Hayyy Pasko!!

Except for the struggle I have getting up each morning because of the onset of chilly December breeze, there’s practically no other hint of Christmas air in my place now. The wreath that has graced the front door for several years now has finally gave way. Or it has secretly buried itself long ago. I can’t even find it.

But the other day, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to usher in the christmas spirit no matter how faint and ordinary it may be. I went through my CD stacks and looked for an old UST Singers CD which has, as one of the cuts, the first Pinoy christmas carol ever written after World War II. The great Philippine National Artist Felipe De Leon wrote Payapang Daigdig “the morning after he saw that bombs during the Second World War had leveled the entire city of Manila.”

The rendition of UST Singers makes the song more haunting and touching as its history. Thanks to CD samplers, I found a way for you to listen to excerpts of the song (by Filipino flutist Ray Sison and guitarist Lionel Valdellon).


http://cdbaby.com/mp3lofi/raysison-06.m3u


Payapang Daigdig

Ang gabi’y payapa
Lahat ay tahimik
Pati mga tala sa bughaw na langit
Kay hinhin ng hangin, wari’y umiibig
Sa kapayapaan ng buong daigdig.

Payapang panahon
Ay diwa ng buhay
Biyaya ng Diyos
Sa sangkatauhan
Ang gabi’y payapa, lahat ay tahimik
Pati mga tala
Sa bughaw ng langit.

Scarred but beautiful

Our emotions consume us most of the time when we're feeling the pits. We fret, we retreat, we lose grip on things, we break down. What makes it worse is a frequent attempt to romanticize the feeling of hurt and melancholy. It leads us deeper and deeper into despair and misery.

I've been through a lot. In life and in love. I have lost count on the number of times I have run into despair and gloom. It must have been the same as most people. The difference, however, is I don't nurse them. The moment I notice they're at the door, I acknowledge their presence and decide to move on and go beyond them. Sometimes, I recite this poem and give myself a light pat on the back.

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Scarred People Are Beautiful
Rev. Charles Cooke

Man speaks:
I've been hurt, Lord.
I have trusted and been betrayed at times.
I have loved and received nothing in return.
I have tried hard to care and failed often.
I have shared my secrets and, heard them whispered to others.
I have been warm and received a cold shoulder.
I have been through it, Lord.
I've fallen on my face.
I've banged my shins.
I've been bruised.
Look, Lord, I'm all covered with scars!

The Lord Speaks:
Maybe you haven't understood enough.
Maybe you haven't learned that human life is like that.
All saints are scarred.
Young love isn't the highest form of human love.
The greatest love comes from scarred people.
I know that many people stop loving so they won't be hurt again.
But those people who do start over again, who continue in spite of all, who leave themselves open to the possibility of being hurt again --These people are able to love again in a deeper way, a more understanding way, a richer way.

Man's response:
I think I know what you mean, Lord.
I've met people like that and knowing them gives me courage.
The great people are those who continue to love with their scars.
I like scarred people, Lord.
They are beautiful.

Pulsating 80's

My modest tribute to the spirited life of the 80's where everyone was as vibrant and full of character as the dance steps, variety shows, movie themes and characters, and hairstyles in that era.

And to one particular production number of one particular celebrity donning a particular costume and spraynet-loaded hairdo doing a particular glide onstage. Memories, memories.


I am what I am
I am my own special creation.
So come take a look,
Give me the hook or the ovation.
It's my world that I want to take a little pride in,
My world, and it's not a place I have to hide in.
Life's not worth a damn,
'Til you can say, "Hey world, I am what I am."
I am what I am,
I don't want praise, I don't want pity.
I bang my own drum,
Some think it's noise, I think it's pretty.
And so what, if I love each feather and each spangle,
Why not try to see things from a diff'rent angle?
Your life is a sham 'til you can shout out loud
I am what I am!
I am what I am
And what I am needs no excuses.
I deal my own deck
Sometimes the ace, sometimes the deuces.
There's one life, and there's no return and no deposit;
One life, so it's time to open up your closet.
Life's not worth a damn 'til you can say,
"Hey world, I am what I am!"

That long vacation

My nine-day vacation which started last October 29 gave me three things I have been wishing for the longest time: An even tan, eight-hour sleep, and my first viewing episode of the celebrated US-version of the Queer As Folk.



I am tanned already courtesy of a punishing regimen of rowing four times weekly on Manila Bay. You add this to my growing years spent mostly under the sun in a far-flung town and what you get is a bronzy complexion --- only, it’s confined by and large to my face, arms, and legs. Taking my shirt off would parade an obviously imbalanced skin tone where some areas are noticeably lighter than the rest especially in the neck-to-groin region. It’s as if an entire sheath of shirt-shaped clothing is perpetually draped over me.

Thanks to Hawaiian Tropic’s tanning oil and a host of few other lotions and tan amplifiers, I can now take out my shirt and stare at my color to relish it. People in my rowing team as well as in the gym have noticed it. I love the tan. It makes outdoors seem so close all the time. It tells me to look forward for bright sunny days. It causes me to be melancholic and be reminded of my humble beginnings in the small town where I grew up. It proclaims I enjoy immensely a way of life involving outdoor sports and hobbies. And thanks too for the unspoiled beaches of Calatagan in Batangas for being a perfect setting to acquire perfect tan.

Not just for getting tan, but Calatagan is also an ideal place to enjoy uniterrupted sleep lasting eight hours at least.



The entire time I was there has been a gratifying experience of tranquil and restful sleep. The bedroom was less than 50 meters from the beach and all that lulls you to sleep at night are the sounds of tireless waves heading home to the shoreline.

I’m happy to declare I’ll no longer be clueless as far as Queer As Folk is concerned. I will never appear bewildered again when friends would have discussions on the latest hot guy whisked by the Brian to the backroom or about Justin’s amusing prom scene where everyone was left stunned seeing two guys kissing in the middle of the dancefloor. I’m happy I have finally watched the entire 21 episodes comprising QAF’s First Season. All in two days. After a few episodes, I realized the best way to enjoy QAF was to prop yourself alongside big fluffy pillows with chips on the side and set the mobile phone to mute mode. I’m happy I have a 5.1 surround sound system installed on my DVD player making every viewing moment a delightful entertainment experience.

Tip: It’s best to watch QAF with a small notebook and pen conveniently stowed nearby and within easy reach. There are many one-liners in the dialogue meant to be remembered and learned by heart. Their soul remains long after the lines have been delivered and scenes are cut.

Mindfuck

I got my cousin J. to visit the house last week and stay for a few days. I kept myself so hard from trying not to probe too deeply. I didn’t want him to suspect that I have known all along the real reason he’s in the city. Yeah, he’s on a well-deserved vacation and yes, he has a convention to attend somewhere, but he’s really here to get his mind off from a tragic break-up with his girlfriend of a few years.

For me, to refer to his breakup as a tragedy was actually understating the damage done. It wasn’t just painfully heartbreaking for my cousin; it was in fact dangerously life threatening in a different kind of way. That day he visited, it has only been a few weeks after he found out his girlfriend was seeing other women for reasons all but suspect. That’s not nailing it. The girlfriend was actually humping and pumping other women. As simple as that. The whole town knew about it except for my poor cousin.

I don’t have anything against the girlfriend. The fact that she enjoys plowing slits much like her own doesn’t even bother me. It doesn’t even deprive me of a good night’s sleep. My heart pours out certainly for my cousin who’s left incredibly disillusioned and scarred for life. But the grief I feel ends the moment I think about willful and heartless deceit on the girl’s part which may have prevailed from the start. I then turn so furious I can chew her alive.

The mindfuck is what kills me. That somebody gay intentionally jumps in a heterosexual relationship to conceal nature and truth, and conform to standards to make things easier. This act of deception gives the whole gay community a bad name. That’s depressing in itself, but it’s nothing compared to the anguish of people caught in the middle of things as well as amplified homophobia from the rest of community who will start to equate gays always with cheating, always with dishonesty, always with treachery.

If we long to be accepted for who we genuinely are, we have to start from within. Acknowledge your truth and only then you can, with confidence, live. Please spare other people from the injustice of using them as unsuspecting victims in your quest of finding acceptance from people.

Wishful thinking?

There is a certain air of nervousness, something that you can’t see, but one that’s definitely in the air, when my folks and I talk during the weekly phone calls they make. They’d ask what my sister and I have been up to lately, if we have gone to visit relatives, how the peso-dollar exchange rate behaves, what items we plan to order, if we have used up all the Spam they sent in the last box, how my rowing training proceeds and if we have upcoming competitions, where we hangout usually after work, if we have any news about their friends, what the maid cooks for us, or what’s inside the refrigerator’s freezer.

The list goes on and on. Regrettably, it’s never about the person behind my name, the life I live outside work and home, what I pray for during my quiet time, what drives me to work each day, why I can never give them a grandchild, the reasons I hold behind that choice, my previous relationships, where I go when I date, what they have to say about gay relationships, how they feel about having a gay son, what they would hope to reasonably see in the future.

I pray for this: That my parents will cultivate a kind of bravery in their hearts to challenge myths and all outdated ideas they have grown accustomed to, and finally understand how most of us long for acceptance, not just tolerance.

