This one here, which I culled from Out, tops my list on the look in my dreams this summer.
Let's go out and parade colors this summer.
2.28.2005
Summer look
Summer's just around the corner. You can feel it when you go out of town. You have a feel of it when you do lunch outside the office. You can smell it when you're in a crowded place. And, the most divine of it all, you can take pleasure in it from the hundred and one ways you can plan your look.
This one here, which I culled from Out, tops my list on the look in my dreams this summer.
Let's go out and parade colors this summer.
This one here, which I culled from Out, tops my list on the look in my dreams this summer.
Let's go out and parade colors this summer.
2.24.2005
It's how you say it
It’s one thing to be frank and honest and straightforward and true, but it’s entirely and absolutely different thing altogether to do it with prudence and good judgment. It’s what makes bluntness something that’s relished, candor a virtue. It's also what spells death to friendships.
So many people have become unsuspecting captive of this hazy idea that, in any conversation with friends or otherwise, what matters only is that you’re able to speak your mind, to get things out of your system, give your cents worth. I don’t know what’s with these people or how they were raised, but they for sure have misconstrued unfortunately the idea of frankness as if it’s a license to express one’s opinion with complete disregard for diplomacy or the faintest hint of being kind or having concern for other people.
I sure admire people who have opinions on things. I think that's very attractive. I admire them even more when they can eloquently put these into words. But my admiration ends when rudeness starts to creep in. I don't know if takes a special gift from heaven to notice it. Otherwise, in that case, I may have been generously gifted with it. I can be very good in spotting opinions that have heart to those that are just smooth talk.
Being honest is good, giving honest opinions is remarkable, but all these become useless if they don't have a soul. What makes them build friendships and encourage life is that they are shared with a genuine concern for the other person's welfare. It's not enough that one is able to say what's on one's mind. It should be said in a way that it builds rather than destroys.
So many people have become unsuspecting captive of this hazy idea that, in any conversation with friends or otherwise, what matters only is that you’re able to speak your mind, to get things out of your system, give your cents worth. I don’t know what’s with these people or how they were raised, but they for sure have misconstrued unfortunately the idea of frankness as if it’s a license to express one’s opinion with complete disregard for diplomacy or the faintest hint of being kind or having concern for other people.
I sure admire people who have opinions on things. I think that's very attractive. I admire them even more when they can eloquently put these into words. But my admiration ends when rudeness starts to creep in. I don't know if takes a special gift from heaven to notice it. Otherwise, in that case, I may have been generously gifted with it. I can be very good in spotting opinions that have heart to those that are just smooth talk.
Being honest is good, giving honest opinions is remarkable, but all these become useless if they don't have a soul. What makes them build friendships and encourage life is that they are shared with a genuine concern for the other person's welfare. It's not enough that one is able to say what's on one's mind. It should be said in a way that it builds rather than destroys.
2.20.2005
A new sport
At the end of each year, I pre-occupy myself not heavily with new year's resolutions, but with deep and serious thinking about which new sport I should engage in for the coming year. It has been my personal motto to learn one new sport each year, perform really good at it, and enjoy myself in the process.
My search for one new sport every year has brought me to places near and far, to mountain summits high and low, rubber and wood flooring inside covered courts, and mostly good time always and in all ways.
For this year, I'm inclined to consider getting in one of these boats every weekend morning along Manila Bay. I joined a local dragonboat team last Saturday for my baptism of fire so to speak.
There are at least ten local dragonboat teams in Manila. Many of the teams have separate men and women line-ups. Some are school-based, others are units within the Armed Forces, and a large proportion are comprised mostly of free-spirited young professionals who are likewise engaged in other adventure or extreme sports. For instance, there are those who regularly join triathlon competitions or are affiliated with a local mountaineering club. It's good that around three friends from my mountaineering club are veterans in the new rowing team I am set to join. It makes things easier.
On weekend mornings, training call time is set around six in the morning. After a ten-minute stretching, loading starts at the bay near the Philippine Navy compound. One after another, a team loads a boat for around two-hours of rowing from the Manila Yacht Club area all the way to the US Embassy side, around two kilometers at least. Around four legs are usually completed before heading back to the dock.
It's a punishing sport, but it offers a tremendous sense of fulfillment. It's not one for those who are used to doing things on their own or, worse, who have the tendency to be inconsiderate of other people. It's a team sport, one that teaches putting team effort above personal comfort.
I hope I'll have a good time in the coming weekends. Since there's a competition in May, the training in the coming months may be rigid. It's too bad I will have to give up probably some of my out-of-town trips. I guess I can't have it all.
My search for one new sport every year has brought me to places near and far, to mountain summits high and low, rubber and wood flooring inside covered courts, and mostly good time always and in all ways.
For this year, I'm inclined to consider getting in one of these boats every weekend morning along Manila Bay. I joined a local dragonboat team last Saturday for my baptism of fire so to speak.
There are at least ten local dragonboat teams in Manila. Many of the teams have separate men and women line-ups. Some are school-based, others are units within the Armed Forces, and a large proportion are comprised mostly of free-spirited young professionals who are likewise engaged in other adventure or extreme sports. For instance, there are those who regularly join triathlon competitions or are affiliated with a local mountaineering club. It's good that around three friends from my mountaineering club are veterans in the new rowing team I am set to join. It makes things easier.
On weekend mornings, training call time is set around six in the morning. After a ten-minute stretching, loading starts at the bay near the Philippine Navy compound. One after another, a team loads a boat for around two-hours of rowing from the Manila Yacht Club area all the way to the US Embassy side, around two kilometers at least. Around four legs are usually completed before heading back to the dock.
It's a punishing sport, but it offers a tremendous sense of fulfillment. It's not one for those who are used to doing things on their own or, worse, who have the tendency to be inconsiderate of other people. It's a team sport, one that teaches putting team effort above personal comfort.
I hope I'll have a good time in the coming weekends. Since there's a competition in May, the training in the coming months may be rigid. It's too bad I will have to give up probably some of my out-of-town trips. I guess I can't have it all.
2.15.2005
Younger for older
When I turned 26 many years ago, one of my friends asked me how it felt to be one. I quickly confessed, I felt very old and something made me feel I wasn’t in the market anymore. Somehow I felt I was ungraciously herded all of a sudden into this separate pack where looking at each other’s faces meant seeing lines and dry skin, gray hair and tired eyes. Worse, I couldn’t relate with nearly all of the songs played on radio, I don’t understand for gazzsake why some people even pass out when watching boy bands, I couldn’t grasp why classical listening stations at Tower Records always remain deserted. These grumblings concern only music. Now, multiply that with a hundred and one other affairs, it’s enough to make you reach for the nearest Valium bottle.
My friend asked me to move closer across from where he was at the coffee table to let me in on a secret. He said, getting older is actually a gift. The more that one gets older, the more that he actually becomes in the market, he added. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and sipped some more caffeine. It didn’t sink in right away. It took another cup of coffee to nail it.
The number of younger men drawn towards men older than them is as diverse and countless as the reasons they hold. Trying to find out all of them is like attempting to drain the ocean. The effort may not just be futile, it may even be uncalled for. But for purposes of understanding life and relationship dynamics at the very least, it may be meaningful to try to come up even with just three answers to the question why older men seem to magnet the younger lot.
Three reasons seem to reverberate:
1. Younger men apparently savor the idea of maturity and wisdom that, they say, pervade older men.
2. Thinking that maturity and wisdom can be transmitted or acquired through relationships, hooking up with older men whom they assume to be abound with these, will make them mature and wisdomed faster.
2. Younger men think they are actually protecting themselves from hurt derived from potential misadventures when choosing a partner their age.
I will reserve my rebuttal next time.
My friend asked me to move closer across from where he was at the coffee table to let me in on a secret. He said, getting older is actually a gift. The more that one gets older, the more that he actually becomes in the market, he added. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and sipped some more caffeine. It didn’t sink in right away. It took another cup of coffee to nail it.
The number of younger men drawn towards men older than them is as diverse and countless as the reasons they hold. Trying to find out all of them is like attempting to drain the ocean. The effort may not just be futile, it may even be uncalled for. But for purposes of understanding life and relationship dynamics at the very least, it may be meaningful to try to come up even with just three answers to the question why older men seem to magnet the younger lot.
