naming the world

The Tyranny of Appearance

*Rough notes for a larger essay in the future

It seems that our current paradigm for conventional female beauty is this: young, eternally young, so young that hair has not yet grown on her nether regions (this look achieved by having Brazilian waxes diligently, every other week or so) ; her lashes, unnaturally thick and long, like that of a doll’s, or a cow’s (possible only through monthly lash extensions); full-lipped, big-bosomed, and very, very thin, of course, preferably a size 0 or less.

And the present paradigm for men is as equally unattainable, unless one practically lives in the gym: also young, of mixed descent, his every muscle chiseled and defined, hair-free too from the waist down, with high, high cheekbones, clean-shaven and well-manicured. The Metrosexual is now the masculine norm.

More than any other time in history, Appearance has now become of paramount importance to both men and women. Beyond mere pre-occupation, it’s an obsession, fueling the machinery of multi-billion enterprises that do little but make soapy water with which to wash our hair. “You will be beautiful if you can afford to buy this, and this, and this, and this….” No wonder so many people feel inadequate, and unhappy about themselves. 

We have to be self-aware enough to know that there is much more to us than the length of our lashes, or our dress size. Ultimately, it’s what we produce, and the relationships we nurture, and the kind of work that we do, that we should be remembered for. All the rest should just be noise, fading into the background until we no longer notice that they exist, or better yet, until our consumptive concern about such mundane, banal things disappears entirely.

Why's this so good?

The Back

I’m scheduled to undergo spinal surgery (open laminectomy and discectomy on L4-L5) next Wednesday, December 7 at PGH, and my surgeon will be Dr. Copernico Villaruel, who has been doing these kinds of surgeries for over twenty years, and is currently the head of the orthopedics department at PGH. He also holds clinic at Manila Doctors’ Hospital. 

I am afraid of this impending surgery, of course. Why else would I have held off on doing this for over fifteen years? When I was 16, I  was diagnosed with a herniated disc (L5) and severe spinal stenosis. My doctor then, a certain Dr. Pandy, had wanted to operate on me immediately, but then the pain subsided and other doctors said I was too young for that kind of major surgery. I had several relapses, one in 2001, then again in 2006. There were blessed periods when I was asymptomatic, free from back pain, and leg weakness and numbness, but then, when I would sit for too long, or fall, the pain would come back, each time more intense, and longer, than the last.  

And so I have relapsed again, but this time, the pain has become indescribable. (But I will try to do so, anyway.)  On the pain scale, it is almost always between a 9 and 10. At times, it is at the very edge of that 10. It is a dull knife scraping down my tail bone; a hungry octopus, who has wrapped its unrelenting tentacles around the base of my spine. It is molten lava spreading down from the volcano of that burst disc to both of my legs, manifesting as numbness, tingling, and lightening, so that when I walk I feel as though a sadistic, albeit invisible, puppet master is pulling tautly at the strings of my knees, and my  calf muscles. I cannot feel my feet. I cannot lift my big toes.  I can no longer drive, without endangering myself and other people on the road. My department chairperson, seeing how difficult it was for me to walk from one classroom to another, graciously granted me a leave so I could heal, and recover my strength.  

But what really pushed me to do that which I was so fearful of doing for over 15 years was this: one day, I woke up with Cauda Equina. How I felt as I pulled up the elastic band of that adult diaper up over my hips —- shame, embarrassment, utter helplessness. Thankfully, this particular symptom was gone by that evening, but not a day goes by that I’m not afraid it might happen again. However, almost three months since the relapse occurred, all the other symptoms continue to linger, with no discernible improvement through PT and acupuncture. (One well-meaning friend even suggested I try sea salt and water to “flush out” the toxins, or whatever, but never mind. I might as well wear a pyramid made of aluminum on my head and chant OHMMM.) 

I can no longer live like this.  This is why I believe the surgery to be necessary at this point.  I have done extensive research and consulted with many doctors (among them, Dr. Antonio B. Sison and J.A. Michael Bengzon,) Dr. Villaruel included, and they all agree: things can only get worse, and if I do not address the root of the problem soon, it is certain that I will have permanent, irreversible nerve damage in time. 

There are far too many things I still want to do, and at 31, I want to be as healthy and strong as I can possibly be. 

I am writing this while sitting in the middle of horrendous traffic on EDSA (or, the stretch of highway that may be renamed Cory Aquino Avenue someday). The teeming mass of humanity converges on this road everyday, particularly at the height of rush hour, when the stream of red brake lights seems, and feels, endless.

Time here does not only stand still: it grows moss and algae, begins to settle and stagnate. I turn to several distractions to be able to ignore this temporal ossification, and the throbbing pain I feel in my lower back, amplified whenever the car hits a bump, or grinds over rough road. This is one such distraction —- thumb moving over letters on the touch screen of this device, or scrolling down the pages of twenty other social networking sites. (The irony of being eternally connected yet completely detached. Death? Disease? Heartbreak? The cursory cookie cutter replies. Sincerity optional.)

An hour later: now I am almost home. Suburban quiet awaits. Most houses in my village have put up simple Christmas decorations: the one parol, a few strings of blinking lights.