My Top 12 Songs for 2012

There had been quite a number of artists I love who released new albums this year but for this list I am going to exclude the indie artists I like because well, I'm not sure anybody would recognize them. I would have loved to include the non-single songs too but so other people can relate to this, I've decided to keep this limited to officially released pop songs for this year. But enough talk, let's get this countdown rollin'!

12. Rihanna - "Diamonds"

I make it a habit to be updated about the biggest pop stars because I always want to be the first to hear their next singles and with this one, I really did not like it the first time I heard it. I was greatly puzzled about how midtempo it was for a first single by Rihanna. It sounded like a B-side song, but well, I suppose Rihanna has grown too popular that she can make almost any song work. This is a grower though, just like some of her previous singles. It took a while before its awesomeness sunk in. And when it did, I realized that I like it enough.

11. One Direction - "One Thing"

Err, I feel a bit shy about admitting this but I do like One Direction because they have some of the catchiest songs in pop. I like the acoustic version of this song better and I don't even have a copy of the album version. And yeah, I've been fantasizing about playing this on my guitar and singing it to someone. Great song. One of those which stick immediately after the first listen.

10. Pink - "Try"

This isn't a mind-blowing hit from Pink but I like it still because of the lyrics. Although it's laudable from an artistic perspective, I don't really like what she did in this song's video. For me, this song is best heard coming from the heart and well, I think the video took out some of the vulnerability. When I play this song loudly I feel like falling on my knees. pleading in anguish. I can relate to this song well. Ehem.

9. fun. - "We Are Young"

I had goosebumps when Rhay first had me listen to this song. It was just... wow. And mind you, the song still wasn't famous when she shared it to me. To mark that moment, I had this song included in my mixtape "Revelations" and this was released about a month before it topped the charts. Glee still beat me to it though since they found and sang it first. Also, another one of those indie songs finally doing well in the charts, possibly following after the footsteps of Foster the People. Will indie still be indie if they became too popular? A disturbing thought.

8. Ellie Goulding - "Lights"

I already knew of this song way back last year and I was somewhat disappointed when it was re-released. I suppose Ellie Goulding wanted to break into the American market. My fave part of this song is when that drum bass kicks in towards the last. I can feel that boom rebounding in my chest. A very different sound from the other more common pop songs. Glad she's adding some variety to the radio at least. Great artist.

7. Jessie J - "Domino"

I've been seeing Facebook raves about this song for a couple of weeks before I first heard this on MTV and my initial reaction was... meh. I thought she was trying too hard to craft a hook and that it sound too samey with other songs. It took several immersions in this song before I began to see that it was really good and now everytime I play this record I feel all sparkly and glittery as if I was having the most euphoric moment of my life. Never fails to make me feel good.

6. Adele - "Set Fire to the Rain"

In my book, nothing beats "Someone Like You" (which topped my list list year) but this is certainly my second favorite Adele song. I heard she already released it last 2011 in the UK but then it only became popular here and in the States this year. This is another one of those effectively "feely" songs, it can bring you to that particular moment. I can almost feel that rain. "My hands, they were strong. But my knees were far too weak." Too apt for me. Too apt. I believe I did listen to this song repeatedly while I was walking home under a light drizzle. F na F lang ang peg!

5. Karmin - "Brokenhearted"

I knew of this song at least a month before it gained a lot more airplay and I was the first to announce it so in Facebook. It did not get any likes though. When I first heard it on the radio, I was immediately hooked though I thought it was a Ke$ha song. Right away I looked it up and kept playing it on loop for days. I just couldn't get enough of it. I dance to this song too. On my own. Too bad it didn't make a bigger impact in the charts. Pure pop bliss.

4. Katy Perry - "Part of Me"

This song isn't exactly spectacular or innovative when it comes to its hook but there's something about the Max Martin quality of it which makes this one of those near-perfect pop songs. Calculated, but ruthlessly effective. One of those songs which make you think that you knew about it, maybe sometime in your past life, even before you heard it. And yeah, I remember that night when this song kept me awake. I couldn't stop listening to it! Not my fave Katy Perry song but definitely one of her best.

3. Carly Rae Jepsen - "Curiosity"

I admit that I've been skeptical about Carly Rae Jepsen, both with the success of "Call Me Maybe" and her credibility as an artist. But the next thing I knew, that song was being played everywhere and her album, "Kiss", when it was released garnered positive reviews from critics. So when I looked up the other songs there, "Curiosity" was hands down, the standout track for me, although to be honest, her songs sound samey. "Curiosity" was actually released in an EP after "Call Me Maybe" so even if it didn't really hit the airwaves here, it was eligible for this countdown. I highly recommend this to all pop fans. This is a gem. She sorta reminds me of M2M here and us pop fans need our dose of wee-inducing tweeny pop every now and then. Clever lyrics too, in this song.

2. Ke$ha - "Die Young"

I get the feel that many people do not really consider Ke$ha as a true artist because, well, she sounds very trashy, and her autotune does not do her any singing favors. But there's something about her self-penned melodies which really radiate that sense of reckless abandon. Her songs just bring to mind those rave parties where you throw up in the end. I was one of the first to hear this since I was waiting for it and with "Die Young", I think Ke$ha has found that balance. It's still very her, but I get the feeling that she thought well about this. And the touches of guitar brought her a touch of maturity. Trashy she may be but sometimes you do feel like being trashy for a change. And of course, this was the song we danced to in Stereochem and that feeling I got in the end of our number when the unanimous applause of the crowd in that event drowned us? That moment is sealed in this song.

1. Taylor Swift - "Begin Again"

Like last year, the song which topped my list is one which I can relate to very well. There were weeks when I played nothing but this song. As in. Nothing else. And it will be no exaggeration if I say that I've played this more than a hundred times already. There's something about the lyrics of this song which make me feel like I could have written it. Something about its simple melody which struck me to the core and yeah, this made me cry. Some songs may make us dance. Some may make us tap our feet. But these songs which touch our hearts... These songs are the ones which last for the rest of our lives.

"But on a Wednesday in a cafe, I watched it begin again..."

My anthem of the year.

My Public Private Image

Before I posted my last entry, I did pause for a bit and considered while my cursor hovered over the "Publish" button. Is "Boobs" really worth sharing? Isn't this too personal? Am I skirting the line again between what is reasonably allowed and what is embarrassing to tell? But I went on with clicking that button anyway. Because I reasoned out that I was just having fun and others might get a laugh (or a snicker) out of what I wrote. Mostly though, I went on with sharing it because I am just being me. This is Bryan we're talking about here. No brakes. No holds barred.

I used to be much worse than how I am recently and if you've been around me for a while you'd know this. I used to share all my sexual exploits and encounters. Uncomfortable situations. Awkward ideas which put people's backs up. Even secrets everyone in their right minds would have taken with them to their graves. Some of my friends used to joke around that if people wanted to know what's up with me recently, all that they had to do was visit my Facebook wall and voila, everything's in there. At least, I say to myself, that means that some people do want to be updated about me. And I find that weird.

And let's not forget about all the stories I've shared in front of my classes, especially back when I was still in UP. So much so that some students had to comment about it in my SET's and although they were far from negative (they said they're quite funny actually), that alerted my superiors and made them more curious about what I do in class. Looking back though, I think I could have used a little more filtering about my stories. Not that I divulge every stinking detail about my exploits since I skip over the nasty or the definitely racy bits. I do try to retain a measure of dignity ya know. But I partly wish that I could have zipped my blabbing mouth a bit because, well, my apparent transparency eventually got me into trouble. And that's why I'm keeping my head low in my new workplace.

One of my friends used to wonder why I share too much about myself, and he was referring to the time I was making jokes about STD's in Facebook but then after knowing me better, he said that he finally understood. He said that it was because I simply did not care about what others think about me. He was right, of course, but he didn't agree that I had the right perspective.

Another time I had this serious conversation with another friend and she was telling me that contrary to my lifestyle, most people prefer to put up images of themselves and that those images were of the utmost importance to them. Those images meant everything to some of them even. I think my jaw dropped after hearing that, although it really wasn't a farfetched concept and if I thought about it I could've figured it out on my own. I was simply startled at the emphasis some people painstakingly build about how they are perceived by other people when I don't give a damn about it.

What she said wasn't necessarily about faking a personality, although I think I know a few who do that. She said it's more of having an image of yourself and building on it and projecting those qualities which will lend credibility to that image and hiding those which would not. I find that an uncomfortable way to live one's life. Because in my opinion, if you're making an effort to be like that even if you're not then I don't think you're living at all. Who are you then? And she retorted that for some people, that isn't a very important question, both from their perspective and from those around them. In the end though, I conceded that there are really no rules on how to live your life. Obviously. To each his/her own.

