My cousin M.

Out of the blue, an older male cousin called me at work yesterday morning to, surprise of surprises, find out what I have been up to lately. I was taken aback. I mean, he has never done that before so naturally, my eyebrows were raised up high to the heavens the whole time. Every word he said was met with a bit of eagerness and a loadful of frown. There were lots of things running in my mind the entire seven minutes we talked.

Initially, I thought he was going to drop the bombshell. I was expecting him to smoothly talk me into excitement on his decision to finally tie the knot. He's the youngest in their family and the only remaining single. What's more, he's way past 30 and just about the next likely one to get hitched among cousins. Of course he had a hard time finding his lines or creating the mood. With my one-liner replies, he really can't get through. He asked about my ex, inquired about my sister, how my flat looks like, how my games are, which places have I been to recently, if I'm dating, and a whole lot of other funny questions.

On the other line, I was a bit bored. I'm not sure if I came out as a heartless creature because I didn't let him do his moves. I knew him too well. Maybe his being a psychologist has something to do with it. They're pretty predictable.

We ended up agreeing to meet one time soon so he can get my two cents worth. And true to being forthright, I gave him a bit of what to expect from me when that time comes. He curiously asked why I wasn't being supportive of his wedding to girlfriend Y. when I was one of the first ones to prod him heavily into marrying his ex-girlfriend C. I said, maybe he didn't read between the lines. I never openly shouted go, go, go to him before. Maybe I was just picking his brains.

This time around, he's going to get a mouthful. I'm sure he's expecting it. Among cousins, I have this standing reputation of talking very rarely. But when I do, it stings. No, I'm not going to talk my cousin out of marriage. I just wanted to make sure if his fascination about weddings starts and ends with the ceremony itself, or if life the morning and mornings after has really been thoroughly thought.

Doing the plunge

I once asked if aging in America was really unpleasant since they stow their elderly in care institutions in far places. I couldn't imagine anything more tragic when you're old than being packed together with other elderly people in the suburbs far from where the normal people live. I couldn't even make myself think how it is for old people to be slapped like this with the painful reality that illness and infirmity and old age are never revered and infact do not have a place in modern living.

For us Asians, we pride ourselves with having a glorious way of revering and taking care of our old. We take them in to live with us and always reserve to hear their say on important family decisions. They are never treated with disgust or repulsion. They are never made to recall or pay for past mistakes or misjudgments. All their wishes are given paramount importance. They are well remembered during birthdays and other special occasions. Even our newly-borns are named after them. These has changed how the East is viewed by the West. Retiring in the East, particularly in the Philippines, is a sweet and touching tribute to a lifetime spent working and raising a family. It is heaven on earth.

There's a reason I asked about aging in America. I was interested to know more since, one after another, my mother's siblings trooped to migrate to the US for good. In less than a year, the families of an uncle and two aunts stuffed some of their belongings in suitcases and travel boxes to start a new life across the globe from us. All of us who stayed were a bit apprehensive. We couldn't completely picture how our cousins would fit in school or how my uncles and aunties would be able to adjust to new working lifestyles there. More especially, we wondered, how will they ever be when they get old?

I admire my relatives for their fearlessness. They didn't have qualms about leaving their businesses and friends and families here and move to an entirely new and foreign setting --- where doing certain things has to be learned, where new language has to be spoken, where some things have to be given up.

But God is good. My cousins are doing really well in school. My aunties say they were never in the honors class consistently when they were here in the Philippines, but they have managed so far to top their classes all the time. All of my aunties and uncles have found jobs already. Things seem to be working pretty well for them.

Am I ready for the plunge?

Photos, photos

Finally, I can now have everyone check out the photos I have of my trips. It's a good way to motivate me to be extra persevering in taking pictures. The better part of it is for you people not just to enjoy the sights and colors of the places I visit, but for you to marvel at the beauty of the countryside, of places still unexplored, of Manila's secret nooks --- which remain to be my favorite travel themes.

I hope you will take time and enjoy the photos. And I hope you will join me in one of my upcoming trips. :-)

Zodiac and me

I don't do horoscopes and zodiac stuff. I have never allowed somebody's readings of the sun-moon alignments or even colored cards to dictate how I should behave or how I should run my day. I find that very archaic. Besides, most of the time, the readings are everyday knowledge of things we should and should not do and most of them we have learned since kindergarten. The farthest I went is knowing I'm a Virgin.