Three reasons seem to reverberate:
1. Younger men apparently savor the idea of maturity and wisdom that, they say, pervade older men.
2. Thinking that maturity and wisdom can be transmitted or acquired through relationships, hooking up with older men whom they assume to be abound with these, will make them mature and wisdomed faster.
2. Younger men think they are actually protecting themselves from hurt derived from potential misadventures when choosing a partner their age.
I will reserve my rebuttal next time.
Word diplomacy
I got this from Cynthia Oneal's advice column in the latest issue of Out. I thought I saw myself in Ms. Oneal's.
When people come up to me for my two-cents worth, I don't mince words most of the time. I call spade a spade, if you may. Just because you happen to be a longtime friend doesn't mean that I will coddle you or resort to deliver strings of white lies to cover your ass or say those things you expect to hear and make you feel better. Lest you mistake me for one stupid heartless bitch, I deliver my lines in such a way that they come out mindful of manners and diplomacy.
--------------------
Question: I am an 18-year-old gay boy. Currently I am in a relationship with someone and it’s been about 2-3 weeks. I have a problem though. I don’t really like being in relationships and I never have really been that wild about having a boyfriend. When I was younger and in my “straight” days, I never really dated, so I learned how to live without a girlfriend/boyfriend. Now it seems that there are a lot of people who are interested in dating me, but I’m not interested in dating them. I mean, I might get that infatuation stage for about 1-2 weeks if I find out someone likes me, but that’s it. With my current boyfriend, I just don’t seem to feel the same way about him that he feels for me. I like him, but he loves me. I think he’s taking things a little too serious and he wants a long relationship. I, on the other hand, like to have freedom to flirt and whatnot and thought that I would also like a “long” relationship. I am really worried about what to say to him. The bad part of this is that he’s quit drinking as much, doesn’t do cocaine anymore, and doesn’t smoke weed since he’s met me. I’m afraid that if I say that this is going too fast and that I’d like to take a break that he might do those things again, and I don’t want him to.
Answer: OK, let me say this. Loud and clear! You are not responsible for anyone’s drinking or cocaine use. That is their work and only their work. The fact that in the first flush of what for him is a romantic relationship he has stopped using means absolutely nothing. What are you going to do—spend the rest of your life with him pretending to feel things you don’t feel so that he won’t pick up again? I don’t think so! What you are responsible for is telling your truth. You need to be as honest with him (and everyone else) about who you are and what you want as you have been with me. Your life is your business—his life is his.
--------------------
For a similar question thrown at me, this is likely how I will answer too. Is there another way?
When people come up to me for my two-cents worth, I don't mince words most of the time. I call spade a spade, if you may. Just because you happen to be a longtime friend doesn't mean that I will coddle you or resort to deliver strings of white lies to cover your ass or say those things you expect to hear and make you feel better. Lest you mistake me for one stupid heartless bitch, I deliver my lines in such a way that they come out mindful of manners and diplomacy.
--------------------
Question: I am an 18-year-old gay boy. Currently I am in a relationship with someone and it’s been about 2-3 weeks. I have a problem though. I don’t really like being in relationships and I never have really been that wild about having a boyfriend. When I was younger and in my “straight” days, I never really dated, so I learned how to live without a girlfriend/boyfriend. Now it seems that there are a lot of people who are interested in dating me, but I’m not interested in dating them. I mean, I might get that infatuation stage for about 1-2 weeks if I find out someone likes me, but that’s it. With my current boyfriend, I just don’t seem to feel the same way about him that he feels for me. I like him, but he loves me. I think he’s taking things a little too serious and he wants a long relationship. I, on the other hand, like to have freedom to flirt and whatnot and thought that I would also like a “long” relationship. I am really worried about what to say to him. The bad part of this is that he’s quit drinking as much, doesn’t do cocaine anymore, and doesn’t smoke weed since he’s met me. I’m afraid that if I say that this is going too fast and that I’d like to take a break that he might do those things again, and I don’t want him to.
Answer: OK, let me say this. Loud and clear! You are not responsible for anyone’s drinking or cocaine use. That is their work and only their work. The fact that in the first flush of what for him is a romantic relationship he has stopped using means absolutely nothing. What are you going to do—spend the rest of your life with him pretending to feel things you don’t feel so that he won’t pick up again? I don’t think so! What you are responsible for is telling your truth. You need to be as honest with him (and everyone else) about who you are and what you want as you have been with me. Your life is your business—his life is his.
--------------------
For a similar question thrown at me, this is likely how I will answer too. Is there another way?
2.13.2005
Balentayms
Over dinner last night, I pleaded my sister and the househelp not to wear red, anything red, today. Otherwise, I may not be able to control myself I will head to the bedside drawer for the gun and shoot them. I didn’t want to be the first case recorded ever on police blotters and psychiatric journals of carrying so much rage on a certain color it actually led to homicide. It’s not flattering.
I woke up today in pleasant mood. No one in the house wore red. The only red item before me on the dining table was the tomato ketchup served alongside the ham omelette I had for breakfast.
I woke up today in pleasant mood. No one in the house wore red. The only red item before me on the dining table was the tomato ketchup served alongside the ham omelette I had for breakfast.
2.09.2005
Hook and dump
One of my friends who's a lifestyle editor in a leading national broadsheet circulated a survey among his friends to come up with a tongue-in-cheek responses to the question "50 ways to hook a lover and 50 ways to dump a lover." I'm not one used to answering surveys like that, but I nevertheless tried my hand. Here's what I got.
To HOOK a lover
1. Polish your english. Nobody likes somebody who can't even order parmigiana in the restaurant.
2. Get into a sport. Get those flabs to be fab.
3. Learn to cook. There's some truth to what mom said, men are seized through their stomach.
4. Do volunteer work. Aside from his stomach, the way to a man's heart is through a display of sincere kindness of heart.
5. Together visit a feng shui master who will declare that you will make a great couple till kingdom come. Of course, the visit has been pre-arranged and you have "coerced" the master into the dialogue.
6. Burn all his favorite love songs in a CD and surprise him with it. While you're at it, why don't you just burn him CD's also when he does treadmill, reads a bedside book, vacuums the bedroom, or starts a foreplay.
7. Learn the basics of shiatsu. There's always another way to get your hands all over him.
8. Memorize a sonnet and recite it to him.
9. Laugh (okay, okay at least feign a sincere one) at his jokes. That tickles him.
10. Perfect the art of blowjob. That way, you hold him really in his balls.
To DUMP a lover
1. Get him to decide to maintain distance from you on his own. You can do this by always belting the killer song "My Way" all the time. Not just when you're inside a public karaoke place, but even in the car or inside the bath.
2. Refuse to hold his hands. Or be anywhere nearer than one-foot beside him. You say you have developed a newly-discovered allergy that forbids the slightest skin contact.
3. Train yourself to be on a seizure attack everytime he asks you out. That way, you're not forced to confirm or agree on anything. If your acting skills are way advanced, make sure the attacks lasts at least five minutes so you scare the hell out him and make him vanish.
4. Start an annoying hobby. You can begin by collecting human skulls, dead cats, witchcraft books, black candles or even dead fetus. A boyfriend scampering to the door is guaranteed.
5. Teach your parrot to mimic your boyfriend's irritating mannerisms. Don't forget to find a way to teach the bird to do that only when the boyfriend visits. Otherwise, you might lose your mind.
6. Put to a good use the only movie dialogue you have committed to memory. Shout "you are nothing but a second rate, trying hard copycat" everytime you end a phone conversation.
7. Make fun of his name. Tell him you just finished reading a book where his name referred to maggots of the lowliest order.
8. Always call him by your one of your ex's name. Better yet, call him using the term of endearment you used to call your immediate ex.
9. Tell him you had a dream last night. God asked you to cut your ties with everyone, except your family, and that you're heeding the order. It is best to deliver those lines as soon as you wake up to be convincing --- complete with a trembling voice and Gregorian Chant CD playing in the background.
10. With a stoic face, deliver the classic five-word parting shot: I am better off without you. Then immediately leave.
To HOOK a lover
1. Polish your english. Nobody likes somebody who can't even order parmigiana in the restaurant.
2. Get into a sport. Get those flabs to be fab.
3. Learn to cook. There's some truth to what mom said, men are seized through their stomach.
4. Do volunteer work. Aside from his stomach, the way to a man's heart is through a display of sincere kindness of heart.
