Who's better off?

When I meet my friends in the mall, grocery, a bar, or any other public place, I usually walk up to them and spend a few minutes to say hi and ask what they have been up to. It's one of those things I can't bear not to do. Considering that my circulation revolves just around the house-office-gym, I've been virtually shut out from the world of fun and places to see and be seen. That's why I make it a point to snatch every opportunity that keeps me in touch with friends. In cases, however, where saying hi personally isn't too ideal, a nod is often done or a text message or a limp wave from a tired hand which is the last resort.

My friend M. did a quiet, almost mindless nod yesterday when I bumped into him and B. in an appliance store. It shouldn't be too much of a problem really since I was acknowledged in the first place and we are both in an age where our capacity to understand has been stretched and refined by countless hours of very open conversation with each other. I was nevertheless alarmed with what and how it happened, and more especially, with the unspoken message it brought.

The couple has been together close to a year probably. My friend M. is older than B. Both lawyers, they have been one of the few couples I know who have struggled to make their relationship weather itches and bitches. In a world where fidelity seems as strange as an ice cream parlor in the middle of the desert, the couple has managed to be monogamous (at least that's what I think!). It's something remarkable, yes. But for me who's in the know, it has been very difficult to convince me of its virtue or merit. M. has practically severed his relationship with friends in favor of B. Or if not, M. has reduced his contact with us to occasional text messages or phone calls that came very rarely.

I'm not jealous. I know that a friend's world changes immediately after a relationship is formed and formalized with somebody. One takes a front seat; another should be contented being at the back. That's alright with me. In the first place, it's never a question of one winning and another one losing. I think I've been around long enough to know these things and how they work.

What I don't understand is how this seemingly sweet romantic gesture of putting your chosen one a notch higher than friends in your priority list is done so blindingly it leads to a suffocating death among friends. My friend M. has repeatedly asked me to understand as he explains that I, along with other friends, can never be seen with him alone lest B. becomes suspicious and leads him to ask questions which my poor friend M. thinks he might not be able to adequately and convincingly answer. To this, I have made strong assertions to make my friend look at things differently and at least attempt to challenge B.'s mindset. I always get a blind stare as an answer. My friend is a bright lawyer I know, but he's disparagingly dumb on these things.

Which leads me to proudly declare, I may be single and I'm better off this way than be in a relationship with somebody whose concept of reality is as fatal as his notion of relationship as ownership. The passion ceases after a while, then what?

Heart friends

I don't take it against my friends when I'm the last one in their minds on the few times they feel kind and try to hook up their single friends on dates, yet I figure out prominently in them whenever they get whacked by a host of problems, mostly about love. I'm not sourgraping or delivering a litany of long-held annoyance. It's far from that. I like to think most of my friends are fine right now in their world of work and love since I haven't been "consulted" in a while. Either that or my friends have all turned a new leaf and have become matured and rationale people wisened by the years.

There was Vince, a friend I met in 1995. Over the years, I have been privileged to hear his most painful cries and confused look as he recounts countless mishaps in the heart arena. We don't usually get together everyday like other friends do. In fact, we have never gone to the movies together or Friday dinners with other friends. We'd bump into each other in the bar sometimes or send a surprise short notes on email, and that's about it. But he affirms that I was one of two or three people who know more about the real him than most of the guys he hangs out with every night. I feel good especially when he says he makes sure he gets to hear my take on most of his concerns because he respects me a lot and what comes out of my mouth. Through Vince, I realized friendship must not be weighed against constant presence or regular phonecalls. It's with the heart that it blooms.

Next to Vince would be Dan, whom I met in the early 90's when I was starting to work. We're of same age and birth sign, but that's not the reason we click. It's goes far beyond that, something that only the heart or the sixth sense can rightfully explain. I have forgotten the last time we spoke on the phone. It's more than a month at the very least. But Dan and I virtually remember the tiniest detail from every conversation. Whenever we get to talk, which mostly happens on the phone since he works nightime, we take our most comfortable position on the couch or bed to prepare for an hour after hour after hour of animated yet very revealing conversation ranging from his latest conquests to his self-proven oral techniques. We usually end our conversation affirming each other's friendship which makes the next conversation all the more exciting, something to really look forward to.

