It is the dream of every woman, however caustic she may be, to hear these three words: I love you.
Suddenly the sky is permanently pink, strangers become new friends and KC and the Sunshine Band are undyingly playing on loop in your brain. You are in that sunny place between being happy and orgasmic. It’s frisson.
However, those words can prove to be a mofo, dispensed the wrong way.
A good friend of mine went out on a date. The conversation was a year late of having any substance, but as the cocktails came in they suddenly found each other’s company fascinating. This fine rapport continued on until it hit an ebb. The booze charm wore off when my friend decided to swap her mojitos for orange juice.
She decided to let the night take its course, but she was pretty sure that, although it was a fun date, they were both too different to have a promising future. Her date knew this as well. He spent the entire evening talking about his mother and ex-girlfriend, after all, but his devil-may-care attitude took over as he swept her into a deep and entrancing kiss inside his car, It wasn’t a good kiss — he was probably thinking of his ex as he swooped upon her and she was thinking of where she could find a 24-hour Starbucks nearby so she could shake off the last of the Grey Goose in her system. As much as they found each other “nice,” the chemistry was as base as it could be.
Listen, any guy, no matter how blah the situation is, would still want to get laid. So the kisses grew more fervent and my friend slowly started forgetting about the Grande Chai Latte from Starbucks and enjoyed the moment.
He whispered in her ear: “I love you.” My friend suddenly felt that he was going to strangle her at any moment with the seatbelt of his car. “It was one of the creepiest moments of my life,” my friend confided. “It felt like I was inside this basement and then the lights go off. I just couldn’t wrap my brain around what was happening. I was scared!” Then he went to town with the hyperbolic sweet nothings: “Let’s make babies” and “We’re family,” in between bear hug cuddles.
I assured my friend that he wasn’t a stalker, but more of a player (Pinoy style). For the first time in her life she was making out with “that” guy, the guy who would say anything to get laid. She’d heard of them, like a unicorn, mythical and controversial. She couldn’t believe that in this day and age, this game was still being played. It was like trading stickers or drinking Sarsi with eggs. That night she saw the unicorn turn into an elephant. The elephant being very, very awkward, awkward, awkward.
As my friend was telling me this, I felt a rush of déjà vu. My ex-boyfriend used those lines on me! I called my ex-boyfriend who tried to get me through subterfuge. He admitted to using those lines but only to see what kind of girl I was and he swore that he wasn’t there to get laid. I told him the getting laid excuse was far more flattering. After we shared our first chaste kiss while watching Oprah (it felt like a sweet high school kiss), he told me wanted to have kids with me. I didn’t take it well. He said that, when he saw me freak like a pig headed to the slaughter, he knew right then and there that I was “the one.”
I asked why he would say something so effed up. He told me that I’d be surprised how many girls fall for it. “It hits everyone, from models with low-self esteem to heiresses who studied abroad.” He added: “There are more of them than there are of you.”
Who would have thought freaking out like a barn animal would be such a turn-on?
These are right out of the pages of the Filipino Playboy Playbook, where emosogynist men prey on vulnerable women. The real Filipina woman takes eons to romance and when they finally do give in, God flips a coin regarding their destiny. It’s either they really do get the huggy “I love you” lover or a pathological liar whose lies range from “I love you” to “I’m just really good friends with her.”
Whatever these loathe-rios are saying, the better question to ask is what kind of women are responding to this?
My immediate answer is: those 30-something women who still clothe their toy dogs. I was guilty of that crime during my early 20s. The dog is the Hope Diamond for any woman who can hear her biological clock so loudly that it sounds like house music.
Another category includes those who hate dating. Dating is like pulling teeth: trying to find that connection, the question of who will pay the bill, will he say with fervor that he loves The Real Housewives, will he be on his BBM the whole time and will he try the “I love you” in the next four hours? The worst part of it is wondering if he will call you back. Yes, it’s the rejection that puts most women off dating. The expedited “I love you” heals all future wounds. Of course, this only holds true when you’re living over the arc of a rainbow.
I hate dating. I love hanging out and getting it straight to the point. It’s my controlling side. I’m more tiger than gazelle. There is a side of me that is very specific and a lot of boys find this truculent at best. Although, I am not the chick who falls for baby-making pickup lines. I can see how this declaration, pre-coitus, can make a girl giddy.
For the younger and naïve ones, hearing those words makes them feel secure and immune to the ho-bag virus. They are cherished and valued — until, of course, the next day when it seems that their phone number is neither cherished nor valued. They fall for it because… why shouldn’t they? It’s all those Hollywood rom-coms, I swear.
My ex even told me to watch for this one sign: the overcuddle and kiss on the forehead. Shit like that happens when the guy meets your parents. It’s just not what you usually have in the beginning of a relationship. There’s borrowing of toothbrushes and picking up clothes from the floor, but forehead kisses are serious business. It happens when he really falls in love with you or to punctuate an amicable breakup.
Guys have caught on to this one. Filipinos are famous for being emosogynists. For the traditional Filipino playboy, it’s not enough to just get booty; they need these girls to fall in love with them as quickly as possible. They show their soft side and that makes you feel special. Then: boom.
However, take comfort that there are men who treat casual relationships as such. This doesn’t roll well with a lot of ladies because the promise of true love hangs over them like a sparkly pink cloud. Biologically, women are just not meant to do booty calls. It can be fun at first, but after a few trysts, they’ll want dinners out or want to have long existential conversations.
This is when it goes from casual to black tie.
Even if it seems that the world is working out quite well for the godless Jezebels, women can still be women. There are so many ways for a woman to value herself. A must for any woman is to have a job. Even if it’s just filing papers or working at an NGO for free. You just need to do something you’re proud of. As Diane Von Furstenberg said, “The greatest relationship you will ever have is with yourself.” Then you can really weed out the bullshit. When I was down and unemployed, the guys I dated reflected my confidence crisis. I remember my crises not through incident, but with who I was dating at that time.
Two rules on what to do if you’re in a funk: Don’t drink and don’t hook up. Don’t look for any I love you’s, go ahead and just love yourself. Don’t let that Peaches song be your anthem. You know what I’m talking about.