B-DNA

Most of us are aware that whenever a person exaggeratedly professes and publicizes something about himself or herself - e.g. intelligence, good looks, wealth, or one's lover - we know that that person is, most likely, actually insecure about it. These people need to affirm these things to themselves because somehow, they believe that they do not really have what it is that they are proclaiming to have in abundance. I know this from my experience. For instance, the most intelligent people I know do not feel the need to make every single conversation intellectual. They do not even like to draw attention to themselves that way. They are confident in their abilities and they do not need others to affirm that they are some of the smartest people around. 

I am not an exception to this, of course. There was a time when I did try to show more of my "pa-cool" side because I was still trying to project this image that I have, indeed, made a drastic turnabout in my lifestyle. That I'm done with being a nerd, and to erase that image, I had to be a bit louder. I just had to let people know that I'm wilder now. That I go to these crazy parties. That I sleep late and drink and smoke and go to concerts and all that. And then there was a period when I talked about sex a tad too much. I know that whenever I blab about this, some would think I'm too new to these things. That I'm actually too naive. And I was. I'm much more comfortable in my skin now so I've become a bit more quiet when it comes to that. But what I'm more curious about is whether anyone has noticed that I'm much too loud, even for an average gay guy. That it may seem that I'm trying too hard to remind everyone that I am gay now.

If you are going to apply what I've talked about in the first paragraph then you can deduce that I am loud because I am insecure about my gayness. Well, that is a fact. I am insecure about it because there are still times when I don't feel that I am really 100% gay and that scares the shit out of me. I must remind myself by reminding everyone that I am indeed, a changed man now so when I talk about me having hetero tendencies, everyone would just laugh it off and think I'm kidding and in effect, that would remind me that I'm kidding myself as well. Although at times, my laughter at myself is tinged with more than a hint of nervousness.

There are moments when I regret that I've overdone it again (as with most things in my life). I've overdone my having a gay image, and now no one will take me seriously if ever I talk about having feelings for a girl. I feel sad about it, but I suppose it's the safest way. Not for me, but for the theoretical girl I'm interested in. No girl deserves being lumped with a man like me. And considering my tumultuous hetero history, I am not inclined to hurt another person that way. I feel sad that I have to put up walls like this, but this is for the best.

Many times, when I'm in bed with some random guy, I feel this coldness. This feeling that things could've gone much better if I were straight. That in the moment while I'm fooling around with the guy, I couldn't shake off nagging questions such as "Why am I doing this? What for?" and that takes a lot out of that supposedly pleasurable moment and it always leaves me regretting having sex with the guy in the first place.

Now I'm not struggling against my sexuality. Not anymore. I've accepted it wholeheartedly. I suppose what I am struggling against is how illogical it is. How irrational some of the things our DNA's dictate us to do. Take for instance, sex. Now I'm not going to beat around the bush here. Sex is a need, and those who believe otherwise are either inexperienced or just fooling themselves. That is why, with all my talk of not really enjoying it, I still go out and do it. Because whether I like it or not, I must satisfy that craving. And it comes and goes. Once you've had it, you'll need it again. And it never ends. At least for men, I think. And it's this vicious cycle that I am trying to escape. Only I can't. Because it is in my DNA.

If I had complete control of myself, I would stop having casual sex altogether. But these are primal urges and it's tearing me apart keeping them reined in. I know that what makes us distinct from animals (among many things) is that we have the ability to make a choice - to not surrender to our instincts. Such decisions are products of rational, logical, and critical thinking but it seems that humans are just not made to be that way.

Another excellent example is love, which involves a lot of unnecessary foolishness and pain (by this time you should know this) and yet still, we fall. We fall, over and over and it doesn't take too long for us to see that love is at the extreme end of logic. It's just craziness in romanticized form. But from an evolutionary perspective, love does make our whole race survive since it improves the chances of offspring reaching adulthood, among many other purposes. I accept these things. I am aware of them. But that still does not make it easier for me to connect what should be to what is. Seems like our illogical tendencies pull us back from being the most rational of beings on this planet. That in the end, love wins. Or put another way, foolishness wins.