This unbending view of anything related to foretelling can be explained. When I was starting college, I tagged along one time with my cousin while he visited one of his friends. When we got to their house, that friend had an aunt doing palmistry on some neighbors. I watched her as she did her thing animatedly. When she was finished with everyone, she moved to sit beside me and forced me to show her my palms. I was shocked and told her I wasn't there for it. By then, my cousin and his friend were practically shoving my hands to her and I couldn't do anything. After spending some time going through the ridges and lines, she matter-of-factly declared I wouldn't be able to finish college since I was going to get married early. I didn't know if I was going to frown at her or laugh to the heavens. As soon as it was done, I left hurriedly almost running out to the street and peed against the nearest wall. I felt like throwing up too. Of course, that didn't happen. That was not going to happen. I finished college on time and with no red marks. I'm still unmarried.

That's why I always find it silly when people turn to the horoscope corners and pages of newspapers and magazines as they start their day. I can't fathom how in the world would they just let something like that, whose origins we don't even know, impose a commanding influence on their behavior for that day. Doing something like that is like living on bread crumbs. I find that despicable. I'd rather have the whole bread.

Because really, when you think about it, the bits and pieces of "wisdomed" truths you find written and placed beside your zodiac sign at the backpage of your favorite newspaper grew out from larger truths about life. It makes more sense to spend time learning these larger truths than having to be contented with filtered bits and pieces whose connections with other life truths we may never be able to completely comprehend.

Vacation's over

Heading home from vacation isn't exactly a fun idea to me. It's just something that you have to do, a reality. You usually don't ask why much less question how soon. It's like having a closure in a relationship. After the exhilirating fun together usually comes the excruciating breakups. It's not a pleasant idea to have to mourn longer than usual or let the hurt linger for long. At some point, you usually got to do something drastic and painful yet nurturing so you continue with life.

That's what I did late yesterday afternoon when I planed in from Kalibo. How I felt about going home couldn't be pictured and couldn't be any more poetic than the time I chose to do it, at dusk. The sun has set already when the plane touched down at NAIA, Manila's premier airport. I walked so slowly from the plane to the baggage claim area. Each step forward wasn't one that I adored.

During this time, there remains only one thing I so heartfully and longingly wish. It is this: That money isn't ever a concern. I wish it comes like a spring, boundless and limitless. Day in, day out it pours tirelessly. If that happens, then I would finally fulfill my fantasy of living inside an airplane. I would shuttle between airports, more or less doing it like the kid's game Connect the Dots. I would travel all year long and smile a mile long all the time.

But then, if that happens, it's likely that I will lose heart and appreciation for work and toil. A lifelong spent doing nothing but grand traveling isn't likely to help one build and nurture the idea of having to work hard first for something. Money unearned, when spent, doesn't hurt for sure. Not having to worry about money maybe everyone's lifelong wish, but I'm not sure it's something everyone can live with.

So now, here I am.
Where else, but work.
Taking a brief break.

On trip

I was awake till around midnight last night to pack my things for my four-day trip to Kalibo and possibly Iloilo in central Philippines starting today. The finished product is a fully packed 50-liter backpack which I normally use for my weekend adventures. My all-weather canvass shorts are there, a red wine bottle is stacked somewhere along with my toiletries :-), a map and a book.

I am set to leave later this afternoon taking the last flight out of Manila for Kalibo. I will spend my weekend there to witness the famous Ati-Atihan festival. I'm excited about the day-long streetdancing and practically a merrymaking mood for the next two days.

From Kalibo, I plan to swing by Iloilo to at least traverse half of Panay island and to visit some friends. I know now where to go for a seafood feast and which restaurants I shouldn't miss. I will probably just do overnight there and hie off back to Kalibo the following day to catch my flight back to Manila late in the afternoon.

So while everyone is back at work after their christmas holiday travels, I'm here going against the tide, traveling to sites now free of maddening people to truly enjoy the experience. I've always think doing your travels this way is the perfect way to a perfect vacation. You no longer suffer from long queues at airports and hotels and malls, the hotel prices are more reasonable, even the storekeepers in the wetmarkets I visit seem to have become really friendly and they charge you discounted prices.

I'll try to find an internet shop along the way and give you a peek on places I have visited, people I have met, wine bottles I have downed, stories I have heard, and delicacies I have sampled. So in the meantime, say a little prayer for my safety. Stay still till I get back. Don't do anything foolish. Don't overdo your phonecalls. Minimize your trip to the ref. Don't be bitchy. Stay home. Watch your step. Don't play with your food. Be nice with your neighbors. Don't stay out late. Keep your cool. Visit your grandparents. Go to church.

I sound like my mom.

AGAPE

I walked halfway from my place to work this morning. It was still early, the morning breeze was cool, there were not much people yet on the road, and the sun quietly rests only on peak of the taller buildings along Ayala Avenue. It was a perfect time to enjoy some moments of solitude and think about years gone by. I remembered old friends.

