers, many of us men are happy to be victimized.
As long as none of my productive limbs would be dismembered, I thought it best to just go along with the flow. So just sit. And stand. And kneel. And do the hokey pokey and turn yourself around. And everything should turn out fine. I was finally nudged back from the twilight zone when the priest uttered those magic set of words that I have waited thirty-three years to hear, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Mister and Missus Rene Ledesma!” I smiled from ear-to-ear, “You may now kiss the bride,” I turned to my wife (yes, finally, my wife!), put on some lip balm, puckered my lips and gave her a nice, wet one. And her kiss made me feel like the world’s mightiest mortal.
There’s not much I remember about the subsequent wedding reception except for the hole that it left in my bank account. After all, I was still dazed and confused with regard to my new civil status. But I do remember that I had some cousins too drunk to realize that they were hitting on each other, old married couples who were busy hugging and groping (which was very sweet and very disturbing at the same time), some well-wishers who threatened to turn us into voodoo doll by sticking us with pins loaded with peso bills during our wedding dance, and a senile tita who came up to us and asked us who was getting married.
Before he delivered his wedding toast, her dad, all six feet of him, gently dragged me from my neck me into the bathroom. While he was busy making me kaladkad, I crossed myself and thanked God that I had a new pair of adult diapers. After all, this was the man who had once terrified me back into puberty. The man who had me credit investigated. And the man who gave life to the woman I want to have a basketball team with. He gripped both of his hands on my shoulders, and nodded. “Here, let me undo your chastity belt.” After he had freed up my nether regions, he reached into his tuxedo suit and pulled out a package. “Here’s some edible underwear and A Beginners Guide to Sex Manual.” Her dad grinned. “I want a grandchild, pronto.”
“No problem, uhm” I cleared my throat, “Dad.” I shook his hand vigorously. “As long as she can come home with me tonight.”
When my bride and I plopped down onto our matrimonial bed, all legal-like and church-approved, I turned over to her and excitedly whispered. “There’s one last thing that I have to do.”
Her eyes grew large. “You don’t need that anymore, love. We’re married now!”
I picked up my celphone and held it in front of her face. I scrolled over to her name on my phone’s contact list, and edited her entry. She looked at me and broke out into a smile when my phone finally read ‘Vanessa Ledesma’.
“Wala nang bawian (There’s no more refund).” I snickered. Then I gently lifted her head, and gently kissed my wife on the lips. And this was as close to heaven as I was ever going to get.