I pray for this also: That they may stumble upon these links. And afterwhich, head out to attend the next PFLAG gathering.

Pinoy Gays
Isang panawagan

A protest

Unlike my badminton guy friend A., there’s not a single nerve inside me that rouses any curiosity whatsoever to find out how my offspring will look like. I don’t remember any time in recent years that I dwelt on it, much less spent even a fleeting moment contemplating on the faintest idea how my sperm will transform itself thousand times over to become a seven-pounder baby nine months later. While athletic potentials never seem to tire me, I am completely devoid of any interest to discover my talents and skills in the field in human production. It may have crossed my mind before, but it sure faded so quickly as it came. No traces of them are left at all.

It’s not that I detest kids and the sight of them nor do I get repulsed about doing it with a woman. It’s never about these reasons. I sure love kids. I have no problem being surrounded by them and their noise. My finest photos have kids always as main subject. On the other hand, clean female toes as well as shapely waists and long hair still get me to bulge. Worse, the idea may be totally horrifying, but I sure have strolled inside female territories in the recent past. My reasons go far beyond proving I’m proficient in copulating and bringing forth babies in this world.

It’s more of a protest, a personal statement against twisted traditional views that only when one is married or has kids that one lives a fulfilled life. Life’s happiness and fulfillment has never rested and will never rest on a two-hour ceremony before a hundred waiting witnesses while you affix your signature on a certificate that seals your marriage vows with a person. Granting that church rites are kept out of the picture and we talk of having kids outside marriage, it’s still far from convincingly proving that happiness naturally follows.

Homecoming

The last time I took a week-long vacation leave from work and headed to my hometown up north, I had two things in mind. One, be disconnected completely from computers and mobile phones and just lounge around our old daybed under a mango tree reading a book and two, be connected with my old high school classmates who have opted to remain in the province to build their family lives there. While the former mission offered a soothing relief from the harsh pressure of city life, the latter left me excruciatingly worn out from heavy thinking.

As you would have thought, those ones who stayed home in the province after high school are all married now. They obtained their undergraduate degrees from a local college and now are either self-employed or are working for the government. They are all visibly darker now, most have put on weight, a few have saggy eyebags, and a number have to endure bulky and calloused hands. They have gradeschool-aged kids by their sides while one or two were expecting new babies that time.

I try to put off inquisitive thoughts and questions from my mind when I visit them and remind myself to concentrate only on light stuff. These light stuff, regrettably, are quite limited to certain generic updates like local politics, commodity prices, who has recently gone home, what’s the latest fad among kids to name a few. When we find ourselves coming to awkward silences, I almost always end up reliving the old days and how things have changed. That gets us perked up even more. They start filling me up with the latest village chismis, most of them I normally don’t get from my relatives. I’d be delighted no end, which they love, and which I’m secretly thankful for. My excitement gives me an extra advantage. They forget to ask questions about my non-working life and nocturnal activities; something I would have to work on explaining when queried.

Not because I have something to hide nor I live a fugitive’s life. It’s not that. It’s more about carefully trying to sift through my stories and take away those details that they won’t be able to relate to or those which may unwittingly cause them to feel inferior because they will mostly hear about night-long dancing in a fancy bar or late-night coffees in a hotel lobby or weekend trips to a resort. The last thing I wanted to happen is setting a stage for my side of things to glow and, in the end, snatch for myself what could have been one of few opportunities for my less-privileged classmates to feel important.

Eventually, I disclose nothing significant about myself and the things I do in the city. They just know I’m working and still single. And happy. It’s better that way, I think. They see I’m genuinely interested about them and their stories. I make sure they have my full attention for whatever they reveal about the budding family lives they have. This is about them. Besides, it’s no use harping about projects I'm working on back at work or the company I work for. Those are hardly meaningful to them.

Reading the lines

Somebody sent me this text message. I would need help understanding the unspoken words behind what was said.

Can't help it,
I get Freudian on you.
Everything seems an innuendo.

Crotch action

And just like that, the guy shoved his hand on my crotch as I made my way out of the locker area. He held his fingers together and cupped my bulge. I was shocked. I couldn't believe it. I looked at him and he quickly moved his gaze away from me. I then turned towards the exit, and there, the cleaning attendant was moving towards me. I didn't know if he witnessed what happened, but I'm sure if his eyes were quick, that wouldn't escape him since I was standing directly across the exit. I was breathing heavily as I walked out.

I didn't exactly feel violent nor entertained the slightest possibility of creating a scene right there. All that was on my mind was a question: Was that how desperate one can get?

Choices, choices

My friend Omar would send me, on an average, around four forwarded text messages daily, all jokes. Normally, I would just press the delete button and wouldn't read any. I discovered recently that they were probably pre-screened already since they almost always end up throwing me in stitches.

Here's one:

Daddy: Anak, bili mo ako ng softdrinks
Anak: Coke o Pepsi po?
Daddy: Coke
Anak: Diet o Regular?
Daddy: Regular
Anak: Bote po o in cans?
Daddy: Bote
Anak: 8 oz o Litro?
Daddy: Punyetaaa!! Tubig na nga lang!
Anak: Mineral o Distilled?
Daddy: Mineral
Anak: Malamig o hindi?
Daddy: ‘Tangina. Hampasin kita ng walis e!
Anak: Tambo o ting-ting?
Daddy: Hayooopp ka!!!!
Anak: Baka o baboy??

Still on cruising

I’m squirming in my seat now as I write this. I don’t like to come out preachy or righteous or some pretentious guy so full of himself he forgets about living in this world. But I wanted to spend more time talking about my ideas on tasteful cruising lest I be accused as nothing but a grumpy old cantakerous mammal who’s just viciously bitter and resentful with the world.

Admittedly, I am old and sometimes grumpy, but by no means crabby. I just happened to feel so strongly about certain things, one of them cruising.

A few no-nos easily come to mind when I support the idea of tasteful cruising. They are not necessarily the only ones in my list, but they are definitely the ones that carry much significance. All that these self-imposed rules ever speak about is quiet modesty, a kind of decorum that invites people to look beyond one’s imperfection`s --- one where the person joining you on bed for sleep at night or that one whom you call sweetheart are immaterial. All of these too were arrived at from my basic desire to maintain good and civil relationships with people.

Here's what I think:

First and foremost, when a person you’re trying to cruise says no or shows the slightest sign that your moves are not welcome, by all means heed the call. Take the no at face value. It doesn’t say anything about your market value and they don’t really intend to hurt you or worsen your day. They are just probably too tired and are in no mood for it, or are taken, or simply not quite smitten. There’s no use of insisting to be macho and judge the lack of interest as another Extra Challenge test you have to hurdle. If you want to invite respect, let yourself be the first one to offer it.

Secondly, please leave those taken at peace. Relationships have to be respected. Just as you would definitely not want lustful eyes to shamelessly ogle your partner, then don’t try to be a prick and carelessly maneuver yourself to get your neighbor’s other half to bed with you. You will appreciate other people’s respect to you and your partner and your relationship when you see them behave before you. Oh, this one is biblical. It’s in the Ten Commandments, if you must know. I just forgot which number.

Thirdly, not inside the church please. Try to remind yourself where you are periodically. If it’s inside any place of worship, then certainly, that place is sacred. Sacred places help you get spiritual nourishment; they are venues to renew ties with your God or Allah or Buddha. The name of the game is decency. If that gives you a hard time, castration may be wiser alternative.

This may sound erotic for some, but I say, in no way should anyone cruise a relative. It is repugnant and, I would have to say, the ultimate of unpardonable crudeness.

I could go on and on, but I think the list doesn’t have to amount to a thousand and one to reinforce the need for propriety for a thing which otherwise would have been deemed by most as all but proper. All it takes is a quick review of learnings made in our GMRC class way back or, even farther down the road, the things we learned in kindergarten about being kind and nice to our neighbors.

Poem

Hawiin mo ng sagwan mong matigas
Ang dagat ng pagnanasa.
Sumabay sa indayog ng bangka
Palubog, pataas, pabulusok
Hanggang marating mo
Ang rurok ng ligaya.

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My Mindanao-based friend Mitch, whom I haven’t seen in ages, wrote a poem for me after getting a clearer idea on dragonboat rowing following that documentary feature on local TV last week. She’s been sending me text messages a lot in the last few days inquiring about rowing, my oar, training regimen as well as lovelife and vacation stories. I would patiently answer all her rowing-related queries and would be exceptionally silent on all that dwells about lovelife. When she finally calls asking why I would suddenly turn silent, I’d amusingly yell at her and remind her about the only one thing we share in common over the years, a humdrum lovelife.

Then we’d poke fun at ourselves and the strong possibility of us evolving to become another addition to the growing number of lone rangers in this world. We’d end our usual conversation with a zestful toast to singlehood!

A call for tasteful cruising

I have lived long enough to know the ins and outs of cruising. Not the kind that traverses countries and oceans, although it brings you the same heavy breathing and tensed muscles. I’m talking about gay cruising to be exact. Sometimes I can’t help by laugh quietly when I realize I have probably breathed cruising air for so long I can smell it from miles away. I can very well sense it in my surroundings even if I close my eyes in sleep or plug my ears to rest.