There was this informal group I constantly attended around nine years ago. It started as a regular coffee session among friends to share their life stories, air gripes at work and relationships, get updates on what and who's the hottest in town, and to solicit and offer advises to each other mostly on love. The initial group started to invite close friends who afterwards invited their friends and friends of friends until we had a hard time remembering names. The group swelled we had difficulty getting comfortably accommodated in Mike's flat where the sessions were held. The weekly forum had a loose format. A topic is up for discussion and somebody is assigned to facilitate. A usually very lively sharing sessions follow. And then the socials come next. Some would bring food, others would prefer to do hush-hush chats in the corner, a few would request to be introduced formally to the newcomers, several would sometimes run to the pizza parlor at the corner for more privacy, while the rest would serve as gracious hosts. It was a weekly dose of learning new things, knowing more people, gaining additional friends, and the endless possibility of bumping into someone romantically.

I miss those friends. They have made my initial working life in the city endurable. I have to credit them for helping me sort some personal issues in the past and for making it easier for me to see the world so to speak. Some of the nicest people I know I met in that group.

Unfortunately, I don't see much of them anymore. M. has been assigned in Bangkok for several years already which is good because his partner is from there. F. has remained single eversince he broke up with A., who has since migrated to the US and is flying Southwest as its first Filipino cabin crew. M. has moved back to his island province of Marinduque like S. who gave up a budding media career in the city in favor of less stressful work in his hometown. R. is still with the same bank like N. who's still with the same work. Im sad that the few of us regular attendees who are still here in Manila have completely lost touch with each other. Except for a few whom I still see albeit very seldom.

Getting near 30 is like hitting red in a traffic light. We do a quick check on the
how fast we're driving, probe left and right, feel the brakes, then stop. It's somehow similar when most of us get past this stage. We stop all of a sudden and look around ourselves trying to find out if we really have friends or, if we do, to determine what kind of friends we keep and the depths of relationships we have with them.

I'm deeply envious of people my age who have friends they have managed to keep from way back, sometimes even from kindergarten. I wonder how it feels.

Me in the Samurai Code

Compassion: You are there to share your sympathy
with others. People would consider you affectionate
and caring, and someone to look up to.



Which Characteristic From the Samurai Code Matches You Best? (You may find out your best trait)
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Restroom irony

When my women friends start wishing they should have been men whenever the queue in the mall restrooms reach superhighway lengths, I comfort them and say, it's not really what they think. It's not all the time as simple as unzip-splash-zip for us men. There are occasions when such mundane thing as choosing how to exactly unload becomes so perplexing. It's like choosing from an elaborate restaurant menu.

As soon as you enter the restroom, an important decision has to be made outrightly. Will you opt for an enclosed cubicle or be contented with the wall-pasted urinals lined up one after another? I'm telling you, this is not easy. The thing is, this lone decision item is only made after completing a thorough check on the restroom layout, the type of service urinals, the distance between urinals, if there are protective barriers between them, how many people are using the urinals at that time, how are they scattered, who is really peeing and who is not, which one has most water pressure, which one doesn't reek, and so on. What makes this exceptionally difficult is that all these decision items have to me made in split seconds. You don't get in there and hang around for a few minutes before deciding which one to hit. That's likely to invite burning glares from people.

I remember having a few good laughs on a few occasions that I hit the public restrooms whether in malls or airports. I can never understand how men can pee if they stand so close to the urinal that their foreheads kiss the walls. I don't know if they want to display their talents for noiseless peeing or if their champignons are so close to the balls they didn't want to display their frailties. That's how they come up with funny contortions from head to toe just so they don't feel violated. But what heck? Heads down there take the same mushroom shape. And besides, it's not like the whole giftedness is disclosed when seen in its flaccid state.

And so I have come to this: Women are still by far more fortunate. While they may have to wait a while to get in the cubicles before finally relieving themselves, they don't have to worry about ogling eyes over them when they do their thing. In the case of men, I have to say they're still the hapless unlucky lot. They have to make sure it's unloaded rightfully in the vessel without splattering droplets on the floor and their hands and at the same time making sure that no one's eyes are lucky enough to chance upon the sight of their tiny willy-billies.

So women, rejoice! You still win!!

Learning it the hard way

I remember I wasn't even 13 back then when I started to become a cause for distress for my parents. It was something they were not used to or even prepared to handle, especially for parents who were raising kids in farflung towns where old-fashion traditions were the fashion. No, I wouldn't figure in any school fights nor became a dreadful classroom bully. It was worse than that.

At that young age, I learned not to become a blind submissive follower everytime they had me subject to something unconventional. I started to bombard my parents with questions about reasons behind doing certain things they asked me to do. I wanted to understand why everything has to be like how their grandparents and greatgrandparents did it. I wondered why things can't go against the tide, why can't things be done this way or that way, and why every decision has to come from the top.