This is silly. Because I expect evolution to be focused  on improvement of the whole race. But what it only cares about, apparently, is the survival of our species. Logical or not. Improved or not. Morally acceptable or not. And this is where my big stupid dilemma arises - I am trying to fight what I was meant to be. In other words, I am trying to be rationally perfect when my composition is itself, imperfect. And my, this is one of the hardest battles ever.

I have learned to overcome my earlier overdependence on love (and sadly, I am currently at the position that love is an inferior need) and this prompts me to proceed to the next higher level. Can I also overcome the need for wasteful sex just to be a more rational human being?

Or is this another case of me overdoing things again?

7 Poems

Poetry is one of the few weird things that I indulge myself in every now and then. I consider it weird because I don't go out of my way and think "Oh, I'm going to write a poem" and that makes them somewhat visceral for me. It just happens spontaneously and I maybe it just has something to do with how inspired I am at that moment.

Some things are just better off written as poetry. Now I'm not going to claim I am an expert when it comes to these things. I just feel that some thoughts and stories are better written fragmented. Like a picture show, they allow you to focus on one small fragment at a time.

I browsed through all of my posts here and found that I've written 28 poems since I started blogging in 2005, and as a sop to myself, I decided to collect the best of them in one post. Hoping that maybe, some of you will like them or at least, get something out of them, too.

But enough introductions. Let's get on with the show. Here are my seven best poems, in random order:

LonelyBoy2009
Admittedly, this is not a literary wonder. It's written in a very casual style (as are most of my poems) but I just like how the poem subtly hints behind its casual tone how lonely this boy really is.

Minsan Kapag Gumawa Ka Ng Tula
I think this is my favorite poem all in all. The poem which talks about writing poems. Every time I read this poem I get transported back to that time while I was writing this - back in my dormitory bed with the soft yellow lights of my lamp to my left and the bleakness of the night outside my window to my right, and oh, the loneliness within.

Ang Titik O
This is a hilarious story about me and my friends going to this bar. I like this a lot. It's the only feel good poem I've ever written, I think, and I just love the ending.

Three Girls and a Love Letter
This is written in a different style than most of my poems. It's a story poem about a pivotal day in the hetero life I used to live.

Mamayang Gabi, Sa Basketball Court
The basketball court I was referring to here was at Sikatuna Bliss where I used to stay. I got the idea one night while I was walking past it, and there were some good-looking men playing basketball beneath a full moon and I suppose the brightness of the moon woke up this sex-hungry wolf within me and made me conjure these raunchy images in my head. There are several disturbing lines in here.

Gwapo sa Gwapo
This is a simple poem about the lifestyles most of the gay men I see online have adopted. I used to detest them for this, but now I understand. I've become one of them now. Sad, but there's no helping it.

My Malayogenic Love
This is a fairly recent poem I wrote and I got the idea while I was working at the review center. I was sitting at the back and I was stealing looks at one of the cuter students. I never felt anything strongly for this guy though. In fact, this poem isn't about a single person at all but a collage of bits and pieces about love I've learned over the years.

So there, that's it. I know I'm not the best poem writer there is. Maybe I'm just glad I get inspired enough occasionally to create something longer-lasting from my experiences. And I'm just glad I am able to share them with you.

What about you? Do you have some poems to share?

Charlie

August 11, 2012

Dear friend,

It has been a while since I last wrote to you, and although we haven't had classes since Tuesday, I wasn't able to feel anything of import to push me to write. But now I have, so I hope you're in the mood to listen.

I finished reading "Perks of Being a Wallflower" by Stephen Chbosky last night, and since then my mind has been in blog mode. That means that my thoughts flow like I am writing something in here. That book affected me in many ways, and until now, I'm still feeling the aftermath of that... feeling. I would have written here last night, but I deliberately did not reload my internet credit. Some days, I just want to stay away from the internet. Anyway, I can't properly describe what it is that I felt after reading that book. It's not a pleasant feeling, nor is it too dreadful. It just... It just made me feel different. And it has been a while since I felt like that after reading a book. The last was probably Harry Potter. And that had been years ago.

