The Goddess of Bodabil
Fatima "Dyosa" Malagasang's POV
I am the most beautiful woman of all.
That is the first thing you must remember about me. It's the reason why, in the world of bodabil, they call me "Dyosa" which means goddess—because of the sheer number of men I've enchanted.
It's not like I asked for this. I mean, who would actually enjoy being pestered by all these "gentlemen" huh? If I had my way, I'd knock their heads together, but I can't; these men belong to the alta sociedad, and I'm just a girl from the gutters.
"Hey, Dyosa! Get out there and entertain Mr. Juan Pablo!" My friend, Latina gave me a nudge. She's a fellow performer here in Manila.
"Ow!" I barked, shooting her a glare. She pushed me right while I was applying my makeup. Now I look like a total clown, thanks to her—my lipstick was smeared halfway across my face. "Didn't I tell you I'm not interested? He's in his thirties and I'm barely twenty!"
She furrowed her brows and leaned in to pinch my waist. Good grief, she's turning into a sadist.
"Use your head! So what if he's thirty? He's handsome, kind-hearted, and most importantly, filthy rich. He's your ticket out of poverty. If I were you, I'd have said 'yes' yesterday!" she lectured.
Latina is my age and has been my friend since I started in show business. I've actually forgotten her real name because everyone calls her Latina—her father was a Peninsulares. She was born out of wedlock, which is why she's as poor as the rest of us.
She has thick brows, a sharp nose, and a lovely smile, though her skin is so pale it's almost yellow. I'm taller than her, but she's curvier. She has thick, wild hair. I'd admit she's pretty, but like I said—I'm the most beautiful of all.
"Well, I'm not you. If you want him so bad, you go date that old man," I snapped, rolling my eyes again.
The man she was talking about is just one of the many gentlemen chasing me. To be fair, she's right. Mr. Juan Pablo is decent—an ilustrado—but the age gap is just too much for me. Besides, I don't like him because he always looks so gloomy. He's handsome, sure, but I don't want to be around someone so miserable; it might rub off on me.
But Juan Pablo is just one of many. There's also Miguelito, a Chinese-Filipino mestizo from Binondo.
"Our dear Dyosa, someone wants to meet you," Chinita greeted me with a grin while we were eating at her house in Binondo.
My friends—Latina, Tisay, and Diwata—all traded glances while Chinita and I locked eyes. Those names are just our stage aliases; our real names feel like they've been locked away in an old chest for years.
"Who is it this time?" I asked, taking a sip of water.
"My cousin, Miguelito. He's wealthy because my uncle is a businessman who married a wealthy Spaniard," she said, her grin so wide it looked like her face might split.
"Now that is what matters," Latina laughed. "But I'm still rooting for Mr. Juan Pablo."
"Plus, he's Chinita's cousin. He'll take care of you. Just meet him, Dyosa," Tisay urged.
"But if you don't want to, that's fine too. Don't let these troublemakers pressure you into a decision," Diwata added with a gentle smile. She's the only sensible one in the group.
"I certainly won't," I laughed. I turned back to Chinita. "How old is this Miguelito?"
Latina facepalmed. "Here she goes again."
"Twenty-two," Chinita answered.
"Deal," I said with a smile. My friends cheered; finally, I was giving one of my suitors a chance.
The truth is, by opening that door, I was trying to make sure I didn't pick the wrong person. I want someone who won't leave me or hurt me—someone who will love me forever. I didn't want to end up like my mother.
Just kidding. There's no such thing. I only agreed to be courted because I found it entertaining. Besides, I learned a thing or two from these educated men, and more importantly, I was making money from their gifts. My savings were growing, and I could send more money to my family. I should have done this a long time ago.
One night, while Tisay and I were heading to the theater, she decided to give me her opinions on my suitors.
"Is my makeup okay? Not too thick?" I asked, posing like a model. She giggled.
"Your face is thick, but your makeup is fine," she teased. True to her name, "Tisay" was fair-skinned with a sharp nose—a real beauty. She was the curviest among us, though not large. "Dyosa, of all your suitors, who do you actually like?"
"No one," I answered instantly. She stopped walking and faced me.
"Not even one? Be serious."
"I am serious. None of them."
Why would I fall in love? Love isn't real. Nowadays, it's too risky to gamble your heart on someone who might not fight for you. Besides, my suitors are all rich. Their families would look down on me. I'm better off alone. It's the only way to avoid the pain my mother felt when she met my deadbeat father.
"Not even Andres?" There it was—the one she was rooting for.
"Not even him."
