I was watching “Wowowee” awhile ago… no wait, I watch “Wowowee” almost every day. I suppose part of my brain has already died and got reabsorbed as testosterone because of scantily-clad Anna S. Feliciano/ASF Dancers (I have my eye on that girl who carries the Liveraide package). Talk about the pervasive influence of popular culture.
Because Willie Revillame panders to the poor by way of giving away big bucks, the dream of big money becomes synonymous with a new dream that has reared its ugly head on the collective subconscious: to see “Papi.” The “Willie of Fortune” contestant – usually a poor, downtrodden person who has walked the proverbial pool of quicksand that is hard time – would profess, “Matagal ko nang pangarap na makasali dito sa WOWOWEEEEEE!!!” This may sound “elitist,” but you have got to be kidding me.
I was buying samalamig from a roadside vendor when I heard her talking to her kid:
Manang selling cold melon juice: Anong dream mo, anak?
Kid of manang selling cold melon juice: (dances “Sayaw Darling”)
Damn, I thought. I suppose that the ambition of children have long since surrendered their innocence in favor of dreams that aim as low as height requirements for rollercoaster rides. Back when I was a kid, all boys shared the same dream: to be an astronaut. Girls were more noble: they all wanted to be nurses. While we boys still try our darndest to be Captain Kirk, almost every girl who wanted to be a nurse back then is probably already a nurse now.
Yet there are kids who still aim for the stars, if not to be stars themselves. To be an “artista” is the most common dream I hear from girls nowadays. I’ll be damned if they look like Maja Salvador by the time they grow up.