Fancy

It was six in the morning and I
Was freshened up for school
I took a UV Express van and
Sat in front of
This good-looking guy
He was perhaps
In his early twenties
And he had a black Alaxan shirt on
Of all things
But he paired it with
Nice-fitting charcoal jeans
A red backpack on his lap
Color-matched with his red loafers
Showing his ankles
And I saw all these because
I checked him out, top
To toe

But it was his face, you see
It was his face
Which made me do a double-take
For he looked just like
The first guy I fell in love with
And though I know
It would be a stretch
To see him there in front of me
After all these years
I heard that he was working in the south
So really, it could be him
For all I knew
But of course, he didn't recognize me
For he wasn't even looking at me
Since he was
Asleep

And it was all fancy
I admit
An embarrassing sort of fancy
With me imagining that he was mine
And I thought of
How it would have felt
To have him lean his head
On my shoulder
Instead of on the back of the
Cold and lifeless seat
To his right
How it would have felt
To hold his backpack for him
So that he would be
More comfortable
How it would have felt
For him to rely on me
To wake him up at the right time
So he wouldn't miss
His stop

He was asleep so I
Had the liberty to inspect his face
As I would have if he were mine
My eyes traced
The features of his face
As if they were my hands
And I imagined
Waking up beside him
In the morning
And giving him the lightest
Of kisses
On his forehead
On his cheek
On his lips
Or how my hand will gently
Brush away his slightly unkempt hair
Away from his ears
And how that will wake him up
His eyes locking onto mine
And he would smile
At me
And I know for sure
Even if it was all my fancy
That that would be
Divine

And I know I'm old
And I've been there
And everyone says that
I've been there and back
And they expect better things from me now
And I expect better things from me too
But sometimes
I cannot pretend anymore
I cannot pretend that I'm over with love
No matter what I may say
That after all that has happened
Deep inside
I'm still this
Lovestruck boy
Trying his luck
And never giving up
What I say to others
I'm just cloaking them with
Big words
Fancy words
Intellectual words
Take them all away
And you'll find
That all the same, I'm only
Lonely

Sometimes I
Consider myself lucky
Because I can conjure up
These powerful images
In my head
And I can make them so strong
That I can make them real
In my head
That I can feel what I cannot feel
In real life
That at least, as long as I have
My imagination
I would never feel
That emotional void which we're all
Trying to avoid
But perhaps, these heights
These temporary highs
I induce in myself
Are only making the lows
All the more difficult to bear
Like tonight
When I have nobody but
My emotions for company
Like tonight
When I am left staring
Into the
Night

Along the Vein

I've done two very pivotal things in the span of a few weeks. First, I tried to kill myself. And when that failed, I ran away. Of course, you wouldn't expect that it's an easy feat recovering from that state of mind I was in when I decided to commit suicide. I understand now that it never really fades away. I feel like I'm a profoundly different man now. People may see me as back to normal, but of course, I'm only acting for their sake. I've worried too many people as it is so I think it's best to pretend that I'm okay now. I can show them the scars on my wrist, but the deeper ones (and those that matter) are within.

I try to make light of it when I talk about it with my students. But deep inside I find myself still curiously afraid of what I tried to do. Normally, the fear should have come first before the attempt. But when I had that knife ready against my wrist I was feeling strangely calm. I wasn't hysterical. I wasn't even crying, even when it became so painful I had to close my eyes. I deliberately kept my mind blank as I repeatedly traced that knife along my vein. I didn't think of my future. I didn't think of my friends. I suppose that though the act itself failed, I was successful in readying myself for it. And in a twisted way, I am proud of myself for that. My friends know that this has been running 'round my head for years now, and they shouldn't be surprised when I actually went ahead and did it. They should've known it was only a matter of time.

At the moment, I am hard-pressed in trying to explain to you my reasons for doing it. All I know for sure is that it isn't as simple as you might think. It is mostly philosophical in nature though. I've probably been thinking and reading too much and I've been left to myself for too long without anyone to talk to. But all I know for sure was when I did it, I felt like it was my time to go. I have been feeling like it was my time to die for many months now actually. And there are moments when that notion becomes so strong that at times, I feel like I'm a dead man walking.

You may have noticed that I never warned anyone about it. I understood that if I went ahead with writing notes to my loved ones I'd probably lose my nerve. I tried not to think about anything at all, really. Nothing else was on my mind but the deed. Nothing else.

