LUST WAS the least of the variety of feelings I had kibitzing during the screening of contestants to the Bikini Open project of best friend Sonny Lopez.
What? No more raging conflagration in the loins?
It must be the age.The matter in the cranium taking premium over the fire in the scrotum. Viewing the female form roused the sense of the aesthetic, nary stirred the erotic. It was more of Renoir, Michelangelo, even Picasso and Gauguin. None of Hefner, Flynt or XXX whatsoever.
So who was it who crowed “Age does not matter so long as the matter does not age”? Lying, he certainly was.
And the geriatric Lothario who sneered at being called a DOM thus: “Dirty, yes. Old, never!” Bloated with hot air, he most assuredly was.
If it is not age, then it could be the mind too preoccupied with readings on meditation: transcendental and spiritual, Hindu, Buddhist and Christian.
So with all that exposed flesh, did I make like a yogi contemplating all those navels, to plumb the depths of the human mind in search of my Nirvana?
How I wished! But then I am still stalled in the breathing exercises. And cannot get as yet the proper rhythm of the mantra Om Ah Hum Vajra Guru Padma Siddhi Hum.
Still, meditation is not bounded by set rules and practices, the mind unleashed, ever in a state of flux.
So the mind at a function room of Hotel Vida that Friday afternoon went way beyond the physical sense, transcending the female figure on view – or is review more apt? – and soared to the realm of Creation itself, finding there the goodness of a God. A God that crafted a perfect world made imperfect by man.
Wow, too out-worldly there. Had to get down to earth.
So what draws these young women to these pageants – one from far Pasay City, another from farther away Nueva Ecija, a bulk from Olongapo, a sprinkling from Angeles City and Pampanga, including the resettlement sites?
Almost to the girl, all 25 of them had previously joined some other bikini contests. One has had six, with fourth runner-up honors as highest achievement to show, and P500 allowance per appearance as top prize. Another said she’s been into these since age 13.
The prize most obviously drew them all in – P100,000 to the winner in Pareng Sonny’s version. Guaranteed by no less than Pampanga’s current patron, Globe Asiatique’s Delfin Lee. Who, upon learning that the also-rans in some other contests were not even entitled to some transportation fare, declared: “Kahit sa kanilang pagod man lamang, dapat ay may laan tayong maibibigay. Walang dapat na umuwing luhaan.”
Altruism most manifest there.
Yet, the recurrent flashes of that feminist damnation of beauty pageants, especially the bikini contests as “the commodification of women.”
So did the contestants feel being exploited at any time, as they strut around, posed before the cameras, and fielded questions from a panel of men – and women – in the barest clothing essentials?
A big NO! All 25 of them asserted. All in a day’s work. All in the spirit of fun. A woman’s got the right over her own body. So, who are we to judge?
Beauty pageants have no “redeeming social value”? How about aesthetic values? How about economic redemption via the prizes, the possibility of being discovered for the movies, the glamour world of fashion, advertising and some such livelihood sources?
There, with pulchritude celebrated and freedom – of a woman over her own body – upheld, my mind came to rest. The bikini contest and all its images I left at Hotel Vida.
Three days after, the ladies in bikinis were still the rave among media friends at our usual coffeeshop in SM City Clark. Which reminded me of a Buddhist story.
There were two monks on the way back to the monastery from a day in town. By a river, they chanced upon a woman who was afraid to cross as her clothes would get wet. There were neither boats nor rafts to ferry them. All crossing would have to be made on foot.
Sensing the predicament of the woman, the younger monk offered to carry her across, which the woman accepted with much gratitude. So he carried her safely across and left her on the other bank. And went on his way with the other monk who appeared not so pleased with what the younger one did.
Nearing the monastery, the elder monk could not contain his displeasure anymore and chastised his companion for carrying the woman which, to him, was an unchaste act for a monk.
The younger monk told his elder: “I carried the woman across the river and left her there. You are still carrying her up to now.”
