Queen of the Clueless (Interim Goddess of Love)

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Co
pyright © Mina V. Esguerra, 2013

Contact the author:

[email protected]

http://minavesguerra.com

Cover art for this edition designed by Tania Arpa

Photography by Rhea Bue (
http://bebe-doll.net
)

-
Mikey Jones Curtis, starring in the film
Day of Hearts
, from the Daily National.

Maybe this was all her fault. Chess class was
not
the right place to meet guys. It was common knowledge among the girls at Ford River College that the guys who chose chess for their PE were the ones who couldn't be bothered to run around and sweat, or had medical certificates for imaginary diseases, or just intended to pay off the teacher and show up for the first time at finals.

Those were the lazy ones, and Sol didn't go for lazy. But the guys who actually wanted to be there, would they have been any better? Wouldn't the passion for a game that involved stealth, strategy, and gaining the upper hand all the freaking time be some sort of red flag?

Sol should have known. She loved the game—read about it, thought about it—but it wasn't the healthiest thing to occupy her thoughts with, just as she was breaking up with her high school boyfriend.

That was over though. There was t
hat entire phase of the long distance relationship that included
him
avoiding her calls, and her friends telling tales of
him
not being totally honest with her, and
him
being such an ass, and her being so humiliated that she didn't want to get out of bed.

And then, Neil happened.
Yes, in chess class. Not the kind of guy she thought she'd like, but it made sense. He was smart, and he challenged her, and she liked that Neil was there. Because
he
had always been just a phone call away, and yet
he
found oh so many ways to avoid her.

So Sol crossed off long-distance relationships and
him
, and hoped for the best with this guy. It was a better match, she thought, than the other one anyway. Neil actually liked the things she did. She suspected that they thought things through in a similar way. And, she figured that no relationship was perfect anyway, but she could deal with a problem if they were both in the same place at least.

Last week,
she began to rethink this. She read this book about making long distance relationships last, and it told her that a relationship was a relationship was a relationship. Distance was not a challenge with the right person.

But Sol wasn
't a quitter. She liked to figure out how things worked, and if they were broken, how to fix them.

I should talk to Hannah about this,
she told herself. It seemed like the kind of thing you'd tell a best friend.

Not an art expert, but within five minutes of staring at the painting, a tear had rolled down my cheek.

"
Are you all right, Hannah?" Robbie Carlos asked me, already fumbling at his pockets for tissue or a handkerchief. He didn't have any, because he was a guy, and after a moment's hesitation he brushed the tear way with a knuckle. But my hand was already there, so all he had done was knock his fingers against my skin.

Shit, why am I such a caveman,
he thought. I knew that because I could hear his thoughts, at least when it came to me. Because he was in love with me, and I was the Interim Goddess of Love.

More on that later.

"Yeah, sorry," I said. "I can't believe I'm actually really feeling this."

"
Maganda's Regret
has that effect on people." Our tour guide, a jolly, entertaining middle-aged man who asked us to call him "Uncle John," had come up beside me. He looked pleased at my reaction. "Even young people like you, they tend to stop and take a moment to
understand
it. And it sucks them in."

Uncle John was referring to the large painting hanging on a display right in front of us. It was huge – larger than any painting I
'd ever seen in anyone's living room. It had to be larger than me (heck, it was larger than
Robbie
, and he was a basketball player), and we were standing several feet away from it just to see the entire thing properly.

The small plaque hanging next to it said it was called
Maganda's Regret
, 1904. Featured in it was a beautiful woman, in a plain white dress, standing over a lush, green landscape. She was looking back at something, off to the side, away from the beautiful forest.

She looked sad.

Uncle John left my side and went closer to the painting, cutting off everyone's view, so he could address the entire tour group. "This is the spectacular work of Arturo M. Indemne, one of the country's treasured artists. Here he depicts the story of Maganda. Do you college kids know the story of Malakas and Maganda?"

Not one hand of the fifteen went up. I felt a bit ashamed for my generation.

Uncle John rolled his eyes. "Dear Lord. Our ancestors, before this archipelago was colonized and Christianized, had their own myth of creation. Each region or people would have its own version, but the short story is that Bathala created man and woman, and they were known as Malakas and Maganda. Google that.