I don't really understand it though, why I have this urge and why others don't. It may be partly genetic, for all I know. It is true that wasn't really feeling happy the past few months. But I wasn't feeling miserable either. I was simply numb. Maybe perhaps that absence of feeling was what allowed me to do it. As I've figured out years ago, you have to turn both your mind and your feelings off if you want to kill yourself. Unless you want to go out in a rage or in a passion, which apparently, isn't my style.

Looking back, I see now that there aren't really a lot of feelings involved when I got in this state. It's like doing a calculation. I'm simply following what the answer says that's all. It's almost completely logical. I did not have to like it or to hate it. It simply is. The psychologists and the philosophers out there can explain it better than I do. I've read their thoughts on it, and some of them got my case right.

This suicide attempt and this running away - these are all part of my plan (except for not being able to anticipate I'd fail in the former.) And yes, I know that in the real world I'm not exactly known for planning anything about my life and that is still true. I don't have any plans at all about my material future. But this plan I'm talking about is in finding out who and what I really am. I'm on this quest to answer life's most basic questions which most of you might be taking for granted if you're not completely ignoring them. I understand that most of you are preoccupied with real things like studying or working to have time to even acknowledge these uncomfortable questions and I respect that you chose to live that way. This is simply part of the path I've decided to take. So in a way, no matter how lost I may appear to outsiders, I actually still know what I'm doing. I have a good plan. Even if that plan includes my own annihilation.

I understand that the people who care most about me are scrambling for solutions. They keep showing me how much they care. Now more than ever. They help me in listing down my options. They remind me of why choosing to live is much better. I appreciate their efforts. I truly do. And I go along with them because I care for them and I want to keep them happy. But you see, until I see this issue as a problem, I'm not sure if I can completely commit myself to recovery. Because as I've said, I don't see this as being completely under my control. I'm not doing this for attention. I'm not doing this because I want to feel loved. This is simply what must be.

Room Boy

It was the second night of my escape and I've landed on yet another city. I was wandering around the centro and I had already been to two hotels in this city (I did some searching through the internet) but I found out that they were beyond my budget. I had enough money, but I didn't mean for this trip to be a luxurious one.

So there I was. Lost in a city I've never been in and walking to and fro, glancing into streets and looking for hotel signs. I saw couples dating, sitting on benches in the park. Groups of friends in cool outfits, going out on a Friday night. I kept walking. And though the waiting tricycle drivers might be getting suspicious with me passing them by for the nth time, I pretended that I had a destination. I wasn't afraid though. I knew that as long as I didn't go too far from the centro, I'd be alright. And if the worst happened and I wasn't able to find a place to stay, I could always go to the police station and ask for some assistance. Those were the two important things I learned on this trip so far to avoid getting lost - find the town center and the nearest police station.

After less than thirty minutes, I found a hotel sign which looked passable. And by passable I mean that it was neither too shabby nor too expensive. I walked inside and went up to the second floor where the reception desk was. I found out that it was mostly a sex hotel since their rates are measured by the hour. I checked in for 12 hours in their cheapest room and allowed the room boy to lead the way.

The room I got was on the 4th floor and it turned out okay. I had an electric fan turned on at the highest speed, a TV with cable, a surprisingly comfortable bed, a very narrow comfort room, and best of all, an ashtray. It was clean and not too scary-looking and that was enough. I changed my clothes and went out to buy some food from the convenience store.

When I got back, there was someone sweeping on the third floor. At first I thought it was the room boy who escorted me earlier but when I saw the arm holding the dustpan, I knew it couldn't be since this arm was fair and muscular. My eyes traced that arm to the face where it belonged and for a microsecond I stopped climbing the stairs. Hunger. I felt hunger, strong and pure and I knew that I hadn't seen a room boy as attractive as he was. Why, he did not look like a room boy at all even if he was wearing their uniform. He looked like... I don't know. Maybe a prince? He was that good-looking.

He looked at me and though I (unconsciously) tried to hold his gaze, he went back to work. I knew that I couldn't just stay there and stare so I had to walk past him and climb the next flight of stairs though I noticed that I did so much more slowly.

I was watching American Idol while lying on my bed but I still couldn't get him off my mind so I made a plan to be able to see him again. I went down to the lobby and ordered some coffee (though I already bought one from the convenience store earlier) from the receptionist and there he was, resting on the sofa and watching TV. He was sitting behind me though and even if I wanted to turn and simply look at him, I couldn't without me being too obvious. I had a hunch that the girl receptionist had a crush on him too (she wouldn't be able to help it) and I fancied that a fight over him there will be if I so much as hinted that I liked him in front of her. After paying, I stood there, waiting for my coffee but the receptionist told me that it will be delivered to my room (yay!) so up I went.