But I understand now though that these so-called images are important. Because whether we are aware of it or not, I think most of us try to get a picture of each other's characters and we use these to help us interact with them. And our judgements of course mostly come from what we see on the surface.

For instance, at a recent Christmas party with my high school friends, I observed that a couple of my friends who I am not particularly close with tended to give wrong judgments about my character. One of them kept sexualizing everything that I said when in fact, I am one of those few who do not have lust at the foremost of my thoughts (I am going to address this more in the next paragraph). Another friend thought that just because I am an atheist and that I'm emo at times, I would automatically be attracted to darknesses and despairs and loneliness. My other friends, whenever they notice I'm happy, they always connect it to me having a new love and when I say that that isn't the case, they find that hard to believe. It was as if they expect me to keep losig my head over men! I am not offended by these miscalculations and I do not have to put much weight in them because I know that I am partly to blame why they see me like that anyway.

This is a very curious thing, the huge differences between how they see me and who I really am. And this matters to me because I want to be accepted by my friends for who I really am and that's why I make an effort to show them more about what really goes on inside me. I suppose what makes a lasting impact on them are those moments when I was being extreme about something. Those sharp points they saw, they took as my totality when on the contrary, I am not always like that. Like that sex image hovering over me like a cloud. I think they're only having that because I'm the only one who dares to talk about such things. I am only being open. I'm not one of those who are all prim and proper in public but then go on like rabbits under the covers.

On a more serious note, I think I am reaching a point when I will have to impose a forced censorship on myself soon. It is because of my occupation, I think. If things go well, I will have to move up higher in the ranks and I am not that naive to think that this inaccurate "image" that is stamped on me will not affect my professionalism. I do not completely agree with why I must do this, but I really have to tone it down. This is another imperfection of society (that we're often irrational and that we gossip like fishermongers and that the older we get the worse we become) that I must accept. Unless I completely turn this false convention over but I think I'm much too occupied by other stuff like world peace to focus on this single flaw.

There is a bigger issue at work in society which I've touched here with all this talk we've had about our public image. It's why we have to work on one in the first place. There's something quite off in a system when this has to happen. An unnecessary evil perhaps? And with evil I mean an enemy of freedom, not in a moral sense okay? Oh I don't know. I'm much too unfocused now to put a finger on what exactly is wrong. Is it really the system, or is it human nature?

Truth. Freedom. My fight goes on.

Amfeeling ampota. Hahaha.

Boobs

WARNING: THIS ENTRY MAY BE OFFENSIVE TO SOME PEOPLE. IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH ABOUT SEXUAL TOPICS THEN WHY ARE YOU HERE ANYWAY? SHOO YOURSELVES AWAY PLEASE. I ONLY MEAN THIS ENTRY TO BE ENTERTAINING.


***

So I was surfing around the net and then I "stumbled upon" some very nice pics of boobs and I looked at them for a while, and then I looked some more and I felt weird like crazy and I wondered why and then boom, this realization just dropped on my head:

Boobs, yeah. They make me afraid.

But not in a scary freaked out way like earlier this night when a flying ipis grazed my arm while I was smoking and I shuddered (yes really) and I almost shrieked. No it's not that kind of icky fear. This thing that I have with boobs.

Well you see, I'm trying to be gay now through and through but I still think some boobs are nice to look at. I don't like the overly big ones though. I don't think they're very nice to look at, the monstrous ones, although I think if you put your palm around them they will feel nice. Maybe. I think I like boobs which are of the right size. The medium ones I guess.

But I don't think it's just the size of them which matters. It's the shape which is more important, for me. You can have boobs of the right size but if they've gone saggy or if they are pointing all wrong then I'm not sure that would be very appealing. They have to be firm and round. They have to look smooth and curvy. When I see pictures of women with an enticing cleavage I don't really wish to see them take their clothes off. I prefer to just look at it and appreciate their beauty and then move on. That is, assuming that I did notice their cleavage. They somehow lose their value when I see their totality. It's like what Leane Sedai said about seduction in the Wheel of Time. That in proper seduction, you must use subtlety and skill. Nudity uses neither.

I know that boobs are not meant simply to be looked at. They beg to be touched. Gently at first. Running your fingers on the exposed parts. Then lower until you're scooping them. Then later, you can get crazy on them if you want. I don't know what it is about boobs. But even if I'm not feeling particularly horny at the time, touching them triggers responses long buried deep within my body and beyond the reach of my conscious control. It's a curious experiment I'd like to recommend to my gay friends. Try it and see. For the sake of science.

It's like when I was in Grade 3 and I was reading this advanced zoology book my uncle unearthed from his chest of whatnots and I was trying to read it cover-to-cover (like I did the Bible) and I was already on the part about the mammary glands and breasts and the book was describing that it is usually smooth to touch and then I distinctly remember I got hard just from reading that. And mind you, it was not a children's book okay? It was a college-level book and it was all scientific and technical and all and I got hard from reading it! Crazy, right? I haven't had my wet dreams at that age so that's all the experience I gleaned from that if you're wondering whether I acted on it. It was very curious. I read about the male reproductive system too and I got no pleasure out of that, much less a hard on.

Speaking of males, well, of course I've also had my share of tomfooleries with chests. I like men with okay chests and that's understandable since I barely have a chest to speak of. It's a good thing I turned out to be a guy. I think that if I were a girl, my flat chest will probably be a bigger source of despair than it is right now. Or not. Since the way I am now, I'd probably have two kids already by this time. And two fathers.

I find it strange that I can write more about breasts than chests. With chests, there's nothing much to do really. You touch it. It doesn't need to be smooth. Hard or soft, they're okay. As long as there's something there, really, you'll be fine. I don't think I'm as much as an expert about them like one of my ex's who raised my shirt the second time we met and discussed details about my chest and how this deep part here would look impressive if I bulked up. I'm afraid I'm not like that when it comes to chests.

But legs, yeah, they are a different matter. And I think I can write on and on about legs and calves but that's not what this entry is about and I'm going to stop talking about them now. Maybe some other time.

Now I don't know how to end this entry properly. Maybe the moral lesson here is to let everyone know that just because someone is gay they are not attracted to breasts anymore. There are varying degrees of responses to it. I do know some gays who freak out about seeing breasts and would die at the idea of touching them. But maybe they're just too scared to try and they can't really say how they'd react unless they do it first. On second thought, I don't recommend mutual breast-touching to become another form of bonding between gays and their gals. I can't do that, if someone were to dare me. I can't because there's still  this part of me which will not take it without malice.

And no, I'm not going to wrap this up by being sentimental about this difficult path of bisexuality in front of me. We're having too much fun about boobs to kill the moment. The moral of the story? Boobs are good. Straight or gay, boobs are good.

My, but anatomy sure makes them look so undesirable in this image.

Feel In the Blanks

Sometimes I wish I were just a pair of hands connected to my brain, connected to my heart, because the real me, well, it isn't up to scratch. My hands sometimes, sometimes they can make a painting out of words but the real me can only do so much. The real me can only try to replicate what my words have promised. And maybe, maybe it would have been better for you if I weren't real at all. It would have been better for me too, perhaps.

Sometimes I wish I don't see you at all because when we do meet and you're there in front of me, you muddle my brain and often I end up being the half-wit when that's the last thing I want to be when I'm with you. That's the last thing. I pride myself for being sharp and astute, for catching the slightest flaws in the most technical of arguments but when you're around me, my mind just flies and sometimes, it takes all that I have just to catch your words. And I hate it. I hate it so, but that's what happens to me when you're around.

Many times I wish I can just say straight out the many things I want to tell you - say it to your face I mean - but I can never truly focus in your presence so I just store them in my brain for me to translate them into printed words after. If I speak I'd probably just stammer, like when we talk on the phone. I'd just laugh nervously or foolishly and whatever it is I really wanted to say would escape me because I just cannot find the right words to say. To write, yes, but to speak them? My voice will fail me. My courage will fail me. Utterly.

And because I get this feeling that you do not want me to be too expressive (because it makes me sound like I'm rushing you into things or that I'm too clingy or maybe you just don't know how to respond to them) I am left with texting you simple words like "Thank you" or "Good night" or "Are you okay" when the truth is there is a wealth of emotions hiding behind those words. There is a whole world of them. I say "Take care" when what I really mean is "Take care, you sweet thing you. Take care because I cannot be there and you won't let me so you will have to fend for yourself for a while. Take care until I become your knight so I can carry you home in my arms so you won't have to commute because you're tired and you've been doing so much and you deserve being taken care of." If I tell you those words, you won't reply, so I just say "Take care" and you will like that more. It's safer to say just those two words.

