Michelle

For some reason I seem to exude an aura of helplessness and thus, elicit some kind of uniform response from most people: the need to “help” me. There were countless of instances. Once, on my way to Mini-stop this man ahead of me went agape after seeing the glass door closing in on me, so he grabbed the handles quick as lightning to give me aid. Not that I wasn’t thankful; but it was really disconcerting to watch his face go from carefree to disturbed at the “pitiful” sight of me.

Another, on my way home, I was seated beside the driver aboard a shuttle and this person beside me kept looking me over. He must have had to think of the proper way to approach me, then said: “Miss, palit na lang tayo ng upuan.” I suddenly realized what was bothering him: I didn’t have a headrest or the proper seat belt. It baffled me because I was fine, and I knew I looked comfortable enough—it’s not like I was nodding my head off to sleep or anything—where I was.

The next day I told someone about this and asked him if I always looked like I was helpless. Without batting an eyelash he gave me a yes.

Others have confirmed this. A writing fellow in Dumaguete told me I looked like “I needed taking care of.” I knew she meant it in a good way, but I can’t help thinking of myself alongside a puppy in the pound. Panelists would refer to me as “that little girl”, which was ironic since I was easily the tallest among the girls in our group.

Not that I’m complaining; I’m not blind to the merits of my situation. In fact it does work to my advantage and I’m grateful for it. But I think this “aura” is somewhat connected to a name constantly associated with me, and it continues to baffle me still: Michelle.

It appears to be the crowd favorite, especially in fast food restaurants where orders are sometimes to follow. Innumerable times service crew would approach me with a hesitant step, tray resting atop their hand, and a “Ma’am Michelle?” With Aristotle’s ideogenesis in consideration I really have to wonder what attributes I have that makes me a “Michelle.”

Incidentally, my favorite grandmother is coming home this Thursday from the US. She is the culprit behind my name, the one to be blamed why I wasn’t called Michelle. No, she’s not another Lourdes, but she insisted that a granddaughter ought to be named after some religious icon. I really think she picked the wrong time to exercise her influence. Oh well.

***


Michelle
The Beatles


Michelle, ma belle.
These are words that go together well,
My Michelle.

Michelle, ma belle.
Sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble,
Tres bien ensemble.

I love you, I love you, I love you.
That's all I want to say.
Until I find a way
I will say the only words I know that
You'll understand.

Michelle, ma belle.
Sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble,
Tres bien ensemble.

I need to, I need to, I need to.
I need to make you see,
Oh, what you mean to me.
Until I do I'm hoping you will
Know what I mean.

I love you.

I want you, I want you, I want you.
I think you know by now
I'll get to you somehow.
Until I do I'm telling you so
You'll understand.

Michelle, ma belle.
Sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble,
Tres bien ensemble.

I will say the only words I know that
You'll understand, my Michelle.

***

speaking of the art of naming, can someone please tell me the significance of using gold rush for a ktv bar? i find myself rather disturbed every time i see it in edsa. could it be a mine for golden voices? do you have to have a golden voice to get into that ktv bar?