First of all, I was struck by the similarities between me and the protagonist in the book, Charlie. We write in a similar style. Casual. Conversational. I know he is a fictional character, but I'm betting that there are parts of Charlie which the author drew from himself. I cannot be labeled as an author, not when I haven't published anything yet, not even a scientific journal, but I do want to be one, so I try to think like one sometimes. And I figured that it is difficult to write about something you have not experienced yourself. If I were to attempt that, I'm afraid that the reader will not be convinced it was authentic. And of course, when you write something, even a fictional book, there must be some credibility to how the characters act in it. So that was why I said that maybe the author drew some of the events there from his own experiences.

I wonder if I will be able to write my own book someday. And if I were, I wonder what it will be about. I'll most probably write about stories. My stories. That makes me ashamed somewhat. Because it may seem self-indulgent, writing to feed one's vanity. But maybe if I use a pseudonym, it will be okay. Most books are just stories anyway, and does it really matter if mine really happened? And besides, the point of writing the book is to share the story because others might get something from it. I do not need them to associate it with the real me. The stories should be taken as they are.

I'm glad I recorded most of the past six years of my life here in this blog. Somehow, I feel that I've been writing all these entries for the book I'm going to write in the future. That I'm writing the book, one fragment at a time. I've actually considered printing all my good entries here and compile them in one book. For my personal use. Just for me to see how much I've changed since. Or maybe for my close friends, if they care enough to read it.

I feel envious of Charlie. It was as if he was living the life I would have loved to live myself. All the excitement. The drugs, especially. The relationships. The erratic flow of his thoughts. His family, even, especially having siblings. His friends, also. I wish I had all of those too.

To be fair, maybe I have had my own share of excitement in my life. It is only now that my life seems devoid of them because I'm living in very different circumstances. Most of my friends have gone away in a very short span of time. I'm working in a new environment, where I am not allowed to be who I really am. And most of all, I'm getting older. And to quote Keane, "I don't feel the same."

I wish I were Charlie, dementia and all. Traumatic past and all. And since I can't just suddenly transform my life and be exactly like Charlie, I suppose the next best thing for me is to wish he was real. If Charlie were real and he was my friend, I think we'd be best friends.

Oh, the mixed tapes we will make! The books we're going to read! All the movies we are going to watch together. How we'll have our yosi breaks together, how we'll get wasted together, and maybe try some illegal drugs together. Oh, how we'll stumble and laugh and run and feel infinite together. I might fall in love with him actually (I already did) but since he is straight, I'd settle for us being best friends. I'd learn to get around my feelings for him. Somehow.

If he were real, I can see myself as the one who will always be there whenever he is panicky or when he's crying irrationally. I will be the one who will stay with him in the hospital. I see myself as the one who will be strong when he is afraid. The one who will listen to his woes about Mary Elizabeth and Sam. I will be that person. I will be his best friend.

Sigh. I suppose I can see more clearly now what I feel after reading the book. I feel sad. Because Charlie is just a character in a book. And he isn't real. And I want to be his friend. Badly.

It's stupid, I know. Having emotions like this for a character. But I suppose it brought up issues in me which I have forgotten. Like having a brother and a sister. Having a strong-willed father. Getting straight-A's in school. Having fun. Having friends. Feeling special.

I envied Charlie the most in that last scene when he was at the hospital. How he was being taken care of by everyone. How they made him feel special. How everyone was trying to assure him that he will be okay. How everyone was telling him that they love him.

Again, to be fair, it isn't like the people around me had never made me feel special. I've lost count of how many times I've been given cards and gifts and special messages, not to mention my last semender party (which, shaming as it is to admit, kinda turned out to be a self-made tribute for myself). My friends do miss me every now and then, and they tell me so, and so I wonder why the fuck am I still asking for more? Why are all these things not enough for me?

Oh.

I know the answer now.

It's because I don't believe them. Not that I doubt whether their feelings are genuine or not. Not that. I just don't feel I am worthy. I do not believe I am anything special. How does one know, really? And why does it matter that we should feel special?

I wish Charlie was here. He'd probably know the answer.

I must sleep now, friend. I got more questions than answers after writing this and I'll figure them out someday and I'll tell you. I hope you are well. I will try to be well. Believe that I am well and I will be well.