You see, I had to endure several physical pains because things handed down from way back from whomever were never questioned nor studied. I can't accept that I had to be the one guinea pig who became pathetic casualty in the end. I had to swallow my idealism and let my parents run the show hoping they knew much more. Besides, I had to obey them somehow lest I'd be outcast and banished to the hills. It was too late when I found out that they were no better than my classroom seatmate who would race his snot up and down his nostrils complete with slurping sound.

Strike one happened inside the public dentist's clinic. It was summer that time and my two canine teeth were halfway down already threatening to displace my incisors and some pre-molars. By this time, I had been harassed tirelessly by my mother to go visit Auntie Norma, the public dentist, and have them extracted. I would then start a litany of reasons, mostly from the World Book Encyclopedia I've been reading that time, why it couldn't be taken away. They wouldn't hear any of it and insisted that I go lest they do permanent damage.

I finally relented and made that visit only because I didn't want them to breathe down on me anymore. I regretted profusely that decision up to now. It wasn't just because the dentist should have been in the butchering business instead, but more because they caused permanent damage after all. Months later, I went with my Mom to visit my cousins in the city. I told them what happened. They yelled at me. Turns out my readings have been true. Canine teeth are the most powerful of them all. The rest could have been pulled out, but that them. I threw piercing glances at my Mom. She didn't look my way.

The next summer, my parents sent me to the city for vacation. I was having a grand time palying with new friends and catching up on cartoons when my mother's eldest sister asked me to join her to the clinic she was working. I didn't know why. I thought there were more kids there my age and she wanted me to have a good time. I should have known better.

Together with an aide, they led me to a room where a makeshift bed was the main furnishing. All of a sudden, I understood why my older cousins would joke about tomatoes and scalpels when I'm around. I froze as the nurse helped me take out my pants to prepare me for my date with another inevitable in most young boy's lives. I still don't get it why they are so incensed with some piece of skin and obliterate it from the world despite dutifully fulfilling its role.

I asked them why they had to subject me with that cruel and barbaric act. My parents say it has always been that way for most boys. Did they ever ask why or what for? I'm afraid this is another heartless case of willfully submitting one's intellect and sanity to habit and what's popular.

On one hand, I keep thinking, maybe that's why I'm working hard now so when I have enough money, I'll go see the doctor and ask him to re-attach that skin which should have always been there in the first place. Or maybe that's the reason why I'm so fixated with.....well, forget it.

One truth

When some of my friends pester me with their should-they or shouldn't-they questions about formalizing things with somebody they like, they tell me I speak one truth they always try to hide from: That's it's easy to be in a relationship just for the sake of it, but it's infinitely difficult to be in one if you're looking for somebody worth your while. That has become my standard reply and it's one truth I've always held close to my heart.

When one friend in a group of friends decides to officially become somebody else's partner, most of the time those friends who remain single suddenly confront themselves harshly. They beat themselves to death asking why can't they do the same. They may be just doing half-jokes, but instead of sympathizing, I lord it over them and I become bitchy. Just because one has a relationship doesn't mean that you have to be in one as well. Relationship is one area where keeping up with the Joneses doesn't make sense.

I speak from experience. How I feel about myself doesn't rest on whether I'm in a relationship or not. I have never felt ugly nor threatened even if most of my friends have ended up in loving relationships with somebody. I would remind myself constantly that love and I will find each other in the end. It may take a while some time, but we will certainly bump into each other.

And thankfully, it has been like that for me. They may not have lasted centuries, but the relationships I've had over the years have always been well-remembered. I always think of them fondly and I don't harbor any hurt or resentment after each break up. I continue to be friends with them up to now. Some are still in the speed dialing keys of my mobile phone. Sometimes, we'd be on the phone catching up on things or, at other times, we would decide to meet for lunch or dinner if our schedules match. We would never forget to send greetings on special occasions like birthdays and christmases. And their calls are the only one's we'd likely take if they came through in the middle of the night.

For all of this, I attribute a long period of rest and preparation I had in between relationships. This period, which on the average lasted three to four years, were all well-spent on diverse and enriching activities in the field of sports, homemaking, traveling. I engage in a new sport every year, do really good at it even to the extent of actually competing. I read books, spend time with old friends, and just about do anything I enjoy. This decision is strategic. I choose to do things that will inevitably improve myself to increase my chances of being more worthwhile for the next person I'd end up with. I don't want to hear anything that says I'm unworthy or I'm only good for their dog Misty. There has to be some semblance of growth and betterment from the previous years.

Being vulnerable is being beautiful

I think I'm most attractive when I'm vulnerable. It may be odd, but I'm personally convinced it's absolutely, positively, and flawlessly true. I have repeatedly affirmed this truth courtesy of a few times in the recent weeks when I had the chance to be alone and be introspective.

