The Saliva Tree

A friend of mine once said that the dating scene in Hong Kong is like dating saliva trees. Saliva trees branch out spit in all directions by way of permutation. Meaning, in such a small place, romantic interchanges run amuck, and the person you’re dating could have swapped spit with your best friend, your sister, or your arch nemesis.

In Manila, the dating scene is also a breeding ground for familiar (or in some cases familial) spit-swapping. It’s inevitable. How many times have I found myself sharing a meal with the ex of the ex of the ex-wife of my ex-best friend? I realized that resistance was futile. I succumbed to the incest.

The older you get, the more likely you’ll be sucked in the permutation hole. It’s an incestuous scene as I became a pro in watching my friend’s ex-girlfriend (or fiancée) start dating my buddy’s buddy. I, myself, have been guilty of dating in between friends. In high school, this was looked down upon because in that arena, everyone is a rookie and it was a time to discover new talent. In the roofless modern world, this is called rerun necessity. We’re not in high school anymore and the prom is long over. In this small town, you’ll just have to settle on dating some significant other, your best buddy, or your dormmate which is enough to make you cringe at the closing degrees of separation. If Kevin Bacon caused a stir with his six degrees of separation thing, in Manila more often than not, it’s three degrees of separation.

Though I consider myself pretty numb when it comes to this partner-swapping thing, I still get shocked. Seeing your ex with someone familiar and scandalously unexpected is like having your sister date someone who was knocking boots with your best friend.

However, I think the number one thing to look out for is yourself. When I look at my dating timeline —’tis very scandale. When I think about it, so many of my friends have reveled in our Nero-quality dating bloodline. I had no hand in that — if we’re talking pre-meditated here.

I think I move around a pretty big circle, but in one way or another, this seemingly history-less chap on my right is actually the 1) ex 2) f—k buddy 3) nemesis of somebody in my Nokia phone book.

However, it’s great that I have ex-boyfriends who make the best pals. I think they get a kick out of giving my current beau that "poor chap, we’ve been there" look. When I catch them giving him that look, I swat them on the head and give poor current beau an encore of the look.

This is also a good time to mention that it’s never wise to make enemies in this town. It takes a lot of shit for you to prudently burn bridges with someone. One way or another, the specter of that delilah enemy will appear either on the arm of your buddy or worse, on your current beau’s. Unless you have enough energy to play ice queen the whole night, having enemies is just so tiring. Forget the poignancy of the fall of friendship or a relationship. The overpopulated metropolis has forced us to be politicians and to be aces in the art of diplomacy. I’ve learned never to take sides, because with all these spats, there’s always a reconciliation and you just get the raw end if you play tattle-tale.

The switch happens not only with beaus but with friends and enemies as well. Sometimes a rotten egg in the group gets the boot and finds a home in a rotten egg camp where he or she spends days bashing you and your buddies. In that camp, he or she might find themselves in the company of an ex-nemesis-turned-bosom-buddy. Some people love to call this reversal of fortune as plastic, but really that’s the way it is — it’s evolution. One’s f—k buddy is another man’s true love. One person’s rotten egg, is another’s Fabergé.

So to simplify this complex equation that would make even John Forbes Nash start seeing things to escape this ghastly reality — have a short memory. Ignorance (even if deliberately so) is bliss. After all, it’s all in the family.