The Princess and The Pea

#19: Back To My Own Bed

You know those Shelley Duval fairytale dramatizations they used to show on Saturday nights when we were kids? I saw their version of "The Princess and The Pea" some million years ago and while I do not remember much of the details now, I distinctly recall asking why the heck the princess was so prissy. It was a pea, for goodness' sake. Not like they made her sleep on rocks or nails. Plus, there were about 20 or so mattresses on top of it. (Of course, I did wonder how they were able to get her up there. That would be terribly close to the ceiling and that would be a more likely reason for her restlessness throughout the night. I mean, why don't you try sleeping near a lightbulb? Or with only a couple of inches between your nose and the ceiling? See if that doesn't drive you crazy.) But since the focus was on the pea and how her "feeling" it was the true test of her being royalty, I dismissed the whole story as ridiculous and dubbed her as the most unreasonable fairytale character ever.

Fastforward to the year 2004. Business trip to Visayas once more. This is my nth time. 5th? 6th? I've lost count. I just know that this last trip made me realize that the story of The Princess and The Pea is not so far out after all.

There was this particular hotel we stayed at which was supposedly the best in that area. It had a grand driveway and a beautiful lobby alright, but beyond that, it was a crying shame. The carpet looked like if you stomped on it hard enough, you'll upset a whole flea city (circus included); and the towels were dangerously thin and strangely grayish that I feared they'd fall apart if bath product ingredients left on my skin came into contact with them.

But those things should be okay, right? I mean, I brought my own towel with me and I could always walk around with slippers instead of going barefoot. But you see, I didn't bring my own bed nor sheets, nor pillows... so those were the things that really killed me.

I will not make a long list of things that were so wrong with the beds. I will just say that it was freaky that they smelled... "human." ICK!!! Really. Of course that is much more major than silly peas, so tossing and turning all night won't really tell you if I'm a princess or not. (It will just tell you that I'm human and that I don't particularly like 'supposedly fresh' hotel beds to smell like someone had been sleeping on them for days.) But it calls the story to mind and brings the "prissiness" of the princess to a level that is more tangible and easier for me to comprehend.

There will always be certain things that will keep us from getting a good night's rest when we're away from home. Even the fluffy pillows and soft sheets in the next place we visited didn't remove my craving to go back to reigning as queen of my messy room once more. It's not just limited to obvious irritants. It's actually a consolidation of all the things - whether big or miniscule- that remind you that you're far away and that this is not home. These are the same things that will make you so glad to be finally back to your own space at the end of it all.

As for my princess status, on our last day, during lunch at this resort, the restaurant owner gave me this amused look as he was serving really small portions of porkchops. He proceeded to declare to everyone at our table that I so looked like the daughter of his boss back in Malaysia where he worked for 12 years. The boss? The king of Malaysia. The daughter I was supposed to have a striking resemblance to? No less than the princess. Whoa. How's that for royalty?

Please feel free to address me as "Your Royal Highness."