And the last would Alvin, whom Dan and I both know. I met Alvin about the same I met Dan. The three of us belonged to this group which regularly met one day each week to discuss common concerns and serve as support group to each other. Many years later today, I am sure that neither Alvin nor Dan know what each has shared with me. Most are very personal details, one which can make or break each other. I relish at this thought being a vessel of their most private information. It tells me there must be something in me that's good to make them risk disclosing things which even their parents or partners can only hope to know. I take pride in that.

The only downside is, two are currently based outside Manila while Dan is heading to London in a few weeks for work. I don't know if that means anything good. Is it a sign? Maybe people who want to be based abroad should be friends with me? Or maybe I help people build their wings so they can fly?

Breasts and cuts

Tomorrow, my groovy Tita Judy, my mom's youngest sister and a favorite, will undergo a breast operation. They found a lump somewhere and they wanted to take it out. She's likely the third or the fourth family member who got the cut in the same area. It's a bit disconcerting, but I'm relieved since care facilities in the States where the family's based will certainly be more superior than what she would have gotten had the operation was done here. I pray for peace in her heart and comfort in the family as she's led into the operating room.

My first encounter with breast operation was in the early 1990's with my mom. I was still in college then when a lump was discovered and an operation scheduled soon after. It was summer, classes were out, so I was expected to be the one looking after her since my dad was left in the province along with my sister. I don't remember being so bothered about the whole thing to make me think about anything negative like death. But I remember managing to sit during the entire operation in a room reserved for family members who might want to witness the operation. I sat there watching every doctor's move alternately with any possible reaction from my mom. But she was just lying there heavily sedated and unmindful of what was happening. Biopsy results showed it was benign.

A few years later, a re-growth was noticed and a trip to the doctor was scheduled again. This time, my parents opted for something drastic, a mastectomy. It was probably one of the most painful decisions they have made as a couple, but it was the only response they knew that would avoid an agonizing trip to the doctor every now and then. I didn't watch the operation because I had classes then, but I came after just in time when she woke up. The only thing I can do then was caress the mass of bandage wrapped around her upper torso.

It has since been more than ten years I think after that operation and I pray to God for complete healing. Unlike her eldest sister, Tita Elmie, who didn't survive and died of breast cancer in 1995 and became the family's first brush with death.

One truth

I am not ashamed of my roots. My humble beginnings do not embarrass me. I do not have a hard time recalling my childhood memories spent in a very remote province known mostly for its isolation as it is for howling winds and thunderstorms. On the contrary, my story uplifts me and makes me attractive. At least that's what I think.

Something else bothers me. I can't bring myself to look at my body for long in front of the mirror. It's like I feel disgraced when I spend a little more time than usual looking at my contours. I have seemed to be conditioned to think that nothing there is worth looking. And so by habit, I have perfected the two-minute routine of drying my torso with towel after bath, wrapping it around my waist afterwards before applying deodorant and other stuff. All the while, my gaze never falls below my clavicles. Otherwise, that would start an endless rant of foolish blaming and pathetic wishful thinking.

That should stop. I have to learn the virtue of admiring my body and looking at it to carry far deeper meaning. Otherwise, I will never get to the point of fully accepting and loving myself. For how can you love something which you can't even bring yourself to admire.

And so last night, I willingly allowed myself to drown in this truth: Only when you learn to love and cherish your physical body will you start loving and cherishing yourself. I'm sure that this truth is nothing new and it has lived with us for life. But it takes a little special effort to realize and accept it.

It has since been very inspiring. I know I have to burn a few more fats here and there as well as tone a few flabs here, there, and everywhere, but it no longer becomes so numbing. I know I couln't even come close to Adonis on the outside, but, my God, I'm beautiful!