Sometimes when I overthink, you make me really scared because you might be setting me up only to let me fall hard in the end. And the universe knows how scared I am of such things but I realize I have grown smarter and that I do know now how to handle such things. I don't demand anything in return, but already you've given me much more than I could ask for.

I remember that morning on your bed when I woke up beside you and you were hugging me. That for the first time I did not regret waking up because no matter how awesome my dreams could have been, the reality which was you right there with me is much more awesome still. And we were cuddling and we were laughing and smiling and kissing and in those moments, I felt that all the bad things I've gone through in my life recently had all paid off.

And that's to cap off how you touched my hand when we were watching the movie or how you said "Ang whatever mo" when, like a gentleman, I got you the gravy for your mashed potato or when you kissed my shoulder for being a good boy during our shower dilemma or for seeing Snow still on your bed or for the numerous times that you chose to spend your day with me when you could have been with your friends or stayed at home to rest.... All these are stored in my head. All my incredulity at why you do these things for me. All that wonder comes crashing back to me everytime I look at you and I suppose that, now that you know, you will excuse me the next time I blank out with you in front of me.

I'm Sorry

I'm sorry if I can't stop looking at you. I just can't stop staring at your eyes. So many songs beginning with descriptions of pretty eyes that I've taken what they meant for granted. In all my years, I've never really grasped what they were trying to convey. Now I know how they feel. I feel what they feel when I look at yours. Sometimes I feel like I can drown in those eyes. That describe how I might, I cannot give justice to how pretty your eyes really are. This is silly, I know, but I feel that I can die a happy man if those eyes are the last things I see.

But it's not just your eyes I'm looking at though. Mostly, I keep looking at you because I still cannot believe that you are real and that you are there with me. That due to some unfathomable force in the universe, the two of us met, and despite all the truckloads of shit life had given me these past couple of years somehow, your presence makes my burden more bearable. And I've gotten used to so many things going bad in my life that try as I might, I still cannot fully accept that you're giving me your time and effort. You're spending those with me and I... I just have to look at you to believe that you are real. I have to look at you all the time because you might turn out to be just my hallucination.

I'm sorry if I couldn't stop moving closer to you. When we're walking, I know, I walk too closely. When we sit, I sit too closely. If I could, I would have climbed on you just to get closer. And at times I really had to restrain myself from hugging you or kissing you right then and there in the open, especially when we're facing each other and I... I don't really know what got into me. I've never been like this before and I'm at a loss on how to explain why. I'm just aware of how things are and I know they sound silly and this is why I am apologizing.

I am sorry, if at times, I turn out to be annoying when we talk or that I seem to be mocking you. The truth is, I seldom have my wits with me when I'm with you. My mind flies. And I scramble for things to say so I may come out a looby sometimes from your perspective. I'm sorry for that. And I get so excited that you're there and I know that we can't have all day so my tongue positively flaps and so sometimes I am not able to check what I'm saying. I'm rarely like that in my own classes. But when I'm with you, I'm turned upside down. And that's all there is to it. There's no helping it.

I'm sorry if, when we're sitting, my legs keep searching yours under the table. Or when we're watching a movie, I just have to feel your arm next to me. You don't let me hold your hand and that's a wise move, but I just feel I have to touch you in some way. I know it's quite rude, and other people might notice, but I just can't resist being close to you. I... I really don't command my body to do such things but that's what it wants and that's what I want also and I hope you don't mind and I'm sorry if I'm forward. I really couldn't help it.

And I'm sorry if at times, I get these racy thoughts about you. It's not just lust and we've talked about it. It's more of a... fire. A need to please you. A need to just be together in that way and I couldn't explain it any better than that.

And I'm sorry if, when we're apart, I couldn't stop asking if you're doing okay. I couldn't stop worrying. I couldn't stop caring. And I know it's stupid to overdo it and trust me when I say I do but it's not possible for me to not care about you. I can stop asking, if you wish it, but I won't stop worrying. I won't stop caring. And I suppose that's all there is to it.

And I'm sorry. If I can't be exactly what you need. I'm sorry if I fall too short in many things. I'm sorry if I'm too eager or too excited or too passionate about these things but this is just the way I am. This is how I... how I care, and to ask me to stop doing these things would be as impossible as asking a magnet to stop getting attracted.

And I know you deserve someone much better than me. And you know that too. And I'm sorry but I've changed my mind about that now. Because I think, at this point, it is safe to say that I like you. I like you very much, mood swings and all. High maintenance and all. Meanness and all. And in the end, I might be sorry for admitting this, I know. I might be putting myself in a long road with a dead end but I don't care. The harsher the road the better because I'll prove my worth along the way. But if that really happens and you realize that you can't, then that's fine. That's how it goes.

Just promise me one thing: Please don't say "I'm sorry" if it should end.

Say "Thank you" instead.

Because like the saying goes, we shouldn't cry because it's over. We should smile instead, because it happened.

Shady Place

Once I met a Little Boy and he was mean and he was tired and he was grumpy
He looked like a hipster with his bonnet on so I took him home to keep him warm and cuddly

I led his hand to Shady Place, a house built of blood, salt, and candy
With my dog Snow and with my left toe, we had games and had fun and were happy

Days passed and oh ever so slowly, he admitted that he was beginning to like me
And so I jumped to say "Calooh! Callay!" joyful days are coming aplenty

But there was a darkness to this Little Boy, a history he still hasn't told me
And as the days unfolded, my proteins misfolded, as he told me that he wasn't ready

Yet I smiled and I said, no worries my berries, I will not turn you into a zombie
Still the days seemed darker, the nights still grew colder, and my heart began to feel real scary

"Oh Little Boy" I told him, "I once was like you yet I chose to stay gay and be merry"
But he was a black hole, that was his starring role, and he stayed good friends with old Worry

So I went up to this room, to a very secret room, a place I was trying to get ready
On the head of the bed, was his name painted red, too bad my plan would not be carried

And so I talked to the Sun to the Stars to the Moon, I asked why I must fail I'm so weary
But they told me to stay, to watch and to play, and that the key is never to hurry

So I went to the Little Boy, playing with his little toy, and told him he can stay till February
Lovers we may not be so friends instead we'll be, and Shady Place will always be his sanctuary.

And he smiled and he hugged me and we were all so happy and with Snow we had a pajama party
But then in the morning, a morning for mourning, he left me a note saying "I'm sorry"

Tunes

I pulled my guitar from under my bed and dusted off its case. I eased it out carefully. I placed it on my lap and fingered the smudges on its blue surface. There is this dent which it got when it fell from my chair during the days in the dorm when Bart was teaching me how to pluck. There's this piece of masking tape I wrapped around one of the tuners because it was wobbly. Then there's this "Demons" album cover sticker I attached to its side from the time I just released the album. That made me remember why I bought the guitar in the first place though. And I frowned.

I tried to strum G D Am C and noticed how out of tune it was - no surprise since I hadn't used it for months. I had been too busy, I thought. I did not have the time to spare for such things. But mostly though, there was just no good reason for me to play my guitar because there was no one to play it for.

I traced the guitar strings while I immersed myself in recalling those days I played it back in IC's old junior faculty room. When I will play it with whoever was willing to sing. Sometimes it was Cressa who will sing. Sometimes Bart, Thommy, and Louvy. Sometimes Ate Babeh. And if there's no one around, I sing myself, not caring if I'm causing a racket because I know my colleagues love me all the same. And I had a grand time, just me and my guitar, there in my cubicle in the faculty room. Especially when I improvised a ballad out of the K-pop song "Nobody". It was silly, but I think it sounded nice.

And I remembered all the guys I've played the guitar for. How I played it earnestly everytime. How I really tried and did my best, even if I'm no expert when it comes to either singing or playing. I remember how I hauled it all the way to D**'s house only to learn that it went out of tune while I was traveling. I remember how I channeled my anger at J**** while he just listened and I played "Linger", strumming each chord with a violence I can barely contain. I remember how M***** taught me "California King Bed", and how we sang it even when we were in the shower together. And of course, how R* sang OPM songs and how he did it exceptionally well to the amazement of my friends though they know that he should be good since he was a real vocalist of a band.

