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.