I hate to be the bearer of bad news. The following account is an update in the love life of a friend. We are friends in the sense that we share the obligatory act of observing and maintaining fellowship, brotherhood and sisterhood in Church context… oh, i hope you get the point!

I would like to believe that we are friends since there had been a sharing of secrets and disclosing of private and personal matters in the past and heretofore… I’m willing to be his friend, for one. I just don’t know the case in his part.

Remember Gael? The one with a wife who “ran away”? Well, I thought that the running away was just a metaphorical act, but during these pasts few days, the running away had been literal, real,  and actual. Gwyn Suarez – Bravurachos “ran away”, and flirted with another man. She now has what we call, a third party at her disposal – a boy toy whom she can do certain things to and with…

Gael declares that he is now single, though technically, he is still married. He initially denied the possibility of having another man involved in the rift between his wife and him. He said, “That’s impossible! Gwyn won’t do that to me. She told me that whenever a guy sends flirty signals at work, she affronts him with blatant refusal.” He further added, “…and I believed her.” Gael seemed content and blissful in that illusory bubble. I decided not to prick and burst that bubble for fear that he might not be able to take the blow. The truth was that… I smelled it even before he did. I knew trouble was brooding somewhere…

There was something in Gwyn’s manner and ways that was off-putting. Perhaps it was in the way she once wore a body-conforming red mini-dress with pin-heels to church one Sunday… Perhaps it was in the hem of that bar-appropriate garb that rises higher and higher to inappropriate and discomfitting heights whenever she swayed and lulled her very irritated infant boy… perhaps it was in the way she tripped and fell face-down on the floor because her high-heels could no longer bear her weight and her baby’s.

Somehow,  I reacted to these certain bits of distracting observation- I, who usually do not mind what one wears to church as long as one carries oneself with poise, decency,  and a tad of taste, at least. Perhaps I just don’t get how a mother would think of wearing a thigh-high “blouse” and not have anything underneath it except for a scanty panty covering, and wear it to church… and sit at the front row pew -nearest the aisle -for everyone to see… and to subject herself to all sorts of scrutiny while the husband – her husband – is looking pathetic, pitiable,  stupid,  idiotic, blank, and exhausted at the back row pew…

It seems that there are people who cannot help themselves when in the moment of indulging in unbridled freedom. Maybe the allure of freedom is just way too fancy and flashy to miss, that sometimes, people can’t help but allow themselves to be swayed by swag Mr. Temptation.

Poor Gael. He never should’ve married that…

I really have a soft spot and partiality for the inconvenienced, bullied, disadvantaged, challenged, slighted, and mistreated. I can’t help taking sides and feel biased. In this case, I resent my kind – the woman. Why is she such a bitch in this story? Why does she leave all the nasty bits to the slighted husband while she flirts, debauches, and fornicates? Why has she some balls to betray, ill-use, mistreat, and disappoint her loved ones? How can she swallow such insensitivity and apathy and nonchalance? How can she dismiss this as a simple matter and treat her marriage as if it was just a temporary escape from impending humiliation? Her marriage redeemed her, but she took it for granted.

Nothing is sacred anymore, it seems. Not even the things we asked God to be sacred.  We just keep falling short… we just keep falling from grace…

She might have forgotten how to care and love, but that is not an excuse to run away from her responsibilities as a mother and as a partner to someone who also needs help – to someone she vowed to “help” through sickness and in health… better or worse…

Weak… weak… weak…

Promises,  she can’t keep!

It is in occasions like this that I am ashamed to be one among the stereotyped “weaker sex”.

But then again, we humans are just being humans, huh?


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