‘cindi-fucking-rella!’, exclaimed laura san giacomo playing kit de luca in pretty woman. we all laughed because we understood. when asked who we know gets his or her happy ending, it seems profanity is not only called for, it’s hilarious.
lately, i have given this issue much thought. not only because i realised i have found the one i’d want to share ever after with. ironically, because there were numerous occasions in recent past i felt i have lost him.
so boo-fucking-hoo, poor little old me. right? (i don’t know about you but not having my happy ending, rather than just questioning who has, is a better excuse for vulgarity.) you’re probably thinking, we all go through the up’s and down’s of relationships. what can i possibly add to the discussion that sappy love songs we tirelessly sing in karaoke’s have not overdone and turned into cliché?
except that it’s mine. and since i’m the one feeling the blues everyone else is excluded. it’s extremely isolating. and against reason, i feel like i’ve been broken like no other person has been broken before.
when considering my latest relationship angst, my friend g in his unique brand of wisdom told me, ‘snowhite had to swallow a poisoned apple and die. ariel had to lose her voice. fiona had to turn into an ogre. all these for a happy ending. even in fairy tales, they did some hard work. who do you think you are that you expect real life should be any easier?’
for the butch men who can’t relate, let me translate my friend’s astuteness. snowhite’s prince had to accept that his beloved was cohabitating with seven cute little men before him. prince eric almost married the sea witch. shrek had to fight a dragon. but perhaps closer to real life, belle’s prince had to turn into a beast before finding his humanity. clearly, no matter what side of the gender fence you relate to, the road to happiness is paved in hell.
last night my friend id reminded me of desiderata. you know, strive to be happy. in our unspoken agreement, it was clear that what desiderata did not explain is that ‘striving’ is actually going through the sham, drudgery and broken dreams.
despite all these, here i am again. hoping that somehow things will turn out right.
don’t get me wrong. i know that richard gere will never climb up my fire exit (especially when the house i live in doesn’t have one) with his umbrella and a bunch of flowers, pledging his love. but it doesn’t have to be richard gere. i never really found him all that attractive. after all, i’m not a prostitute who looks like julia roberts (despite my intermittent, not-so-secret wish to be so). still, i’ve always believed that if i believe, someday i’ll have my fairy tale.
and like my heartache, this faith in happy endings is mine.
quick, give me that poison apple.