Love always,
Bry

Leather Shoes

I stared at my reflection on the train window as it sped past the city lights of Manila. Outside I looked uptight and controlled, with my long sleeves and slacks and my leather shoes and leather bag. I looked like a professional, and in that sense I was pleasing to look at. But I also looked like a common office worker. My eyes went over to the rest of the passengers on the train. Those who were standing were leaning and swaying, those who were sitting were sagging on their seats. Just another bunch of people tired from the day's toil. Just another group waiting to get home to rest. This is my world now, I thought. I belong with these people now.

I remembered how I used to dress back in UP. I remembered how while I was working, I was still able to develop my fashion sense and come up with a style of my own, even if my awareness about clothes developed a tad too late. Still, I had been able to express myself. I got to wear what I felt like wearing. From my statement shirts to my sneakers, from my shorts and jackets to my overabundance of accessories. I got to be who I was then. And now I must wear more formal clothes not because I want to wear them but because I am required to.

I've been feeling very tired from work lately. And it shouldn't be a surprise, what with my nine lecture classes in the university, my whole-day Saturday stint at the chem boards review center, and my twice a week tutorial in Manila. I've been juggling three jobs for the past two months now and the stress is slowly creeping into my very bones. Back in UP, I can't remember being this tired for so long. True, there were major hectic days but most of the time, I still had time for myself. I still had enough time for my nightly coffee at TechnoHub. Extra time to shoot my music videos and plan my albums. Extra time to plan my parties or just to reflect and think on whatever was my issue at the moment. In UP, I almost never felt like I was working. I never had a reason to stay on my bed and skip my classes. But now, I'm getting my first taste at how it feels to really earn a living.

I do not have the right to complain really, and I am not. I wished for this to happen to me. I needed to bring myself down on the dirt because I wanted to appreciate more the things that I have. But unfortunately, instead of motivating me to climb higher and be where I am supposed to be, the strain I'm experiencing now has only made me want to quit and give it all up.

Many times, I daydream of escaping from the tedium of it all. That I wish I could just take a bus to somewhere I've never been to before and start anew. I wish I could just hand in my resignation letter, say I'm sorry, say I'm confused, say I changed my mind, and just walk away. Maybe become a simple coffee barista. Or maybe a DJ at a club, if I'm lucky. Or maybe I can teach at a simple school somewhere in the provinces. I just want to be far away from the center of all this busyness and take some time to figure out what I really want to be.

I find it strange that my life seemed to be chock full of paradoxes. I've spent the past years of my life trying to know who I am and now that I finally understand more about myself, I've come to the conclusion that I really do not know what I want to be.

There is a powerful dichotomy in me when it comes to my career, and this is my greatest hindrance why I cannot move forward. The left side of my brain tells me that I am equipped enough to finish my PhD as long as I apply myself. That taking the highest degree I can achieve is the right thing to do, not only for my personal development but also for the good of the world. But the right side of my brain tells me that above all things, I must pursue freedom, because it is when I'm free that I live to the fullest and that living is beyond careers. That I shouldn't allow myself to think like the rest of the world because it is they who have a less complete understanding of life.

Oh, I am not going to mince words with you, reader. I am not going to deny that most of the time, I am unhappy with where I am right now. There is some pride to be had in giving quality education to these undiscovered talented students. I appreciate the genuine concern about my well-being in my workplace (never had I felt as much kindness from my superiors) but when I allow myself to be selfish, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I just do not belong here. I need to be challenged. I need to be in an environment where I am mentally motivated to be better than who I was. As of now, I am doing what I can to keep my brain in shape, but I am afraid that what I am doing on my own may not be enough. That I might slide further downhill if I stay where I am at the moment.

Yet there are times when I get to look down on my leather shoes and I notice how I am beginning to be comfortable wearing them. That I am beginning to appreciate my more professional clothes, which I can still accentuate with my own style albeit to a rather discreet degree. That in a different perspective, I actually look better than I did when I was in UP.

But the sad truth is that I am only beginning to feel comfortable wearing these new shoes because my feet had become callused. My ego had become callused so I can adjust to this harsher environment. My life had become harder so I became harder still. Maybe I could have adjusted better. Maybe I should have. But right now, this numbness is the next best thing that I have to coping with all my failures and inabilities.