5. Together visit a feng shui master who will declare that you will make a great couple till kingdom come. Of course, the visit has been pre-arranged and you have "coerced" the master into the dialogue.
6. Burn all his favorite love songs in a CD and surprise him with it. While you're at it, why don't you just burn him CD's also when he does treadmill, reads a bedside book, vacuums the bedroom, or starts a foreplay.
7. Learn the basics of shiatsu. There's always another way to get your hands all over him.
8. Memorize a sonnet and recite it to him.
9. Laugh (okay, okay at least feign a sincere one) at his jokes. That tickles him.
10. Perfect the art of blowjob. That way, you hold him really in his balls.
To DUMP a lover
1. Get him to decide to maintain distance from you on his own. You can do this by always belting the killer song "My Way" all the time. Not just when you're inside a public karaoke place, but even in the car or inside the bath.
2. Refuse to hold his hands. Or be anywhere nearer than one-foot beside him. You say you have developed a newly-discovered allergy that forbids the slightest skin contact.
3. Train yourself to be on a seizure attack everytime he asks you out. That way, you're not forced to confirm or agree on anything. If your acting skills are way advanced, make sure the attacks lasts at least five minutes so you scare the hell out him and make him vanish.
4. Start an annoying hobby. You can begin by collecting human skulls, dead cats, witchcraft books, black candles or even dead fetus. A boyfriend scampering to the door is guaranteed.
5. Teach your parrot to mimic your boyfriend's irritating mannerisms. Don't forget to find a way to teach the bird to do that only when the boyfriend visits. Otherwise, you might lose your mind.
6. Put to a good use the only movie dialogue you have committed to memory. Shout "you are nothing but a second rate, trying hard copycat" everytime you end a phone conversation.
7. Make fun of his name. Tell him you just finished reading a book where his name referred to maggots of the lowliest order.
8. Always call him by your one of your ex's name. Better yet, call him using the term of endearment you used to call your immediate ex.
9. Tell him you had a dream last night. God asked you to cut your ties with everyone, except your family, and that you're heeding the order. It is best to deliver those lines as soon as you wake up to be convincing --- complete with a trembling voice and Gregorian Chant CD playing in the background.
10. With a stoic face, deliver the classic five-word parting shot: I am better off without you. Then immediately leave.
2.07.2005
Love in the mountains
At 21, Ka Jose (right) is about 33 years younger than his partner, Ka Andres.
This photo made my day today. It didn't make me want to leave my city job right away and head to the hills to become a cadre, but it was enough for me to manage a warm smile, think fondly of our revolutionary brothers, and turn me into my hopeless romantic self even as I write now.
Let me congratulate first Ka Andres and Ka Jose who exchanged their vows as married couple in a ceremony last February 4 before friends and comrades right deep in the hinterlands of Compostella Valley in southern Philippines. The marriage holds the distinction of being the “first homosexual couple in the New People’s Army who were wed by the Communist Party of the Philippines (CPP).”
A sequined CPP flag took the place of the usual veil. It was held in place by a beaded cord which surrounded, not just the couple, but the comrade-witnesses to symbolize the support of comrade community to make their marriage strong. Instead of the customary unity candle that couples set alight, Ka Andres and Ka Jose each held a bullet to “represent their commitment to the armed struggle.” Like all weddings that we have grown accustomed to, love songs (albeit revolutionary) were sung. And although I’m not sure if there were marriage contracts where signatures were put on, the wedding was nevertheless sealed with a kiss.
There is something very poignant about the marriage. I feel elated and affirmed; at the same time, frustrated and a bit disillusioned. My mixed feelings has nothing to do with being resentful or unsupportive of marriage or the decision to get married. In fact, I have nothing but great admiration for the courage and love shown. I long for the day when each one is gifted immensely with such bravery that declarations of love from devoted couples render us oblivious to the mindless posturings of traditions and the Church.
Firstly, I feel sad that the government as well as the Church are not as progressive and bold in their marriage and family mindsets as the CPP. Lifetimes after lifetimes have passed and yet the government and the Church have yet to go past their archaic definitions of love and marriage and family. I have continuously rebuked the equation that family = father + mother + son + daughter + the dog, and instead challenge (the equation) to expand the definition into mature ideas regardless of how revolutionary they may be. To drive home my point, I will have no problem accepting a single mom and her kid to be a complete family in the same way that I will graciously consider two men (or two women for that matter) raising a child to be full families. On the other hand, the revolutionary CPP has only taken them ten years today to witness their first gay marriage from the time gay rights were first discussed in their movement in early 1995.
I'd like to end this with something positive. I will probably never meet the couple, but that shouldn't stop me from affirming them and their love story. I have taken enormous encouragement from the fact that their story upheld something that have always warmed my heart: that love isn't measured by age or background or company kept, but is nourished instead by respect, trust, and warm affections.
2.03.2005
How to fight
When people ask me how do I fight while in a relationship, they always seem to expect me to spew out an unparalleled list of a thousand and one ways, not just to cuss, but to perfectly ignore somebody without really trying, how to impressively hurl glasses across the room, how to rip and shred vacation pictures flawlessly, how to leap into a one-night stand immaculately, or even how to be dead to the world and manage to sleep for a week. It’s funny how some almost always dwell on the extremes and picture people so unglamorously. It’s unthinkable, something that’s truly unflattering. They think that fighting always has to be bring us back to the times of gladiators and, worse, primates.
Looking back, I am proud to say that I never really figured in a fight with any of the three relationships I’ve had. No, it’s not that I’m afraid to fight or even anxious to confront irritations with my partner. It’s not that. In fact, there have been a few times we got annoyed with each other. The thing is, they have never really got blown into a major boxing match. We’ve always managed to talk things over and continue to enjoy life.
The reason is simple. To start with, I’ve been blessed with really good partners. They are all mature, peace-loving, warm-hearted, happy people. I’m really lucky in that sense. But more that this, I make sure certain things are not neglected. First of all, at the start of my relationships, I invite my partner to make a vow with me --- that, when we fight or when things are not going well with us, separation will never be considered the first option. I find this to be very practical and sensible. It motivates us to really work things out and not thrust us into a wait-and-see attitude or, worse, to just watch the other person vanish. The vow gives our feelings security, a sense of commitment, one that reminds that we’re in this not just for the fun.
Another thing I have found to be very wise and prudent move is for partners to willfully agree on how to fight. I try to initiate conversations on this subject during the “good times,” when everything is light and bubbly and Cali Shandy. The conversation aims to leave us with ideas on how to behave and conduct ourselves in times of war. J They don’t have to be so profound and overpowering. Most of the time, they are modest and straightforward agreements. For example, in my case, I always insist that we should be issue-oriented as much as possible. Past mistakes and oversights should never be brought to life again otherwise we’d trap ourselves in an unending argument. There should also never be physical violence. In no case shall the tip of our fingers land on the other’s cheeks or any other part. A calm and empathic listening is almost always just what’s needed. I also insist that, whenever practicable, we refrain from involving our friends and other people.
Meanwhile, for those who are interested in some tidbits of do’s and don’ts on how to fight, here’s what I found from a guidebook by Ken Hanes. I hope we all keep these in mind whenever the inevitable happens.
· Count to ten before you start.
· Stick to the issue.
· Don't dredge up ancient history.
· Avoid put-downs and name-calling.
· Nix the sarcasm and camp.
· Speak your mind, and give him the chance to speak, too.
· Avoid profanity.
· Don't throw anything.
· No violence. Ever.
· Don't change the subject.
· Don't pretend you don't understand what he's saying.
· Don't mimic him.
· Don't bully him.
· Assume nothing.
· Don't ask your friends to take sides.
· Don't hit below the belt.
· Be specific about your complaints.
· Don't threaten to leave him to get your way unless you truly mean it.
· An unfinished fight will only return another day. Fight to the finish unless you're merely fighting for fighting's sake, Then, stop.
Looking back, I am proud to say that I never really figured in a fight with any of the three relationships I’ve had. No, it’s not that I’m afraid to fight or even anxious to confront irritations with my partner. It’s not that. In fact, there have been a few times we got annoyed with each other. The thing is, they have never really got blown into a major boxing match. We’ve always managed to talk things over and continue to enjoy life.