That’s how I have grown to be so unknowingly skillful in this field. By that, I don’t mean I top the cruising field. I’m quite more of the reverse. I’m dreadfully shy. You would have to fill me up full tank with vodka or tequila or anything extremely intoxicating to make me lose myself and forget about my inhibitions. That’s probably the only time I can manage to smile seductively or even walk up to somebody for a small talk. I needed to be prodded in a special kind of way just to initiate what otherwise would have been something unimaginable.

When I say cruising pervades my space it can drown me in no time, all I wanted to declare is something that’s so plain and true. One doesn’t need to pray for mammoth eyes or ears that grow like wild giant mushrooms to be familiar with the finer points of cruising. What’s all needed is just a heightened sense of intuition, one that leads to being perceptive and insightful of people’s feelings, behaviors, or the slightest move of a body part. For instance, there is a way to read a person’s seemingly innocent glance or second stares and find out they really meant something else. There’s also a way to know that a harmless brush of elbows in a music store or a moviehouse or even inside a church during an ongoing mass really was meant to communicate one’s desire to pursue a tryst.

For gayguys, this is not something foreign. We have all grown accustomed to the step-count-look back habit or that celebrated three-second eye contact. We have likewise polished our face muscles so well we can whip out a craving look anytime or, worse, that one that depicts a yearning to devour certain body parts no end.

I don’t have anything against cruising and people who cruise. I won’t even lift a finger and talk people out of their decision to walk around the entire city to pursue a partner even for a momentary bliss. I will not stand in the way of people who might opt to spend the rest of their lives doing this. There’s only a small request I’d like to make: That when you do it, can it please be done in a way it doesn’t lead other people – gay or straight – to think lowly of the gaykind. It doesn’t help that, while other people silently work hard to break long-standing myths about gay people, some recklessly flush down hardly-fought constructive imagery of gays down the drain with their unflattering conduct.

I’m no manners police or anything. I just beg, please be at least tasteful.

Row, row

It was the second dragonboat race for local club teams last Sunday. My friend Jed took this shot.



I spent around nine to ten hours at Manila Bay for the 2nd Quarter Regatta, just about the same time it'll take for one to travel from Laoag in Ilocos Norte to Manila. Out of around 17 club teams in the men's division, we belonged to the six which reached the finals. We didn't get the top prize. No team ever manages to beat the navy, air force, police teams. For a club team, it's enough that you race with them.

The seventies

There is a statement my mom would always use to pacify me when, as a kid, I would throw tantrums whenever I failed to get what I wanted. Very calmly, she would say, “Make do with what you have.” And she would swiftly follow that with a reminder that we’re not well-off and we should be on guard against coveting things our playmates owned.

I think it started with trivial things like shoes and schoolbags. I’d sometimes spot a differently colored shoes or some bag that has more sidepockets and that starts me off on a relentless move to be difficult and upset everyone with my whining. I would refuse to do my assigned chores or decide not to talk to anyone at home. When that fails to get the attention I wanted, I would then deliberately pick a fight with my sister with the most petty things like she having more bread spread or me spending less time in the bath.

Mother’s words definitely leave a permanent mark in you. I moved to high school always getting reminded with those six words whenever I find myself desiring something which I knew wouldn’t kill me anyway if I didn’t get it. I learned to manage with just one bag in my entire high school and didn’t mind if everyone had new shirts on the first day of class after the holidays and I’d be the only one wearing same old shirt. A few years later, I survived all of college with just two pairs of low waist Levis and wearing shorts most of the time.

Looking back, I still don’t fully understand how just one statement managed to tame me throughout those crucial years. On one end, I would have to pay tribute to my parent’s unending patience. On the other hand, I’d say the seventies I grew up in were the finest period to parent kids. Life was so much simpler then. Traditions and manners carried more meaning. Authorities were more respectable and respected.

Lest you think I'm sporting white hair now, I am just as old as that year martial law was declared in the Philippines. That makes me ancient in some ways. But at the same time, it has given me so much beautiful stories and memories I could go on and on talking about them.

Smelly men

I thought I was one of the very few who have perfected a certain set of body twists and bends to do this particular kind of clean-up. Apparently, there's a new way to do it without having to contort and strain your back.

I've said this before and I'll say it again. Men should learn the virtue of grooming not just for their hair or whatever's left of it at the top but, more importantly, the ones down there too. There's nothing more disturbingly distasteful than blowing somebody hoping you'll lead them to the heavens and instead, end up getting your head blown off because of a stinky smell. Nobody should be subjected to that virtual death on earth. It's just inhuman, so heartless, so despicable!

But the reality of stinky men, while without a doubt a death sentence, is still widespread. Which makes me question a lot things. Were these guys ever present when hygiene was discussed in the homeroom class or do they they live in some place desert where water turns up only once a year? I mean, can't they smell it? Or granting that they don't, can't they at least connect the dots? That even when you shake and rattle and roll little junior after peeing, there's always something that's left which, when made to contact with a thick bushy pube area in a hot humid weather like Manila, detonates a putrid scent that kills? It doesn't take so much to comprehend that.

I hope sooner, rather than later, men will finally grow up and learn. There are three basics, so kindergarten, that can be done to completely reverse conditions so we are left with men who not only smell good but whom we enjoy doing blowing bubbles too.

1. You got to trim those hair. If you worry about hairs growing long way past the nostrils, by all means, worry also about pubic hairs growing way past your navel. At best, the length of the hair left should be less than half an inch. The shorter, the better.

2. Start wearing boxer shorts. Briefs, regardless of brand, type, textile, and cut, cling on too tightly to the skin it absorbs sweat and other juices that ooze. In a humid weather like Manila's where we sweat profusely, that means more sweat. More sweat + Bushy hair jungle + Tight undergarment = Only one thing, nasty stench.

3. Bath, bath, bath.

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Thanks Mavic for showing the way.

A prayer

To a certain extent, I am vain too. I’m terribly guilty and there’s no denying. I spend a considerable amount every month on foot massages, pedicures, lotions, moisturizers, facial creams, facial scrubs, body scrubs, and a whole lot of other pampering menu. Not only that, I make sure there are at least three different shampoos available at any one time when I take a bath aside from a number of hair conditioners on the side waiting to be noticed whose ultimate use largely depends on whatever scent they carry or mood I feel like having stepping out of the bathroom. I thought I have become too narcissistic with all these that I sometimes have to beat myself to calm down.

However, sitting over lunch with a friend’s friend a few days ago made my idea of vanity fall six feet under. I was quietly enjoying my meatless taco salad lunch when this guy matter-of-factly asked if we had plans of having our body fat checked at the gym. He said he was going to have his appointment later in the day and asked if anybody wanted to come along. I was stunned. I didn’t expect to hear something like that. I mean, this was a guy I thought carried the least worry on body fats and all. Yes, you’ll have a hard time spotting him in a dark room, but it’s a breeze to single him out from a crowd if lovehandles become the basis. He absolutely doesn’t have any. You look at him and think he was born with just muscles beneath his skin.

I am one who’s not easily offended, but hearing him talk about body fat check as if it’s the only measure of a man really put me off. I got upset, not because he was repeatedly boasting about his single-digit body fat, but more because I got so frustrated. Big time.

My thought was simple. I conceded, that's one less soul over there who couldn’t contribute to breaking myths that shapes and curves make a man. What made it even more infuriating for me was hearing it from a gayguy. In between heavy breaths, I prayed for lenience. My brothers hopefully appreciate sooner that men are so much more than body fat and waistlines.

Age and waist

September 9 vanished so quickly as it came. I didn’t even feel it enough. It turned up like a wink of an eye, something that was so uneventful you wouln’t even notice it was there. Like in my previous birthdays, I still spent the day by myself with nothing else in mind but a well-deserved rest and quiet time.

I was roaming around the mall as early as ten in the morning that day. You would mistake the mall to be some place haunted. Nobody was there. It was eerie yet strangely soothing. It was what I needed. It is what I always long for every year when the ninth day of the ninth month pays a visit.

Another year was added and it seems the more that it takes place, the more that I savor retreating to the sidelines and enjoy quietness. I no longer get paranoid receiving prying stares from some people who see me dine alone in a restaurant when everybody else’s tables are filled with family members and friends. I have long mastered the art of enjoying solitude in multitude so to speak. Nothing, virtually nothing of it appears dreadful to me or at the very least awkward.

Maybe it’s the age. Maybe the long years have finally paid off. Whatever it is, I love how things are now with me. Love may be elusive, I may be older than some, and worse, I may look older my age, but my god, my waistline falls way below my age. That's a tall order the moment you go past 30. Except of course for some selected few, but those are the gifted lot either with extremely active genes or with enormously huge bank accounts that they can easily head to the nearest lipo clinic. Which, on both counts, I unfortunately don't have. But which I completely don't mind.

Alone yet surrounded

Out of the blue, I felt water slowly wedge in my eyes and blurred my vision. I was close to letting my guards down and dramatically surrender to my feelings, but I thought I’ve been caught in a similar dilemma before and I’ve always managed to get through each time. I should be OK. But last Sunday afternoon however was different. This time, it was unusually difficult to keep my bearing and repulse the urge to bawl as I sat in the middle of a crowd watching kids perform in a musical number. I kept urging myself to remain calm and poised. It just wasn’t the place to cry.

