OPEN LETTER #1

Dear Lara,

The great Montaigne once said that if he were to be importuned as to why he loved a friend, his answer would be a simple 'Because it was he, because it was I', and that this resolution, while sounding so simple and aimless, was actually based on the premise that he and his friend sought each other long before they have met.

There is actually no hard and fast rule on this great notion of friendship, and if people were to ask me if you were my friend, I'll definitely say yes, and if they feel so interrogatory to ask why, I will have no problem quoting Montaigne and leaning on the virility of his premise: I had been looking for you long before I tripped on that chance to speak sex for Blogkadahan.

Of course when I said 'I had been looking for you' I didn't mean as if I knew you before and was only unaware of your whereabouts. Truth is I didn't know you from Eve (although now that I know you already I must say if you were Eve, not only would you have eaten that apple, you would have even baked it into a scrumptious apple pie). Truth is I had no idea a pretty Pinay lives in Belgium. Truth is I didn't know a pretty Pinay who lives in Belgium plays tennis and writes heavenly.

So my question is, What the hell are you doing in Belgium? Is Belgium the, uhmmm, new paradise?

Anyway, first things first so we clear the air of its sooty errors.

The wonderful letter/post in your Multiply blog which, truthfully, I tried to comment on but was somehow ruthlessly rejected, was the prime catalyst of this theme-post - an open-letter chuva that I will do like an American 13-episode season, which makes your feature the pilot ep. (Eve's was life's pilot episode too, right?)

Which bring me to correct: No, I am not a member of ATP!

Because if I were, I should be playing tennis professionally, which means I should be playing tennis for a living. The truth is, I do other things to eat (one of which is to ask - or grab - from others their hard-earned food). The truth is I have spent a lot of money on tennis while tennis has not brought me a single cent; and the truth is, that of all the many injuries I have sustained in my life the most serious were from playing tennis (torn calf muscle; fractured wrist; tennis elbow; sore shoulder; calloused hands; bruised sheen). Which translates thus, tennis is not what I do for a living, it is what I do for dying.

But everything else I told you are sustainable: I am a decent tennis player (which does not mean I am a decent person; I definitely feel for that exhibitionist cuckoo who opened his fly in front of a nude sculpture, and when asked why, said 'Men must expose themselves to art.') - even if all of my moves and strokes were composites of everything I hoped myself to be: my serve reeks of Taylor Dent's; the forehand has a long swing that is obviously Hewitt's; the backhand I unashamedly admit was copied from Magnus Norman's, and the lateral moves were, hmm, originally cbs's.

So, why are you my friend?

Well, because it seems you liked my tennis even if you have not seen me play. But for now, go Davao!!!

So it's good to hear you picked up that racquet again, Lara. If you can't make Boris Becker proud, at least Boris Pasternak must have thought otherwise.

love, 40,
cbs