Jennifer Wins

The wife wins! The wife always wins!

Why so?

Well, he married her, didn't he? You don't promise to spend forever with someone if she never had value in the first place (well, in my book at least). He just needed to be reminded, that's all.

Reminded that she is as square as square is? That she is a coward and never won any battles? That he knows every inch of her body, hence, nothing left to discover?

Yes, yes and yes. She is square, true, but only because she is fair and her sense of justice is equal to her own. She never won any battles because she was never in one. She maneuvers away from the problem before it even becomes one. It is not her nature to quarrel. And as for her body, it is his familiarity to it that breeds fondness to his heart. It is the same familiar taste of a first kiss, the same familiar hurt of a first broken heart that healed through time, the same familiar pride for the first victory, the same familiar road that he treads on when he wants to be home.

She couldn't be enough, she just couldn't be. What of his lust to discover the world? Of his plans of saving lives? Of his urge to run with the silverbacks in Kenya? Of his dream to re-write history and change the world? What of those?

He can still do those, I am sure. She will not fight him. She will stand behind him like how she has always have, without his knowing. He was just too preoccupied to look at the person who urged him forward.

Then it is the end then?

Oh no, I am sure there will be more stories to tell but for now, this chapter has ended. The wife wins and Angelina falls.

And the other woman? What will become of her now?

She is probably licking her wounds right now but no need to worry. Those wounds are as simple as her brain. She'll live.

Her And Her

I suppose that other woman is a real skirtful of hell. And when I say skirtful of hell, I say it with enough admiration as I can master. Where else can he find someone who can make you feel like a king every minute of the day? Who fetches his slippers every time he comes home to her and ensures that the pair fitted his wandering feet perfectly? Who willingly plans out his itineraries? Who, without blushing, can make his heart stop to dance the seven veils? Where else really?

You are asking me where else? At his home and no where else! Where he will find his wife who waits as patiently as she always have. She may not be as interesting (or complicated if I will have my way with it) as that other woman but she is fascinating just the same. Her noble hands, rough and calloused as they may be, they mended broken things and carried him to bed when he was too drunk to walk. Her jaw can withstand a hundred blows more. She will happily carry those cherubs in her womb if given a chance.

True, true but new things have a certain shine in them though. So unlike old things, tattered and worn out or may have outlived their purpose.

Old things have character and have proven their worth. Sure, they can easily be stacked somewhere dusty and might even be forgotten but eventually we will look for them again one day to use or even recycle. And let us not forget, new things do not always stay new.

Are we still talking about the women in his life? Or are we talking about the clothes we salvaged?

Hahahaha. The women, of course!

Ah yes, the women. I have this to say though about that other woman. She loves him and she will not let go. She is determined to win the battle at all cost.

So is his wife. She loves him and this may be her first time to fight this kind of battle but she will fight. With arms and teeth if need be, I daresay!

How can you be certain? Does she know about the other woman?

Sadly, no.

There is no means of knowing if she will really fight then? With not knowing, she is already losing the battle.

Then maybe someone should tell her?!?

Hush you old hag and keep your nose out of their business. This is how far as we can get in meddling with the messy affair. Let him be a real man once and for all. It's his story to tell, not ours.

I doubt if he will be man enough to do that.

Happy?

Two Old Hags Gossiping In Colon

It might just be a disaster waiting to happen. An accident bound to wreck principles that have long stood as a foundation to what he fought for. But it is inevitable. He met her at a point where he thought his purpose was for something else, an innocent introduction led to a simple note and now he has a whole journal filled with secrets exchanged with the woman who he thinks might be the one.

But what about her? The other woman, the first one who stood in line for him while the sun's ray almost burned his skin, what of her? Is she that easy to discard? Like a little tent that anyone can dismantle and then store in a cabinet filled with dusts for safekeeping, only to be pulled out again for future use? What a sad state.

Maybe the well is dry now. Maybe he is tired and wants something else. Maybe what was enough is no longer enough. Old sheets need to be changed with fresh, crisp ones. Cigarettes turn stale. Clothes dictate change now and then. Even eyes go blind through time. You can see it in him. He rattles his keys absentmindedly, bites his nails like how masochists wait for blood and that smile---the smile that is meant for another.

I still think he is making a mistake. I hope someone knocks some sense into that thick skull of his. Did he not make a promise? Not just to her but to himself, that he will spend forever with her. She is perfect for him. She is all there is and that can be. How dare he!

But he is a man after all, despite his many claims. And he will not be able to stop that train from coming. It will come at its supposed time, supposed place. He will not stand a chance, fate has other plans for him.

Silly, silly man!

Who are we to argue with love? Maybe that meeting was a test. Maybe, maybe not. Oh well, it's best to leave it at that and wait for the next chapter of the story. For now, we have dried fish to sell to gullible tourists.