But before all of them, I remember those lonely nights with me in the living room. When I quietly played "Just When I Needed You Most" because that was the only time I can sing it the way I really wanted to. Sure that no one will hear how my voice quivers. Sure that no one will hear how my voice breaks near the end.

Initially, I bought this guitar as a means to distract myself. As a way for me to cope after my longest relationship dissolved. And now it has become more than that. It had become a symbol for hope and love and friendship and other happy things. It has become another instrument for me to express what I feel to those I care about the most.

It had only been three years since I bought this second-hand guitar, and I'm surprised at how much it has already witnessed. How much we've gone through together. How much it had become a part of my life in a way that I did not anticipate. And pulling it out from under my bed after a long time felt like looking at old pictures again. Painful at first, maybe. But liberating in the end.

It has been months and more and now I'm finally dusting myself off from my past. I'm standing up again and I am ready for new beginnings. Like my guitar, I've been out of tune when it came to love but that doesn't mean I'm completely broken. All I needed was someone to tune me right again. All I needed was an inspiration, a reason to make me hear these melodies again. In my heart.

And my, it has been a really long time...

A Bedtime Story

...and it was already midnight, your usual bedtime, and so I asked whether you were already sleepy and you said kinda but your heart was palpitating because you drank some coffee and then I said maybe it's not because of the coffee and then you asked what it could be, then I had to say maybe it was because of cyclic AMP and all that biochem blather because it was too early to be straightforward and it simply wouldn't do.

And we had this long-winded talk about cells because the cyclic AMP brought it on but you insisted that it was probably the coffee and you said you were also hungry and that was usually the case, then I asked you to go grab a bite and you said you're too lazy to get out of bed, and I said if I were there I'd go get you some pizza and bring it over to your bed and you said that would be lovely.

Then I asked you if I were there in your room, will you allow me to lie down beside you and you said only if I promise not to do anything and I promised and that I will be stiff, stiff as a post, but then I thought you were cold, would you come a little closer to me and you said no thank you, you have a blanket, then I said now I'm the one who was cold and I asked if I can share your blanket and you said you'll get me another blanket, but I did not want you to rouse yourself so I offered to take the blanket but then I slipped and fell...?

And you said I fell on the bed then I said I bounced back and fell on...? And you said I fell on the floor this time and then I said I hit my head on the floor and now I've got temporary amnesia and I looked at you and I asked who you are.

And you told me I was a priest with a vow of chastity and then I said, I still don't know who you were, and then you said you were confessing your sins to me, and then I questioned why we'd be doing that in your bedroom but you brushed that aside and you said that your sin was that you lied to me that I was a priest.

And then I said that since I was the priest, the punishment I gave you was that you will care for the first man you will see, and surprise, that was me, but then you said that I couldn't do that since I do not know who I really was yet but then I said it didn't matter and then you said since it was your house, it's your rules but I said that when you said that you slipped and fell on...?

The bed you said, and then I said you bounced back and fell into my arms and as I looked at you, my memory came back, and then you said you fell asleep in my arms, and so I said I'd lay you down on your bed carefully and guard you while you sleep then you said "Goodnight Bry, til tomorrow" and I said "Good night C****, I'll keep my watch so you will be safe" and it turned out to be a great night all in all.

And now you're sleeping there in your room, back in the real world, but I'm still here within my imagination, watching you sleep and I tell you it's still too early you know, it's much too early, but I want to thank you for keeping this little boy inside of me alive again and I do not know what will happen to us, really, but I do not care because these precious moments that I've had after meeting you had been the happiest I've had all year.

"And so it came to pass that in the dying land of his heart, rain came finally pouring down from the heavens, bringing life to its mountains and valleys and plains - a reminder that what was thought dead can still be revived. Once sown, the seed of love persists. Dormant, it may be at times, but a love as deep as this cannot be uprooted. It lasts until the end of time."

Sex & Sadness

It was very late at night and I was on my way home when I passed by these prostitutes haggling with a guy on a motorcycle. He was surrounded by these girls in skimpy outfits, and all their eyes were glued to the guy as if they were the predator and he the prey. I am hardly an innocent when it comes to these things but I still felt a strong distaste for the scene and I had to literally shake my head because my reaction was that strong. I felt a mixture of weariness and aversion with a lingering aftertaste of sadness. A part of my mind was amused at my reaction and as an experiment, I tried to predict how I would react if the prostitutes were male instead.

If they were callboys, I would have looked at them with more interest maybe. Not that I would "purchase" one in that scenario since they make me afraid for my safety (and health) and I don't think I can spare the money, but more for the shallow curiosity of whether they look good or not. I thought that I would feel less sympathy for male prostitutes since I've always thought that men could handle these things better and that women lose more of their honor when they do these things. But I realize that this is an assumption, and a pass at the weakness of women besides. And my perspective about honor in this case is arguable. So I think that my reaction was not logically sound, and should therefore be corrected in the future.

I thought I would feel less aversion to the gay customer as well, since as a homosexual, I can relate more to the gay guy's need for sex. But lust is lust, whether straight or gay, and this is another illogically founded feeling.

And about the sadness, I suppose I also got this wrong since for me, gays looking for callboys does not inspire as much sadness as a woman selling her body. I am clearly biased here, since as I've said earlier, I have this tendency to protect women and consider them weaker than men. So after sorting them, we can suppose my initial reactions were mostly wrong.

But what remained with me though was the sadness of the whole setup from both perspectives. From the customer, that someone cannot find intimacy that one has to pay for it. From the prostitute, that someone has to act out intimacy just to make ends meet. I know that in countries where prostitution is legal, this is hardly a case for an emotional nitpicking and perhaps if I weren't feeling too sensitive, the scene would have passed me by without leaving a lasting impression. But in my current state, it painted in my head a picture of extreme sadness. I can see them having sex and both feeling empty afterward. I can see them smoking, both looking at the ceiling but seeing beyond it.

Or maybe it is just me and my sentimentality. For some, sex is a business. For others, sex is a commodity. Sex is just sex and that is that.

You get each other naked and that is that.

You pleasure each other and that is that.

You taste each other's fluids and that is that.

You insert the penis into the vagina. You insert it then you pull it out then you do it again. You focus on how good it feels and you do not think of anything else. You do not think of who the prostitute is and knowing her name is even optional. You do not think of her life beyond the motel room you are in. You think of her only as a female. An animal. You think of her like that. You think of her as a means to an end. You do not think she has feelings, other than how good you think you are making her feel. She does not feel used. She does not feel maltreated. All she feels is the orgasm you think you are making her feel and that is that. The world does not exist outside your joined bodies and that is that.

You fuck each other senseless and that is that. And then you pay her and then you may pretend to cuddle and you may get attached to her emotionally or whatever but that is part of the game. That is part of the deal and you can choke on how pretentious everything is. How devastatingly shallow it all was and no matter how you struggle against it, you cannot escape the trappings of a trade which is as old as civilization itself.

And I know these things because I've been the customer.

And I know these things because I've been the prostitute.

And fuck the world for destroying my innocence I wish I could have preserved.

Fuck the world for making me so sad that I believed sadness can dissolve sadness.

And no matter how adept you are at analyzing your feelings, a man is just a man, whether on a throne or on a pigsty.

And the cycle just goes on and on. On and on. A spreading web of sadness blooming under the cover of the night.

Shells

I've never been one for taking too many pictures during vacations. I'm not really sure why. It could be as simple as me not having a good enough camera. Or that I can't be bothered to take pictures when I'm relishing a particular view or moment. Or maybe because I choose to pander to my sentimentality, preferring to keep such things in my memory.

So I was thinking about that when we were walking back towards the boat. And then I thought, maybe, I'd change my mind this once and keep something to preserve this day. Not that I doubt that I will forget it, the way this weekend getaway had been going. I just wanted something more tangible. Something to remind me of this day without me having to bring it up in my head in the first place. So as we were walking, the waves lapping at our feet, I bent my head low and looked for stones along the pinkish shore.

I knew you were walking behind me. I had always been aware where you are with respect to me. And for a moment, while I was searching the sand, I hoped you'd notice what I was doing. Because I wasn't really looking for something for me, but for you to keep. For you to remember that there was this one day when I was with you. A day when I was a bigger part of your life than I usually was.

I picked up three stones before I reached the boat. And I lined them up beside me once I've reached my seat. I looked at them and I thought that they looked nice but I wasn't satisfied. They weren't special enough. Anyone could go back to these same islands and get these same pebbles. So when we reached the dock, I left them behind in the boat, still lined up beside my seat.

