D the Dermatologist

I was browsing through Men's Health magazine a while ago while waiting for my dinner at Bomika, and I can't help but smile and frown alternately while looking at the numerous pictures of "healthy" men's bods scattered through its pages.

"God," I can't help but think during the times when I am frowning, looking at brawn. "I'm so way way WAY lagging behind."

It's probably a curious thing in me, or with the few guys like me that when I see a guy who is good-looking, I feel pleased yet irritated at the same time. I feel pleased, well, because I like looking at beautiful things, and I feel angry because I'm so not like them dammit!

What irks me more is that everytime I look in the mirror, I am constantly reminded of how far I have fallen from the better-looking boy that I was. My high school friends and relatives are well-aware of this fact - during gatherings, my friends or relatives exclaim (note the word, exclaim!) about what has happened to my face. The little comfort that I get from hearing those is that at least they care about how I look, and that I get confirmation that I did look good before. I get endless remedies from my aunts and grandmas while my former classmates can do nothing but say, perhaps to themselves, how much above me they are now.

It is an on-going battle, fighting these unwelcome zits making a fucking colony out of my face. I've spent a lot of money already (including that Nu Skin product which absolutely made no difference despite its claims but it's okay because it only cost me 6k thank you very much), and a lot of humiliation has been put on my back because of this handed-down problem.

Only D has the courage (and love) to discuss the problem to me in detail. I only became really aware of it when I started to hear insults from people I don't know. It gets hard, you know, at times to leave the apartment, or to leave home when I'm looking really bad. In fact, I only feel comfortable going out at night or where I'll encounter blessedly few people.

One of the worst things I have to go through is going through my classes, especially at times when I'd rather stick my head inside a barrel filled with laughing gas and die. I keep thinking about what's inside their heads while I'm blabbering about stoichiometry or balancing redox reactions. I keep thinking about what they're saying behind my back, or when they're talking to their friends about me, and their friends ask "Which teacher?", and they'll say "Sir Bry, the one who has loads of zits", and they would reply, "Oh... That teacher."

I really have to summon my courage on some mornings when I think I'm particularly looking bad to go out of the door and be subjected to the humiliation of the open world where everybody wants to look their best and those who fail to keep up should be scorned and exiled.

One of my worst experiences so far, was when I was passing through Babaylan's booth in AS Walk on the way to the store in between the Chem Pavs. I was walking by wearing my lab gown, averting the three gays' gazes, when one of them boldly confronted me, a teacher, and said to my face that I should join their org so that I can avoid looking like someone who is "nasabugan ng chemical". And to add more insult, they all laughed loudly and scornfully and kept looking at me on my way to the store!

I ignored them, since I had no other choice but keep my dignity. If I were made of weaker stuff, I would have cried right then or I might have confronted them and humiliated myself further. When I told this to D, the only one who I told this to personally, he offered little commiseration and simply told me that I'm too old to be affected by that stuff. Although he admitted that what they said was mean.

It never goes out of our conversation (me and D's) - the sorry state of my face. He tells me now and again to wash my face more often, or to use this product or that. To stop smoking, or to drink more water. I can sense that he wants me to look my best before he presents me to his friends, and whenever we get into talking about that, I only feel a certain helplessness in me. I really want to look better, for him most of all, and I'm doing what I can, but success keeps evading me. And I'm almost out of hope after trying so much, and still failing. And looking worse every year besides.

I'm almost out of hope, reader. And in low times, pondering about those who laugh at me and humiliate me, I think to myself, well, at least I've got someone I love who loves me back. That's a whole lot more worth than any blemish on my face will ever be. They're just bitter, that's all, because they don't have the wonderful life that I have. Much less the courage to tell such things to other people like what I just did right now.

I remember one particular night when me and D were in bed, my head on his lap. I've just finished washing my face for the night, and he was sort of supervising the cleaning. He had a tissue in hand, and was wiping at the spots on my face, occasionally asking whether this spot hurts or what. I feel ashamed, true, being so exposed to the person I want to please most in the world, And yet, I feel warmth, too. I feel love. And it's what keeps me going whem I'm at one of my lowest.