Losing things

Some people have come to know me to be thorough and mindful of even the tiniest details. That's why I work best where attention to details is a crucial attribute. I'm proud of this, but sadly, all that is disappearing slowly each day. That feeling struck me in the face really hard yesterday. After losing at least three costly personal items in the last few months, I thought I'd be numb and dazed for the next ten years and, worse, completely rid myself of even the faintest libido for the next twenty.

I headed back to work from lunch completely bewildered. I keep saying, not again, not again in between heavy sighs and frowning. The entire five-minute walk from my bank to the office was a spinning headache.

I first lost an Oakley titanium sunglasses. It has been around serving me only for a few months. One Sunday afternoon, I decided to do something different and headed to Luneta to catch the 4pm Concert at the Park show. I was seated in one of the concrete benches near the stage surrounded by a sea of blue-collar community as well as maids and drivers on their day off. I had a good time watching the featured university-based choir. I was even more delighted finding everyone around me appreciate avant-garde choral music. I left without noticing that the sunglasses drifted from my pocket to the bench. To this day, I sometimes still blame myself for not doing a once-over before I left. That's unthinkable for somebody like me listed as a mountaineer with an outdoors group. More than 300 meters later, I figured it out and went back for it. A parent who sat at my back said she could only scold the vendor who took it.

Next came my mobile phone. On my way back to the office from gym one lunch time, I remember still using it till I got to my office lobby. I finished my take out food first when I got back to my desk. I then decided to do a five-minute power nap first before hitting the computers again. An hour later, I was going to use the phone and, lo and behold, I couldn't find it. I looked everywhere. I headed down to my building's security office to have the tape from the surveillance camera reviewed. A guy (probably a messenger) was the only person who entered our office and was seen tinkering with something on his way out. I felt bad but at least I had the closure I needed.

And yesterday, I knew that there was going to be at least two thousand pesos left in my wallet after I deposited my November rent to my checking account at the bank. I froze at the teller's counter when I saw only one 500-bill left.

Now, I'm learning a painful lesson. Maybe I shouldn't be too overconfident of my ability to cover bases all the time. I'm no obsessive-compulsive, but my training as a mountaineer taught me this. On one hand, maybe my being thorough isn't really the problem after all. Maybe it has something to do with my tendency to be trusting of people and believing that man is by nature good, one basic life truth I have held deeply since before.

Has man failed?

A different tune

When a phone line was finally installed at my new place the other week, the first number I called was V.'s apartment. I knew he was going to be surprised which I really wanted to do, but he wasn't home. The following night, I called again and almost every day after that. The person who answers seemingly never ran out of reasons he probably hoped would sound new and believable to me each time I call. The only thing that never changed was his voice and how he says hello.

I became suspicious one time when this housemate asked me to wait while he calls V. I couldn't make sense of the mumbling worried voices in the background, but it sort of gave me a hint. A voice came on the phone saying V. left the apartment and they don't know where he went. I sighed. In all the phonecalls, I would end it saying my thanks to hide a heavy heart, replace the handset quickly and afterwards breathe a desperate sense of loss.

The last time V. and I talked, everything seemed ok. As usual, he would rant about schoolwork that leaves him out of the house all the time and without a bit of time for himself. I updated him with any thing that I would guess he'd be interested to know about me. Almost always, they were things happening around my new place, my games, my gym sked, my trips. And in all ways, they're never about lovelife or a faint tinge of social life which I was unfortunately not gifted with at the moment.

He'd ask me if I'm dating anyone right now, and I'd set off the same answer everytime. He knows the answer. My dating life is the next boring thing in the world next to copying a whole Webster's dictionary by hand. I would be curious to know and ask him about his dates, but he would always say he didn't have time for it. When our conversation wound up about us, we knew something about each other even though we may not be telling. Deep inside us, I think we both knew we still have a flame burning, so to speak. I like to think we still think fondly of each other, we don't have anything but good words for each other, and we don't have a prayer other than love and care for each other.

That's why his text message yesterday asking me to leave him in peace because he has a new partner completely numbed me. It's not the idea of him getting a new partner that unnerved me, but more about the sudden demand for me to vanish just because there's a new one. I can't seem to really put the whole idea into chewable bits for me to digest after our repeated affirmations over the months with each other to always be connected.