An hour later, we were poring through the souvenir shops and I continued my search there. I didn't want anything which can be used, like shirts or keychains. I wanted something which will have no other purpose other than for you to remember this day. But I couldn't find anything suitable. Visually, most were attractive, but none held enough meaning. I was about to give up and we were on our way out of the area when I saw this stack of small shells on a table. They were mostly ignored because they couldn't quite compare with the other, gaudier trinkets on sale. And I saw this one pretty shell which looked unique from the others and I knew that that was the one. I checked the pile just to be sure there were no other like it there and there was none. The woman who sold it to me also confirmed to me that there was no other like it in her collection. It was obvious that she was puzzled at my choice of souvenirs - the stack did lie there, half-forgotten and a bit dusty. She seemed pleased though, and she gave me an extra shell for good measure.

I kept it on my palm on our trike ride back to the town. I held it even if I was riding behind the driver, and it might have been dangerous for my safety with only one of my hands free to hold myself steady, but I was trying to infuse it as much as possible with my own warmth before I give it to you. I was trying to make my mark on it.

Even when we were having dinner, I kept fingering it in my pocket. I was thinking of how to give it to you. I did not run out of creative ideas - how to not make it awkward, how to not make it seem a big deal - but I lacked the courage. And we finished dinner with me still fingering it in my pocket.

You lagged behind while we were walking to the bus terminal, and I thought then that that was the perfect time since I was also, incidentally, lagging behind. And I kept waiting for you to walk beside me (I even slowed my pace) but you still kept holding back a bit . And then too soon, we reached the terminal, and then finally you talked to me while the rest of our friends were busy at the ticket booth and it was such a grand time for me, really, since we seldom had moments to ourselves like that, and I put my hand in my pocket again and I thought that this was the time but then the rest of our friends went traipsing back to us one by one and I knew I missed it again.

And then we were sitting on the benches for the one-hour wait for the bus and I made it a point to place my bag beside you because I was thinking of giving it to you while you were bored with waiting. But then I had to smoke first because I was nervous and I kept stealing glances at you and I hope you did not notice. And when my stick ran out, and I finally sat beside you I chickened out again and I postponed it again until later when we were on the bus, hopefully, still sitting beside you so I wouldn't have to make a commotion, walking along the aisle in the bus to hand it to you.

But there were a lot of people already on the bus when it arrived so we had no seating choices at all and we were all separated and although you were only a few seats away but for me, it seemed like miles. And then I thought that my last chance to give the shell would be when you pass me by when you're getting off the bus since you'll be getting off earlier than me. And I kept fingering it in my pocket until I fell asleep, making sure to wake up before you do get off so I wouldn't miss my last chance.

And then your stop came, and you stood with the rest of our friends as you prepared your things and I watched you pass me by but you didn't even glance my way. And I was left there on my seat, still clutching the shell. The shell which meant so much to me. The shell which was meant for you. And I looked at you while you were all standing on the waiting shed and I'm not sure you even noticed me wave goodbye.

And I have no right to be angry, much less to feel hurt because I can't expect anything. Not even your acknowledgement that here I am, with my head filled with thoughts of you and there you are, looking at me occasionally but even in the rare times that you do, I get the feeling that you look through me and I couldn't complain.

And I berate myself because I'm much too careful about you. That I'm too torpe and too indirect and I kept letting moments pass me by. But then, as I've said years ago, this is probably the best that I can do - to do practically nothing because we both know that you deserve someone better than me. And that me staying away is my way of saying that I care about you too much I do not want you to be bothered by someone like me.

And I'm grabbing at this because, you know, I just want to feel again. I just want to feel what I used to feel when I was still whole and undamaged. It is true that my mind had never been as full as this before, but my heart had never been this hollow as well. Like a shell.

And as the bus zoomed along the night-lit EDSA, I put my hands on my pocket to finger the shell I should've given you - this special shell I infused with my warmth, this pretty shell I didn't expect to find at the last moment, this shell which was supposed to remind you of me - and I realized that it was I who needed it more than you do.

Ang Tunay Na Wagi

Madalas, mag-isa lang ako sa Adamson. Mag-isang naglalakad papasok o pauwi. Mag-isang kumakain o nagyoyosi. Tuloy, wala akong libangan kundi ang mag-isip tuwing nag-iisa ako. Kasi di ba, minsan, hindi na naman nating kailangang ibuhos ang 100 porsyento ng ating utak sa mga bagay gaya ng pagkain o paglalakad. Yung tipong naka-autopilot ka na lang habang hinahayaan mo ang isip mong kutkutin ang kung ano mang konsepto ang tiyempong napadpad sa iyong isipan.

Pauwi na ako minsan at naglalakad ako sa Walkway. At dahil medyo mahaba-haba ring lakad iyon, mas malayo ang nararating ng isip ko kapag nandun ako. Nakatingin lang ako sa dinadaanan ko habang nag-iisip ako tungkol sa buhay ko.

Kapag nag-iisip ka tungkol sa buhay mo, hindi mo maiiwasan minsang i-kumpara ito sa iba. Kasi parang hindi talaga kumpleto ang iyong analysis kung puro internal lang. Paano mo siya tuluyang ma-aassess kung wala kang batayan di ba? Kaya iyon, nung hapon na iyon at naglalakad ako sa Walkway, naisip ko kung mas magaling nga ba talaga ako kumpara sa ibang tao.

Naisip ko ito kasi na-realize kong parang madalas naman ako na masabihang magaling. Hindi ko alam kung paano ba talaga para sa ibang tao, kasi hindi ko naman sila nababantayan 24/7, so nag-assume lang ako base sa mga observations ko tuwing may mga gatherings.

Sa ngayon, mas madalas akong masabihang magaling dahil sa pagtuturo. Dati naman, noong nag-aaral pa ako, sa acads. Parang hindi lalampas ang isang buwan na walang nagsasabi sa akin na "Ang galing mo." Pero kasi, hindi lang naman ako sa mga bagay na ito magaling. Minsan, kung gagawa ako ng compilation album, o kaya visual art - mapa-official man na poster o video o for fun lang. Minsan, sa choreo ng sayaw. Minsan sa mga ideyas lang in general. Minsan sa pagsusulat ko. Minsan fashion sense. Hindi ko alam talaga kung nagiging mabait lang ba talaga ang mga tao sa akin kung bakit parang madalas nila akong masabihang magaling sa maraming bagay.

Kung hindi mo ako kilala, iisipin mo sigurong isang malaking kayabangan lang ang pag-eenumerate ko sa mga bagay na ito. Well, hindi yun ang point nito (at ang aking laking loser ko naman kung gagawin ko yun di ba?). Ang point ko ay kahit pala na masabihan kang magaling, hindi pa rin iyon sapat na maniwala ka na magaling ka nga. Otherwise, ang buong blog entry ito ay naglaman na lang sana ng dalawang salita: Magaling ako. Period.

Hindi rin ito case ng "false humility". Naniniwala akong wala namang masama kung tanggapin mong magaling ka, kung may valid basis ka naman talaga na magaling ka. Pero sa kaso ko, parang hindi ko talaga deserved na masabihan na magaling ako sa maraming bagay. Dahil sa tingin ko, wala naman talaga akong ginawang malaking effort para maging ganito.

Sabi nga ng roommate ko dati na matalino, nasa genes lang naman niya talaga ang lahat. May mga taong pinapanganak talaga na matalino, kaya kung maging Top 1 ka man, well dapat lang kasi you were made for that. Parang hinangaan mo yung taong nakakaabot ng bunga ng puno e samantalang matangkad lang naman kasi siya. Anong ineffort niya dun di ba? Wala. Para din itong kaso nung mga magaganda at pogi at mga naturally sexy. Anong ineffort nila dun para makapagyabang? Wala din.

Well, kung ganito ang kaso, ano na ang magiging basehan natin kung sino ba talaga ang magaling at sino ang hindi? Siguro, ang susi dito ay nasa effort na malampasan mo ang mga limits mo. Yung tipong mga success stories ng mga underprivileged. Yun. Yung mga "rags to riches." Yung mga studious lang talaga pero nag-top pa din sa klase. Yung mga maparaan kahit na naturally kapos o hindi pinagpala. Yun para sa akin ang mga taong magagaling.

Sa kaso ko kasi, wala naman talaga akong effort. Isa akong malaking tamad. Kaya nga wala akong matatawag na progress sa aking career kasi wala naman talaga akong ginagawa talaga. Naghihintay lang ako. Tapos kapag meron, yun. Ganun akong klaseng tao kaya tingin ko I really do not deserve all this praise.

