The other night was unusually hectic, socially speaking. A fashion show and reception at 4 pm, followed by a farewell drinks party from 8 pm to whenever, in two different cities 35 minutes away from each other.
Anyway, the fashion show, in which I participated as a reluctant model, patriotism clearly over-riding common sense, featured the stunning jewel-toned wraps and tops made from delicate yet sturdy banana silk fibers by Manila designer Dita Sandico-Ong, who was en route to Cape Town.
UPDATE: Dita's merchandise - around $12,000 worth, was stolen from her car in Cape Town. Welcome to Crime Central...
The it was back to Joburg for a party at a venue which turned out to be the ultimate frat boy's hangout. It was wall-to-wall university students and those who wished to relive their university days, plus girls who've never had to diet a day in their lives - yet - all chugging down beers and Jagermeister shots. Most of them were old enough to be my children, had I actually shed enough of my ingrained Catholic guilt in my late teens, I might have actually given birth to one of them. As it is, that Catholic guilt and the fear of my parents' fury kept me chaste for some time after my teenage years.
Perhaps some boys were looking for their Mrs Robinson experience, and one boy in particular started chatting me up. Now, everyone always thinks I'm American and asks me where in America I'm from. My new answer is Brokeback Mountain. So anyway, this guy persists, wants to know which state, which town, which street in the whole of America I'm from, and finally I tell him I'm a little brown American all the way from Flipland. As it happens, he's been to Flipland many times, and emboldened by alcohol, starts gushing about what lovely people we are, so nice, so beautiful, so charming - hello - it's not called where Asia wears a smile for nothing! He even remembers the visa queues outside the US Embassy!
And then it turns out he's been to the country countless times because he works on a ship. When I ask him how old he is, he turns coy. Since I probably am old enough to be his mother I demand to see his ID and he refuses, albeit with a smile. He thinks I'm 12 years younger than I really am, which of course is immensely flattering, but no Asian chick really looks her age, let's be honest. Anyway, he finally admits he's 22. I tell him. Dude, it's time to start using moisturizer. The woman beside me - herself a gorgeous mother of a 22-year old bursts out laughing.
At any rate, going to the bathroom was like going back to high school. A line of skinny girls wait their turn. I realize that the skimpiness of their tops is in direct proportion to the thickness of their mascara. As I leave, a girl enters, tears streaming down her face. She is hysterical, sobbing into the shoulder of a friend, saying, "But I tried so hard to chill, I tried so hard not to be such a needy girlfriend..."
Like I said, welcome back to high school!
Earlier, at the fashion show, one woman began to tell me about how she was wanting out of her marriage of 25 years. She was on a spiritual journey she said, to find herself.
Oh, the infectious charm of Eat Pray Love, where every woman above 30 now thinks that she needs to embark on a spiritual journey to find herself, preferably by traveling around the world. While perfectly valid, such statements make me cringe, if only because life in itself IS a journey - and you don't need to find yourself because "yourself" ends up finding you when you're good and ready.
At least my friend Celeste is more candid about her material and spiritual longings. She says she wants to go to an ashram to lose weight and connect with her soul.
And my friend Trish says, she traveled the world for 12 years to escape herself, but the darned thing wouldn't go away!
"she traveled the world for 12 years to escape herself, but the darned thing wouldn't go away!"
That's a real good one ;)
Posted by: Mrs.T | March 14, 2008 at 01:59 AM