Engagement: A tale set in Manila and Liberia. Also Diamonds.

If I were to write about engagements around 4 years ago, I would’ve probably written it with my friend Kenneth’s engagement in mind.

Kenneth was one of my best friends in college who proposed to his girlfriend about the time we were about to graduate from business school. Although Kenneth was one of my closest friends, we’ve always had this strange, and at some points, frightening competitive friction going on between us. For one, we always tried to outdo one another academically and in “sports” (and of course, by “sports” I meant billiards; a sport I grudgingly lost to Kenneth back in 2002 during a local 9-ball championship. I did, however, exhibit a modicum of class by publicly congratulating him–a moment which reminded me a lot of that time Hulk Hogan lost to The Ultimate Warrior back in Wrestlemania VI).

At that time, I wouldn’t say I was in any hurry to get hitched but the fact that Kenneth, yet again, beat me to something desirable left me with a lot of jealousy and resentment.

Of course, Kenneth bought his then girlfriend an engagement ring. Actually, now that I think about it “engagement ring” was a huge misnomer given that the “ring” Kenneth gave his fiancee was more of a “14 karat gold band set with a really fucking expensive rock that is about the size of a baseball and probably costs the same as it would to feed a small African country for at least 5 years”

Back then, I thought to myself that since Kenneth gave his fiancee a majestic, expensive as hell ring, I needed to outdo him by giving my future fiancee an even more majestic and more expensive ring.

I actually, back then, had a pretty solid plan to procure said ring: I would fly to Pungo Andongo somewhere in Liberia where I shall mine the biggest diamond the world will ever see with my bare hands. I will hire a group of Kongo-speaking locals who would agree to help me only if I provide them with a crate of AA batteries and some old NBA trading cards (They love Detlef Schrempf in Liberia).

Once I get my hands on the gem I came to Liberia for, I will exfiltrate to Lusaka, Zambia with a human-smuggling caravan who have agreed to provide me with safe passage to Lusaka in exchange for allowing them to butcher and eat my Liberian guides. I might also need to give up my pants along with a box of candies I will bring with me to the trip plus a promise to give their leader one hell of a toothy blowjob (because I don’t know, I guess Zambians like it like that?). A fair trade if I may say so myself.

Upon flying back to Manila, I shall immediately find myself exceedingly attractive to the members of the opposite sex, every chick I meet would want to sexually pleasure me and marry me because, as wel all know, women only fall in love with men who possess two things: A giant penis and a huge-ass diamond. The penis, I can’t do anything about but I would have the world’s biggest diamond and that should be enough.

THAT was how I imagined I’d go about the entire engagement ring / engagement deal.

But last week, January 24, 2009, I invited Maffy, who has been my partner for almost two years and prior, was my best friend for almost six, to a quaint, intimate formal dinner in the middle of which, I dropped to my knees, opened a small black box containing a humble ring (with a rock that’s smaller than my bird–we’re talking REALLY small here guys just in case you still don’t have an idea) and asked her to marry me.

She said yes.

Sure, I may not have had the world’s biggest diamond with me. In fact, all I had were a lot of nervousness and anxiety. But guess what? I walked away from the entire thing with a promise from the love of my life that yes, she will spend the rest of her life with me.

And really, nothing could make me happier.

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