But contrary to what most people think, I am not self-destructive when vulnerable. I do not seek alcohol although there are occasions when having a beer or vodka just fits the mood. I do not drown myself in anti-depressants neither do I succumb to the spell of sleeping pills. I do not camp inside my room and stack on Kleenex. Neither do I get bewitched with enchanting stories about testing drugs. I never become suicidal.

I have to say, it's somehow easy to spot whenever I'm likely to be vulnerable. It happens oftentimes when important occasions hover in the corner and I find myself separated from people close to me, especially my family. I don't know if it happens that way to other people and I'm not sure if it triggers them to be defenseless too, but I'm weakened everytime. I retreat, become easily moved, and somehow discover that I had been gifted with having little depth. My tearducts are shallow. I then become tearfully sentimental without really trying.

When this happens, go past the tears and look inside. My emotional state during these times is perfect for starting a nurturing friendship. I find myself devoid of critical thoughts but filled instead with an overflowing desire to open my thoughts and my lifestory. All of a sudden, I feel free, I breathe deeply, I smile genuinely, I listen with my heart, and I become eloquent. Without the slightest difficulty, I can start to candidly narrate my life's crossroads, convey my deepest yearnings, and proclaim my dreams and prayers. My ugly frailties and flaws better buried in secrecy are quickly surrendered and disclosed.

This is me at its most vulnerable state, but this is me at its best.

A brother's love

I fear for my sister. She's 28 now and slowly, the ominous signs of panic gripping most single women in their late twenties are becoming evident in her. It's largely about the prospect of not being married anytime soon, much less finding herself triumphant in chancing upon romance. She couldn't believe only she and her bestfriend have remained single in their high school class. The rest have either taken seriously the go-forth-and-multiply commandment or have started a new hobby propagating their seeds in wanton disregard and disrespect for children's rights and welfare.

"That doesn't make you less accomplished," I said with all sincerity as my lame effort to comfort her.

"But it does!," she quipped.

I was stunned. For a while, I was just staring at the computer screen in complete disbelief. I have known her to be one who is headstrong and principled. I respect her decisions and opinions on things. Sometimes they offer more promise than what I thought would otherwise have been streetsmart and pragmatic judgments by me. So I really couldn't believe what she wrote. All of a sudden, it dawned on me that this mixed feelings of sorrow and possibly grief have taken roots in her and, if they remain ignored, may just make it easier for her to lose her hold on things. I ended the conversation rationalizing that maybe her feelings are more reinforced in women, but that they do not necessarily become more valid. She did not reply.

My fear doesn't exactly mirror her fears. My heart completely goes out to her and, in a little corner of my heart, I may fear about the same thing for her. But I know that, in the larger scheme of things, we don't fear about the same things. I am not bothered that she's still single today after her last serious relationship around three or four years ago. I'm not even alarmed that she doesn't seem to have a regular date or somebody who has taken on, as a vocation, a persevering mission to write her wooing letters and send inexpensive gifts to her apartment in Jakarta where she's staying to complete her graduate studies. Her lovelife may be as lifeless as the Dead Sea but that shouldn't be a fixation.

This is where my fears start to set in. I am distressed when people start aligning their life journeys with what's popular and accustomed without spending so much time deeply thinking and meditating about it. I think there's something wrong with the pervading notion that one's true success in life is largely measured or attained when the bride starts the traditional march to the altar to meet the groom in marriage. Does that mean that women who marry more are infinitely more successful than women who marry just once? Where does that put Elizabeth Taylor? Is she then the Wedding Goddess?

I hope all single men and women should one day come to acknowledge that one's success in life is measured, not by wedding marches, but by meaningful relationships created with fellowmen. If one's name is spoken everytime in deep reverence and affection, that's something no marriage can match.

Now, for my little big sister, I strongly believe that she will find the love of her life in the end like in most of the fairytales she has grown accustomed to as a kid. I am sure too that she will not just meet the guy, but they will end up in a happy marriage and give my parents several little cutie ones and me, an uncle, several more adorable darlings.

Strange but true

When my kind friends try to set me up on dates, I have to remind them every time what works best for me. I don't know if they deliberately forget or they just want listening to me howling. In between feigned screams and raised eyebrows, I forewarn them not to give me contact details of their friends, however complete they may be, since they will just end up in their likely final destination, a trash bin. For these past years, I think they have finally mastered it. I no longer receive phone numbers of people written on the back of faded receipts and torn table napkins.