The reason is simple. To start with, I’ve been blessed with really good partners. They are all mature, peace-loving, warm-hearted, happy people. I’m really lucky in that sense. But more that this, I make sure certain things are not neglected. First of all, at the start of my relationships, I invite my partner to make a vow with me --- that, when we fight or when things are not going well with us, separation will never be considered the first option. I find this to be very practical and sensible. It motivates us to really work things out and not thrust us into a wait-and-see attitude or, worse, to just watch the other person vanish. The vow gives our feelings security, a sense of commitment, one that reminds that we’re in this not just for the fun.
Another thing I have found to be very wise and prudent move is for partners to willfully agree on how to fight. I try to initiate conversations on this subject during the “good times,” when everything is light and bubbly and Cali Shandy. The conversation aims to leave us with ideas on how to behave and conduct ourselves in times of war. J They don’t have to be so profound and overpowering. Most of the time, they are modest and straightforward agreements. For example, in my case, I always insist that we should be issue-oriented as much as possible. Past mistakes and oversights should never be brought to life again otherwise we’d trap ourselves in an unending argument. There should also never be physical violence. In no case shall the tip of our fingers land on the other’s cheeks or any other part. A calm and empathic listening is almost always just what’s needed. I also insist that, whenever practicable, we refrain from involving our friends and other people.
Meanwhile, for those who are interested in some tidbits of do’s and don’ts on how to fight, here’s what I found from a guidebook by Ken Hanes. I hope we all keep these in mind whenever the inevitable happens.
· Count to ten before you start.
· Stick to the issue.
· Don't dredge up ancient history.
· Avoid put-downs and name-calling.
· Nix the sarcasm and camp.
· Speak your mind, and give him the chance to speak, too.
· Avoid profanity.
· Don't throw anything.
· No violence. Ever.
· Don't change the subject.
· Don't pretend you don't understand what he's saying.
· Don't mimic him.
· Don't bully him.
· Assume nothing.
· Don't ask your friends to take sides.
· Don't hit below the belt.
· Be specific about your complaints.
· Don't threaten to leave him to get your way unless you truly mean it.
· An unfinished fight will only return another day. Fight to the finish unless you're merely fighting for fighting's sake, Then, stop.
2.01.2005
A sequel
I wrote my parents that letter not to bring them shame or cause them frustration the rest of their lives. That was farthest from my mind. I endured countless hours of anguish and pain putting together that letter to save myself from living in a perpetual lie. I wanted to be honest with them, I yearned to be close with them, and I longed to free myself.
The letter was long overdue. The truth of the matter was, my memory fails me now trying to remember how far back in time had I tried composing a letter or how many attempts I have undertaken all in all. It must have been a thousand already. But the more I tried writing one, the quicker I would be swayed from going any further because I didn’t want to cause unnecessary harm and discomfort, not so much on my part but for them. I have hesitantly agreed to let things be the way they have always been so as not to trigger any unpleasant confrontations or set off my parents to suddenly become mute.
For the next several years, I blinded myself to believe that this was the most practical thing for me to do --- keep silent on the subject, don’t cause needless harm, do “normal” things, stay out of trouble, be as inconspicuous and unnoticeable as possible. I have been good at keeping things quiet and even perfected the art of feigning my real self. It troubled me doing that, but it was the only way I can keep those around me. It was horrible. I cannot imagine giving almost all of my life keeping alive one lie after another. I have grown tired living as somebody I am not. I refuse to deny myself of the joys of being free. I wanted my parents and other people close to me to stop being entertained by an illusion.
And so, several days before my mom was set to fly back last year to the States where she now lives with my dad, a strong feeling came suddenly burning in me. I thought maybe it was time for me to do the letter. I thought maybe the three years that they have lived there somehow opened their minds a bit to things. I don’t know what made me think that way, but I convinced myself that that was likely, a risk worth taking, something that was more practicable than anything.
I think the risk paid off. Although it’s not really something we talk about lengthily over the phone when they call, we have become comfortable joking with each other on many things. We don’t feel awkward on long pauses and momentary silences anymore. And most of all, the words “I love you” have acquired more meaning.
-------------
I just thought, maybe one or two young readers may find their way here in my blog and, like me, have always planned on writing that letter. Here are some helpful ideas.
The letter was long overdue. The truth of the matter was, my memory fails me now trying to remember how far back in time had I tried composing a letter or how many attempts I have undertaken all in all. It must have been a thousand already. But the more I tried writing one, the quicker I would be swayed from going any further because I didn’t want to cause unnecessary harm and discomfort, not so much on my part but for them. I have hesitantly agreed to let things be the way they have always been so as not to trigger any unpleasant confrontations or set off my parents to suddenly become mute.
For the next several years, I blinded myself to believe that this was the most practical thing for me to do --- keep silent on the subject, don’t cause needless harm, do “normal” things, stay out of trouble, be as inconspicuous and unnoticeable as possible. I have been good at keeping things quiet and even perfected the art of feigning my real self. It troubled me doing that, but it was the only way I can keep those around me. It was horrible. I cannot imagine giving almost all of my life keeping alive one lie after another. I have grown tired living as somebody I am not. I refuse to deny myself of the joys of being free. I wanted my parents and other people close to me to stop being entertained by an illusion.
And so, several days before my mom was set to fly back last year to the States where she now lives with my dad, a strong feeling came suddenly burning in me. I thought maybe it was time for me to do the letter. I thought maybe the three years that they have lived there somehow opened their minds a bit to things. I don’t know what made me think that way, but I convinced myself that that was likely, a risk worth taking, something that was more practicable than anything.
I think the risk paid off. Although it’s not really something we talk about lengthily over the phone when they call, we have become comfortable joking with each other on many things. We don’t feel awkward on long pauses and momentary silences anymore. And most of all, the words “I love you” have acquired more meaning.
-------------
I just thought, maybe one or two young readers may find their way here in my blog and, like me, have always planned on writing that letter. Here are some helpful ideas.
1.27.2005
Are you ready?
For one moment, I thought I should let you in my most private of private life even for a while. Something tells me it's about time I breathe another life to an old but very meaningful letter I wrote my mom not too long ago rather than let it gather age and irrelevance. I acceded, initially with some hesitation, but replaced quickly by an overpowering sense of personal joy and bliss.
I have written a thousand letters in the past. At one time, I thought I have written so much I wouldn't have problems weaving words to express myself. I was wrong. Coming-out letters are different. They're probably the most difficult to compose. It took me hours to even just start off. I can only manage a blank stare. You want to cram your entire lifestory in several paragraphs hoping you assuage fears, clear misconceptions, erase prejudices, solicit acceptance, invite love, all at the same time.
So now, with much delight, I'd like to share with you that letter I wrote which brought tears to mom's eyes for a while, but which gained me her love, admiration and respect. The least I hope that'll happen are two things: That friends will know me more while soon-to-be friends gain support from my story and do whatever they have to do to make living truthfully an object of immense desire.
------------------
Dear Mamang,
I had a very difficult time starting this letter. For several weeks, I had been putting off doing this because I couldn’t get myself to sit still in front of the computer and start writing. There are many things I wanted to say and I get lost along the way.
There are three things I really wanted to say.
First, thank you for extending your stay here in Manila. You could have opted to leave right after your birthday, but you stayed on. It may not be obvious to many, but your reason was certainly so clear to me. I’d like to think you decided to wait for a few more weeks behind Papang so you can be with me during my birthday. That was very touching. And I was deeply touched. I really appreciate it.
I have certainly grown. From a young boy who enjoyed playing in the streets back in the province, I have matured to become an independent, responsible, kind, generous, and intelligent young man. I have never directly described myself this way because I have always tried to be unassuming, but a closer look in me reveals that I am these, in one way or another, in more ways than one.
For all of these, I couldn’t think of any other significant influence on me than how you have brought me up. I have witnessed several images of everyday things you have done in the past, which for you may have been ordinary, but have always remained very vivid and strong reflections of the kind of person I would like to turn out. For instance, I couldn’t count the number of times when, as a kid, we would rummage through my old clothes and things in search for something that may still be useful for the neighbor's children. I was very young that time, about less than ten years old, but I have fond memories of those times. They taught me charity, generosity, and selfless giving. Which, up to now, I still very strongly hold.
