Love in the time of corruption
Dear Tiya Dely,
Help! Confused lover here, though some might say I’m just your regular Jesuit-educated, middle-class Manila fuckboy. But really, I’m an incorrigible romantic on this quest to find “The One.” As a result, I keep falling in love, again and again, and often with two people at the same time.
Love is an act of will, I know. That’s what we were taught in Philosophy 101. I’m not so sure I believe that anymore. Because I did not will myself to love all three women. Yes, I know. Three women. And I swear to God I am not playing either one of them. They just came into my life unexpectedly, and I fell madly in love with each of these beautiful, amazing women for all the special qualities they bring to my life.
As you can imagine, managing three relationships at the same time is a logistical nightmare, but juggling two majors in college (and graduating cum laude) prepared me well for situations such as these. Nothing a spreadsheet can’t fix. I’m fortunate that all these ladies are independent women, not at all clingy, so we give each other a lot of space, which makes the moments we are together (separately, of course) really matter.
I must have a type, though, because my three loves all happen to be influencers. The most hardworking young ladies on the planet, stylish beyond words, and truly and deeply committed to creating content. So, of course, they like to do things with such panache, from flying first class (or private) and staying at only the best hotels—Villa Magna in Madrid is a favorite, by the way—and eating at the finest restaurants, where the bill can sometimes run to the equivalent of P750,000, to splashing out on quota bags at Hermès and, of course, sparkling with massive rocks on their fingers and earlobes. What’s the name of that exceedingly rare stone called again? Paraiba, is it? A cool million it costs. Dollars. I do love my princesses. They deserve to be spoiled.
I’m a car guy myself, and, well, it’s taken a while, but I’m starting to convince my girlfriends that a top-of-the-line luxury vehicle is a worthy investment (they say the Birkin does better at resale). We’re talking serious wheels here: Lamborghini, Maserati, Ferrari, Porsche, and Bentley. It’s always been a dream of mine to build a basement garage to house the 40 cars I plan to collect. I’m thinking a limited-edition model Rolls-Royce. The one that comes with an umbrella. So handy, you know, when it rains.
And, man, tell me about it. This climate change business, really. Will it ever stop flooding in this country?
Two of my lady loves are daddy’s girls. Which means I have a lot to live up to if I want to convince their fathers I’m worthy of their daughters’ love and respect. I mean, talk about a real-live ATM. Whatever my girlfriends want—an apartment at Horizon Homes, a spa weekend in the Maldives, a rare early Joya—Daddy provides. In cash. Makes things easier. No paper trail, no sifting through credit card bills at the end of the month. Besides, you know how they say cash is king when the economy is in turmoil. Well, my uncle was telling me about this economics professor he had, a woman who even became president of the country once. She said, “Cash or gold.” She should know; she and her husband amassed mountains of both.
Girlfriend Number Three is perhaps the most bewitching of them all, perhaps even more elusive, but so full of heart. She’s still married, you see. He works in dairy, apparently. Some kind of big cheese. His expertise is milking. Anyway, she and I only really get to spend time with each other whenever she goes to New York, Paris, and Milan for fashion week.
But it’s getting a bit tricky; we now just do the couture shows in Paris, since Girlfriend One and Girlfriend Two have also decided they want to do fashion week. It’s fantastic for their personal brands, though they still turn to their respective ATM Daddies to fund their trips and their shopping sprees. Number Three has her hubby. They all buy so much that in Europe, they have to get to the airport five hours early to process their VAT refunds. I kid you not.
What do their fathers do, you ask? One of them is a party specialist. And the other is… I forget. All I know is that he is very mindful of his duties, assessing and collecting them. Such hardworking men they are, so devoted to their families and their many homes. And so generous, always stuffing cash into suitcases to be dropped off at their favorite charities. They’re especially solicitous when it comes to the underlings who work for them, like the engineers and undersecretaries. Even the guy who runs this classy wine bar, that’s their favorite hangout, is often a beneficiary of their largesse. I can only aspire to balance work, family, and philanthropy with the same breezy confidence. They make it look so effortless.
So now that you know my situation, here’s my dilemma: Which saint do I name my construction company after? I’m thinking Martin.
Drowning in love,
K. Racot