The urge to cry your eyes out was the last thing anybody in that audience thought anyone should feel that time. The kids were in their elements as they swayed and glided on the stage. You can see them enjoying themselves, not mindful of the crowd that has gathered to watch them. They felt comfortable performing. Stage seemed to be a second home for them. I was genuinely enjoying myself watching them.

I couldn’t place where the feeling of being utterly sad was coming from. I ran thoughts in my head asking if there have been gloomy days earlier, and I couldn’t exactly agree if there ever was one. I just kept looking at the strobe lights above the stage to push back tears so they won’t fall over. I would bite my lower lip to put me in pain. I would force a smile and move my head to the beat in my attempt to fend off sad thoughts.

I still cried.

Being guy is fun

It was noon but the sun was out which made the weather a bit more bearable. Although not exactly a San Francisco kind of weather, the mild breeze were a refreshing delight as I walked down Ayala Avenue heading to lunch. The slightly chilling wind drove away the noontime heat and, at the same time, helped dry sweaty armpits and groin. I noticed several people swing their arms a bit farther from their hips than usual or would undo a shirt button one gap below than normal.

That’s when I realized there’s one more huge reason why men are infinitely more privileged than women. This time, it’s no longer just about men being able to unzip and spill wherever and whenever they want. It’s now become a battle of shapes and sizes instead.

Some women, like some of us men, at times amusingly equate their worth and merit with sizes and shapes. They feel good when they rest their arms across their chests and feel something that’s firmly rested and fresh as a plump bun. Others retreat in a bit of self-pity and embarrassment when they realize that what they have feels more like a fatigued and lifeless accessory. A few refuse to be troubled and just go about their way not minding incredulous stares from some people who seemed unusually mystified if they’re ogling at real boobs or just oversized zits. No matter how women try to hide their “deficiencies” with water-filled condoms or push-up bras, it’s all there for the world to see. You can’t just harvest them one second and try to relocate them some place more discreet the next moment.

In the case of men, at least there’s a little more secrecy to it. One may not be exceptional down there, but at least you don’t unwittingly scream to the world and give the slightest clue. Everyone is still left wondering about the real score. Of course, they can always ask for foot sizes or measure the length of forefingers, but you can always argue and start citing the latest scientific studies disproving theories of dicks and feet and fingers being related one way or another.

It’s really fun being a guy!

Google me

I got surprised finding out what Google has to say about my blog when you use the search engine to find it. I don't know how on earth this liner got there or who exactly put out that call to notify the writer about "objectionable content." Geeeezz!!

------------------
Web
Mga impormasyon tungkol sa promdi.blogspot.com
Living, Loving, Lusting Notify Blogger about objectionable content. What does this mean?
BlogThis! ...promdi.blogspot.com/
------------------

I suggest that you check out what Google has in store for you. Cliche-ish but, you'll never know what you're gonna get.

Old time refrain

As I walked out of the office for lunch today, I stood momentarily in the hallway before swinging the door open. There it was on the radio. A familiar sound, a witness to my younger days when everything was light and fresh and naive.

All of you out there who, at one time, got hooked on Xanadu's melody and refrain, here's to us.

A place where nobody dared to go
The love that we came to know
They call it Xanadu
And now open your eyes and see
What we have made is real
We are in Xanadu

A million lights are dancing
And there you are
A shooting star, an everlasting world
And you're here with me eternally

Xanadu, Xanadu, (now we are here) In Xanadu
Xanadu, Xanadu, (now we are here) In Xanadu
Xanadu, your neon lights will shine
For you, Xanadu

The love, the echoes of long ago
You needed the world to know
They are in Xanadu
The dream that came through a million years
That lived on through all the tears
It came to Xanadu

A million lights are dancing
And there you are
A shooting star, an everlasting world
And you're here with me eternally
Xanadu

Xanadu, (now we are here) In Xanadu Xanadu
Xanadu, (now we are here) In Xanadu
Now that I'm here
Now that you're near in Xanadu
Now that I'm here
Now that you're near in Xanadu
Xanadu...

Singles and doubles

In an isolated village up in the remote parts of Ifugao, I found the perfect metaphor to explain my present love condition. It came in the form of three lifeless clothespins --- two snuggling tightly beside each other; another quietly sitting by its lonesome not so far from where two are.



That’s how things have been in the last few weeks or so. Some of my friends seemed to have finally found their way hitting jackpots one after another. All of a sudden, it looked as if love and partnering became excessively easy for everyone to just take and keep. Few of my friends finally took the plunge and bade singlehood goodbye. They are in high heavens now, permanently upbeat, constantly smiling, always giggling, forever on the phone.

All these while I peacefully park myself in the sidelines enjoying life and love. Well, lust sometimes.

Small is beautiful

Observe closely. This is no ordinary bar graph. Every guy --- whether straight or gay, cut or uncut, virile or lethargic, popular or nameless, experienced or unexplored --- is represented here.

Some people may raise their eyebrows, but global survey results say, on whole, men are just six inches long down there. There are a few who are excessively gifted, but it's not something that causes much celebration. More often than not, these are unfortunately the same lot who thinks that dicks are used no other way than urinating. They somehow assume that the size makes up for whatever performance shortcomings they may have. And so, they decide to just lie down there like a log and let their miserable partners take charge. They take for granted that they needed to perform too believing that their contribution to lovemaking ends with their phalluses.

Which leads my friend to forcefully declare, he had always preferred being with Asians (ok, ok…. specifically Pinoys) when it comes to sex. The pieces may not be huge, massive, or enormous in length, diameter or thickness, but its stiffness is guaranteed to endure four seasons of the year. That's what matters.

I humbly submit.

The stars spoke

It started out as a joke between me and my sister. She said it was going to be purely for fun. Nothing to be feared about. The guy is all but scary, my sister assured me, he won’t start a raging litany of misfortunes involving my life, she added. I just needed to abandon all my prejudices in the door and allow him to present his readings about me based on just my full name, date and place of birth, and nickname.

And so I YM’d this guy, this complete stranger based hundreds of miles away in India whose appearance was as mysterious to me as his ability to read the future. But still, I gave all the personal details he needed. For once, I decided to be lighthearted and gave in. I have an 11-lettered middle name and a family name that’s nine. It took him a while to read what those numbers have in store for me.

I was interested to hear what those numbers will say about work, change in residence, and possibly love. Most likely in that order. I don’t have any idea how he works but some of his readings, I must admit, came as pleasant surprise. We have never known each other from Adam but his “findings” got me seated firmly to spend some time with him.

Changing jobs apparently won’t help me now. It will take about a year or more before any change will do me favor. My birth number is 9 and my future number is 1. My expression number is 96 or 6, heart desire number is 1 while personality number is 5.

--------------------------------------------
Excerpts of my conversation with the astrologer, unedited:
V - astrologer, managillo is my yahoo username


V: ur a man of strong personality, lot of leadership qualities,
V: having selfrespect,stubborn,
managillo: im listening...
V: ur lucky in most areas of ur life
V: ur main concern is ur familly,parents, family members
managillo: that's true
V: and finally ur cuntry
V: u will alwys think to contribut to ur family and cuntry
managillo: yes


managillo: about living abroad? or working abroad. what does it say?
V: u will settle in abroad
managillo: does it say when?


V: u have very srtong combination of 9-1 planets
managillo: what does it mean?
V: 9=mars= king, ruler, angry, royal
managillo: angry? stubborn? wow...
V: 1=sun= king, leadar, ego, govt. supported
managillo: prospect in politics?
V: very high
V: great leadrs and patriots born under 9-1
managillo: can you see me in politics?
V: but u will get every thing after little bit strugling
V: u will shine in politics
managillo: when is that time it will start shining? :-)
V: 2007 onwards but now also u dont have problems
managillo: is there a particular job or field that i should focus to help me when i eventually settle abroad
V: real estate , land devlopment, construction
managillo: does it say i will actually hold an elective position in govt?
V: hed of the institute will suits u most
V: genaraly u dont like to work under someone!
managillo: prospect in business?
V: service oriented jobs are best
managillo: service oriented job or business?
V: because mars, sun public sector group
managillo: so if i have to start a business, it means it has to be in the service industry?
V: ya
V: u and ur product will reach people soon by way of service
managillo: when's a good time to start a business
V: 2007
V: 2007=9
managillo: what about politics? when's a good time? also 2007?
V: but it will start ur year aug2006 onwards
managillo: what do you mean
V: aug2006 on ward is good
managillo: that's one more year of struggle
V: ur 2007 will start at 2006 agu to aut 2007
managillo: so between now and aug2006, what do you see?
V: alomst looks like but u dont have any thrate
V: it is time for u to do some mistakes


managillo: what about love? will it come, will it come?
V: u r king u will be loved by meny
managillo: and not by one? hehe
V: not so
managillo: that means what? i'll never be in a relationship?
V: relationship is not love
managillo: what does it mean
V: u might have not responded to somones love
managillo: do you see me being in a relationship soon?
V: i dont see any delays

Reminiscing

Having written three consecutive entries about intimacy makes me feel naked. I thought I have unnecessarily undressed before a jampacked coliseum with all the spotlights on me. There's this funny feeling that some friends have been unwittingly provided with new materials to make me a convenient conversation piece during the next gathering.  Not only that, I'd likely be forced to provide more juicy details and asked to answer follow-up questions that'll come one after another. 

