Strange Little F Word

Inamin na ni Gretchen Barretto na totoo ang kumalat na litrato sa internet na nagpapakitang naghahalikan sila ng aktor na si John Estrada ngunit itinatanggi nito na mayroon silang relasyon ng aktor. Sa pamamagitan ng kanyang manager na si Boy Abunda, isiniwalat nito ang katotohanan sa likod ng kontrobersyal na mga litrato sa programang ‘The Buzz’ ng ABS-CBN kagabi. Ayon kay Abunda, hindi itinatanggi ni Gretchen na siya talaga at si John ang nasa litrato. - from scads of scandal sheets, blogs and tiresome telecasts

Hardly anyone is talking about fidelity anymore. It’s one of those quaint, old-fashioned, naive notions that went extinct with Betamax, home-cooked meals and cassette tapes. Mention fidelity to a potential date and you’d be stared at the same concentration as a three day fungal growth while warning gongs erupt everywhere in his head. You might as well be Kathy Bates in Misery.

Wedding anniversaries are suspect: what is wrong with these people? How can they stand each other for such a long time without sliding into homicide? Are they deeply masochistic? These mystified thoughts usually precipitate from the very skeptical ones who got weaned from Hollywood weddings where the bridal gown’s train is longer than the marriage. Oftentimes these come quick among those who can’t hold their own end of the bargain.

You can’t be blamed, you say to yourself. You have scars to show for trustfulness. Several bruises later you smarten up. You coat your affection with cynical detachment. Every strand of hopefulness is self-pruned. Distrust becomes your primordial antibody; the confidence of unlimited potential partners out there being your ultimate justification. The question is: Who are we deluding anyway? At what point does our recklessness come to a proper halt?

Sometimes you remind yourself this is the selfish generation; a generation not briefed to the virtues of restraint and self deprivation. Instant gratification is the tenet to live by, and the wounds gushing behind every footstep are coldly chalked off to experience.

Indeed it is a generation so desperate for connections yet guardedly isolated. An inspired, keen ad by Kenneth Cole puts it thusly: "People spend more time in chatrooms than the bedroom. "

This is the generation of people making out in crowded dance floors with one eye fixed on the door in hope that something better will barge in. This is the generation of people hugging while secretly wishing their arms are so much longer. Personal space is everything—so is the thirst for thrilling new stimulations to stab off boredom. In constant pursuit! The Excitement! That Spark!

It is a burning generation where fondness is disguised by steam. Sex is more of a commodity, a transaction. A mutual relief. A handshake. Passion is a flaw; detachment is a basic, instinctive, and an essential survival aptitude.

Whatever happened to fidelity? It’s like dreaming for magic while erecting fences of jadedness all around.

Not dissimilar to rummaging around for penguins in the sands of Sudan. It may not be there but one furtively hopes all the same. And in that imagined hopefulness lays our shared yearning for old-fashioned faithfulness.

Knowing its nonexistence brings nothing but unjustifiable emptiness.