It was the most difficult pageant to judge in because it's epic, like no other in recent memory. For starters, security was super strict: there’s no VIP pass on this one. Frisked, every item in my messenger bag was scrutinized, sniffed, and safeguarded. The courteous fellow in uniform then beamed a smile and welcomed us in.
It was my first time to be in jail.
We were not brought behind bars, however, but to the roof-deck where yellow lights beckoned and a tarpaulin screamed Miss Gay Mandaue City Jail 2011. For somebody who sits regularly in the panel (and usually come late for that needed drama), boy we were way too early because there was no audience yet. That was strange, I told myself. But before I could ponder on what transpires behind this barbwired-wrapped beehive, the ladies in yellow shirts silently came into view in single file, and sat right behind us. Then came the gentlemen in same color-shirt paraded in straight line, like ants at work. The audience has finally arrived in half-tiptoes.
Then came a familiar voice announcing that the show was about to start. There he was, as proud as ever without a hint of a checkered past, Manoy Rene, the quintessential host and organizer (a record third staging of Miss Gay Mandaue City Jail and counting!), himself a former resident in what he fondly calls “Bahay ni Kuya”, running the ropes and fulfilling two basic functions of a seasoned toastmaster -- to instruct and to delight.
And like in a dream, a dozen bevy of beauties appeared from behind the tarpaulin and danced to Beyonce’s “Run the World.” in their decent playsuits that even Governor Gwen would have applauded. My eyes went misty, the sentimental fool that I am. The once very silent crowd went crazy and cheered for everyone. It was deafening, I tell you. For a second, I thought that I was a judging QUEEN because of such elegance and grace under the oft-repeated controlled pressure.
When the “ladies” introduced themselves one by one, everyone went berserk. I could have died laughing. In all Miss Gay contests, the self-introduction is already a highlight in itself because you couldn’t predict what will come out from the mouths of babes. The candidate who “stand by the name” of Shamcey Supsup was clearly a favorite, but only for a few minutes because next number was, hold your breath now, Leila Lopes in all loveliness.
But it was the talent competition that was the showstopper. Male inmates were so supportive of their own candidates that some of them macho-danced, ate fire literally, showtimed their way with dangerous stunts and stomps: as back-up dancers. One even realistically acted like the wife-beating paramour, kicking the candidate in the tummy so believably true that my heart stopped for a few seconds. My personal favorite, tho, was that ageing candidate who sang plaintively a worship song and, at the same time, hand painted the face of the messiah. Although it was not my first time to watch such spectacle, but the truthfulness in which the candidate sang was like hearing a chorus of angels. (I learned later that he used to be the one of the best make-up artists in Mandaue City who couldn’t survive the trappings of success and resorted to substance abuse, a familiar true- to- life tale of sadness.). There was felt joy in her singing and worshiping the ONE who frees her spirit and refreshes her soul.
It broke my heart that they were whittled down to just six in the evening gown, and the semi-finalists battled it out in the Q and A. For the very first time, I was pleasantly surprised that the candidates veered away from contrived answers and spontaneously respond to every question as best as they can. I loved their bravado to get a hold of themselves, picked up shattered shards of their lives, and face the uncertainties of tomorrow. One candidate was supposed to be released yesterday, but she begged off and extend another night just so he can compete with his sisters.
The reigning queen had the requisite farewell walk in a stunning white gown and real tears rolled from her cheeks. A new successor was crowned Miss Gay Mandaue City Jail much to the everyone’srevelry. (Shamcey Supsup was crowned and Leila Lopes did not make it to the top three; now ain't this amazing?)
Our tasks as judges were done, and it almost made me weep that not all of the 12 ladies would wear the crown (even if I’d be chided O.A by my dearest friends for revealing this wish). I took a last look at the tall fences and was reminded by Shawshank Redemption. Tonight they will all sleep back in their cold cells happy knowing that they have escaped the harsh realities of life even for a brief two hours inside of which they celebrate the freedom to just be, no matter how fleeting it may seem. It doesn’t matter anymore that for some of them they’ll be counting days, weeks, years, or even a lifetime. There’s always next year to look forward to. And hope to cherish, cling on, and cuddle in dreamland. Even fantasies do come true for once upon a time there lived a little boy in some distant past who dreamt many dreams ago to one day BE queen...