Ang totoo nga, if anything, ay dissatisfied ako sa mga konting achievements ko. At this age, dapat I should be making bigger waves of change. Lagi kong sinasabi sa klase na ang ultimate kong pangarap ay world domination. Akala nila nagbibiro ako. And at present di ba. Like wow, sino na nga ba ako? I've made a name na din naman siguro, in a notorious way, pero still, I'm barely somebody. Nakaka-panic na nga actually, kaya medyo tinatakbuhan ko na lang ang sarili kong mala-Everest na expectations kesa ma-frustrate ako all my living hours.

Hindi ko alam kung masasabing healthy ba ang ganitong perspective, na talagang wala na talaga akong nagawang ayos talaga kung tutuusin. Ayoko naman ding magka-inferiority complex. Pero kasi, may pagka-unfair talaga na yung ibang tao, capable of grand things kaya it is really easier for them to stand out and make a difference. I may have a potential of sorts siguro, pero the way I'm using that now? Ay! I'm more olats than winner. Kulang na kulang pa ateng.

Pero ang mas profound pala na na-realize ko dito ay, siguro, mas ma-aapreciate ng isang tao kung may magsasabi sa kanyang magaling sa mga bagay na alam nating pinaghirapan niya. Siguro ito ang dahilan kung bakit parang nababawasan nang kaunti ang aking pagtanggap sa mga papuri. Kasi nga, well, dapat lang na ganun ako dahil capable ako ng mga bagay na ganito. Na parang yes, I appreciate your recognition, but truth is, I'm not at par with my own standards.

Yung naisip ko na kunyari gwapo ako, tapos laging may magsasabi sa akin na ang gwapo ko. I think mananawa na din ako dun. Mawawalan na din siya ng weight, unless isa akong uber-vain person na doon ko lang inangkla ang totality ng aking happiness.

So ang nangyari pala, ay everytime may magsasabi sa aking magaling, instead na matuwa ako ay maaalala ko lang na in truth, I'm lagging behind my own expectations. Bwiset. So huwag na lang pala. Huwag niyo akong sabihang magaling. Para mag-effort pa ako. Kasi this life had been too easy on me.

Bow.

Ligaw Tingin, Kantot Hangin

Ayoko na magsulat kasi wala rin namang nangyayari. Ayoko na isiwalat kung ano man ang katiting kong nararamdamang emosyon na ito. Siguro kasi, kaya ko lang ginagawa ito, dahil alam kong in a way, namatay na nga talaga ang puso ko. Kaya kung anumang emosyon ang biglang sumibol, papalaguin ko ito hindi lang dahil gusto kong gumawa ng iskandalo kundi dahil gusto kong isalba ang sarili ko. Gusto kong makaramdam ulit. At hindi ko lang pala ito gusto, kailangan ko ito. Kaya pasensya na ulit. At sana maintindihan mo.

Sana minsan, kaya kong ihiga ang ulo ko sa balikat mo. Sana minsan kaya ko iyon. Kaya kong hawakan ang kamay mo at sabihin na gusto kita. At dahil gusto kita, gusto kitang maging masaya. Tapos pipisilin ko nang mahigpit ang kamay mo, para lang mas maramdaman mo kung gaano kahalaga sa akin iyon. Pero alam mo iyon, kahit tumabi nga lang sa iyo hindi ko pa din magawa minsan. Well actually, nagagawa ko na naman. Pero hindi pa din purely kebs. Mostly, meron pa ding awareness na hindi ka lang basta katabi. Na ikaw iyon. At hindi kung sino mang iba.

Parang gago lang 'no. Na sa totoong mundo wala naman akong ginagawa (masyado) pero dito sa cyberspace akala mo kung sino akong matapang na kayang busisiin ang bawat pintig ng puso ko. Na kung may cyberspace alter ego ako, ako yung akala mong manliligaw na de-kotse pa with matching bouquet of flowers for you and chocolates and bottle of wine, este vodka. Sa totoong buhay, hanggang chocolates lang naman. Ako nga pala nagbigay sa iyo nun dati. Yung tatlong bars na yun. Hindi ko alam kung naaalala mo pa.

Minsan, kapag mag-isa ako, napapa-isip pa din ako kung magiging matino ba akong boyfriend. Minsan, during my overconfident moments, napapa-isip ako na kung ako nga lang, ang dami ko nang nagagawang mga mini-projects for no one, paano pa kaya kung inspired ako? Paano pa kaya kung meron akong pagbubuhusan ng creativity ko? Yung tipong aalamin ko lahat ng kiliti mo tapos kikilitiin kita paisa-isa muna tapos patindi nang patindi hanggang mapasigaw kang "Tama na, ayoko na, o sige tayo na!"

Hay! (Ilang segundong spaced out dahil nag-iilusyon pa ang lola mo...)

Tapos ayun, kunyari nga nasa kama tayo tapos nagkikilitian, tapos dadalahin kita sa langit alam mo ba? Dadalahin kita hanggang sa pinakamataas na makakaya ko tapos huwag mo na tanungin kasi minsan ganito lang talaga. Huwag mo na isipin masyado kasi hindi naman ako yung kagaya nila na nag-eexpect. Ganito lang talaga minsan. May mga taong dumarating sa buhay natin tapos yun na yun, tanggapin na lang natin.

Tapos ipapa-fall kita sa akin. Ipapakita ko sa iyo na kahit ganito lang ako, hindi naman ako totally olats. Ipapakita ko sa iyo ang hindi pa nakikita ng iba. Hihi! Haha, hindi ito bastos ah. Basta. Pupunuin natin ang buhay natin ng hiwaga tsaka mga unicorns and rainbows and butterflies and zebras and moonbeams and fairy tales and alam mo na ang bilis ko mag-type habang ginagawa ko ito? Haha.

Tawa-tawa na lang. Tawa-tawa. O ano, tara na? Tara! You have nothing to lose. Just take my hand and I'll take you to the moon.

Hay, tingnan mo ako mukha na namang gago. Ganito talaga minsan, tanga-tangahan lang. Dumating na kasi ako sa punto na I've lost it all kaya siguro malakas ang loob ko. I have nothing else left to lose.

Biglang emo eh. Hehe. Pero siguro, ito ang advantage ko sa iba. Hindi yung pagiging emo, kundi yung marami na akong naranasan. Na alam mo na kumpara sa iba, mas alam ko ang mga ginagawa ko. Na ang usual na reklamo mo sa iba ay mas maiintindihan ko.

Hay, tama na. Kasi iyan, tingnan mo. Umalis ka na.

Ang OA kasi. Alam ko naman din yun pero ayoko lang kasing makipaglaro. Eh ganito talaga ako. Madaling ma-excite. Intense. Kaya iyon, mahirap ding sabayan ang trip ko minsan. Naiintindihan ko naman eh. In a fictional way siguro, okay akong character. Okay sanang maging boyfriend. Pero kapag sa totoong buhay na, hindi.

Alam ko naman iyon. Kung pwede lang ano, pumasok na lang sa libro. Para kahit doon, siguro, magiging tayo. Kasi, sa libro na iyon, ako din naman ang sumusulat ng kuwento.

Wood Tinman

There comes a point in a gay man's life when he begins to question whether a lasting relationship exists at all for people like us. I suppose we have all experienced (from observation of others or ourselves) that gay men are rather more prone to cheating. Of course, cheating is not the only cause why gay relationships do not last. But that alone is more than enough to contend with.

It has been more than a year since my last relationship ended, and though I've dated a few guys since then (some seemed promising), I found no luck - that is, if we are to define luck as snagging them into a commitment. At times, even I have difficulty comparing who I am now to who I was before. I was tamer than the average gay guy even then, but compared to my present state, I was positively a casanova.

Especially those nights in Sikatuna a year ago, when I imagined I could even smell the guy I dated last week from the couch as I was fooling around with another guy. Where introducing someone new to my friends almost every other day became slightly embarrassing, even for my liberated standards. I spread myself too thin, trying to fit in my waking (and sleeping) hours with all the guys who I'm scheduled to meet. There was even this one weekend I had to date four guys. And there was this time when I mussed up the blankets with two consecutive guys in one night. Gawd, I've been a whore. And I suppose it isn't really surprising that I exhausted more than my body with my past sexual lifestyle.

I don't think I can be judged negatively from what I did, considering that I was single at the time and that I had every right to sleep around, but if I needed one redeeming factor, it would be that I was trying to store knowledge from all those meetups even as I was fucking them. I will not go as far as to claim that I did not enjoy those nights - of course I did, some of them at least. But I wasn't just in it for the sensual stimulation. I was also trying to learn. First-hand. And what I did learn made me stop eventually.