After closing the door, I sat on the edge of my bed and hoped (with all my might) that he will bring me my coffee. Surely, that was part of his job. Surely, it couldn't be the security guard or the receptionist. Surely.

I couldn't contain my excitement. So I snatched up the hotel policies, read it, and gave lewd meanings to "the hotel staff will also provide additional services to guests if the need arises." I also studied the fire escape map and took note of the staff room or the stock room or other places where he might be found.

While waiting, I imagined all sorts of scenarios which could bring him inside my room. I imagined spilling the coffee on me and asking his help to change my clothes. I imagined spilling it on the floor and when we both kneel down to clean it, we'll kiss. I imagined giving him a tip and talking to him through my eyes that I wanted his company and he would go inside, sit on my bed, and he would hold me.

He would put his arm around me or he would hold my hand and he would look curiously at me. And he would ask my name and where I'm from and I would tell him my story - starting from my flight and ending with how I got there in his city. And he wouldn't know the right words to say, I know. And he wouldn't be able to make things right and I know that too. But it just gets lonely, traveling all by yourself and not being able to talk to anyone. And me alone in my room. Always alone in my room.

Then someone was knocking on my door so I stood up, took some money out of my pocket (for his tip) and opened the door. And there he was! There he was, so close! He had his head down so I couldn't catch his eye and he handed me the coffee on a platter and I placed it on my table but when I turned back he was gone and the money was still on my hands. Why was he avoiding my eye? Did he think I had somebody in my room? Didn't the receptionist tell him I was alone?

After an hour, I went down to the lobby again. I wasn't giving up. One last glance and I'd be okay. One last try. But he wasn't in the lobby. He wasn't in the third floor. He wasn't on the couch in the first floor. He was nowhere to be found.

I ended up walking til I was outside the building. And I just stood there and smoked, gazing at this new city around me and I pretended I was Joseph Gordon-Levitt in "Mysterious Skin" and that someone will pick me up. I was outside this shady hotel and I was waiting and I was smoking and I was pretending to be a callboy. Someone will pick me up soon, I thought as I eyed strangers who were eyeing me back.

"What is there to lose" I thought, "when I've tried to give up my life already?"

A Kiss

It was dark everywhere but this place was all about the lights.

And you were pulling me closer but I was trying to catch his eye and still you went on and I knew that you didn't know how terribly convoluted the situation was. Oh, you have no idea. No fucking idea. But it was all just for fun so I tried to have fun though I'm not sure if he was having any.

Then you turned me around and made me face someone else and I thought this guy seemed okay and maybe we'll have a little kiss. Maybe he'll take me home and maybe we'll even have breakfast together, but I just hate the coldness after. I've never been good at handling that. But then what's a kiss worth these days can you tell me? What's sex worth these days when you can go grab any that you fancy and in that place it was forgivable? It was even expected. A kiss. Just a kiss. What's it worth these days?

And I know it would have been cool. Perhaps it would have felt exciting not to be a wallflower for once but I... I've never mastered that art you see. I lose something whenever I try and I've tried so much I'm now as dry as a husk but you have no idea since we just met so I do nothing except look. I keep scanning the crowd but I don't see my baby there so I do nothing. I look for him there you see. I keep looking for him. I keep thinking one day I'll see him there and maybe we'll kiss and maybe he'll finally take me back home. He was my home, you see. At least, he used to be.

But then you pulled me back again so my thoughts pulled back too and I faced you and then I looked at his face and I saw you looking at each other and I thought maybe you'd kiss and there was this small part of me protesting at the idea but I killed it because I do what's right.

But what's a kiss worth these days can you tell me? What's a harmless kiss' worth? A bellyful of saliva? A nip on the lip? A slimy tongue exercise on learning how deep one can go?

For me a kiss is worth a dream. It's less of an action and more of a reaction. A decision. A kiss is coming home. And I know that at this unholy age I'm much too fucked up by life already but I hold on to these silly things all the same. They laugh at me because of this I know. They roll their eyes and smirk but I have to keep some of my old self intact if I were to go on living.

And everywhere it was dark, but it was all about the lights and I saw brief multi-colored glimpses of everyone's faces and in those fleeting snapshots I saw that we didn't really look drunk. We looked lost. And that darkness - it made the distance between us greater than what it really was as if we're planets drifting in space. And even if some of us were already glued through the mouths there were still the shadows in between. So dark. So lost. So we dance. And we look up at the blinking lights as if they were stars, wishing for that one special kiss to bring us home.