Going further down memory lane, I still have very glowing memory of that evening when I was in Grade 3 and, with your help, I was able to memorize a complete section of the multiplication table while on a motorcycle trip on our way to visit relatives. You were very patient and encouraging, and I felt very good that night. There was also that morning in kindergarten when I figured in a fight and you came running to my rescue. I felt very relieved knowing you were there, but at the same time, embarrassed that I somehow failed you. Which may be somehow what I'm feeling right now.
But I don’t regret turning out to be what I am. This is the second thing I wanted to say. More and more each day, I am convinced that a huge part of the kind of good person that I am may be explained by it. I have grown and matured to understand that there is nothing that should be regretful or disheartening or chilly about being gay. It was not your fault in the first place. It’s not a question of whether you failed to do something or not. Worse, it’s not even a question of you having done something which you could have opted to do otherwise.
I respect your religious sensibilities and those things that you have grown accustomed to believe because you grew up with them. But in my generation, maybe we were more bold in questioning things and beliefs so it was easier for us to be open to other ways of looking at things.
Please believe me when I say that I am very happy with myself. And as a parent, I am sure that is what you would like your son to feel. There have been a few hitches in the past, but I have managed my way through. One of them was telling my only sister. It may surprise you to know now that she has learned about me for more than four to five years already. She, like everyone else, was shocked, but after getting back her composure, came to accept the reality and embraced me with more love and acceptance. She promised not to ever tell you because that was the proper thing to do. Now, we’re more open with each other. What this revelation did was make me feel good about myself. I am deeply proud to say that I am honest and true with myself, something that other people cannot imagine to do in their lifetime. I am glad God was generous with me to give me so much courage and love.
And that’s exactly why I am very thankful for God’s infinite wisdom. The God that other people came to identify and grew up with was somebody who was supposed to love only straights and not those kinds of people who were deemed abnormal. This made me question some people, how can they worship a God like that, one who’s judgmental and plays favorites? What reasons could He have that He created a certain group of people straights and others non-straights? It’s something very mind-boggling.
I’m happy that the God that I worship is so hugely understanding and perfect. Since He is perfect, He creates things perfectly. He doesn’t make anything less than perfect. So when you come to see things from this point of view, all people are perfect and normal regardless of race, religious beliefs, and sexual orientation. The kind of person one is is not ever measured by whom he or she goes to bed with. It is by how one treats another person. That’s why, people who are quick to judge me never intimidate or bother me. I know deep in my heart that they cannot convincingly claim superiority over me or another person in whatever terms. Applying this in my case, you will now understand that I am as perfect and normal as any other person. There’s nothing wrong with me.
Lastly, I would like to assure you that I will continue to be the kind of good friend and good son that I am. This hopefully should be enough to make you feel strongly each day. Please continue to do things that you enjoy doing in the States and not worry so much about us here.
Thanks for your love and support. Thanks for your strength and resilience. And most of all, thank God you’re my mom.
Love,
J.
I have written a thousand letters in the past. At one time, I thought I have written so much I wouldn't have problems weaving words to express myself. I was wrong. Coming-out letters are different. They're probably the most difficult to compose. It took me hours to even just start off. I can only manage a blank stare. You want to cram your entire lifestory in several paragraphs hoping you assuage fears, clear misconceptions, erase prejudices, solicit acceptance, invite love, all at the same time.
So now, with much delight, I'd like to share with you that letter I wrote which brought tears to mom's eyes for a while, but which gained me her love, admiration and respect. The least I hope that'll happen are two things: That friends will know me more while soon-to-be friends gain support from my story and do whatever they have to do to make living truthfully an object of immense desire.
------------------
Dear Mamang,
I had a very difficult time starting this letter. For several weeks, I had been putting off doing this because I couldn’t get myself to sit still in front of the computer and start writing. There are many things I wanted to say and I get lost along the way.
There are three things I really wanted to say.
First, thank you for extending your stay here in Manila. You could have opted to leave right after your birthday, but you stayed on. It may not be obvious to many, but your reason was certainly so clear to me. I’d like to think you decided to wait for a few more weeks behind Papang so you can be with me during my birthday. That was very touching. And I was deeply touched. I really appreciate it.
I have certainly grown. From a young boy who enjoyed playing in the streets back in the province, I have matured to become an independent, responsible, kind, generous, and intelligent young man. I have never directly described myself this way because I have always tried to be unassuming, but a closer look in me reveals that I am these, in one way or another, in more ways than one.
For all of these, I couldn’t think of any other significant influence on me than how you have brought me up. I have witnessed several images of everyday things you have done in the past, which for you may have been ordinary, but have always remained very vivid and strong reflections of the kind of person I would like to turn out. For instance, I couldn’t count the number of times when, as a kid, we would rummage through my old clothes and things in search for something that may still be useful for the neighbor's children. I was very young that time, about less than ten years old, but I have fond memories of those times. They taught me charity, generosity, and selfless giving. Which, up to now, I still very strongly hold.
Going further down memory lane, I still have very glowing memory of that evening when I was in Grade 3 and, with your help, I was able to memorize a complete section of the multiplication table while on a motorcycle trip on our way to visit relatives. You were very patient and encouraging, and I felt very good that night. There was also that morning in kindergarten when I figured in a fight and you came running to my rescue. I felt very relieved knowing you were there, but at the same time, embarrassed that I somehow failed you. Which may be somehow what I'm feeling right now.
But I don’t regret turning out to be what I am. This is the second thing I wanted to say. More and more each day, I am convinced that a huge part of the kind of good person that I am may be explained by it. I have grown and matured to understand that there is nothing that should be regretful or disheartening or chilly about being gay. It was not your fault in the first place. It’s not a question of whether you failed to do something or not. Worse, it’s not even a question of you having done something which you could have opted to do otherwise.
I respect your religious sensibilities and those things that you have grown accustomed to believe because you grew up with them. But in my generation, maybe we were more bold in questioning things and beliefs so it was easier for us to be open to other ways of looking at things.
Please believe me when I say that I am very happy with myself. And as a parent, I am sure that is what you would like your son to feel. There have been a few hitches in the past, but I have managed my way through. One of them was telling my only sister. It may surprise you to know now that she has learned about me for more than four to five years already. She, like everyone else, was shocked, but after getting back her composure, came to accept the reality and embraced me with more love and acceptance. She promised not to ever tell you because that was the proper thing to do. Now, we’re more open with each other. What this revelation did was make me feel good about myself. I am deeply proud to say that I am honest and true with myself, something that other people cannot imagine to do in their lifetime. I am glad God was generous with me to give me so much courage and love.
And that’s exactly why I am very thankful for God’s infinite wisdom. The God that other people came to identify and grew up with was somebody who was supposed to love only straights and not those kinds of people who were deemed abnormal. This made me question some people, how can they worship a God like that, one who’s judgmental and plays favorites? What reasons could He have that He created a certain group of people straights and others non-straights? It’s something very mind-boggling.
I’m happy that the God that I worship is so hugely understanding and perfect. Since He is perfect, He creates things perfectly. He doesn’t make anything less than perfect. So when you come to see things from this point of view, all people are perfect and normal regardless of race, religious beliefs, and sexual orientation. The kind of person one is is not ever measured by whom he or she goes to bed with. It is by how one treats another person. That’s why, people who are quick to judge me never intimidate or bother me. I know deep in my heart that they cannot convincingly claim superiority over me or another person in whatever terms. Applying this in my case, you will now understand that I am as perfect and normal as any other person. There’s nothing wrong with me.
Lastly, I would like to assure you that I will continue to be the kind of good friend and good son that I am. This hopefully should be enough to make you feel strongly each day. Please continue to do things that you enjoy doing in the States and not worry so much about us here.
Thanks for your love and support. Thanks for your strength and resilience. And most of all, thank God you’re my mom.
Love,
J.
1.26.2005
Cry songs
As of my last count, there were only three songs that make me cry or at least misty-eyed. Two of them are OPM's, the other is an old Carpenter song. These three have never failed to practically stun me and render me motionless for a few moments while I sigh heavily and switch to a sentimental mode or whatever is left of a once romantic self I have known.
Recently however, there was one more song added to that list. It's something not new to me since I have heard of it many times before either on the radio or sung by my sister when she makes herself a glass of iced tea. I would just ignore that song and let it pass. It came back to haunt me a few weeks when I heard it performed by local school-based all-male choral group.