No, I don’t have any regrets leaving the young women in bikinis at Hotel Vida. There I left them. From there I would not carry them everywhere. Om..Ah…Hum…
What? No more raging conflagration in the loins?
It must be the age.The matter in the cranium taking premium over the fire in the scrotum. Viewing the female form roused the sense of the aesthetic, nary stirred the erotic. It was more of Renoir, Michelangelo, even Picasso and Gauguin. None of Hefner, Flynt or XXX whatsoever.
So who was it who crowed “Age does not matter so long as the matter does not age”? Lying, he certainly was.
And the geriatric Lothario who sneered at being called a DOM thus: “Dirty, yes. Old, never!” Bloated with hot air, he most assuredly was.
If it is not age, then it could be the mind too preoccupied with readings on meditation: transcendental and spiritual, Hindu, Buddhist and Christian.
So with all that exposed flesh, did I make like a yogi contemplating all those navels, to plumb the depths of the human mind in search of my Nirvana?
How I wished! But then I am still stalled in the breathing exercises. And cannot get as yet the proper rhythm of the mantra Om Ah Hum Vajra Guru Padma Siddhi Hum.
Still, meditation is not bounded by set rules and practices, the mind unleashed, ever in a state of flux.
So the mind at a function room of Hotel Vida that Friday afternoon went way beyond the physical sense, transcending the female figure on view – or is review more apt? – and soared to the realm of Creation itself, finding there the goodness of a God. A God that crafted a perfect world made imperfect by man.
Wow, too out-worldly there. Had to get down to earth.
So what draws these young women to these pageants – one from far Pasay City, another from farther away Nueva Ecija, a bulk from Olongapo, a sprinkling from Angeles City and Pampanga, including the resettlement sites?
Almost to the girl, all 25 of them had previously joined some other bikini contests. One has had six, with fourth runner-up honors as highest achievement to show, and P500 allowance per appearance as top prize. Another said she’s been into these since age 13.
The prize most obviously drew them all in – P100,000 to the winner in Pareng Sonny’s version. Guaranteed by no less than Pampanga’s current patron, Globe Asiatique’s Delfin Lee. Who, upon learning that the also-rans in some other contests were not even entitled to some transportation fare, declared: “Kahit sa kanilang pagod man lamang, dapat ay may laan tayong maibibigay. Walang dapat na umuwing luhaan.”
Altruism most manifest there.
Yet, the recurrent flashes of that feminist damnation of beauty pageants, especially the bikini contests as “the commodification of women.”
So did the contestants feel being exploited at any time, as they strut around, posed before the cameras, and fielded questions from a panel of men – and women – in the barest clothing essentials?
A big NO! All 25 of them asserted. All in a day’s work. All in the spirit of fun. A woman’s got the right over her own body. So, who are we to judge?
Beauty pageants have no “redeeming social value”? How about aesthetic values? How about economic redemption via the prizes, the possibility of being discovered for the movies, the glamour world of fashion, advertising and some such livelihood sources?
There, with pulchritude celebrated and freedom – of a woman over her own body – upheld, my mind came to rest. The bikini contest and all its images I left at Hotel Vida.
Three days after, the ladies in bikinis were still the rave among media friends at our usual coffeeshop in SM City Clark. Which reminded me of a Buddhist story.
There were two monks on the way back to the monastery from a day in town. By a river, they chanced upon a woman who was afraid to cross as her clothes would get wet. There were neither boats nor rafts to ferry them. All crossing would have to be made on foot.
Sensing the predicament of the woman, the younger monk offered to carry her across, which the woman accepted with much gratitude. So he carried her safely across and left her on the other bank. And went on his way with the other monk who appeared not so pleased with what the younger one did.
Nearing the monastery, the elder monk could not contain his displeasure anymore and chastised his companion for carrying the woman which, to him, was an unchaste act for a monk.
The younger monk told his elder: “I carried the woman across the river and left her there. You are still carrying her up to now.”
No, I don’t have any regrets leaving the young women in bikinis at Hotel Vida. There I left them. From there I would not carry them everywhere. Om..Ah…Hum…