 

I've never really shared these things --- ever -- before. I'm glad I did now. It feels like giving those lovely memories their rightful tribute.

Those were the days

I thought it'd be such a waste to just keep my fondest "couple" memories silently parked in the fringes of my failing mind. I'm sharing them now as my modest way to highlight the idea that there is nothing so distinctly different in straight relationships that sets it apart from those in gay relationships. Love is love, relationship is relationship regardless of whether it's between a man and a woman, a woman and another woman, or a man and another man.

--------------------------------

1. Sunday morning cuddles. Since we usually don’t go out Saturday nights, we would wake up early on Sunday mornings and just cuddle on bed. Whoever’s not too lazy between us would switch on the TV and we’d watch a Chinese cooking show of this elderly Mandarin-speaking woman who can clip practically anything with her chopsticks. My ex would serve as an alluring interpreter replete with all the funny gestures and dialogue. We’d end up a riot, laughing wildly while watching.

2. Doing grocery. We love to do the grocery together. I always prefer pushing the cart, patiently following him while he picks out items from the shelf and tosses them over to me. At times, I’d be asked which brand I prefer. I always quietly yield to what he likes. Except for bath soaps and lotion. Mild scent and unscented, respectively.

3. Visiting wet market. Occasionally, we’d wake up really early on weekend mornings and head to the nearest wet market. We’d charm the vendors and always end up going home with a few more vegetables, a few more meat slices, and a few more new friends.

4. Sunday lunches with nephews. His nephews would be rowdy when they come for a Sunday lunch visit with their parents, but they are always a welcome sight. They call me Uncle J. and would let me in about what’s latest with them. The elder one Ryan would charm me with his most recent fascinating puppy love stories while the younger one JR would ask me for help in his assignments or practice his latest declamation piece in front of me.

5. Using my own cutleries. It never fails to warm my heart seeing my partner use my own spoon or fork at home during a meal or even at the restaurant when we dine. It’s a lovely gesture to show complete acceptance and quiet devotion.

6. Sharing a cup of coffee. There’d be times when we would fix a drink, usually coffee, and would share the same cup. It’s the ultimate gesture of warm loving.

7. Lunch calls. I’d spend more days having lunch at work only to catch his phone calls around noon on weekdays. It’s the only time he can get to the phone to call me during the day. I thought the least I can do is make sure I’d be available to take those calls.

8. Kiss before sleeping. Just before switching off the bedside lamp before retiring at night, he would lean over and kiss me goodnight. Of course, it’s always punctuated with ilavyus.

9. Spooning. It’s our favorite sleeping position next to him cuddling quietly on my chest with my right arm around him. When spooning, I prefer to be one doing the spoon. It’s my way of saying nothing can harm him while I’m around. Like the song. Cheesy but true.

10. Picture frames. One weekend, he brought several small picture frames with him and asked me to go over our photo album and choose photos we can cut and mount on the frames. It’s a happy sight seeing your “couple” photos on top of the dresser and the bedside tables. There’s that immense feeling of being loved and cared for that is so breathtaking.

11. Wednesday masses. Wednesday evenings before dinner are spent hearing mass first. It’s his Wednesday tradition of sorts of which I fully support. He knows I don’t make the sign of the cross anymore nor participate in the other elaborate rituals, but he doesn’t mind. We make sure, though, that we do our peace-be-with-yous. More often, we say something else.

12. Sunday service. He hears mass, I attend a service. That didn’t stop us from joining each other’s Sunday duties. He proposed a compromise, which I agreed: First Sundays of the month are spent going to my church while the rest of the Sundays we head to his. Finding the middle ground isn’t as difficult as some people think.

13. Heart drawings. We have this way of silently saying ilavyus when we’re in public. It only takes a split second to do it. No sweat. With just our right forefingers, we draw hearts in the air. Everywhere at any time but always very discreetly. We’d be seated together in a moviehouse, for example, and feel affectionate all of a sudden. It’s disheartening not to have a way of communicating it right away. And so we usually place our hand lightly on the other’s lap or back and draw a heart. We then know what that means.

14. Staring while sleeping. On few occasions, I would wake up earlier and just stare at him as he snuggled up beside me. I would stroke his hair till I head back to dreamland myself. When I wake up again, I would catch him staring at me lovingly with a ready smile.

15. Poo-pooing while showering. Nothing beats our conversations while I would shower and he’d just be a few steps away from me poo-pooing. He lights a scented candle first before getting settled with a magazine on one hand. We’d talk about, among others, our workday, a gift we’d bring to a birthday party we’ve been invited to, our next weekend schedule, what grocery items to buy.

Three things

I've been tagged. Several times already, but this is the first time I'm yielding. It helps that the questions are interesting and fresh, but having my cool friend Mavic do the tagging makes it more worthwhile. I never realized we had so much in common. Well, what do you expect, our birth dates are just a few days apart.

So, here it is. Let us discover more about each other.
-----------------------------------
Three names you go by:
1. Jongjong (by aunties/uncles mostly)
2. Jong
3. Jayvee

Three screen names you have had:
1. promdi
2. rancho
3. basco

Three physical things you like about yourself:
1. Color
2. Lips
3. Butt

Three physical things you don't like about yourself:
1. Height, could’ve been taller.
2. Eyebrows, thick and unruly.
3. Cut, it could have been uncut.

Three things that scare you:
1. Losing a family member.
2. Growing old alone. Growing old single doesn't scare me.
3. Absence of friends.

Three of your everyday essentials:
1. Mobile phone
2. Gym bag
3. Wallet

Three of your favorite musical artists:
1. El Divo
2. Michael Buble
3. Shirley Bassey

Three of your favorite songs:
1. ‘Waiting for Love’ by Sergio Mendes
2. ‘You’ by The Carpenters
3. ‘Misty’ by Sarah Vaughn

Three things you want in a relationship:
1. Humor
2. Vow to make it work
3. Loyalty

Three lies and truths in no particular order:
LIES:
1. I’m not gonna cum inside.
2. I just had a bottle.
3. I love you.
TRUTH:
1. We should not ignore our spirituality.
2. Being in a relationship is easy. Being with somebody worth your while is not easy.
3. Strive to be friends with your ex’s.

Three physical things about the opposite sex that appeal to you:
1. Slim waist.
2. Nice feet.
3. Smooth skin.

Three of your favorite hobbies:
1. Sports
2. Travel
3. Photography

Three things you want to do really badly now:
1. A month’s vacation
2.Massage
3.A quiet romantic dinner

Three careers you're considering/you've considered:
1. Social worker
2. Teacher/Coach
3. Detective agent

Three places you want to go on vacation:
1. Italy
2. Austria
3. Remote places in China

Three kid's names you like:
1. Elise
2. Macky
3. Teresa

Three things you want to do before you die:
1. Bring my family to a cruise.
2. Write my autobiography.
3. Be in a long-term meaningful relationship.

Three ways that you are stereotypically male:
1. I can’t distinguish mauve from violet.
2. I don’t like shopping.
3. I sip my soup loudly.

Three ways that you are stereotypically female:
1. I eat pasta with spoon and fork.
2. I have penchant for romantic comedies.
3. Shampoo then conditioner; not shampoo+conditioner in one.

Three people I admire:
1. My Lolo Papang
2. Greg Louganis
3. CJ Hilario Davide

Bonding in little things

There came a time many years ago when I sought dining out with as much passion and thrill as a little boy blowing birthday candles. The visits to different eating places both classy and behind the times were always a source of delight for me. But, in a strange way, it wasn’t because I was high-maintenance or I moved in predominantly fashionable places. Absolutely not.

Instead, I relished those dining experiences because they gave me a more powerful insight on how intimacy can come in the form of the most minute gestures and facial expressions. I think that’s when I learned to be watchful and appreciative of even the most trivial and ordinary things. I think that was also the time I became hopelessly romantic. As the years passed, my idea of intimacy sharpened and made much more meaningful and personal.

For instance, everytime we’d dine out in the restaurant or decide to watch a movie, my ex W. would hand me his wallet. I didn’t think of it much the first few times. It never occurred to me that it was his way of making it easy for himself by lightening his load. When I thought about it much later on, I melted. It was such a bliss thinking how he would entrust me with his most private things. I never heard him warn me about not poring over the items inside nor give me creepy glances at any time. I made sure the risk he took was worthwhile. I guarded the wallet with my life and never let it out of my sight. Well, it helped also that I enjoyed looking at two leather men’s wallets sitting warmly side by side.

The wallet experience spread through even at home. There was a time he offered to scrub for me the hard-to-reach areas of my back when I was taking a bath and he was just two feet away from me brushing his teeth. Sometimes he’d volunteer to clip my nails or clean my ears while I watch tv with my head resting on his lap.

Inside the car, there is an unwritten rule that a hand rests on the other’s thigh. Most of the time, it was my left hand gently perched on his right thigh while he drives. A break only happens when I notice him doing head rotations and I would instinctively have my left hand massage his nape and shoulders. The car has also witnessed me blush while receiving my first two dozen roses and lifesize doggie stuff toy.

So in what other ways did intimacy reveal itself? Five have been listed. I have 15 more in my list. Perhaps I shall write again sometime to give them life. But in the meantime, let the first five live through. I tell you, you haven't heard the best part yet.

