Better alone

Last week, a dear friend of mine, RJ Ledesma, invited me to the launch of his newest baby, Uno magazine. Naturally, I was excited, because it promises to be a cutting-edge men’s mag with people like Erwin Romulo and Juan Caguicla onboard.

But then it hit me. Shucks! I would have to go alone. Horrors! 

There have been many instances in the past when I was invited to events that I had to pass up simply because, for some reason or other, I would have had to attend unescorted. And among the dinosaurs of my generation, going solo is considered social suicide.

I do have the chutzpah to venture out alone once in a while; in fact, I often crave the solitude. But I usually never go further than having lunch with only my thoughts and a good book. These solitary outings are always capped by unsolicited comments from total strangers at nearby tables. Things like: “Ay, kawawa naman siya, magisa. Wala sigurong kaibigan yan.” And so I have always looked forward to my travels, when long lunches and cold afternoons of sitting alone in cafés bring the liberation that social convention here at home denies many.

I pondered the predicament of whether or not to attend the magazine launch and decided to ambush another good friend, Sari, and impose myself upon her plans for that evening. Thankfully, she was planning to attend the same function so she agreed to be my date for the night.

Sari’s line of work dictates that she grace several functions in a day with her presence, almost seven days a week, for purposes of networking, to honor obligations, and also to enjoy the company of friends. We started the evening early as we had to hop over to three places that night. 

The first thing that struck me at the first event was the endless string of people who were braving the spot-lit, red-carpeted entrance, complete with throngs of paparazzi clicking away, all by their lonesome — unescorted, unafraid, and so beautifully turned out in the best of fashion and casual attitudes.

Wow! I thought to myself, I could never do that: walk in alone like a rock star, complete with the self-confidence, the swagger, and the attitude that would put Mick Jagger to shame. 

Off we went to the second party. And guess what? Same phenomenon. People of all ages (from jailbait to centennials), all genders (male, female, gays and lesbians) and all shapes and sizes (tall, lean, short, round, shapely and utterly shapeless) strutted in alone like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Where have I been? I asked myself. When did this start happening? When did going solo become so cool?

Our final stop was at Nuvo late in the evening and we were fortunate enough to have caught Manila’s “Mr. Night Life” himself, Louie Ysmael, high society’s Disco King, now better known as the ambassador of all things cool and fierce. He joined us at our table briefly and regaled us with all that is remarkable and dynamic these days. 

We were collectively mulling over the age difference between us, seated all together at that inconspicuous corner table by the aircon, and the rest of the patrons who were mostly young enough to be our nephews, nieces and children.

During our generation, people were more like wolves; we moved in packs, wary of being seen alone lest people thought we were pathetic losers who couldn’t even score a single companion to spend the evening with. Only the occasional, highly evolved man dared pull off such a stunt. This time, though, those who promenaded by our table and all across the room looked merry, yes, whether sober or otherwise, and accompanied only by their id and their ego.

How cool is that? I asked myself again, in the quiet of my mind. I want to be like that. 

Holding that thought, I asked Louie about his wife of many years, Cecille, the talented, gifted chef who has been providing Manila with unforgettable meals in her famed restaurants, Silk and Terrace.

“Where’s Cecille? Please ask her to join us.”

“She’s on her way home from the restaurant now. She’s tired,” Louie begged off.

Understandably so. Being the nosy person that I am, I proceeded to pry into Louie’s life and said, “You’re alone again, Lou. Are you happy?”

Ever the gracious gentleman that he is, he humored me and answered, “Of course I’m happy. Cecille and I are very happy. We both have our commitments, we attend to business separately, but together, we couldn’t be better.”

Well-said. I wonder how many husbands can honestly deliver such a line with the same confidence and earnestness that Louie did.

“You’ve always been so comfortable being alone, right, Lou? I mean, you work the room like the you’re one who’s having the most fun. That’s why people flock to your joints.” I tried to sum up what I thought has kept him at the top of his game for decades.

“I’ve been doing this forever,” he chuckled. “There’s that comfort level. It’s my business, my work. I need to do it well.”

But what most resonated with me out of everything Louie said that night was this one line: “There’s this saying in Spanish which I live by,” he said. “It goes: ‘Mejor solo que mal accompanado.’ In English it translates to, ‘Better alone than in bad company.’”

All these years I had bullied friends and family to escort me to functions I wouldn’t have dreamed of missing. Even if I was certain that they would be awful company — boring, obnoxious, or plain comatose. All these years that I had resorted to temper tantrums, bribery, blackmail and even physical assault such as pinching to coerce them to join me could well have been avoided. All I needed was to realize that, indeed, the best companion one can have is a healthy ego, an inner peace, and a solid sense of self that doesn’t require the buffer that a posse of friends can provide, and an appetite for fun and adventure to anticipate all the possibilities, even the magic, that any evening out may bring.

Of course, a flute of excellent champagne doesn’t hurt either. Cheers!

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Thank you for your letters. You may reach me at cecilelilles@yahoo.com or visit my blog at www.fourtyfied.blogspot.com.