I don't know, but I really find it very difficult to have to be the one to do the first move. It's not a power play issue or a question of emotional desperation. I'm just plain naive and shy. I find myself overwhelmed with the task of having a thousand and one possible conversation topics on hand to draw from to make sure we at least find a connection. I find it even more daunting to put together the right word combinations appropriate for an opening line. I always try to devise something that's not usual yet unusually appealing, but one that's not too hardsell or offensive.

But when I'm the one being called, I take it as a serious responsibility to show gratitude and appreciation for the gallant display of bravery. I know it's not easy to pick up the phone and dial a complete stranger wishing you'd end up somehow connected afterwards. And so, I'm always nice. Not just to show gratefulness, but more to proclaim that taking chances pays. I make the other person feel at ease and do my part of exploring possible connections.

And when things are interesting enough to bring to a plane higher than just phone conversations, I have all the bases covered.

First, first meetings have to be lunch. I think I have pretty much detailed in a previous entry what makes a one-hour lunch supremely incomparable against doing dinners or after-dinner coffees. For me, the 60-minute window is a magic itself. It is an ideal period to keep interests fueled up assuming you hit it off well; and, at the same time, it makes you look kind and civil when you finally say goodbye and leave the place in deep gratitude to the gods for making you last that long assuming things weren't exactly right.

Second, it should be in a neutral, relaxed place, not one where the ambiance and the lighting designs are intimidating or too romantic to make us uneasy. The important thing is it should encourage each one to disclose as much about himself without really trying. This informal setting extends to the dress code. I don't have any problems meeting one in faded jeans and a Fruit of the Loom white shirt. I don't, because I'm worse. I go there in shorts and rubber shoes. That's why I have strong preference for long walks to unexplored parts of the city, visits to public markets, and just about anything non-traditional. Based from experience, these ideas are very insightful. They have a way of shedding one's guards and expose what lies beneath. You now have a way of checking if the talk matches the walk.

Lastly, there should be no does-he-like-me talks. The first meeting should be spent effortlessly in just being yourself. You don't have to move heavens to impress the other person hoping that you'll have him beg you to stay. My idea is you go there, be yourself and have a good time without being bothered with what's going to happen next. You don't have to compromise your personal views and force yourself to agree to everything that's been said just so you show you somehow connect. Have your own mind on things. That's the easiest way to create a good impression, that you're not pushover but one that's honed and shaped by years and experience. The thing is, make sure they make sense.

Lost in my city

I have long held the record for being the only person left in my community of friends who hasn't been to Bed yet. I have enjoyed that image for too long. I'm not really sure if it was for my credit since it gave people some unclear and mixed impressions about me. For others, it was something to be celebrated --- meaning I'm really not that exposed yet which should be good since potential dates wouldn't really worry about me having hooked up with any one of their previous tricks. But for some, and sometimes including myself, it was an unpardonable mistake. It was freely giving away clues to how much I have aged in recent months.

And so on the early hours of January 1, slightly after the city finished lighting the last firecracker, a friend passed by for me. He wouldn't say it, but he probably pitied me so much having spent new year's eve alone in my place. He said he was going to bring me to some place I've never been before, some place interesting to spend the first few hours of the year. I knew right away it was going to be Bed, the most popular dance bar in Manila today. I figured, it couldn't be any church because my friend wasn't really known to be a churchgoer. Worse, it couldn't be any of their usual hangouts since most of them are closed for the holiday. The only place open that night was Bed.

When we got there, what used to be a spot brimming with energy and sweat was dead. It was virtually a ghost town. There were just a handful of people in the street. Most of them were silently talking. The strip lined with cars on both sides were absolutely clear exposing the dark areas where countless erotic liaisons either came to life or breathed its last before perishing. From the other end of the street, I saw a familiar face. It was my ex W. After the usual greetings, I was asked what got to me that I decided to be there. I said, I just wanted to show off my new red shirt. I got lucky because, courtesy of W., I was given a VIP treatment and got in without paying the entrance fee. I wondered how many visits one has to make first before being accorded that privilege.

I've been to dance clubs years, years back and somehow I pretty much have some good idea on what really happens inside. Gyrating sans shirts doesn't shock me anymore. But inside Bed, I caught my jaws dropped a bit when I saw people kissing, not in the dark corners of the room but in the more open spots where everyone's eyes merge. I remember, the last time I was out, I never chanced upon anything like that. So that must have been ages ago. Things have really changed.

Oh no, I'm not complaining. I don't have anything against people who do it. It's just that I'm amazed that I haven't been out for quite a while already. I felt lost the whole time I was inside. I didn't know anyone there except for a few friends who were gracious enough to stay with me lest I'd end up awkwardly in any vulture's claws. Although that must have been exciting. At least that will give me one more blog idea to write about.

I'm glad I went out that night. I was able to meet friends I haven't seen for several months already. It was good getting the latest news straight from horse's mouth. You should see their twinkling eyes when they talk of their blooming lovelife. You get additional juicy details if you know the right questions to ask.