I froze. And I allowed myself to weep.
----------------------
I will be here
Tomorrow morning if you wake up
And the sun does not appear,
I will be here.
If in the dark we lose sight of love,
Hold my hand and have no fear,
‘Cause I will be here.
CHORUS
I will be here when you feel like being quiet;
When you need to speak your mind, I will listen.
And I will be here when the laughter turns to crying;
Through the winning, losing, and trying, we’ll be together,
‘Cause I will be here.
Tomorrow morning if you wake up
And the future is unclear,
I will be here.
As sure as seasons are made for change,
Our lifetimes are made for years,
So I will be here.
CHORUS
I will be here, and you can cry on my shoulder;
When the mirror tells us we’re older, I will hold you.
And I will be here to watch you grow in beauty,
And tell you all the things you are to me;
I will be here.
I will be true to the promise I have made,
To you and to the One who gave you to me.
Recently however, there was one more song added to that list. It's something not new to me since I have heard of it many times before either on the radio or sung by my sister when she makes herself a glass of iced tea. I would just ignore that song and let it pass. It came back to haunt me a few weeks when I heard it performed by local school-based all-male choral group.
I froze. And I allowed myself to weep.
----------------------
I will be here
Tomorrow morning if you wake up
And the sun does not appear,
I will be here.
If in the dark we lose sight of love,
Hold my hand and have no fear,
‘Cause I will be here.
CHORUS
I will be here when you feel like being quiet;
When you need to speak your mind, I will listen.
And I will be here when the laughter turns to crying;
Through the winning, losing, and trying, we’ll be together,
‘Cause I will be here.
Tomorrow morning if you wake up
And the future is unclear,
I will be here.
As sure as seasons are made for change,
Our lifetimes are made for years,
So I will be here.
CHORUS
I will be here, and you can cry on my shoulder;
When the mirror tells us we’re older, I will hold you.
And I will be here to watch you grow in beauty,
And tell you all the things you are to me;
I will be here.
I will be true to the promise I have made,
To you and to the One who gave you to me.
1.25.2005
Wetness First
I recently transferred gyms. I now have to walk around 250 meters from my office building to work out instead of merely transferring elevators in an adjoining building as has been the case in the last few years. My old gym seemed like another family to me and I will miss some familiar faces, but sadly, it had to close down at the end of the month because it wasn’t making enough money to carry on for another year. It had been in the red for the last two years or so, management says.
My new gym seemed to be the only logical option for me to transfer. It’s near, new, and, well, classy as some deem it to be. It’s on the eighth floor of one of several towering structures lining up Ayala Avenue. Although you can’t really enjoy the cityscape from that height, at least you can make out the stretch of the entire business district when you look out the glass panels. One quick look at the street traffic below and it can make or break your plans of heading home after a workout session.
Three years ago, I checked out this gym when it started operations. I didn’t like it at all. I didn’t have good vibes on the place. I felt like a stranger. True, it was, at that time, considered to be the most modern gym in this side of the city. The other gyms just stared and sighed as they watched their clients move to this new place. Among others, it had wider space, 30-plus cardio machines, five to six aero classes everyday, fully-airconditioned, and of course, a free-flowing offer of complimentary softdrinks, iced tea, and coffee for members, which has become the most popular attraction for the gym. It has in fact swayed some people I know to actually enlist. I still don’t understand how this has influenced some people to actually sign up, but it had. It’s not as if one is able to wolf down gallons of these drinks to become so significant a factor.
Things have been OK for over a week now. I don’t know most of the people there, but that doesn’t bother me. I go there knowing my workout program for the day, hit my one-to-one-and-a-half-hours exercise routine, hit the showers, change, and leave. I sometimes opt to spend a few minutes in the sauna to loosen tensed muscles, but I end up getting more stressed and uneasy. Everyone seems to be constantly on cruising mode.
But that’s another story.
My new gym seemed to be the only logical option for me to transfer. It’s near, new, and, well, classy as some deem it to be. It’s on the eighth floor of one of several towering structures lining up Ayala Avenue. Although you can’t really enjoy the cityscape from that height, at least you can make out the stretch of the entire business district when you look out the glass panels. One quick look at the street traffic below and it can make or break your plans of heading home after a workout session.
Three years ago, I checked out this gym when it started operations. I didn’t like it at all. I didn’t have good vibes on the place. I felt like a stranger. True, it was, at that time, considered to be the most modern gym in this side of the city. The other gyms just stared and sighed as they watched their clients move to this new place. Among others, it had wider space, 30-plus cardio machines, five to six aero classes everyday, fully-airconditioned, and of course, a free-flowing offer of complimentary softdrinks, iced tea, and coffee for members, which has become the most popular attraction for the gym. It has in fact swayed some people I know to actually enlist. I still don’t understand how this has influenced some people to actually sign up, but it had. It’s not as if one is able to wolf down gallons of these drinks to become so significant a factor.
Things have been OK for over a week now. I don’t know most of the people there, but that doesn’t bother me. I go there knowing my workout program for the day, hit my one-to-one-and-a-half-hours exercise routine, hit the showers, change, and leave. I sometimes opt to spend a few minutes in the sauna to loosen tensed muscles, but I end up getting more stressed and uneasy. Everyone seems to be constantly on cruising mode.
But that’s another story.
1.24.2005
My Lolo Cesar
My maternal grandfather Cesar is a huge man. Not tall, but huge. Everytime he walks in a room, he has this certain commanding presence you would think he’s the tallest man who ever lived or one who holds the most number of inventions in the world or the only person awarded the Nobel ten times. The truth is, he’s just about 5’6, no famous discoveries to his credit, while the closest he got to Nobel was a Gintong Ama award he received from His Eminence Jaime Cardinal Sin in the late 1980’s as one of the country’s top ten fathers that year.
That award meant a lot for him. It should be. For somebody who endured all imaginable difficulty raising eleven children to be all professionals today, the recognition he got was a mere speck of the honor and praises he should really be showered.
His story began in 1929 in an island called Itbayat, the northernmost inhabited island in the Philippines. As the eldest child in the family, he took on the burden of looking after the family from a young age courtesy of a father who drank too much, gambled too much, and absent too much. At the tender age of 14, he assumed the duties of a family provider. He agreed to have ropes tied around his waist as harness when he joined road construction along the island coast. They blasted rocks and pushed them several hundred feet on the shoreline below. One false footwork and death eagerly lies ahead. For a few more pesos, he also enlisted as one of the many manual laborers who paved a vast grassland in the outskirts of town to make way for the main airport in the island.
Located four kilometers from the main town, this spot was where my grandpa manually labored pushing off blasted rocks off to the sea for a few centavos a day.
Next time you visit Batanes, stop by this spot called Paderes Cliff and remember Lolo Cesar.
God is good, my greatgrandma would unashamedly declare whenever he remembers his son, my grandpa Cesar. She never said it in so many words, but he was her only comfort in those countless years when she endured a marriage that overflowed with all but love and devotion. Nobody actually knows how my grandfather felt in those many turbulent years worsened even by the Second World War. Even up to this time, he keeps most things to himself, not even his late wife, my very photographable grandma Tina, probably had any knowledge of.
That’s why I felt very privileged when Lolo Cesar asked me recently to go over the manuscript of his autobiography. From over 30-plus grandchildren, he picked me to do a once over on his draft. I felt honored, really flattered. Apparently, he has been spending time writing his thoughts and stories in the past several years. I can only surmise he knows he lived a very colorful life that remains unrivaled to this day, one that needed to be told in my generation to keep us from being swayed over hurtful or sometimes ruthless ways.
Now in his late 80’s, he’s enjoying the fruits of his labor in far USA. He probably stands shorter than 5’6 today, still with no celebrated invention, but a life well lived.
That award meant a lot for him. It should be. For somebody who endured all imaginable difficulty raising eleven children to be all professionals today, the recognition he got was a mere speck of the honor and praises he should really be showered.
His story began in 1929 in an island called Itbayat, the northernmost inhabited island in the Philippines. As the eldest child in the family, he took on the burden of looking after the family from a young age courtesy of a father who drank too much, gambled too much, and absent too much. At the tender age of 14, he assumed the duties of a family provider. He agreed to have ropes tied around his waist as harness when he joined road construction along the island coast. They blasted rocks and pushed them several hundred feet on the shoreline below. One false footwork and death eagerly lies ahead. For a few more pesos, he also enlisted as one of the many manual laborers who paved a vast grassland in the outskirts of town to make way for the main airport in the island.