I think that what makes me a rather effective adviser when it comes to love/sex/other is my recently honed critical thinking ability. Inevitably, being a chemist will instill the scientific method in you and you will find that it is effective, especially when dealing with emotional issues where the mind simply shuts itself down. Years of being like this and my brain has learned to be aware all the time, carefully noting down important nuggets of relationship knowledge gleaned from my frolics. My emotions used to ride my decisions, but the years had made me wiser and now I've calmed down enough to put them in their proper, less powerful position.

The years have taught me that those who tell us to "follow our heart" are not exactly being truthful. Decisions made with passions and emotions are susceptible to fall apart once the feelings fade. And feelings do fade, whether you want to or not. At times, they even fade without warning. On the other hand, decisions brought about by careful mental deliberation are more likely to stay true, feelings or no feelings. Such decisions may not always make us feel good at the moment though, but what is right and what is wrong have never been dependent on our feelings anyway.

With all these thoughts sourced from emotions, I've been able to gather much relationship knowledge about my ideal guy. One who is intellectually stimulating above all. One who I am attracted to physically. One who has the capacity for depth, etc. It all becomes technical, if you let your brain work out the decisions for you. Being hurt in love due to one's foolishness is not a trifle thing to deal with, so even if it sounds paradoxical to sort out such a subjective concept like love using pen and paper, eventually, it will still lead to the less painful outcome.

And this is the primary reason why I've stayed single for the whole year. Because I've been letting my mind rule my actions.

In fact, my brain had been so effective at dealing with love that at times, it convinces me that I don't even need to be in a relationship anymore. Oh there are nights when I still feel lonely. Times when I meet a guy I fancy and I daydream about being with that guy, but they are becoming less and less frequent. What's more, only twice did I feel heartaches this year, and that was a record.

So what the mind does is that it culls off both positive and negative feelings, leaving you a flat, unvaried emotional state. I was right in letting my mind rule, and my heart had never been this bruise-free, but I don't feel anything either. I feel satisfaction at being right but no joy.

What's more, my mind has somehow become autonomous from my lower instincts. Being on a date now has a positive delta G, and I feel like I'm shut inside this control room, pulling levers to control my body, keying in what to say, and pushing buttons on how to respond. I've become detached. I've become an automaton. Like a perverted version of the Tin Woodman.

But I know that there is still this little boy inside me, this little baby, who still yearns to feel once more. I am aware of it, I can describe it in as toneless a voice as I can muster but I know that if I go on like this, that little boy is going to die.

And what's worse is I'm not sure if I'm going to feel sorry when it does.

Friends

I arrived much too early but I didn't mind. I'm 27 years old, and I've had much practice whiling away the hours. I went through the shops. I bought some coffee and smoked (at the designated smoking area of course). I eyed those who were eyeing me. I walked and watched. And finally, Ms. Fulong sent me a text message saying she was already there.

I went to Krispy Kreme where she said she was. I noticed Glen first since she had her back to me. We didn't stay long there though because Cressa said our other friends were already there in the mall and were waiting. Ms. Fulong was wearing a skirt, which was a nice change since I somehow expected her to be wearing her staple casual street-style clothes. I liked her skirt and I told her so.

We met the rest of them at the Food Court. They smiled and greeted me, and I was happy. Bart was there. And Kiall and Marco. Hilbert was there, too. Thommy and MJ were on their way. For a while, while we were having dinner, it felt like old times. Almost, I felt like I never really left UP. Almost.

Kiall started asking me about my love life, which I found strange because that was almost always the first thing he asks whenever we meet. I told him I have no time for such things now. I told him I'm not who I used to be. It was clear to me that these months I spent away from them felt longer for me than for them.

I exchanged the usual banter with Bart, and she gave me the usual slap on the arm. I complimented Marco on his shirt, and he politely deflected it. And it didn't surprise me that Hil was just passing time with us, waiting for his date.

And I sat there among them, trying not to show too much how much I missed them. I kept touching Bart's bag as my way of saying I missed her. It wasn't long before we had to go upstairs. It was time to watch the movie.

I suppose I should have said this to them while I was there, but I really appreciate it when my UP friends still remember me during gatherings, even if this one was my idea. And they never treat me any differently, and they do not act any differently when I'm with them. Although I do try to stop listening whenever they talk about their theses because some things are still painful for me, even after more than a year.

The movie was fine. It may not have lived up to my expectations (saying that I loved the book is an understatement) but the experience of watching it with my friends was what really made it an extra special moment for me. I was seated between Cressa and Bart, and being able to have someone to exchange comments with turned out to be quite a refreshing movie experience. I've been spending too much time alone recently.

Shortly after the movie, Thommy had to leave, like he usually does. I find it sad every time he does that, though I know he has his reasons. I'm just sad because he was already leaving when we haven't really talked at all.

We decided on having some drinks since it was, after all, a Friday night, and we spent some time waiting in line for the cabs. My mind was only partially with them while we were chatting. It must have been an effect of the movie, but for a while my mind grew restless and I had to wander away from them for a bit. I felt that I couldn't focus on being with them for too long.

I was thinking about who I really was the past few days, and I was observing myself whether I feel more like "the real me" when I'm with close friends. Right there, I realized that I wasn't. So I tried to remove the mask I was wearing for them, and I found myself looking intensely on the floor, or walking aimlessly, or mouthing words. And I was surprised to realize that the real me was much crazier than what I'm showing most people. I should have known that by now, but it never really registered into my brain until then.

Some minutes later, we were walking along Maginhawa, looking for somewhere to drink. I was walking beside Bart, and she told me that my experience at Adamson had been good for me. Because it made me focus on more important things, she said. But I wasn't too keen on having a serious conversation because I was enjoying that moment. Me and my friends, walking along Maginhawa. It felt like a scene from two years ago, and right then, I felt like I never really left.

I can continue writing about the rest of that night, but at this moment, I am feeling a little sad. Because I miss my friends very much. I wish I was still with them everyday. I wish we were still all there, living in the same dorm. It's quite their fault actually, since if they hadn't been such awesome friends I wouldn't miss them as much.

There was this line in the movie, something about one's life being more than a sad story, and that touched a nerve in me since I have this fondness for writing about sad things. But maybe, you know, I'm only feeling this sad because I've been really happy. It wouldn't hurt so bad if it didn't feel so good.

I'm not writing this as a plea for help. I'm old enough for these things, and I understand. I just want to preserve that one night in my life, that moment when we were walking along Maginhawa. That moment when it became clear to me, that those last years I spent in UP, those were the best years of my life.

Sa CR ng AS

Palubog na ang araw nang
Nag-CR ako
Sa AS first floor
Nandun ako sa kanang bahagi
Doon sa mga
Cubicles

Sa tapat ng mga lababo
Ay ang salamin
At habang
Naghuhugas ako ng kamay
Ay doon ko nakita
Na meron pala akong kasama

Pero wala namang kaso
Dahil
Normal lang yun
Hindi ko pinuna
Lalo na't
Nakita kong
Prof siya

Naka-salamin
May puti na ang buhok
May kamukha siyang
Taga-Chem
Pero hindi ko siya kilala

Napansin kong
Matagal lang siyang nakatayo sa likod ko
Napansin kong
Kakaiba yun
Pero hindi ko naman siya
Tinitingnan sa mukha
Kasi nakakahiya

Maya-maya din
Umalis na siya
At tuloy ang
Paghuhugas ko ng kamay
At iniisip kong
Medyo weird yata siya
Pero laking gulat ko nang
Nakita ko sa salamin
Na bumalik siya ulit

Lumakad siya
Papunta sa isang
Cubicle
Doon sa dulo
Yung mas maluwag
Kumpara sa iba

At tumayo siya dun
Habang nakatitig sa akin
Tumango ang kanyang ulo
Na tila ba yun ay
Isang paanyaya

At sa laking gulat ko
Sa aking naintindihan
Ay kumaripas ako
Nang takbo
Pabalik sa tambayan

Anong nangyari sa iyo?
Tanong ng mga ka-org ko
Ang putla mo
At tumawa na lang ako

Ngunit hanggang ngayon
Naiisip ko pa din
Paano kaya
Kung kumagat ako
Paano kaya
Kung sumunod ako
Dun sa cubicle

Siguro
Mas marami sana akong
Naiintindihan
Sa buhay namin
Sa buhay ng mga kagaya kong
May iba pang pangangailangan
Sa mga CR

Minsan

Sabi mo, sabi mo.

