Friday, October 26, 2012

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...



Thursday, October 25, 2012

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."


Monday, October 22, 2012

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.




Monday, October 15, 2012

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.



Friday, October 12, 2012

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.






Thursday, October 11, 2012

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.



Sunday, October 7, 2012

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.




Tuesday, October 2, 2012

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.