Located four kilometers from the main town, this spot was where my grandpa manually labored pushing off blasted rocks off to the sea for a few centavos a day.
Next time you visit Batanes, stop by this spot called Paderes Cliff and remember Lolo Cesar.
God is good, my greatgrandma would unashamedly declare whenever he remembers his son, my grandpa Cesar. She never said it in so many words, but he was her only comfort in those countless years when she endured a marriage that overflowed with all but love and devotion. Nobody actually knows how my grandfather felt in those many turbulent years worsened even by the Second World War. Even up to this time, he keeps most things to himself, not even his late wife, my very photographable grandma Tina, probably had any knowledge of.
That’s why I felt very privileged when Lolo Cesar asked me recently to go over the manuscript of his autobiography. From over 30-plus grandchildren, he picked me to do a once over on his draft. I felt honored, really flattered. Apparently, he has been spending time writing his thoughts and stories in the past several years. I can only surmise he knows he lived a very colorful life that remains unrivaled to this day, one that needed to be told in my generation to keep us from being swayed over hurtful or sometimes ruthless ways.
Now in his late 80’s, he’s enjoying the fruits of his labor in far USA. He probably stands shorter than 5’6 today, still with no celebrated invention, but a life well lived.
1.17.2005
Campus voyeurs
Several years ago, I took a day off from work one fine day in December just to catch what has turned out to be only annual major midday event inside UP campus that holds back time and everyone’s breath for a few minutes. The occasion, referred to as the Oblation Run, has become so famous it has merited coverage from every major local television network as well as interest from droves of people, mostly alumni or non-UP students, who troop to the university for reasons we may never know.
The crowd starts to thicken around a quarter before 12 o’clock. Students cut classes, teachers give way to pleas from students, people clog all corridors and stairways, everyone pushes everyone around to get to a prime spot, camera-wielding viewers jostle their way to the front. The air is hot, there’s no place move, you trade breaths with whomever is beside you, everyone’s hungry, everybody gets restless. The campus is virtually a small mad and wild city. Girly --- and, well, manly --- shrieks become deafening as several completely nude men descend from a car and, from there, jog their way in the middle of the crowd enroute to a raised platform where they spend a few moments raising clenched fists while shouting chants of whatever theme or campaign or struggle their group advances. Mostly it’s about a critical current school-based issue like tuition fee increases or a persistent national concern like care for the environment or anti-corruption.
Photo courtesy of a website
In the middle of the chaos the last time I watched, when I was mindlessly staring a woman in her thirties sitting silently on the pavement across from where I was, I kind of thought how amusing it was for everyone in that place to shed off their shyness for one time and satisfy, in my theory, one’s natural voyeuristic tendencies. Every one in that place I’m sure has a different reason for being there. Some noble, some trivial. But in my limited thinking bandwidth, I got stumped trying to find out what other reasons could there be to explain people's brave presence there. I understand if someone cites "educational purposes or entertainment reasons," but for most, it's not far that a judgment game arises: How do I compare? How do I fare? Am I at par? Is everyone cut? Is that how I look when naked?
But those lines come most likely from the boys. The girls, on the other hand, have a far more hilarious take on it. More often than not, it comes in the form of a question. With waving hands and yelling voices, they come asking, "Where is it? Where is it? I see only hair! It's all hair!"
The crowd starts to thicken around a quarter before 12 o’clock. Students cut classes, teachers give way to pleas from students, people clog all corridors and stairways, everyone pushes everyone around to get to a prime spot, camera-wielding viewers jostle their way to the front. The air is hot, there’s no place move, you trade breaths with whomever is beside you, everyone’s hungry, everybody gets restless. The campus is virtually a small mad and wild city. Girly --- and, well, manly --- shrieks become deafening as several completely nude men descend from a car and, from there, jog their way in the middle of the crowd enroute to a raised platform where they spend a few moments raising clenched fists while shouting chants of whatever theme or campaign or struggle their group advances. Mostly it’s about a critical current school-based issue like tuition fee increases or a persistent national concern like care for the environment or anti-corruption.
Photo courtesy of a website
In the middle of the chaos the last time I watched, when I was mindlessly staring a woman in her thirties sitting silently on the pavement across from where I was, I kind of thought how amusing it was for everyone in that place to shed off their shyness for one time and satisfy, in my theory, one’s natural voyeuristic tendencies. Every one in that place I’m sure has a different reason for being there. Some noble, some trivial. But in my limited thinking bandwidth, I got stumped trying to find out what other reasons could there be to explain people's brave presence there. I understand if someone cites "educational purposes or entertainment reasons," but for most, it's not far that a judgment game arises: How do I compare? How do I fare? Am I at par? Is everyone cut? Is that how I look when naked?
But those lines come most likely from the boys. The girls, on the other hand, have a far more hilarious take on it. More often than not, it comes in the form of a question. With waving hands and yelling voices, they come asking, "Where is it? Where is it? I see only hair! It's all hair!"
I can be nasty too!
Without holding back, F. just blurted out to me, “Yeah, get in there. Guys are just waiting to get laid inside. Go get your share. Looks like you need it.” It would have been different if it were just the two of us talking because we’ve known each other for quite a while. But, my god, we were in a group of around seven, some of whom I have met only that time. F. didn’t stop there. Holding my elbows, he motioned as if to drag me inside the bar. That was it. I could no longer restrain myself. I was seething inside. I furiously shot back, “If this is how you get your self-esteem, please spare me. I don’t need men to make me feel good.”
He turned silent. He quickly realized I wasn’t joking. It wasn’t difficult to see why. It was as if I transformed into some goddess of doom right there. Some of the people in the group probably noticed what happened, but I tried somehow to carry on my conversations with them. I didn’t want to spoil their night. We were outside a popular bar along Makati Avenue famous for its not-so-flattering history.
There are very few occasions when comments from people suddenly make me defensive. One of them would be this. I don’t welcome the idea of people thoughtlessly picking on me (or whomever for that matter) thinking it’s OK since we know each other or we call each other friends from way back . I especially abhor the idea of people doing that in the pretense that it’s just a joke or a source of fun or to reinforce a point. What right do they have to do that?
I normally just ignore unkind remarks from friends or otherwise which I find disagreeable or, at the very least, senseless. I put on an unaffected front and start counting sheep and stars most of the time. Not because I like to be known as the next bitch in town, but I have figured, it’s the only way to spare me from unnecessary arguments and useless spats.
My unfortunate encounter with F made me realize I am far from perfecting the art of being unaffected. I will probably have a long way to go to master it. You see, I haven’t completely lost that urge to throw back stinging one or two liners to nasty and below-the-belt comments either from pathetic people aspiring for the slightest attention or wicked souls living inside alluring persons
He turned silent. He quickly realized I wasn’t joking. It wasn’t difficult to see why. It was as if I transformed into some goddess of doom right there. Some of the people in the group probably noticed what happened, but I tried somehow to carry on my conversations with them. I didn’t want to spoil their night. We were outside a popular bar along Makati Avenue famous for its not-so-flattering history.
There are very few occasions when comments from people suddenly make me defensive. One of them would be this. I don’t welcome the idea of people thoughtlessly picking on me (or whomever for that matter) thinking it’s OK since we know each other or we call each other friends from way back . I especially abhor the idea of people doing that in the pretense that it’s just a joke or a source of fun or to reinforce a point. What right do they have to do that?
I normally just ignore unkind remarks from friends or otherwise which I find disagreeable or, at the very least, senseless. I put on an unaffected front and start counting sheep and stars most of the time. Not because I like to be known as the next bitch in town, but I have figured, it’s the only way to spare me from unnecessary arguments and useless spats.
My unfortunate encounter with F made me realize I am far from perfecting the art of being unaffected. I will probably have a long way to go to master it. You see, I haven’t completely lost that urge to throw back stinging one or two liners to nasty and below-the-belt comments either from pathetic people aspiring for the slightest attention or wicked souls living inside alluring persons
1.13.2005
Birthday lola
Her body's response to chemotherapy the last five months has been a source of joy for everyone in my family. For one week each month, my 77-year old grandfather's sister Lourdes has patiently visited the doctor's clinic for treatment. Later today, her 78th birthday, she's scheduled for the last doctor's appointment this month. It will be her 25th chemo session to add to the five more set on the last cycle next month. Afterwards, she'll be off for a well-deserved vacation.
