justify the beauty in the beast: the third party goer's replies

Seeking all sides, I have to get into another’s shoes. It may not fit me perfectly, but surely somewhere along we feel the same way, because we all love. This time, here’s from the viewpoint of the third party-goers. Yes, they were not invited, but that does not mean, they have nothing to say. These are the pieces in trilogy:

gonna write a classic
(it was over, but no regrets)

The one ending of an illicit affair that everybody had been waiting for. a broken heart with an uncertain future. Bitter of everything and everyone – as they rejoice and celebrate my defeat.

It happened to me. It turned out to be the most hideous and promiscuous thing that I have ever done, not to consider the least Catholic. But how can I be somebody else’s mistress?

A perfect question, with no perfect answer. Most think that it could not happen. It must not happen. But it did. And with the consequences of loosing my heart and beginning to be disillusioned by love, I get knocked down.

It is tiring to fight for what is yours. How much more if you fight for what is not yours? Exhausting. The effort wouldn’t take any part…and chances are just a stroke of luck. And there isn’t a lot like that that in the world. If there is a real luck for sale, I wouldn’t ask for wealth or fame. You know exactly what it is.

I have been wrapped by tradition. All my life, living by the dictates of morality and getting by life the ‘normal’ and conventional way. The matters of the heart are the least of my concern…especially when I was brought up learning how to count cash first, than getting in touch with my feelings. it was more of my mind over matters, and it was only late I have discovered that i have such a foolish – very foolish – heart.

Indeed, this one is a classic. For after I weep, there are more to follow. More years thinking about the things that had been and more smiles…for I am still priveleged.

Only the elite can get a chance at love like this.


his wherefore
(he keeps her, she keeps him)

Kept woman. hmnnn…

The idea of such never came to mind until the time I became one. Then, curiosity seeped in. Aside from what is depicted in the movies and read in books, it is always an interesting role to play.

Other’s say that being a mistress is synonymous to prostitution. All the while, I thought so too, but hey, – there is a great distinction. both are for sexual lavishes of the man, but being a kept woman, she has EXCLUSIVITY. The man provides for his mistress in the same way as he provides for his wife. Sometimes, even more.

In the modern times, this is not always the case. She is most likely to have a job and is financially independent from the man. The tightening of morality, has in fact, created a greater desire for a man to have a mistress.

Over history, the nobles kept their women hidden from the public and denied to their legal wife. Mostly, these women with whom they spend borrowed moments with, are the ones where they experience real love. It is with her that he experiences how it is to live life without inhibitions.

Wholeheartedly, I have assumed the role. Gradually embracing the responsibilities, it is an honor every time he stands by my doorstep and enters my turf. From that moment on, he is no one else’s but MINE.


i am the other woman
(her letter to her)

I hate you.

But you hate me more. I cannot blame you for despising even just the mere mention of my name. And i do not dare mention yours, either. Our rage for each other is mutual. Both our pride and envy eats our guts to face the truth that we cannot have him totally for ourselves.

You exhausted all your means to communicate with me. You have even used the foulest language a woman could speak. You speak ill of me to your friends and others who didn’t even know who i am. You introduced me to them as the other woman, and yourself as the rightful owner.

Sadly, I dispute your claim. “Una ka lang niyang nakilala…(He just met you first…)”, but he is still at the liberty to choose who to love and be with. You may be committed with each other, but haven’t you noticed the empty ‘I-love-you’s’? You only hear the things you want to hear and you never heard what he is not saying.

Being the other woman has never been my ambition in life. I am now. The moment that I decided to accept this fate, I can already feel your pain. (Not all mistresses are heartless, my dear.) It is torture. I feel the hurt, yours, his, and mine. That is too much to bear at times, and I resort to the same illusion as you have. I, too, pretend that you don’t exist. But we both exist. And we hate each other for that. We both love him, though – each in our own ways. Whether or not I will get the same fair share of loving, I do not demand. I will be content of whatever he could give, with all honesty. I prefer this, than seeming to have all that is only apparent.

You brag about your victory, of how you toppled my over with humiliation and defamation. Go ahead. You have all the right to do that. I understand because I accept my faults. How about you?

For now, you can claim the public.

I will savor my private glory.


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reposted from one of my oldest blog, published in September 2007