Intimacy

When friends ask me about my most intimate moments, they seem to imagine me naked cavorting with somebody. They pucker their lips and dilate their pupils as they stare at me passionately, eagerly waiting for me to feed them with very explicit rundown of events from the time doors are locked to the time flys are unbuttoned and shirts fly around the room.

But sadly, that’s not my idea of intimacy. How I have understood intimacy over the years has nothing to do with undressing but everything to do with taking your fears and mistrust away as you build something with somebody. I’m not a love doctor and I don’t claim to be one, but my experiences have led me to think I’ve been on the right lane.

Church reality

I turned a bit to steal a gaze at him. He seemed to enjoy the moment it made me happy quietly. While he would occasionally read mindlessly the service bulletin, on whole, he appeared calm, introspective, and thoughtful. He would nudge me now and then or paste his thigh so closely against mine as he smiled, but he stared most of the time on the huge cross plastered prominently on the center of the sanctuary.

It was first Sunday of the month. We found ourselves going to church together even if we have known each other slightly over 12 hours earlier. It was late afternoon that time and I just finished working out at the gym. On my way out, I decided to drop by a nearby food place to while away time and catch my breath. That’s when he came. He approaced my table and asked if he can join me. I pulled back my tray to give him space.

We talked and talked and talked some more. It led us mostly to interesting discoveries. I don’t know, but the interest probably lived until the next day since he called and asked what I was up to that morning. He said he was heading to a church service and he wanted to know if it was possible to meet after that. I floated the idea of us going together to my church since the worship schedules were more or less the same anyway. He agreed. That’s how we ended up at the church.

But this is not about the guy. I’m not going to write anything about us. There is no us. He confessed he got into a relationship four days before we met. His eyes turned misty when he spoke about it. So there is no us.

But I insisted on writing this because something took root in me that morning. Nothing new, but something I have always advocated.

For people in a committed relationship, there has to be something more than just their love to keep them together and enrich their bond. For some, it’s a hobby or a sport. Others engage in charity work. For me, it’s going to church. There is something about the sight of a praying man, a prayerful man if you may, that’s infinitely appealing. But what captivates me even more is the idea of surrender, of acknowledging mortality, of recognizing something powerful that puts order into things, of appreciating the need for balance between things of this world and those ones that are spiritual.

That Sunday, I thanked God for letting me feel so strongly about my beliefs. I thanked Him even more for showing it to me clearly that it's not at all impossible to still find prayerful men today. It's just sad that most of them are in their respective relationships already. Be it happy or otherwise. I don't care to know.

High school life

Growing up in the province at times gives you an edge over those who have been in the city from birth. For one, there's just a lot more colorful stories to tell and equally more animated ways to tell it. In my case, I have attempted to list down, from top of mind, things I associate with high school spent in a remote town far from the city.

Here's my list. I had a grand time coming up with one. You should try coming up with a list too. I tried to elaborate briefly each item. Some though speak for themselves. The 80's was just a very fun time to always look back. And besides, most of the people I know who come visit my blog are well familiar with the period. Except for Mavic who may know something way, way beyond the great 80's.

Enjoy my high-school-days-oh-my-high-school-days-I-remember-kay-saya list:

1. Manilyn Reynes-Janno Gibbs notebook. Patok na patok sa probinsiya everyone had it.
2. Menudo craze. Girl classmates drooled over Robby Rosa, Ricky Martin, Charlie ---, Roy ---.
3. Florante at Laura. Hindi ako um-absent sa class kasi gusto ko iyong love story.
4. Panatang Makabayan. Memorized ko ito noon; ngayon kelangan ko nang tulong.
5. Nutri-bun. May binibigay noon na tinapay sa mga public schools. Super laki na super sawa na ang lahat.
6. Splash gel. Diyan nagsimula ang lahat.
7. Rick Astley, Fra Lippo Lippi, Ray Parker Jr. Sikat noon, sikat pa rin sa amin ngayon.
8. Kumander Gringa, Bala at Lipstik, Petrang Kabayo. Roderick Paulate has since become the only one who can make me laugh without really trying. :-)
9. Rolling store ni Manang. Utangan namin pag recess, taguan pag late.
10. Slumbook. Lahat meron. Lahat dapat sa-sign ka rin.
11. Every name has the letter H as second letter (Mhalen, Lhilet, Vhangie). No comment.
12. Padamihan ng letter E sa pangalan (Mercee, Lucee, Virgee). No comment pa rin.
13. Mr. DJ ni Sharon. Naririnig ko sa radyo ng kapitbahay.
14. Scott Baio. May poster ako ginupit pa sa Women's magazine yata (o MOD). :-)
15. Cassette player & cassette tapes. Diyan ko napakinggan ang Footloose na soundtrack at Thriller tapes.
16. Bic ballpen, THOR pencils. Masarap ngatngatin.
17. COD, Syvel's at Footstep sa Cubao. Pasyalan sa Cubao noon. Sa COD ako dahil sa christmas displays, Syvel's dahil sa nanay ko.
18. Bagets porma. Naka-fold na short sleeves, baston na pantalon na may zipper sa gilid. Huwag na please....
19. Basketball sa ulan. Kasama sina Mao, Doc, Toddy, Jimboy.
20. Biology field trip. Kuha ng algae.
21. Dutong, dutong. Tawag sa teacher namin na putol iyong isang daliri pag gustong maasar.
22. Practical arts subject ni Mr. Hubalde. Dito nagsimula ang pangarap kong maging carpenter. Project ko non plantsahan.
23. CAT pag Monday afternoons. Astig porma.
24. English elective class ni Mr. Verana. Always fun.
25. Teammates (John L., Victor Z., Rodel B.) sa 4x100m relay. Winning team for three straight years.
26. Induction balls. Ligaw, ligaw.
27. Girlfriend, girlfriends. First kiss, first kiss.
28. Sperry Topsider. Porma shoes.
29. Kungfu shoes. Gift lang sa akin, hindi ito porma shoes ko. :-)
30. Bulletin board sa Faculty room. Where class rankings are posted.

Fatherhood

I will never know what it actually feels to be a father.

That day I turned 26 I vowed never to marry. Not because I really wanted to, but more to serve as a fearless statement and a fitting tribute to a newfound identity following meaningful experiences with self-acceptance. It’s so clear to me the reasons behind the decision. For one, I don’t need to prove to any one that I’m virile and capable of bursting my seeds to fertile lands. I’m not even interested to be portrayed as a good and dutiful son succumbing to family pressure to perpetuate one’s own genetic material lest I’ll be cut off from inheritance. My family’s not affluent so I’m safe in this regard. But worst of all, I don’t subscribe to the horrifying idea that family means family only when father-mother-brother-sister and the dog are present.

I’m thankful I have reached that stage in my life where valuing self-concept is not just a wild dream, but a living truth. I have spent many years finding and improving myself since that fateful day in 1996 when I turned 24 and thanked God for giving be courage to accept myself. The years that followed have been unexplainably happy and fulfilling, which likely rubbed on my parents. They are now careful not to insist on what they want, but defer to my judgment on things. I like to interpret this as their way of recognizing the truth that tradition and traditional things aren’t always justified and correct.

I may never be a father myself, but my god, I do know how to be one.

Paddling for motherland

While Manila was besieged with endless protests left and right over the weekend, I was more than 730 miles north of Manila in Taipei as part of a crew of 21 dragonboat rowers carrying the Philippine flag who slugged it out with three other teams for the fifth place. I felt it was ironic that while there were a group of people somewhere fighting to bring the country prestige and honor, exactly the opposite happens at home. That makes me sigh.

Anyways, our team competed in the 2005 Taipei International Dragonboat Championships held at the Keelung Riverside Park in Taipei city. Although we were actually a local club team, one doesn’t normally carry the team’s name in international races. You’re likely to be referred to by your country of origin. It’s a daunting task to know you’re competing for your country. And you know you shouldn’t fail. We left Manila early morning of Thursday and just planed home yesterday past lunchtime.

I have longed dreamt of competing for the country in one area I know I do well since I was in gradeschool --- sports. I’m glad I have finally found the way through rowing. It has been where most of my time revolved around since the start of the year and has been the cause of my endless decline on friend’s invitations for after-work dinners or coffee or movies. More ominously, I have to admit (even if I’d be likely yet lovingly sneered at by some friends) that it has mainly been the reason why love has come aloof and cold. It slips through my hands as fast it comes, vanishes as quickly as it appears knocking.

But the sacrifices I’ve endured over the months have well been worth it. They were around 76 teams who participated in the race, of which close to a third belonged to the open competition category where we signed up. Of this, about ten teams came from around the world from USA to Canada to Australia to Japan, Singapore, and of course, Philippines.

We didn’t fail motherland. We were one of the only two foreign teams left in the semifinals comprised of eight teams. We lost by an unbelievable 0.04 seconds. We may not have brought home the gold and around 600 thousand pesos in cash prize that accompanied it, but one thing was certain: We made a mark there. We deserved every applause they offered everytime we walk by. They couldn't believe we beat USA in our first heat and all the foreign teams after that. The only one's we were up against were Taiwan teams comprised of physical education major university students and another from their airforce academy. But even then, the name Manila will surely be associated with deadly performance on the water.