I just spoke to her on the phone a few minutes ago. She was bubbly as usual. Her animated laughs obscured all the signs of her battling colon cancer. We spoke a bit of the home, we remembered relatives, and then she mentioned about wanting to go out with me next time I visit the mall. I sensed boredom. No one really ever’s taking her out on the three weeks she’s given to rest after each treatment cycle. A widow, she’s staying with her sister in an apartment that also houses a daughter’s family. She's made to feel at home there. Tita Baby's three kids are enough to shower the house with fun spirit. While it may not really compensate for something she's grown accustomed to, it's enough to keep herself reminded of Batanes. Her other source of amusement, I presume, is getting the kicks out from watching television or the calls from her children or grandchildren which come very seldom. She misses home so much. But I think she misses her grandson Joseph a lot more.
Joseph's story is one for the primetime soap operas. At nine years old now, I'm not sure if he's been told how he came to the family. Not that it matters, but I just thought he deserved to know. This photo of Joseph holding some wild flowers which I took last year when I went home to Batanes will be exactly what I will give my Auntie Lourdes later as present. She'll be excited, that's a given. But more than that, I'm even surer I'm going to see tears.
I just spoke to her on the phone a few minutes ago. She was bubbly as usual. Her animated laughs obscured all the signs of her battling colon cancer. We spoke a bit of the home, we remembered relatives, and then she mentioned about wanting to go out with me next time I visit the mall. I sensed boredom. No one really ever’s taking her out on the three weeks she’s given to rest after each treatment cycle. A widow, she’s staying with her sister in an apartment that also houses a daughter’s family. She's made to feel at home there. Tita Baby's three kids are enough to shower the house with fun spirit. While it may not really compensate for something she's grown accustomed to, it's enough to keep herself reminded of Batanes. Her other source of amusement, I presume, is getting the kicks out from watching television or the calls from her children or grandchildren which come very seldom. She misses home so much. But I think she misses her grandson Joseph a lot more.
Joseph's story is one for the primetime soap operas. At nine years old now, I'm not sure if he's been told how he came to the family. Not that it matters, but I just thought he deserved to know. This photo of Joseph holding some wild flowers which I took last year when I went home to Batanes will be exactly what I will give my Auntie Lourdes later as present. She'll be excited, that's a given. But more than that, I'm even surer I'm going to see tears.
1.12.2005
Solitary sense
Words fail me sometimes. No matter how much I try spouting them flawlessly out of me, I seem to make no progress at all. I get stuck, I get cramps, I lose things. I then close my eyes and carefully weave thoughts as I talk to myself. Sometimes I get lucky, other times I'm just a poor unfortunate soul.
But there are occasions when I'm at my best, when I mouth carefully selected thoughts and words with the least effort as if I've spoken them from birth. I sit tall, I look through, I talk sense. Most of the time, it's about the heart, its affairs, pains, and longings. I never claimed to be an authority on this, it's just that maybe I spent more time trying to learn from things that happened to me before.
That's why I find time to travel alone to places near and far. I save up for this, I fix my schedules for this, I consider this sacred. Finding time for yourself should figure in the list of things everyone should do. It's a rewarding tribute to one's self. It's never an issue of being a loner or hopeless depressive as some of my concerned friend worry about. For me, it's an act of love, in fact the only time when self-love comes out appealing.
I don't expect people to understand in the same manner that I don't expect love prospects to shine for all this year. But behind all of this is one simple prayer: I hope things work out for all of us this year. As a start, I'd like to give everyone flowers.
But there are occasions when I'm at my best, when I mouth carefully selected thoughts and words with the least effort as if I've spoken them from birth. I sit tall, I look through, I talk sense. Most of the time, it's about the heart, its affairs, pains, and longings. I never claimed to be an authority on this, it's just that maybe I spent more time trying to learn from things that happened to me before.
That's why I find time to travel alone to places near and far. I save up for this, I fix my schedules for this, I consider this sacred. Finding time for yourself should figure in the list of things everyone should do. It's a rewarding tribute to one's self. It's never an issue of being a loner or hopeless depressive as some of my concerned friend worry about. For me, it's an act of love, in fact the only time when self-love comes out appealing.
I don't expect people to understand in the same manner that I don't expect love prospects to shine for all this year. But behind all of this is one simple prayer: I hope things work out for all of us this year. As a start, I'd like to give everyone flowers.
1.11.2005
Hello 2005!
When everybody else was busy scouring wetmarkets and groceries on new year's eve to complete the traditional 13 rounded fruits, I spent that day quietly treading on the muddied ricefields in my favorite village up in Banaue.
I endured a nine-hour bus ride, several landslides, one-hour jeep ride, and finally an hour of downhill trek before reaching this heaven on earth. With just me, a bottle of red wine, and my Carpenters cd.
I endured a nine-hour bus ride, several landslides, one-hour jeep ride, and finally an hour of downhill trek before reaching this heaven on earth. With just me, a bottle of red wine, and my Carpenters cd.
1.09.2005
A swollen start
It hasn’t even been a week since the start of the year and I’ve already figured in a dreadful accident. Something tells me faintly, this must be a horrifying year for me. But I hope the gods in the heavens won’t allow it. Feng shui, for one, has declared this year to be good for rat people. I don’t exactly subscribe to it although it merits my attention more than horoscopes, but things have been pretty OK since I got back from spending new year in a secluded village up in the Cordilleras.
Last Wednesday, I joined around 15 friends in a volleyball game near my place. They have been playing weekly since last year. While I’m not present all the time, they make sure that I’m updated on the playing schedule. They can always make use of another set of hands. A few minutes into the first set, I leaped to block a net spike only to plummet on the toes of the other player. The uneven surface was just what my feebly already-injured right ankle needed to twist so badly it swelled up awfully in a matter of seconds. The swelling seemed to race in the same speed as Arnel frantically attempted to undo my shoelaces.
That night, my sweet gurl friend Joy slept over to make sure the 24-hour cold compress is completed. Although I didn’t actually need her help to deliver me to the bathroom for some nocturnal personal activity since I was still able to hop my way anyway to the urinal, I was comforted by her presence lying there beside me on the floor without any complaint as I slept raising my legs to rest on my bed. My doctor friend said I had to elevate the injured ankle.
And so the next few days, I was practically holed up in my bedroom. In a way, I was glad I had so much time in my hands so I was able to finish several DVD’s I have long bought from my favorite Makati Square stall. It turned out to be a perfect way also to test the new set of 5.1 speakers I got myself for christmas. I would watch badminton on cable in the afternoons only to wait for the early evening newscast. I would sleep afterwards till around midnight and would be awake to watch some more movies or ESPN till my eyes hurt or I’d remember that I’d probably be the only one awake in the whole city, whichever is earlier.
Last Wednesday, I joined around 15 friends in a volleyball game near my place. They have been playing weekly since last year. While I’m not present all the time, they make sure that I’m updated on the playing schedule. They can always make use of another set of hands. A few minutes into the first set, I leaped to block a net spike only to plummet on the toes of the other player. The uneven surface was just what my feebly already-injured right ankle needed to twist so badly it swelled up awfully in a matter of seconds. The swelling seemed to race in the same speed as Arnel frantically attempted to undo my shoelaces.
That night, my sweet gurl friend Joy slept over to make sure the 24-hour cold compress is completed. Although I didn’t actually need her help to deliver me to the bathroom for some nocturnal personal activity since I was still able to hop my way anyway to the urinal, I was comforted by her presence lying there beside me on the floor without any complaint as I slept raising my legs to rest on my bed. My doctor friend said I had to elevate the injured ankle.
And so the next few days, I was practically holed up in my bedroom. In a way, I was glad I had so much time in my hands so I was able to finish several DVD’s I have long bought from my favorite Makati Square stall. It turned out to be a perfect way also to test the new set of 5.1 speakers I got myself for christmas. I would watch badminton on cable in the afternoons only to wait for the early evening newscast. I would sleep afterwards till around midnight and would be awake to watch some more movies or ESPN till my eyes hurt or I’d remember that I’d probably be the only one awake in the whole city, whichever is earlier.
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