Laughing Stock

Picture this: a girl, hands clutching her stomach, her trembling body doubling over, her face twisting, not in pain but with laughter. She runs out of breath laughing. Her eyes water. She’s been in this laughing fit for quite a while, longer than normal, in fact, that she forgets what the mirth is all about. Sometimes, she tries to control the laughter. But the more she tries to contain the laughter, the more tickled she is and the longer her laughter lasts.

Her trembling body twists and bends and doubles over, hands clutching her stomach. She laughs so hard it takes her breath away—literally—she wonders if it is to be the end of her.

That is me, sometimes. And I wonder if it is some kind of an unnamed disease that attacks at some opportune and sometimes, inopportune times.

One night, my sister asked me, “Why are you laughing?” I was literally rolling in laughter. She didn’t know what was so funny. In fact, I think she was even exasperated watching me twisting and crawling with laughter, but not knowing what the **** that was all about. It was an intense laughter that made her laugh, too—eventually. I desperately fought for control, but I was laughing so hard I almost ran out of breath—literally. I laughed for a long while, that I forgot the reason for such mirth.

That night, I had got to the second floor of our house. At the door, I already heard the tv playing and expected my sister to be at the lounge chair in front of the booby tube. So I rushed to my room (my usual way of walking). But when I turned round the corner to my room, my sister was facing my direction, too, her face covered in soap. I was literally taken aback, letting out a yelp, as she did, too. I paused a split-second to recover, and then started laughing. Well, she laughed, too. But when I couldn’t stop laughing, she started to wonder what it was all about—why I was laughing so hard.

My sister was wearing an apron down to her feet, her hair secured with a hairnet. She looked like a Scottish lass of long time ago—the ones I’d seen in old movies. That was the first time I saw her that way.

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Was that why I was laughing? Or was my laughter an expression of the shock of seeing her? Or was it because of seeing my initial reaction mirrored in her face when she saw me, too? It might be one or the other, or a combination of all of those reasons. But I never really spent much time analyzing my laughter, as I suspected it might cost me my sanity. What I dwelt in, though, was the fact that I did have a great laugh, which released the tension I hadn’t known, was dwelling inside me. And it was a great feeling. Laughter always makes me feel good.

Yeah, I always feel good laughing, even though it had caused me some embarrassment sometimes.

My friends would say about me: “Don’t make her laugh: once she’s at it, it’s hard to make her stop.” And I notice there’s some truth to it.

I don’t laugh at every joke I hear. But when I find something funny, that’s when this disease becomes hardly controllable.

Sometimes one of my friends would say something or do something funny, and I would laugh with the group. But my laughter would extend long after the rest of the gang would have recovered. And then they would be infected by my laughter, shifting the subject of their laughter to me.

I love watching Funny Home Videos. One clip was shown of a couple during their wedding ceremony. The priest was asking the bride the ceremonial question: “Do you…take this man as your lawfully wedded husband, etc.” When the woman opened her mouth, supposedly to respond, no “I do” was heard. Instead, it was the crisp laughter she was obviously trying to control, that echoed through every nook of the church. She evidently struggled for control so she could say the word, until she helplessly leaned on her partner failing to stop laughing.

I completely empathized with her.

I was asked to host a beauty contest in a small barrio in a remote town. The contestants were down to the final six. Each finalist was to be asked a question by a particular judge. There was a question I’d been hoping never to be asked. But my hopes fell when a judge worded the question: “How would you describe your ideal man?” Upon hearing the question I took a really long breath and gave my widest smile to foil the tension that was building inside me, while silently praying, “Please don’t say the word.” Then the contestant answered, “My ideal man is one who is honest, loving…and most of all, toothful” (when it was supposedly thoughtful) Right there and then, I felt my whole body down to its tiniest atoms, shook. And I was holding the microphone for the contestant! I desperately groped for appropriate comments. Lucky for me, it seemed nobody noticed my lapse. But after that incident, I would think a hundred times before committing to any similar events.

Once I was in a meeting with my colleagues at the university, my superiors were there, of course. There was a memo from the main office and I was asked to read it aloud to the group. Then I read a word that sounded funny, and I just cracked up. Right there in front of my colleagues in the middle of my oral reading. I was laughing so uncontrollably I had to give the paper to one of my companions to finish the simple task.

Sometimes I am all alone and I remember something really funny and I would just laugh all by myself. I wouldn’t worry about these moments. But if this remembering happens when I am around people, it is an entirely different story.

Not only once have I ridden a jeep full of passengers, that I suddenly remember something funny, and I couldn’t keep the laughter inside. I’d gulp the giggles, I’d bite my lips, I’d cover my face with a hanky, or if desperation came, I’d bury my head in my bag. Still, out went that darned mirth until all the passengers’ eyes are on me. And as usual, the more I try to control myself, the more tickled I would be by some invisible critters or something. And then the people’s looks would change from curiosity to that of wonder, and worse, disgust and even worst, fear. I might have been fortunate not one would call 911 to report a mental case!

Then there are those really sad and embarrassing moments when somebody—either someone I know or a stranger, who would slip on a banana peel, or trip over, thereby projecting a funny pose. I couldn’t help myself even if I have been taught that it is not good to laugh at other people’s injury, and that makes me feel so much worse. And the more I try to muster a serious sympathetic face, the more this disease would seem to strengthen its hold on me.

This laughing fit, when it attacks, is one heck of a serious problem. It is contagious, most times; other times, it is simply embarrassing. And it might just be the cause of my death since it could rob me of my breath. And the scariest part is I don’t seriously consider being cured of it.

But then again, if I died laughing, at least, no one can say it was a sad death.