she was noontime tv wunderkind. the manila noontime tv of ribald ripostes, tawdrier beauty pageants, and comedy bits that almost always involved a slushy meringue pie.
in a beauty pageant gaga country, aiza seguerra, proletarian in complexion and affecting no exclusive catholic pre school twang, was a long shot at the title of little ms. philippines, a beauty pageant for bored, talentless toddlers with overly ambitious mothers, staged even up to now by the country's longest running noontime tv show. as expected, she didn't snag the crown but she captured the producers' affection.
at under six years old and having had no previous gigs at hosting rambling noontime shows, aiza was tapped to play foil against the formidable comedic trio of tito, vic and joey whose combined showbiz experience at that time was around a quarter of a century already.
the bits starring aiza are now legendary. she would field the trio some homespun riddle. then one by one, the aging comedians would over-act their way at being stumped. finally, this young wit, waddling still in gait, would lordly grab the center stage and floor everybody with her left of field answers.
then she grew up and the show had no need anymore for a dusky girl who strangely enough was growing more butch looking than ever. after a hiatus of probably a decade, she burst back to the scene with a humongous pop hit. she now transformed herself into the sentimental singer-songwriter mold with a strong pop sensibility. and confirming the fears of some of her fans, she now was openly lesbian in a country that prides itself as being the only christian nation in asia.
this weekend, two of my manila friends kicked off their all important sabado night at the naughty string bar, a nightspot owned and named without so much irony by the now entrepreneur aiza. in a spiel during one of her sets, aiza intimated to the crowd that she plans to migrate to the states with her special friend chet. in the gay friendly crowd, no one questioned her desire to leave the country.
growing up gay in a former american colony, nothing else spoke more pressingly to my dream of being accepted, warts and all, than making it here to the heart of the empire. the empire of my childhood myths, the empire of freedom, of tolerance and of the inalienable right to the pursuit of happiness.
but the america of my daily scramble remains one big tough conundrum to crack. just a train ride away from my building is a gay town of go go boys and musty leather bars. but coming from homophobic bronx, I first have to swagger like a ghetto thug in the subway before I can have the freedom to take off my bulky down jacket, exposing the tight shirt i have under, screaming to breathe fabulously upon reaching gay-as-christmas chelsea.
in the recent elections, there is no gainsaying that the reelected president was carried by the evangelical christian vote that overwhelmingly rejects the proposition of gay marriage in all the states it was up for in the ballot. this christian nation can never grow the heart to accept the so called sin of gayness much as up to now it still doesn't have the soul to grapple with its past sins of slavery.
aiza, my dear, you remember the time when you were still this small? when you had all the answers to the knottiest riddles there were in our care choked life in manila?
baby, take stock of them. spool them around a hard bobbin and even before your guitar, before your ratty shirts, pack it first into your gay luggage if you really must leave manila.
upon reaching the empire, just tell the customs people you are into some kind of down home needlework, the kind some of these so-called christians suffused with christ love do in their spare time in middle america. never tell them what i'm about to tell you now, that you are going to need this to floss your way into the labyrinthine heart of the empire placqued with curdling hatred for our kind.