I‘m not a fan of telling people what to do with their lives, but I also refuse to stand by when acts of bull crap are committed. So when I heard about Selena Gomez and Justin Bieber possibly getting back together? Uhm… Uhm… Uhm? Yeah, pretty much.
If we must recall the harrowing crash and burn of their relationship: the two then-teens were first seen together in 2010. Then there was the first break-up. Then the second (and final one). Allegations of cheating somewhere in there. Biebs gets arrested. An Instagram war between the two. Justin turns Prodigal. Selena dates The Weeknd and loses a kidney to lupus. And finally, in October 2017, reports reached our shores that they were seen canoodling.
The heart wants what it wants. And because we seem to be celebrating the return of all things old school (vinyl, Adidas track jackets, film cameras), we say, turn up the volume. Older school. A source says Justin still has to win the Gomezes over once more. Take note, Mr. Dad of Selena Gomez. Here’s the lost art of old school ligaw, as told through Jelena.
The old school harana
Picture this: It is six in the evening. The sun has just set, the rest of the stars are about to peek through the sky. Selena peeks discreetly from behind the windows. Justin is outside with his motley crew, tuning an acoustic guitar. “Ahem. This is for my baby, Selena.” But before he can begin his heartrending rendition of Despacito, Mr. Gomez, Selena’s father, has already reached for the piss pot (read: arinola) and has flung its very yellow contents upon Justin and his merry band.
Meet the parents
Justin, somehow, manages to score. Score an afternoon with Selena’s parents, that is. For Justin to be able to continue his courtship of Selena, his parents must meet Selena’s, where they can trade dad jokes and tips on how to keep their emoji games strong.
Feed the neighborhood
Justin’s gotta prove that he can provide for his and Selena’s future family. So he throws a banger at the barrio. “You get lechon, and you get lechon, and you get lechon!”
At the same time, our homeboy’s gotta prove that he’s committed, and nothing says commitment like suffering through manual labor. This means cutting logs, pumping water from the village pump a kilometer from the Gomezes, and preparing today’s lunch — a.k.a beheading one of the chickens in the yard and preparing it for dinner. Chickenjoy, anyone?
Always leave space for the Holy Spirit
And it’s a huge space, too. Can’t hang out by themselves (barkada dates, ugh), can’t so much give each other a hug or even a beso until they’re married. And dancing? Forget it. They can’t even get to base one. But I guess that means they have to, like, actually talk and get to know each other.