ILIGAN City ― Last March 8, 2019, I was one of the judges of a presentation relative to International Women's Day. Now, I got ambivalent feelings about this "judge" thing. I don't like it, even as a part of me like this one too. And it didn't help that the request for acting as a judge was only made through some text messages.

Yet, the "good" woman in me obliged. Or, was it pride, a.k.a. ego?

For one when you are a judge, there are "judge whisperers." One time when I was acting as such in some presentation, somebody whispered behind my back: "Let's be fair." Implying that judges are a "biased" lot.

So, I went to the city public plaza on the morning of that day. As I sat in one of the judges' chairs, I saw that the place was swarming with women, maybe all coming from the 44 barangays of the city. The suspicious in me asked myself: Was this a "hakot" crowd? Like some politicians do during their rallies?

The " presenters" were all women, who else, for this was their day, I mean, "our" day. There was then city mayor Celso G. Regencia and VM Jemar Vera Cruz, they who are woman lovers, if you know what I mean. They paid tributes to the women, what else. And their tributes were profound. So, songs were presented. Dances. Stories about women. their desires, hopes, experiences, whatever.

As I feared, there were "judge whisperers". Which didn't surprise me. Haven't I gone through this experience before? Anyway, one "whisperer," said that the one singing a "Bisaya" song, was his daughter. I knew the "whisperer."

And when I looked at the "songer" she looked older than the father. Hmm, again the suspicious in me was working on some questions.

Yet, my mind went out to a woman presentation who was making a narrative concerning the love of her life giving her flowers on many occasions. That was done in Bisaya medium too.

She narrated how the love of her life presented her with flowers, each time. The "each time" came after she was abused, either physically, or mentally, or emotionally. the flowers were given to her. Meaning, they. were peace offerings. And everything would be fine then. And then came other abuses. And then came the flowers, the peace, the intimacy of lovers. And it went on and on. her narrative said. A vicious cycle, actually.

And then came the flowers again, such lovely flowers, again!

But it was the last time she received such flowers. Because it was during her funeral!

A touching narrative really. As a "judger" I mean, judge, I judged it accordingly.

On the next day, as I sat in the city public plaza, now empty with all the women coming from the barangays the previous day, Mike, my nerdy friend came over. After the "hey" and the civilities, we got to talking about the women's presentations the previous day. Naturally, I mentioned the presence of that woman of which "flowers" had some great part and I pointed out my appreciation for it. And about men and women, in general.

"You know. ma'am? There's some unfairness there."

"What?" I asked in disbelief.

Without batting an eyelash Mike said: "A man receives flowers in his existence here on earth, only once. And that is during his funeral!"

"Ha?" It was all that I could say. For I thought, he was missing the woman's point. And I remember that joke about a woman who said to her hubby, that he was just treating her as a "sex object." And the man answered, "what will I treat as the sex object then, the chair? Or the table? Or the cabinet?"

Maybe Mike's statement regarding the flowers was intentional. To portray himself as "dumb." Or just to humor me. Or, is there another kind of "or"?

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