The Realisation

Another year. Same old story. That was what Rizal had been saying to himself as the clock struck midnight. His only resolution from when he turned eighteen was to get a girlfriend. Now at twenty-three, he still didn’t have one. Rizal would often ask if there was something wrong with him.

His mind would tell him that he was doing fine. Society, on the other hand, would imply otherwise. His friends were all married. And some already have kids, even. He would decline almost all outing invitations from his friends because he was embarrassed to come alone when others were with their spouses and kids.

Rizal found solace in bookstores. Often, he would be found reading on Sunday mornings at a bookstore’s cafe in downtown. He would imagine meeting a girl of his dreams there. He would suddenly have the guts to talk to her. Most likely about the book that the girl was browsing through. 

As he sat there reading, a sudden urge kicked in. He wanted to visit the self-help section. He was determined that this is the year he will change his status from “Single” to “In a Relationship” on his social media pages. But browsing at the self-help section wasn’t easy. People judge. And that was the human truth he knew too well since school.

So he had to be careful not to bump into any of his friends or colleagues. Taking a final sip of his iced latte, he picked up his latest book purchase and walk nonchalantly to the self-help section. As he neared it, he peeked to see if anyone was there. 

One of the bookstore staff was there. She was arranging the titles. The coast was clear. No one else was there. He made his way there and slowly looked at the titles. As this was his first visit to the section, he found the titles to be intriguing. They had books for every situation. You want to be happy? They got it. Success? They have it too. 

Relationships? Rizal squinted to read the section names. Aha! He found it. The first title he saw was, “From Nerds to Ladies’ Man”. Interesting, he thought. He looked around, and then slowly picked up the book. Read the back cover. 

And then he thought to himself, am I a nerd? I don’t read all the time. I never scored well in school. I do play sports and became the best goalkeeper in my office league. Rizal kept on rationalising about why he wasn’t a nerd. No, he decided he wasn’t one. He didn’t need this book, he thought. 

Then he chanced upon another book. This time it was titled, “Why Women Love A**holes”. What first came through his mind was an ex-college mate. He was such a jerk to Rizal and other of his college mates. He stole whatever he wanted. He parked in a parking spot for the disabled. He was even found sleeping with his close friend’s girlfriend. If that was an asshole, Rizal would rather be single. 

Convention says don’t judge a book by its cover. He looked at the author’s face. Rizal judges a book by its author’s face which is somewhat different from the conventional saying. The author looked like he would sleep with someone’s wife. No, Rizal wasn’t going to be an asshole. 

No book seemed to quite fit him as a person. The lady staff in that section went off. Rizal felt he could relax a little now. So what book should he get? “The Making of a Greek God”. The cover showed a half-naked muscular man in a Greek warrior costume surrounded by beautiful women. 

He picked it up, grimacing at it. He laughed at the thought of having so many beautiful women surrounding him like on the book cover. Getting one is hard enough. His fingers automatically flipped the book open. Randomly the page stopped on page eighteen. It was in the middle of spelling out the steps to talk to a woman confidently. 

Rizal read and took mental notes. As he went along each line, he realised that this advice sounded like what anyone would give back in the early sixties when women were treated like objects instead of people. He respected women too much to read this kind of trash. He put the book back. Not for him. 

As Rizal browsed the section carefully, a smell of perfume wafted to his nostrils. He backed away slowly from the section and started looking around to see who was wearing such perfume. Then he noticed a lady, seated on a bench reading something. 

He thought to himself, that she was probably one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. His mind started playing a romcom movie scene in which he was the hero and the lady was the heroin. He imagined that he was slowly walking over to her and started talking. But it was a silent movie. He didn’t know what they talked about. 

This is the year I changed my luck, Rizal thought to himself. He was determined to pluck his guts and get the lady’s contact. It wasn’t love at first sight. It was a moment when Rizal had to prove that he really wanted to change his situation. Even if he didn’t get the lady’s number, it was fine. As long as he tried. 

Heart beating fast, sweat forming on his forehead, Rizal walked nearer to where the lady was sitting. She looked up at him and he at her. Eyes met for about one and a half milliseconds. Then both looked away. 

Rizal felt his throat drying. What was the first word he was going to utter? What was he going to say even? Should it be “How are you?” or “Where have you been all my life?” 

His mind was flooded with thoughts that weren’t helping him. Closer now to where the lady sat, it was now or never. An empty seat was available next to her. Rizal nervously sat and uttered, 

“Hi, I am Rizal.”

“Sorry, I’m not interested.”

Dejected, Rizal excused himself and went back to the self-help aisle.

Resolved, he took a book titled “The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck” and paid for it. He saw the book before but didn’t bother to even browse it. After what happened to him, he realised he cared too much about what his friends, colleagues and others thought about him. He was going to be a badass. No fear. No regrets. 



Two years later, he was still single and living with his parents and without a job. He just didn’t give a f*ck.