"
What not as many people know is that things were not so rosy for our ancestors' version of Adam and Eve. Maganda, true to her name, was very beautiful. Her very presence caused a disturbance in nature. Rain fell in torrents, flooding their home. The earth itself rumbled, and sent rivers of fire out of the mountains, just to get her attention. But she paid them no heed, and lived with her Malakas as Bathala intended.

"
But then one day, she went exploring, and found herself on a sandy shore, facing the water. And the God of the Sea saw her."

Oh my god.
I inadvertently squeezed Robbie's arm.

"
Maganda was enthralled by him, the God of the Sea. She visited him every day, and he did his best to lure her away from Malakas and be with him instead. When Bathala found out, he got angry, and he built Maganda a home far away from the water. Only Malakas was ever allowed to go to the sea again. The God of the Sea took his anger out on Malakas and his sea vessels, tried to make it difficult for Malakas to return to land, but Bathala kept an eye on his creation and saved him every time. And Bathala was able to keep Maganda away from the sea for as long as she lived."

"Is it true?" I said, and based on the look Uncle John gave me, he probably thought I was crazy. "I mean... is that really what the
painting is about?"

"Indemne claims that he based it on the version of the myth passed along by the Tagalogs. He has, of course, added his own touch to the tale. I assume."

"It looks heartbreaking. She missed him, every day," I said, not meaning for it to be as loud as it was.

Uncle John beamed at me.
"Well that is what some people believe. And that is the story one of our national artists told, and it lives on for generations. I know you were all just required to come to the National Museum, but I request of you, please tell this story to at least one person, after you step out of these halls. Help keep the inspiration and connection to our past alive."

I started clapping, and a handful of my classmates followed suit. Robbie did too, because it seemed weird not to.

A text message arrived from Sol, my best friend. I checked my phone and read it.
Need to talk soon. Serious talk.

"
I like you," Uncle John said, tapping my shoulder. "Your name is?"

"Hannah. Hannah Maquiling. But it's you, you have a really great way of talking about history."

Uncle John shrugged. "I give this tour three times a week and very few people react the way I hope they would. You have an appreciation of art and history."

"
Not really—" I started to say.

"
She's amazing," Robbie said to him. "She asked me to come today. I'm glad I did."

On the contrary, Robbie was the one who should be called amazing. He wasn't even supposed to be there; it was my Philippine Literature class that required the museum trip. We just happened to be talking about it last week, and as soon as I mentioned that I wasn't sure yet how I'd go, he offered to drive me. And go look at art too.

I didn't expect to find gossip on this educational field trip though. Based on Robbie's reaction to Uncle John's story, he didn't seem to have realized what it meant. He didn't know that he had just heard something interesting about his friend and basketball varsity teammate, Diego Simon.

Also known as the God of the Sea.

But first, Robbie. If things had been different, Robbie Carlos, varsity basketball player and junior Applied Math major, would have been
the
guy. He was a little taller than I would have liked, but if I wore heels, eye contact during a walk-and-talk wasn't as awkward. A few months ago, after a crazy night at my first college party, he and I slow-danced in front of my aunt's house, and I discovered that he 1) knew how to dance, and 2) had a pleasant humming voice.

Since then I found out that he ate only one thing at the cafeteria (beef teriyaki with mashed potatoes in a takeout box), drove his brother's car half the week and whenever he had practice, and he
genuinely
liked me.

As Interim Goddess of Love, I could hear, feel, and see his thoughts and memories of me, because his thoughts and memories of me had to do with love. It wasn't just him
; I had the enhanced empathy for everyone, in theory, and should be able to help all of humanity with their love problems. Except that I had only been at this a few months, and the powers were kind of coming in slowly. Quin told me that I was going to get better at this with practice.

Quin, as in Joaquin Apolinario. Senior, basketball varsity captain, and reason why Robbie wasn't more to me than he could be. I met Quin first, during my freshman year. The fact that at the time he was a cool junior who bothered to befriend a nobody like me was something I never forgot, and remained grateful for. That he was incredibly handsome and I spent more than a year pining for him was no surprise. But instead of asking me out, he told me he was recruiting me to be the Goddess of Love. Temporarily. While Original Goddess was missing.