So long, Lolo Papang

A few months back, I wrote something about my grandfather, my mom’s dad, whom all of us call Lolo Papang. I don’t exactly recall what moved me to write that piece, but I just remember feeling it was the right thing to do that day. In that article, I recalled few memorable stories about him which he narrated to me as a grandchild living closest to him. This happened during most of the 70’s until he retired as an elementary school district supervisor in our town after 40 years of doing public service, and subsequently moved to the States to follow Lola Mamang.

A few days ago, I wrote something about him again. This time, my mom asked me to do it. She had been asked, being the eldest among five brothers and five sisters, to deliver a eulogy for Lolo Papang before gathered relatives, friends, neighbors, and townmates in far USA. He died peacefully in a hospital last May 26 at 86.

I’ve been bribed a few times to write straightforward speeches for friends. At other times, I’ve succumbed to relentless pleas from my sister to edit her masteral thesis. But I’ve never done a eulogy for anybody before. What made the work a bit easier was my long-held honor of being the only grandchild among 39 that he allowed to go over the unpublished manuscript of his autobiography which he started writing when as early as five years before his death.

I nevertheless tried my hand at doing one. I didn’t want something that makes people cry. I wanted something that will become a breath of fresh air to everyone attending. I wanted a feel of noltalgia without the tears. As my way of paying tribute to the spirit of love and devotion Lolo Papang left behind, I wanted to share with you what I did. I have yet to ask my mom how she fared delivering it.

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Papang and his Letter M's

Thank you for joining us this afternoon. Your display of sympathy towards us has given us so much comfort and joy. Some have come from afar, some took their cars while others probably had to fly and cross states. Thank you for showing us your love. I'm sure Papang will be so humbled with the love and respect you have shown today.

It's difficult to relive Papang's lifestory without sharing with you the letter M's of his life.

The first M would have to be music. In the same way that you cannot separate night from day, Papang felt the same way with music. His high school days from 1935 to 1939 in Batanes were one of his happiest. This was before the war when kids didn't smoke, drink nor do drugs, but instead, would make plans for dances and soirees all the time. It was probably around this time also when he started to seriously play one string instrument after another ----- whether it's ukelele, guitar, banjo tenor, or banduria ---- and be good at every one of them. Papang and his friends became so proficient, not just in organizing dances, but in attending every one that's organized even if it meant hiking for six kilometers to the next town and another six kilometers heading back home since there were no public transportation that time in Batanes.

Forty five years later in 1980, his music made him feel at home here in America. He remembers so vividly that day he won first place in a talent contest he joined. He gladly bribed our youngest brother Jojo to accompany him in guitar while Papang played the banduria. And so before an audience of more than 200, Papang and Jojo played three popular pieces, the same three songs we've heard him play and master over the years as we grew up in Batanes. That's why the songs "Let me call you sweetheart," "Mexically Rose," and "You are my sunshine" have always been close to my heart. They were well-applauded. But what made the event more significant for Papang was it paved the way for our youngest brother Jojo to meet his wife Emilie for the first time.

While Papang played Cupid for Jojo, this wasn't how he seemed to be when he was younger. Many may not know it, but Papang kept love at bay when he was growing up. His humble beginnings made it clear to him that there were only two ways he can rise from the hardships and that was, first, to finish a college education and, believe or not, keep love away. So when he was in high school, he made a promise not to be too serious with girls. That was a little difficult for him since he was pretty popular in high school being chief of the high school orchestra and at the same time class president during his entire high school years.

But it only took another letter M to make Papang break his vow. Only three months into his fourth year, he pursued Mamang relentlessly who was in the first year class that time. Everyone was surprised. Papang that time was never known to be somebody who had his way with girls. Barely a month after high school, Papang and Mamang got married in April 1940. In his words, Papang said, he did this to make sure that Mamang would be there for him when he gets back from Manila where he planned to continue studying. A month after their wedding, Papang left the province and boarded a merchant ship to Manila where he was so determined to finish college.

However, the Second World War came and life stopped for most. Like most young men that time, he began attending daily warfare training until they received received orders for deployment. But God must have loved Papang so much that He wouldn't allow him to be in the battlefield. On Christmas eve in 1940 when they were about to be deployed to a nearby province, an order disbanding the cadets program was issued. At once, many headed home to their provinces. For Papang, he had to endure staying in Manila for around two more years. He couldn't leave for home even he desperately wanted to since there were no regular transportation heading to the province that time. He worked as a gardener for a prominent lawyer in Manila that time in the meantime. In 1942, he learned of a Japanese gunboat heading to Batanes. He spoke with some people and found a way to be included as a passenger. His employer tried to lure him to stay even promising him free law education after the war, but Papang preferred to head back home.

Home was a quiet little town called Mahatao in Batanes and the third M in Papang's life. That morning Papang arrived in Batanes from Manila, Mamang was heading back to Mahatao, around six kilometers away from the main town after bringing our eldest sister Elmie, who was still their only child that time, to our grandparents. Papang loved to tell this part of his story since it was probably filled with so much grand cinematic feel. Anyway, as Mamang was walking back home, she noticed boats brimming with umbrellas heading to the shore. She was told they were some Japanese ladies. Mamang became curious. She has never seen a Japanese lady in her life so she walked a whole kilometer to the port. She was surprised to see Batanes ladies instead. Her surprise didn't end there. She became so much more shocked to see Papang coming off the boat whom she almost failed to recognize because he grew a moustache and his hair was very long. And for the very first time in a long while, they walked hand in hand back to our grandparent's house.

Mahatao was memorable to Papang because this was where Mamang's family came from and where they settled as a young couple. This was where Papang spent most of his youth as a young married man and a young father. It was also where they lived mostly during the war. It was, as expected, where most of us were born.

Like nine months later after that fateful day in late October when Papang arrived and the fourth letter M was born in his life. It came in the form of a cute and adorable and charming little baby born in August the following year and was named Merlin. That was me. And for being the only one among us eleven brothers and sisters whose name starts in letter M, I'm deeply happy to be part of Papang's circle of letter M's.

But the greatest letter M, the Mission, of his life Papang made sure that all of us --- six sisters and five brothers --- shared. Papang, as well as Mamang, considered it their greatest achievement to have been able to send all of us siblings to college and be professionals. What makes this achievement more meaningful was it happened to a couple who didn't have any property or bank savings or even house of their own. So each time one of us comes up the stage to receive our college diplomas, Papang and Mamang felt a different sense of joy in them. They felt affirmed as good parents and blessed as good providers. I'm so happy that they lived so long enough to see that the fruits of their labor have been full, plenty, abundant, not just in our generation, but in his grandchildren's generation as well.

To end, I'd like to share with you a part of Papang's self-written valedictory address when he graduated from Grade 7 seventy years ago:

"Life is a cycle of rain and sunshine, tears and smiles, failures and successes. So have the determination to succeed regardless of any obstacles that may come your way."

This was Papang's guiding star in his life. I hope it lives in our hearts too. So his memory will always remain with us.

Race to top

Oh, what the heck!! I have decided to plaster an image of myself here. I have been pretty successful being in the outskirts for long, skimming the sidelines all these times. I thought it would be nice to give you a glimpse of the person behind the words. Besides, I'm sure my friend Mavic will find it easier to hook me up with her nice friends. :-)

The photo was taken by a friend last Saturday during an annual local dragonboat race held every May which my team joined. Close to ten Manila-based dragonboat teams joined the annual race for the 500-meter event. I have to thank Joaquin for waking up early and heading to Manila Bay and play with his camera. Since I'm the only one he knows there, I became a captive subject. My thanks also goes out to my friend McVie for driving all the way from Marikina to Baywalk just to watch.





We did good in the race. We finished first in our eliminations heat to advance in the semifinals. In the semis, we were pitted against a pseudo-civilian team where more than half of the rowers came from the former Marines team. Even then, we didn't allow them to go past us so easily. We finished a close second which assured us of a slot in the finals.



Of six teams in the finals, we clocked in for third. Not bad considering the winning teams weren't really civilian-civilian. We were glad that gave us the chance to go up the stage in the awarding to receive our medals. Meanwhile, our women's team did us proud. They made sure they left their mark. All of them were present in the awarding to receive their championship trophy and medals.

For those who missed last Saturday's race, there's another one coming three Sundays from now.

Re-igniting a flame

Long after he left, I was still finding my breath. My eyes were mindlessly fixed on the lighted desk lamp across the couch in the living room where I was slumped. My shoulders were heavy, my heart was pounding, I can feel sweat beads forming all over my face. I couldn’t believe what just happened.

I tried to play in my mind what exactly transpired a few minutes earlier hoping I’d make sense of things. But I don’t know where to start. I can’t even figure out why this happened.

D. has been sending me text messages for several days already. They came out of the blue. They were not the usual hi-hello-how-are-you messages we’ve been sending each other over the years we’ve been friends. Instead, they carried allusions about re-igniting a flame that once was there between the two of us, probably more around ten years ago. I didn’t ask how he planned to do it or what else does he have in mind. I tried to stay cool while reading all the messages that came through thinking they were just another prank being played on me, but the more frequent they turned up, the more stunned I became. They were no longer warm and friendly. They were no longer something I found delightful. I wasn’t annoyed exactly, but they made me extremely uncomfortable.