And finally, I'm glad I can now share my own story of peeing while facing another guy with only a clear aquarium glass separating you. If the fishes decide to cooperate, they come flocking together in front of you to obscure the view and free you from any prying eyes. If they, however, choose to split and play with the bubbles near the rim, you're dead. Well, not really. For some people, it means hope. All imagined possibilities follow.

Welcome 2004!

Happy new year everyone! I hope all of us will have a meaningful 12 months ahead of us filled with more friends, more vacations, more pay, and well, more sex. Why not?

New year's eve wasn't really that bad after all. It came by so quickly I didn't notice it. I had the maid take the day off to be with her sisters. The three of them are here in Manila for work separated from their families for the longest time. That was the least I can do for her. And so, like in christmas, I was a home alone boy. I didn't put my tear ducts to work that night. There was just so many thoughts flying from everywhere that I barely had time to sit still and be emotional. The setting alone that night was sad enough.

There was food on the table and there were drinks in the ref. But they weren't touched, not even a pinch. Two hours before new year, I lulled myself to sleep after watching badminton on TV. I wanted to set my desk clock's alarm to go off a few minutes before midnight, but I noticed it was dead. I remembered its battery had been dead for days. I was too tired to replace it that night, so I wished there'd be really loud merrymaking around my building to rouse me from sleep. I got lucky.

A few minutes before midnight, I switched on all the house lights in my flat. I put on some music. This was how we do it since we were kids. Of course, I no longer jumped five times hoping to add a few more inches to my height. I also didn't wear dotted shirts since I don't have one anymore. I also forgot to put some coins in my pocket.

But I closed my eyes a few moments in prayer. I thanked God for a wonderful year and I implored for His kindness as we all face a new one. I asked Him to bless and comfort that night all those who were alone like me.

And then, I opened a can of Diet Pepsi.

Greetings from Boac

And just like that, I decided to travel to Marinduque two nights ago. I was buying myself (read: shopping) some clothes at Glorietta in the afternoon of Friday and even managed to meet briefly with a friend and his brother early evening when I set my thoughts to the quiet waters of Marinduque at around 9PM. I left Manila by bus two hours later for the three-hour ride to Lucena in Quezon province where I took the 4AM ferry for another three hours to get to my destination. I'm thankful I got to Boac, the capital of Marinduque, in one piece despite the gusty winds the whole time during the trip wrought by a typhoon.

On one hand, I'm happy I'm here because I visited some sites I missed during my last trip here. On another hand, I wish I just stayed home and memorized Webster's instead. The cold weather here is cutting through me. I'm on my blue mufflers all the time with my blue windjacket. It must be my unconscious in the works but somehow, they reinforce the blue feeling I have. The only thing reminding me that I should stay on is the red sleeveless shirt I have beneath.

The worst thing is I'm alone in my hotel bed tonight. Maybe I should request for additional blankets. I will definitely open the red wine I brought along while I'm curled up in bed. Or maybe I should stay in the hot shower the whole night.

I just had dinner in one of the restaurants near my hotel. Of course alone. The vegetables were good. They make me want to go right up my room and down the wine. I was walking leisurely on my way back when I chanced upon an internet shop. I thought maybe some people out there might want to be updated.

Anyway, I gotta run. It will take a while for me to use the cork remover. And I have to wake up early to get to the airport. I'm on waitlist for this 19-seater plane for my travel back to Manila. It just occured to me now, and I don't believe it will cost me around 21 times more than the ferry ride I took. But anyway, in half an hour, I'm back to the maddening city again.

Catch you all later!

I'm still here

It's been a week exactly. I didn't know I was going to miss writing that much. There have been times I was itching to go online and write something. I didn't have anything in mind to write about, but I just had this urge to weave letters and blabber. Somehow, I managed to keep myself from turning towards my computer at home and instead glue my sight to the TV or my walls which I have long wanted to paint.

However, most of the time, I found myself outside the building where I live. Not just outside-outside, but some kilometers away, far enough for my cordless phone not to work. I would walk aimlessly, look far out aimlessly, and just be in the mood to do aimless things. I guess you could say I was in a senti mood, as my friend A. carefully put it. I don't know what got into me, but just for one time, I was in love with the feeling of being melancholic and abandoned.

So while everyone else was exchanging lavish gifts and feasting on fattening food, I was home watching Tom and Jerry which I would switch to National Geographic every now and then. I let my help take the day off to be with her sisters so she doesn't succumb to the same crude feeling I was drowning myself into. I said, she can be off till after christmas. And so, I was alone in my flat. I had to switch on the TV and the radio to give the illusion that there are other people in the room. But I didn't go to the extent of kissing people on the latenight TV show or worse, to stay up late just to hear the newsreader say goodnight or merry christmas to me. I was conscious I shouldn't reach that far. Otherwise, it was better off to just slice my wrist. Fortunately, I don't have suicidal tendencies.