Andres is a mestizo, the great-grandson of a former Governor-General, grandson of a governor, and son of a lawyer. In short, he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He's studying law. What am I supposed to do with him? He's the one I like the least because he's so incredibly arrogant. All talk, no substance—acting tough only because his parents have power.
"You know, out of all of them, he's the one I see with a pure heart," Tisay said dreamily, looking off into the distance as we started walking again.
"You're the only one who sees that. He's the most arrogant man alive," I laughed. Easy for her to say; she isn't there when that idiot starts bragging.
"Mr. Juan Pablo is good, but he's carrying a secret sadness. I don't want you dragged down by that. And Miguelito? Sure, he's Chinita's cousin, but he's a mama's boy with no mind of his own. If his parents told him to leave you—especially since you aren't Chinese and you're poor—he'd drop you without a second thought."
"He's that picky? He's not even 'pure' himself!" I scoffed. Chinita is half-Chinese, half-Filipino. Miguelito is half-Chinese, half-Spanish.
"Well, his mother is rich, so the clan accepted her. I'm not sure, ask Chinita. But I am sure that Andres is the only one capable of fighting for you."
"And I am sure of one thing..." I turned to her with a sweet smile. "I won't get married until I'm rich, and I won't marry someone I don't love."
My friend let out a sarcastic laugh. "Who do you think you are, someone beautiful?"
"Yes! That's why I'm called Dyosa. Duh!"
We laughed and dropped the subject.
Honestly, I was just protecting my heart. I've been through a lot of pain since my father abandoned us. We didn't need him anyway; Mom and I survived on her laundry work.
But here is the real truth: I am in love with a man, but I don't stand a chance. We've been friends for so long and he's never shown interest. That must mean he only sees me as a friend.
And even if he did like me, I probably wouldn't go for it. Why? Because he's poor, just like me. We grew up together. We have the same background, the same memories. If he were rich and loved me? I'd marry him without second thoughts. But neither is true.
"Dyosa!, Dyosa," Diwata whispered, gently tapping my foot to wake me. She's the only one who wakes me up nicely. The others? Pure chaos.
"Hmm?"
"Johan is here. He wants to see you."
"Why?"
"He didn't say, but he brought porridge. He heard you weren't feeling well since you missed the show earlier."
"Can you let him in?" I asked. I didn't have the energy to get up and joke around.
"Of course. I'll be right outside so you two can talk. I'll go bowl the porridge he bought for you."
She left, and a moment later, Johan walked in. Tall, fair, kind-faced, well-built, and... looking sad? What's his drama today?
"Imang!" He suddenly rushed over, hugged me, and started wailing. Great, my head is going to hurt even more now. "Imang, stay strong!"
"I'm not dying, you idiot!" I shouted, though my voice was weak from the exhaustion of our rehearsals. I blame the job.
"Aling Maria will kill me if I let anything happen to you! You know I'm busy being a messenger, but I need you to take care of yourself when I'm not around, Imang!"
"Fine, shut up! And stop calling me 'Imang' before the girls hear you and tease me to death!"
"Why? There's nothing wrong with 'Imang.' It's a lovely nickname, it suits you," he said with that heart-melting smile of his. Those round eyes looked at me like he was memorizing my every move. "But if you hate it, I'll call you Fatima. But only when we're here. When we're back in Cavite, you're 'Imang' to me!"
"Why won't you call me Dyosa? Don't you believe I am one?"
"Nope. Dyosa of gossip, maybe? Why is that even your stage name?"
"You're the worst! Get out!"
"Here's the porridge," Diwata said, entering with a smile and a steaming bowl.
Diwata is the thinnest among us. She only eats vegetables—she's too strict about maintaining her figure. She has shoulder-length hair and naturally long eyelashes that don't need any help from a brush.
"Diwata, has Fatima been staying up too late because of practicing?" Johan asked. I shook my head at her while trying to sit up.
"No, not really. She's probably just tired," Diwata answered hesitantly, handing me the bowl. Before I could take it, "Jojo" (Johannes' nickname) snatched it like a thief.
"I'll do it. You're too weak," he said simply. He took a spoonful, blew on it to cool it down, and held it to my lips. "Aaah."
I laughed; he was acting just like a father. But my smile faded when I remembered—I don't have a father.
I just opened my mouth and ate. I smiled again at the taste.
"Good, right? I spit in it," he joked. I made a fake gagging face, and he laughed, continuing to feed me.
It was past midnight when he finally left. He lives nearby, with his uncle, so he didn't mind the late hour. Besides, the strict curfews of the Spanish era are long gone. This is a modern, freer time.
Johannes is the reason I'm here in Manila. We're from Cavite, but when he got the chance to study in Manila through his uncle, he took it.