Ako lang yung taong. Kakaiba sa lahat ng nakasalamuha mo. Ako lang yung taong. Kapareho mo mag-isip. Ako lang yung taong. Nakausap mo. At nakapagpalimot sa iyo. Ng pagdaloy ng oras.

Sabi mo, sabi mo.

Iba talaga ako. Kaya kapag ako ang kasama mo. Kaya mo ring sabihin sa akin. Ang mga bagay. Na hindi mo kayang sabihin sa iba. Sabi mo iyon sa akin. Nung magkaharap tayo sa mesa. Nag-yoyosi tayo. At napaliligiran ng mga. Taong mayayaman.

Sabi mo, sabi mo.

Huwag ako dapat mahulog sa iyo. Sabi mo, dapat. Pigilan ko ang sarili ko. Kasi ayaw mo na ako. Ay maging isa na namang biktima. Ayaw mo akong mabilang. Sa mga nahuhulog sa iyong bitag. Gusto mo sana akong maiba sa kanila. Dahil sabi mo nga. Ako ay. Kakaiba.

Pero sabi ko, sabi ko.

Ang kapal ng mukha mo. Mag-assume. Sabi ko, sabi ko. Alam ko. Ang mga ginagawa ko. At hindi na ako inosenteng bata. Na tanga pa sa larong ito. Na kung akala mo ikaw ang nangunguna. Ay mas nauuna ako.

Pero, pero

Sabi-sabi ko lang iyon. Kasi ang totoo. Ay okay lang akong. Magpaka-tanga. Para sa iyo. Minsan talaga. Minsan. May mga makikita tayong mga tao. Na alam nating. Worthy. Ng ating pagpapaka-tanga. Minsan talaga. Nangyayari yun. Sa atin.

Yung gabing iyon. Nung sumabog ang utak ko. Kasi nayakap kita. Yun lang yun. Yun lang. At dumaloy ang luha ko. Kasi na-realize kong. Gustong-gusto talaga kita. At sa buong buhay ko. Doon ko lang naranasan. Yun. Akala ko dati. Naranasan ko nang lahat. Hindi pa pala.

Pero sana, sana

Hindi mo na lang nalaman. Kasi ngayon, wala ka na. Kasi ngayon masaya ka na. Sa piling ng iba. Kaya ngayon, sabi ko, sabi ko. Manhid na ako. Kasi mas mabuti pa iyon. Kesa maramdaman ko yung sakit. Na minsan may dumating sa buhay kong. Kagaya mo. Umalis ka. Pero hinayaan lang kita. At wala akong ginawa.

Sana lang, sana

Minsan. Maalala mo din ako. Na minsan may nakilala kang ako. Na nahulog sa iyo. Minsan nag-usap tayo. Sa ilalim ng dilaw na ilaw. Minsan niyakap kita. Minsan niyakap mo ako. Sana maalala mo. Na minsan nag-yosi tayo. Sa paligid ng mayayamang tao.

First Rape

I did not really know this guy but I agreed to come into his house anyway, and he lived in Laguna so I had to ask him which provincial buses to take to get there. There were some girls in his house when I reached his gate, and they looked at me strange. I was not sure who they were or if they were even related to him.

He ushered me into his room which was brimming full of books. Stacks and stacks of them. There were some crude paintings too, which he made himself. And there was even a pale pink guitar. It looked like a movie setup. A room of an artist. He pushed me down and made me sit on the bed. I was hoping we'd just talk, but his moving and darting hands told me we wouldn't be doing much of that.

He pushed the door closed without locking it. We must be quick he said, because the other people in the house did not want him bringing men inside his room. His mother forbid him. He did not lock it, he said, because he did not want them to get suspicious. I should have bolted for the door right then. But what can I do? There was no easy way out of that tangle I got myself into.

He started pawing me. So I took hold of the guitar so as to form a barrier but he calmly set that aside. I picked a book instead, but he took it away from me as well. Then he unzipped my pants and took off my shirt and he made me do things I did not want to do. And he made me kiss him and it felt so awful because I did not want to and I really just wanted to get out of his house and run but he had this manic gleam in his eye and although his madness was what attracted me to him in the first place, what he was doing to me was really getting out of hand. So I let him have his way as he sat on me while my mind flew away and I waited until he was done and he was satisfied.

But then he started asking me to do more things for him, and it was all that I could stand and tears leaked out of my eyes but he went on and on and it felt so terrible because I could not push him away because I don't know how he'd deal with that so I just did what he wanted me to do and I was crying I swear I was.

And after was worse. After, he rummaged through his clothes basket and threw an old shirt at me to clean the mess he made on my body. I didn't think I would feel any lower, but the way he regarded me after, as if I was something used and done with, to be discarded, was worse than him forcing me to kiss him. And the way he pretended that nothing bad had happened to me, the way he opened the door and pretended that we were simply talking without even waiting for me to pull my pants up, made me feel violated in more than a sexual way.

I went outside to smoke and to get away from him but he followed and breathed down my neck, calling me all sorts of pet names and making believe that we would be an awesome couple. He was fussing over me, giving me all sorts of books, a handmade compilation of some of the pieces he wrote, and even drew me a portrait right then and there and through it all, I kept still. I held in my disgust. My overwhelming disappointment. Because I knew that there was an even more overwhelming sadness behind his desperation. I kept still. Because I did not want to hurt his feelings.

On my way back, he kept sending me text messages and I replied to none of them.

When I got home, I promptly went online and blocked him from my Facebook profile.

And for a while, I was numb. I needed to be numb.

The Z

A train just left and I was first atop the LRT2 platform. I had its length all to myself and I walked slowly to the opposite end. And for those precious few seconds, I made believe I was in this music video to this song I was listening to from my mp3 player. I mouthed the words. My arms swaying in sync and I stepped to the beat. I immersed myself in the music. And I didn't care whether the people on the opposite platform could see me.

My side of the platform slowly filled up and I had to curb my bout of fitful fantasy. I felt the ever-present control society kept imposing on us settle on me. It gradually took hold of my body, making me move more stiffly. Less freely. It was a loss. And I felt angry with myself. Because even if I am more aware than most people, I still am not strong enough to completely resist that Big Brother-ish paranoia that we all must act properly when in the presence of other people.

We look askance at people who act differently in public. We frown at them, even if they are not really harming or annoying us. Dissect this behavior all you want I suppose we cannot deny that we respond to them in this manner simply because we have a need for everything to be uniform and normal. What we do, we want others to do also. Just because we're used to it being that way.

Half an hour later, I was riding LRT1. I ended up standing in front of this piece of "Berso sa Metro" and of course I read it. And after, I felt like I had to touch it. There was a picture of a hut in this particular piece that I read, and I wanted to put my finger on its window. It felt like the proper response. I did no such thing though, even if I knew that few would even notice me doing that and those who did would be puzzled but would forget about it in a few seconds. I felt angry at myself. I felt sad. And I longed for a society where such unusual actions wouldn't be so unusual.

I found an empty seat and promptly occupied it. Disparate men were in front of me, and briefly, I wondered about the stories hidden within them. I had this sudden urge to talk to one of them because who knew, we might just become friends. Who knew what impact on my life would come about from that simple act of reaching out. I did no such thing though. And I felt frustrated at how almost all of us leave this chance of enriching our lives pass us by. And I felt shamed that even if I am aware of this, I act no differently. And I felt more shame because maybe, some of those in front of me are thinking about the same thing and I've judged them wrongly.

A Muslim mother sat beside me, her young son in tow. And her child promptly knelt on the seat so he can face the window, just like I used to when I was of the same age. I remembered how awkward I felt, that first time when I realized that I was already too big to kneel like that. So I had to sit normally, like a grownup. And I had to settle for looking at the view from the opposite window. How sad that moment was.

The child was just learning how to read, and he was using the station names for practice. We just arrived at Vito Cruz Station. He couldn't read the sign, and he asked his Mom how to properly pronounce it, since he was having trouble with the Z.

And tears sprang up in my eyes because I remembered my innocence. And it would have been fine if I cried right then and there because it was such a beautiful moment for me. But I did no such thing. Because I am shackled into acting properly by this society.

There are so many songs that claim that we live in a crazy world. It had become such a hackneyed phrase, that we seldom spare a thought about it. But now I know how true those songs were.

We do live in a crazy world. And I could go on and cry and rant and write about it but I know that very few will see what I'm trying to say. Very few will bother. Very few will feel me. And that's... that's part of the reason why it's crazy.