Anyway, I guess I let myself go through that episode to make me more human,. There have been lots of times recently when I would stay up there in the flighty orgasm of good times that rolled for days and more days. I missed crying. I missed seeing myself portray those heavy martyr roles on local movies that I would catch on cable TV.

And besides, I needed to affirm that I am, after all, a really good actor. Christmas comes but once every year so there's not much other better time to perfectly execute crying roles.

Still so vivid, Last

When the maid and I finished gathering all my things, I didn't realize we had formed a small mountain on our big bed. My work clothes mixed with my biking gears, small books stacked on bigger books, and my toiletries stuffed snugly inside my shoes. I stared at them coldly. I refused to be emotional. I couldn't afford to be emotional. By then, it was around 9pm already and I was truly exhausted. But I wasn't a bit bothered. I just wanted to save myself from the misery of having to sleep one more night on that bed. Even the maid's constant pleading that I stayed saying things will be patched up the following day didn't make a difference.

It was too late already when I found out I didn't have any luggage nor a big bag to stuff my things. I brought in my things one at a time in small backpacks from my apartment which I was sharing with some other people. I didn't notice I have moved a lot of things already. I had no choice but rush to the kitchen to where our large black plastic trash bags were kept. I got five.

Seeing all that I owned jammed and squeezed inside those trash bags were too much for me. That's when I started to sob again. I felt homeless. I felt forsaken. I felt dreadfully sad, that kind that makes you sigh deeply yet bereft of any depth and profundity. I mean, how unfair can things get? You work so hard on issues that value and preserve your relationship and you're not even granted a chance to air your side.

A friend came by later to pick me up. It took a lot of prodding and a bit of raised voice to make the maid help me carry my things down to the garage. I quietly glanced at her on her way down and was surprised to see her crying. She loaded everything in the trunk except for the giant teddy stuff toy I got from W. She gave me that, and goodbye as she hugged me.

Inside the car, nobody spoke for at least ten minutes. My friend and I both stared far out the window as far as our eyes can see. And then all of a sudden, I broke down. My friend suddenly had a misfortune of having to console a friend and holding on the steering wheel at the same time. We finally reached the deserted breakwater along Manila Bay. It was there that I wanted to rest for a while. It was there too that another friend came to meet us and comfort me.

And it was there, in the stillness of the night, when the whole city was asleep, when only the dead stones and crashing waves were near, that I recounted to my friends what happened. I cried for the last time and prayed that the relentless waves will carry my hurt far out from me never to show up again.

Still so vivid, Part 2

After a few minutes of paralyzing silence, I stood and, without raising my voice, said no. I wanted to keep the ring. I didn't care if my reply was awkward and crude. At that time, it felt good to just let the heart rule your mind. I think W. understood why.

That ring that W. wanted back was the first ever that I had. That's why it meant so much and actually found it very difficult to part with it. I have faithfully worn it since that night at the coffee shop when W., during an animated conversation about vows and rings, suddenly took out something from an inside pocket, laid it on the table, and asked if I can wear it. My jaws dropped like I was dazed as I stared on the gold band, that kind usually worn during weddings. In between smirks and one-liner jokes, I took it and slid it on my left ring finger. It fit so perfectly. And just like that, I was taken. For W., deciding to wear somebody else's ring actually meant agreeing to partner with the one who gave it. I don't know where that came from and I don't even want to know if that makes sense. But it felt good.

Anyway, W. never asked for the ring back. I inquired how were we going to divide those things given us. I was told to bring all those I wanted and just leave the ones I didn't fancy. The whole time, W.'s back was facing me which was unbearable. When things became extremely uneasy for us inside the bedroom, W. turned for the door to leave. Just before reaching the door, with all sincerity, I requested for one last hug. We then held for a few seconds until W. broke free and rushed out of the house to the car weeping.

I sat on the bed sobbing after that. For how long, I don't quite remember. I sensed it must have been a while since the maid knocked on the door and asked if I was OK. I asked her to come in and fix all my clothes because I was leaving that night.

The most heartwrenching part was not actually leaving the house nor seeing your partner go. For me, it was undefined torture to go through each of the drawers in the closet we had and sorted everything --- from shirts, shorts, underwears, hankies, socks. I showed the maid how to arrange the clothes back. I then headed to the bathroom and got my shaver, shampoo, toothbrush, perfume. I also made sure that all my books were collected, including the coffee mug that I use. I didn't want to leave any trace there. What I wanted was leave the place as if I was never there.

to be continued