The Origin of the Hopeless Romantic
The pessimism of Ricky Lee on love was outrageously high. After reading his first novel, I had the urge to find a rope and garrote all those who have written or produced anything saying that love conquers all. It has never been known that love never read Para Kay B.
The main character Lucas writes five sobering stories real and not, including his, to his unworthy promiscuous girl Bessie (revealed later as B). It sort of reminds me of One Tree Hill‘s, yes, Lucas who created a novel for Peyton, and subsequently become bewilderingly forgotten by the same girl for a Hollywood career. I then rise to my minute antifeminist frenzy. Bessie is the subject sought as inspiration, which could turn a Herod’s heart soft. How could girls like B reject genuine literature just like that? Could they possibly not think how thick the guys’ calluses have grown, from eternal jotting down? Did the guys just develop pasma for nothing?
Or maybe it isn’t Bessie’s clouded self-centeredness. The theory stated in the book that only one out of five who attempts to play the game called love ends up “happy,” may exactly be precise.
Dahil totoo ang sabi nila, ang great love mo hindi mo makakatuluyan. Ang makakatuluyan mo ay ang correct love.
But in the sixth chapter, the characters free themselves from the confines of Lucas’s mind, clamoring like nuts for better personality and story developments. And Lucas becomes startled. All argue to death.
IRENE: Kasi nga fake ka!
ERICA: Kasi lalaki ka! Paano mo malalaman ang nararamdaman naming mga babae?
IRENE: Ang lalaki kasi, dala-dalawa ang ulo walang utak!
ERICA: Ang ginagamit kasi sa pag-iisip, yung ulo sa ibaba!
Excuse me?! The five supposedly fictional characters fight for happier resolutions. Irene and Bessie both are away fro their lovers. Ester struggles to be subtle with her homosexual relationship. Erica is stuck fornicating with a vegetable- floating. Sandra though seems very contented with her incest offspring and new stable partner. Lucas ultimately revises the manuscript, and everyone falls right into their right romantic places.
Maganda. Pero parang hindi fair. Dinadamay mo lang kami sa lungkot mo.
Hands down to the real tangible writer, Lee, for rupturing formalistic creative writing. The traffic of technically wrong sentences smoothly is realized as a stream of true thoughts, and every detail of tenderness and harshness pierces right into the heart. Love indeed evokes both.
Because love, I think, is not Romeo and Juliet– it’s not perfect, horribly perfect or will never be perfect. I know I can’t really speak much about the astronomical metaphors of this kind of affection being too young. But thanks to Lee, I know that loving someone could be a truly big deal. Yes or no. All or nothing. Life or death.
B doesn’t deserve Lucas, or any single vowel or consonant from his manuscript, or the title Para Kay B for this matter. Love is forever a distressing abstraction.