One of the more strange text message he sent while he was on a pleasure trip in Cebu. It inquired if I still love him or if I was willing to consider dating him again. He added, he would be willing to wait for my decision. I was horrified. Several messages more soon followed. They all had one direct insinuation, if I can please think over the proposal and he’d see me once he gets back from his trip.

I don’t know how D. came to this idea. I would normally have my rationale side active at this time and would clearly see the writings on the wall long before. But still, I tried finding out straight from him. He said, since we’ve known each other so well over the years, we wouldn’t really be spending so much time getting to know the basics. It’ll spare us from the trouble of initial dating and guarantee each other a wholesome and decent date or hopefully, a partner. We know each other’s friends, we’ve gone a long way back, we practically been friends for a long time.

Which brings me to a question I have been struggling: Is it convenience that I’m being sought after or just a naïve old-fashioned idea of ending up with a childhood puppy love. That Saturday night he dropped by the house for a visit straight from the airport didn’t even make things easier. I looked into his eyes when he started confirming all his text messages. I couldn’t feel anything.

Rowing and me

Five days each week, I live like a growing boy. I don’t get fed in a bottle or get my buns wrapped by pampers, but I am on bed already at eight in the evening prayerfully imploring for sleep. By then, I have finished my mug of hot chocolate drink and have taken my second shower for the evening. It’s good that I have never really found it difficult to get to dreamland quickly although early sleeping wasn’t exactly the sleeping habit I have gotten accustomed to for the longest time.

Rowing has changed my life. At least the nocturnal side of it.

I have practically ceased from going out with my friends for nightcaps or movies or dinners or quick drinks. I head home straight from gym after work. And for this, I have received quite a beating from some of them. They have practically stopped inviting me out since they know they’ll only get turned down. I haven’t been out on a Saturday night since first week of January this year. And worse, I haven’t even been inside a moviehouse since the start of the year.

It’s not just the going out at night that gets severely punished when you row. Even one’s sex life gets a massive whipping. You can’t do it the night before each training session or else, you’ll be doomed to frantically struggle keeping up with everyone in the boat. All of guys who row know this. Unloading the night before (ar worse, a few hours before) each rowing session is a sure way to be everyone’s liability on the boat. You can’t row hard enough, you can’t keep up with the pace, your timing is off, fatigue sets in early, you’re really better off somewhere else. In my case, I am slowly mastering this skill. I have been able to abstain for more than a week on several occasions already. That’s a miracle!!

Meanwhile, I try to look at the brighter side of things. Retiring early at night makes sure I get full eight-hour rest before my 5am call time every training session. Not being able to join my friends for the nightouts means saving more money. Finally, the unattended sex life signifies total discipline and strength of mind.

Goodbye Pope!

I looked at him and I almost felt like shouting, "Well done, well done!" I admire him for his untiring labor the last 26 years or so as Pope. Much has been written about what he did in this period. He made so much inroads pushing the Catholic Church to many nations and peoples. All the glory and praises he rightfully deserves for bridging people and their faith.

Except that his legacy never labored towards uplifting the kind of understanding and mindset that his church has espoused towards gays. I am not talking about ministering gay marriages or openly flaunting the ordination of gay priests. I am not even close to mentioning it as highlights of homilies around the world. At the very least, I would have wanted to see a more embracing, more pragmatic, less judgmental views towards the population. That way, we would not have been witnesses to countless number of kind, compassionate, and very talented people who have opted to distance themselves from the church. Not because they wanted to, but because it didn't minister to them and appeared to be more ready to brandish rejection and condemnation rather than love and acceptance --- just because they happened to be gays.

The others will speak.

Summer memories

I love summer! My fondest childhood memories happened during summer, that part of the year in the Philippines when school's out and every child is out on the streets or the beach for plain good time. For some lucky little ones, summer meant seeing Disneyland or horseback riding at Camp John Hay or maybe the old familiar merry-go-round at Fiesta Carnival. I didn't have that luxury. It was different in the town where I grew up.

The town up north is surrounded by water. Inevitably, every child's early memories involved water and anything associated with being near it -- sand, sun, shade. The most vivid memory I have were the quick picnics that my parents would suddenly call out. Instead of just having lunch at home seated at our designated places around the table, my mom would pack whatever was prepared, put them in a basket, and rush to ride my with us on my father's motorcycle. The favorite family spot was this little cove beside the road around two kilometers from town. After lunch meant basking in the sun swimming and screaming.



The funny part was I never learned how to swim. My dad would cradle me and teach me how to paddle my feet or float at least. I don't know, I never seemed to learn anything. We would do that weekly, and each time, I'd end up just stretching out silently on the shore and enjoyed being washed and watched.

Sixteen years later and a few weeks before I left my town for college in the city, I still didn't know how to swim.



Today, sixteen more years later, I have learned to move my feet under water and swim finally. I had to. I ride one of these boats four times weekly.

Virgin me

I'm never fond of horoscopes. They have never formed part of my daily readings. I just know I'm a Virgin, but what it means exactly is something I'm really unable to elaborate. So it was a pleasant surprise to have come across something like this.

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VIRGO horoscope
( aug 23 - sept 22 )

As a rule, a person born under Virgo horoscope is attracted to someone who possess good conversation skills. They love to talk and surround themselves with friends who are well-tempered, nonchalant, and intellectually stimulating.

If you're planning a date with people under the Virgo horoscope, try and avoid noisy places especially with lewd or obscene entertainment. A person born under Virgo horoscope reserved nature and insistence of good taste, would get more pleasure from a quiet restaurant with soft music playing in the background, than from a rock and roll concert. They would prefer a place where the two of you can talk.

You'll probably find a person born under Virgo horoscope to be very interesting and be able to discuss almost anything with them. However, don't be in a hurry to jump right in and ask too much about their personal affairs, since they may find it to be an intrusion of privacy.

It's a rare occurrence for a people under the Virgo horoscope to hand out praise, so if you're looking for constant flattery, you may want to keep looking. While on the contrary, if you're looking for advice or an opinion on a certain matter, a person born under Virgo horoscope will gladly participate.

Virgo's are careful planners and are constantly seeking personal achievement and financial security. People under the Virgo horoscope won't put up with frivolous spending habits and won't jump into a serious relationship without looking ahead first. Most likely a person born under Virgo horoscope are seeking a partner with practical ambitions exactly like themselves.

Once the a person under the Virgo horoscope has found someone worthy to share their life with, they will always be loyal and provide plenty of happiness. This responsible, sensitive, and intellectual person takes love very seriously. Although they may appear aloof, and distant at times, they are very sensual and warm people. If you win them over, you will be more than rewarded with a prosperous and memorable life with them.

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Sad for him

I decided to put off writing about an unfortunate incident involving me and "virtual" friend which happened a few weekends ago otherwise I might start spewing off unpardonable one-liners it just might cut off his head. The air is cool now, I have doused any likely eruption so to speak and so, I can now write without being affected by the slightest irritation.

Like a few of new good friends I have, I met V. through the blog. What do you say, blogging has become a new venue to spot people whom you think would be worthy of your talk time. That day, I was hopping from one blog to another till I chanced upon V.'s entry questioning about what he thought were outdated traditions that his church and family for that matter were imposing on him. His church choir, for example, couldn't perform black spirituals fearing that the congregation might rise to their feet and storm out of the church premises.

I thought his move to question norms and traditions sort of appealed to me since I saw in him images of my probing self. Anyway, I wrote a comment and that started one or two YM conversations and us exchanging contact numbers. But it's not like we would be in touch everyday. We keep track of each other through our own blogs.

Two Saturdays ago I think, I decided to try out a newly-opened internet shop fronting the grocery inside a new mall near my place. It's one of those moments when you wonder what the weekend has in store for you. I got a pleasant surprise when V. sent me private YM message, that kind where you ask hi, hello, and how are you in succession. It lasted a few minutes since I told him I had to go soon since the shop was closing. We'll just hopefully catch each other soon online to continue the conversation or he can let me know next time he visits Makati where I live. I can pay for coffee, he takes care of the stories.

A few minutes later, I got a text message from him. I wanted right away to ran down to the nearest drugstore for 20 Valiums. I was speechless, I felt betrayed.

V. : Hello! I never thought you're gay. I was hoping we'd hang out and spot girls. Hehe.
Me : Come on, V. It's not like I'm coming on to you. I'm one of the boys.
V. : Kahit na, ganun din iyon. To be honest, I'm scared of gays. No offense though.
Me : That's sad. Your prejudices precede you.
V. : Ouch.

That was it. And I couldn't believe it. I felt angry because I was put on the defensive. I felt bad that I appeared like imploring a person to believe me. I felt even worse that I was made to look like I deceived him. I kept my cool. I refrained from sending any more text messages.

The more I think about it, the sadder I become. This time, not for me, but for the poor guy. I feel sad because he let bigotry and narrow-mindedness triumph. I feel sadder because his supposed technical intelligence is soooo limited it doesn't even allow him to expand his thinking and accept diversity and its beauty. I feel most sad because he will never be able to find out how nice, compassionate, sympathetic friend I am.

By the way, I am never attracted to straight guys.