I still haven't understood everything. No matter how I try to keep my peace and smile to the world, everything around me seems grainy and out of tune. I'm left with mostly unanswered questions, heavy breathing, wishful thinking, unimaginable hurt, and, quite ironically, hopeful heart. Do endings really mean devastation?

Let me explain

Many definitions can hold, but in the case which I wrote earlier to mindfuck means, plainly speaking, playing it straight. It happens when you willfully lead somebody to believe something mostly about yourself that is untrue in order to gain momentary pleasure. It is a cruel form of self-gratification, if I must say.

The pleasure is derived from many things. Some of them can be fathomed even by those who carry the least ability to make sense of things. People do it to obtain a gleam of superiority. Others just fancy seeing people bulge their eyes in amazement. I'm sure there may be profound reasons behind these which we unfortunately just don't know. Different folks, different strokes.

But in my case, I do it mostly to give people reality check. I don't find it heartening to see them assume right away that every love story they hear profused with so much heartfelt romance and selfless affection only occurs between a man and a woman. I find it extremely offensive to see them mindlessly promoting the idea that fulfilling relationships are a monopoly only of those whose attraction follows what is deemed usual.

And so on these occasions, I thought it's best to shake people's obtuse mindsets and keep them in touch with the truth even if it means me playing a cruel game. I only wish that their deep-seated traditional thinking are challenged and given a much needed awakening. If that one happens, let my soul be redeemed.

I don't want you to think that this is something I'm still having fun doing. I have long ceased to find appeal from it. Something's improved with age. It's better to throw pebbles of truth straight to people's faces sometimes.

A mind-fuck

The first time I played mind-fuck with somebody was more than five years ago. I don't even exactly remember how far back it has been. But that was one early evening in summer. I was standing by the stairs in front of Tower Records in Glorietta while I was perfecting meditative breathing. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

And there she was, about three meters across from me. Our fate probably intersected that particular time as we were obviously destined to wait for somebody. For her, it was likely -- or hopefully -- a loving husband who was going to fetch her along with the two kids holding her pantsuit one on each side. And for me, a loving creature who was hopefully going to sweep me off along with, not just two, but countless apprehensions holding me back everywhere.

I'm sure we noticed each other by the time five minutes have passed. She smiled to me quite sincerely, and I smiled back. Smiling really does wonders. The moment I stretched my lips sideways there began a roller-coaster conversation skimming through our work, college, and of course love stories. I would normally become aloof about strangers probing and feasting on my private life, but surprisingly this time, I was very friendly. I shared some of my romantic moments, those ones that my friends have grown to be so envious about, and let her relish the thought of how lucky my partner could be with me and my romantic side overflowing.

"So, what's your girlfriend's name?" she asked innocently.

"Marco," I replied while quietly looking at her face expecting distortions to erupt anytime.

"Uhhh..I hope I heard you correctly..is the name.."

"Yes, it's Marco," I emphasized, quickly cutting her off. "And speaking of him, there he is now." I said sorry to have to cut it short and ran to the car as fast as my romantic knight-image vanished from her.

For the next ten minutes, my excited voice and my cousin Clarissa's laughter filled the car.

Changes, changes

Time was on my hands today and I decided to give my blog a new look. Initially, I just wanted to update some links and list new interesting ones I have come across recently. I am no techie, so I was glad to see Blogger.com come up with idiot-friendly guides for bloggers.

I spent several minutes trying to decide which design suits me well. I thought my groovy look today would influence my choice and make me click on that one with colors splashing all over the page. I was having my eyes set on an earthy look, something consistent with my nature. In the end, UP's maroon color won. I was happy. In the first place, I have bias for silver combined with maroon or burgundy. It's elegant, timeless, and very stable, rigid.

There's just one thing I'm sorry about. I'm not sure, but when you migrate to a new design, all the comments posted on your previous layout vanish. I can't see any one in my new blog. I feel really bad. Is there a way out to recover those ones?

Is there a saint to call for all computer mishaps and plain ignorance?