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.
9.29.2005
9.22.2005
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.
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.
9.21.2005
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.
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.
9.18.2005
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.
-----------------
Thanks Mavic for showing the way.
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.
-----------------
Thanks Mavic for showing the way.
9.16.2005
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.
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.
9.14.2005
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.
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.
9.06.2005
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.
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.
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