TheVagina Monologues
Teatro Casino
Waterfront Hotel, Lahug
March 04, 2006
Vagina, pussy, flower, down there, what’s between your thighs, buto, bilat, bingkang pinaliki, and what have you, were few of the terms that brought the whole theater bursting with laughter. Listening to the roars of laughter, I couldn’t help think of my girlfriends, who were at that time at BTC enjoying an all-girls dinner and talk, of a very dear friend who’s turn between considering being pregnant a blessing or a curse and who an hour before texted me that she’s just received an eviction notice from her landlady, and of another good friend whose circumstance led her to mature before her time.
I couldn’t help but think of them because the monologues were for these women and for the whole womankind. All my girlfriends would have been gleeful and appreciative to hear womankind’s sentiments and issues pertaining to what’s down there between our legs, being openly and freely talked about, with men present no less.
The monologues tackled everything about the vagina;
from
things as mundane as how people made special names in reference to it, its smell, its physical look,
to
how we women just accept that it’s there but never actually bother to examine it closely nor touch it without hesitation and pang of guilt.
Additionally, there were monologues discussing topics,
such as girls being made to feel bad about their vaginas at an early age,
the feelings of uncertainty and awkwardness that comes with getting one’s first period,
the sufferings of women at war torn countries and the horrors of rape,
the discovery that you’re no less worthy person if you find happiness in the arms of other women
and learning and appreciating the wonders of childbirth.
Generally, the monologues presented everything concerning womankind. In fact, there were also monologues giving voice to individuals who have had the experience of having their femininity beaten out of their male bodies.
Of the various monologues, the angry vagina monologue floored me — amidst the audience’ amusement and mirth, i was silent as I listened to the pretty girl with long hair deliver her lines… parts of what she said hit home…visits to the o.b.g.y.n are everything but pleasant — i could still remember the very first time i went one for a check-up. my mother and i went to a g.y.n’s clinic to find out what’s wrong with me. unlike other girls my age, my period was more than irregular. every month i would profusely bleed. scared with what seemed to be nonstop bleeding then, my mother brought me to one of the clinics at the Community Hospital. unfortunately, the o.b.g.y.n who saw me was a little strict and straight forward. never mind that i was young, she had me on the table amidst tears. darn, i could still remember my mother saying ‘ayaw lang kahadlok day, para man ni sa imong kaayohan’. after the I.E, the doc informed my mother and I that she felt my uterus was a little tender to the touch and perhaps that’s what’s causing the bleeding blah..blah..s. Her medical jargon escaped me, all i could remember was me telling myself… that I would never go see another doc again. If i die, then so be it. That was in 1992. Ha.ha. I never went for another check up again. I began to accept my condition, I learned to manage it. A decade and two years hence, my beautiful uterus was at it again. But now, i’m older and a little braver, i could handle a visit to the g.y.n.. All by myself, i went to Velez Hospital and saw a doctor. This time my doc was pleasant, even pretty. Told her my history, complete with charts of my period. She won’t diagnose me nor offer treatment unless she sees the results of an ultrasound. That same afternoon, i was off to ChongHua Hospital to have some tests done. My new doc ordered a CBC, urinalysis, blood typing, and an ultrasound. I had the first three done without much fuzz. Bummer, the doc on duty at the Women’s Clinic wasn’t due to arrive until 2:30 p.m. The waiting time was torture, as the clock ticked, memories of the IE surfaced. Pretending to be brave, I waited patiently by reading a book. But as the time neared, I couldn’t control the trepidation. Then my name was called, I was asked to proceed to Exam Room #2. The procedure was exactly what the angry vagina speaker described it to be. It’s so sad that doctors could be so insensitive to forget that what to them are routinary procedures aren’t necessarily so for their patients. Mein, if I could just kick the doc and her intern’s faces when they told me to relax my legs, cause they’ve done this several times yada…yada… Perhaps, the tension in my legs on the cold stirrups would have been gone. Maybe it was just me, but being treated so callously during what you purport to be a delicate procedure was demeaning. Heck, I couldn’t even explain why I was reduced to tears after the exam. I wasn’t violated or anything, but the procedure sure did make me feel that I was.