He knew I'd dreamed of coming here since I was a kid. It's not far from the province, but we rarely visited—usually only for Mother's birthday. Since her birthday is February 29th, we only came once every four years!
He invited me to come along so I could pursue my dream of being a singer. I agreed immediately. I was eighteen—an adult. Even though Mother wasn't happy about it, she couldn't stop me. She eventually came around once I started sending money home. She never asked for it; I just wanted to help.
At first, I lived with him at his uncle's house in Sampaloc. But once I befriended the girls, we decided to rent a place together. I bid my farewell to Uncle Buboy and Jojo. Jojo was sad to see me go, but he knew I was a grown woman.
"You two really know each other inside out, don't you? You're so comfortable together," Diwata said with a smile, staring at the ceiling. We were lying side by side, both wide awake thanks to Jojo's antics.
"Yeah. We grew up together. I've known him since he was a kid—back when he was stubborn, brave, but also a total crybaby. I knew him as a teenager—a womanizer who didn't take school seriously, but was brilliant and dependable. He'd do anything for others. And now, as a man, you see how hard he works. He cares about me, and he's finally taking his studies seriously. He stopped playing with women's hearts ever since he got his own heart broken when he was fifteen," I chuckled at the memory.
"Oh, Dyosa. You know everything about him. The only thing you don't know is your own heart," Diwata said seriously, sighing as she brushed my hair.
"What do you mean?"
"I know you've liked him for a long time. It's obvious. I just hope you realize it and stop saying you never want to marry. I don't want you to grow old alone."
No words came out of my mouth. Out of everyone, Diwata is the most observant. I couldn't help but smile.
"I know I have feelings for him—I never said I didn't like anyone. I just said I didn't like any of my suitors, and he isn't one of them. It's impossible, Diwata. All this time, he's never shown that kind of love for me. As a friend? Yes. As the woman of his life? Not a chance."
"Why are you deciding for him?" she laughed.
"What if he's just shy? Or scared of ruining the friendship? Why don't you make the first move? Tell him how you feel."
My eyes widened and I gave her a look. "Diwata, is that you? You sounded like oir friend, Latina," I laughed.
She was the most conservative of us all—hated short clothes, was shy around men... a total "Maria Clara."
"What's so funny? There's nothing wrong with it. It's 1926; there's no reason to be ashamed of being the first to speak up. It's not 'aggressive,' it's just being honest."
I thought about it for a second, but the thought vanished. Even if he did like me, there was one more problem.
"Never mind. Even if he liked me, I wouldn't do it. He's not rich. He can't pull me out of this life, and I can't do that for him either. We'd just drag each other down. Let's just sleep."
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.
"Let us sleep, for mercy's sake!" Latina shouted from the other side.
We both laughed and pulled the blanket to cover over our heads.
Even if the world turned upside down—even if you travel all the other planets in the solar system—Jojo and I just aren't meant to be. We're strictly, forever, just friends.
#
You're on the phone with your girlfriend, she's upset
She's going off about something that you said
'Cause she doesn't get your humor like I do
I'm in the room, it's a typical Tuesday night
I'm listening to the kind of music she doesn't like
And she'll never know your story like I doBut she wears short skirts, I wear T-shirts
She's Cheer Captain, and I'm on the bleachers
Dreaming about the day when you wake up and find
That what you're looking for has been here the whole timeIf you could see that I'm the one who understands you
Been here all along, so why can't you see?
You belong with me, you belong with meWalk in the streets with you in your worn-out jeans
I can't help thinking this is how it ought to be
Laughing on a park bench, thinking to myself
"Hey, isn't this easy?"And you've got a smile that can light up this whole town
I haven't seen it in a while since she brought you down
You say you're fine, I know you better than that
Hey, what you doing with a girl like that?She wears high heels, I wear sneakers
She's Cheer Captain, and I'm on the bleachers
Dreaming about the day when you wake up and find
That what you're looking for has been here the whole timeIf you could see that I'm the one who understands you
Been here all along, so why can't you see?
You belong with meStanding by and waiting at your backdoor
All this time how could you not know, baby?
You belong with me, you belong with meOh, I remember you driving to my house in the middle of the night
I'm the one who makes you laugh when you know you're 'bout to cry
I know your favorite songs and you tell me 'bout your dreams
Think I know where you belong, think I know it's with meCan't you see that I'm the one who understands you?
Been here all along, so why can't you see?
You belong with meStanding by and waiting at your backdoor
All this time how could you not know, baby?
You belong with me, you belong with meYou belong with me
Have you ever thought, just maybe
You belong with me?
You belong with me