I LIKE being 50.
Like it has given me a reason for no bullshit talks.
Not that I ever needed one.
I mean, I’ve been a no nonsense talker/writer ever since I started writing for the newspapers in 2000.
That’s how I gained my fame and notoriety in the Western Visayas region, remember?
*
But being of the golden age is like a wonderful excuse.
Like I don’t need to justify my tone anymore.
I don’t have to defend myself from critics who missed the joke from twenty years ago.
I really have taken many idiots for a ride for almost two decades now, haven’t I?
Those stupid readers who think that I am out to mostly shamelessly promote myself.
The joke is on them.
*
To be honest, I only wrote to make Iloilo newspapers fun.
They took my humor so seriously.
They tried to fight with me.
Sometimes on the page, sometimes behind my back.
And they miserably lost.
They’re quiet now.
Old. Miserable. Settled. Surrendered.
*
They’ve given up the battle against me.
But I’m still here.
I stand triumphant.
And I’m just getting started… again.
I am eternal.
I am new.
Everlasting.
Evergreen.
*
My following, my public, is growing.
Ever expanding. Reaching the new generation even.
But my critics are dying.
Of miserable old age.
Of mediocrity.
Of diseases and psychosis.
Some got AIDS.
And they called me the slutty one.
*
I do not consider myself a slut.
But for Iloilo standard, maybe I am one.
I will not argue with the accusations.
If I’m not sleeping with you, or people you know within six degrees of separation, please don’t call me slutty.
Please do not call me slutty until you get hold of someone who can prove, beyond any reasonable doubt, that I’ve actually had sex with them.
*
Because while I am brutally honest, that I am considered vulgar by many in the hypocritical societies, some people cannot tell the tiniest of truths.
If you ask me nicely, I will probably tell you which high profile people in Iloilo I have f*cked.
And what they had to do to enjoy spending their time (and money) with me.
Then again, I am not known to be a kiss-and-tell.
Or, if I do tell, you know that I tell it with a slant.
Not to be dishonest.
But to be respectful to former lovers.
*
And that’s why I am a class of my own.
You really don’t know how many I’ve f*cked.
I can say three thousand, and you can almost believe it.
I say, twenty or so, and my ardent lovers are willing to believe they are only the sixth, after my husband.
You can call me anything you want.
But be careful of the words you use.
They’re likely to describe what you secretly wish for yourself.
*
This is not where I want to go with this article.
But, as I have mentioned several columns back, these days, I want “My Life as Art” pieces to be true divertissements.
Fanciful explorations of my 50-year-old mind.
No censorship.
No great expectations.
Just fun.
Unadulterated fun.
*
I started wanting to explain that I’m not really a playboy.
Even if I proposed to seven, or eight, boys in less than three months.
And I’m guilty: Some of those flirtations happened concurrently.
Well, I was in some kind of rush.
And those boys were taking it so slowly.
I’m sure it was shocking for those boys, those little men.
Because I am THE Peter Solis Nery.
And I was proposing to them!
*
But I can see it will take forever for them to propose to me.
I know they like me.
They admire me.
They think I’m way more decent than most gay guys they know.
They don’t believe I’m a slut at all.
They think I kiss like an angel.
*
But if they’re not intimidated, they think they’re not ready for a relationship with me.
Well, if they’re not ready for someone whose life is an open book, they’ll never be ready for me.
And I can’t wait for those slow thinkers.
Because, look, I’m 50!
And I don’t talk bullshit./PN
