Virgin me

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

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VIRGO horoscope
( aug 23 - sept 22 )

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Sad for him

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fun, fun, fun

To cap the week, I thought I should do something light and fun. It's a good move to balance the gloomy mood next week during Lent. Ready?

YOUR PORN STAR NAME:
(Name of first pet + Street you live in)
-- Bob Lizardo

YOUR MOVIE STAR NAME:
(Name of your favorite snack food + Grandfather's first name)
-- Nova Cesar

YOUR FASHION DESIGNER NAME:
(First word you see on your left + Favorite restaurant)
-- Bodum Nostra

EXOTIC FOREIGNER ALIAS:
(Favorite Spice + Last Vacation Spot Visited)
-- Rosemary Los Banos

SOCIALITE ALIAS:
(Silliest Childhood Nickname + Town Where You First Partied)
-- Speedy Basco

"FLY GIRL" ALIAS (a la J. Lo):
(First Initial + First Two or Three Letters of your Last Name)
-- J. VAL (puwede na rin!!)

ICON ALIAS:
(Something Sweet Within Sight + Any Liquid in Kitchen)
-- M&M's Soy (anoo daww???)

DETECTIVE ALIAS:
(Favorite Baby Animal + Where You Went to High School)
-- Chick Basco (hmmm puwede!!)

BARFLY ALIAS:
(Last Snack Food You Ate + Your Favorite Alcoholic Drink)
-- M&M's Vodka

SOAP OPERA ALIAS:
(Middle Name + First Word you see on your Right)
-- Castillejos Starkist

ROCK STAR ALIAS:
(Favorite Candy/Dessert + Last Name Of Favorite Musician)
-- Bibingka Sondheim (siyeyettt ang sagwa!!)

About me

I took one fo those tests supposedly to determine more clearly the kind of person you are, the one that your friends normally barrage you with on email. To make things sound more really convincing, they choose sometimes to attach what it said about them complete with loud swearings to the heavens that they are absolutely true. You shrug your head and hope they really know what they're talking about.

Anyways, after I patiently went through the ten-point test, choosing the letter corresponding to my choice and afterwards affix the (number) weight equivalents adding them up to find the total, here's what it says about me. Let's just say, it's a glimpse of me.

Sensible, cautious, careful and practical. Clever, gifted, talented but modest.

Not a person who makes friends too quickly or easily, but someone who's extremely loyal to friends you do make and who expects the same loyalty in return. Those who rally get to know you realize it takes a lot to shake your trust in your friends, but equally that it takes you a long time to get over it if that trust is broken.

What a difference a candle makes

My place is filled with candles scented and plain. They come in all shapes and sizes and colors and brands. When lighted, they never fail to create in me a mood that makes everything look so serene and divine. A busy and stressful day is best capped with lighting candles and taking deep breaths.

A few weeks back, I was in Vigan. I went inside St. Paul's Cathedral and took pictures. I realized even candles lit inside churches have this calming effect on me.

Moves and transfers

From the time I was 16, I've been living separately from my parents. The first four years were spent in college where I endured the university men's dormitory for about a year, shared an apartment with a churchmate for one semester, and spent the rest of the time till I graduated living in a two-storey one-bedroom apartment outside the school. I would get my monthly allowance through telegraphic transfers from my parents who lived in a far north province. They expected me to make do and survive with the sum they send to cover, not just my board and lodging, but all my school and non-school-related expenses. It’s good my college undergrad was economics so I was somehow trained in allocating scarce resources to meet unlimited wants.

After college, I first stayed with a spinster aunt for a while since my paycheck wasn't anywhere near the slightest possibility that it can manage to pay for my own place. My parents probably would have wanted to help out, but I have a good feeling they opted not to --- only to make sure I wouldn’t be bubbling over too much on city life coupled with trappings of independence and an emerging active social life. I’m sure they trust me, but they weren’t at all sure if I was ready. A year later, the commute from my aunt’s place to work took its toll. I persuaded everyone that it was best to be near my workplace to save me small money and lots of unproductive time. I shared apartments initially before love came and relocated me to a three-bedroom house where we (by virtue of being a couple) occupied the biggest room while two other single friends lived in the other rooms.

I moved out of that house on the hill ten months later because of, well, a terminated contract. Everything ended with W and me. It was as if world turned upside down the next few months as it saw me renting one of the rooms in a three-room house occupied by a couple and another single guy. I stayed there close to a year at least. Since my sister wanted that time to move to Manila for work, my parents suggested if we can stay together in our own place, possibly an apartment within Makati so we won’t have a hard time adjusting to a new environment. By then, I was practically a Makati resident for at least three years.

And so my sister and I moved to this old two-bedroom apple green apartment that looked more like a misplaced building in a pretentious address. During the rainy months of July and August, there’d be times when we can’t leave the house in the morning for work because the street fronting the building would be flooded. We don’t have any other choice but to call in sick. This would happen at least twice each year. Even then, we endured and lived there for at least three years primarily because it was also near the school where I was taking my graduate studies. Come to think of it, the only good thing about the place was that it made going to school after work more bearable since home was just a few minutes away after class.

When my uncle’s family migrated to the US in 2001, they floated the idea of us staying in their house since they didn’t want to rent it out to just anyone. I was the only person allowed by my uncle to stay there in their absence. I was going to be some sort of caretaker. No rent, but I’ll pay for utilities and other expenses. It was a tempting offer. I thought I’d save up a few more bucks in exchange for putting up with Manila’s notorious traffic. The house is located in Marikina, God knows how many kilometers away from Makati where I work. I loved the place. It was a welcome relief from the daily stress from work but in a few years, we thought the costs far outweighed the benefits so we packed our bags again to live again in Makati, this time in a flood-free area complete with roving guards, stand-by utility men, and Ate Bebeng, my ever-faithful househelp.

So far we're enjoying our new home. My sister's social life, and in a way mine, are slowly breathing life again. Many things have changed. We, more or less, manage to sleep longer now and enjoy more activities than before. The only thing that has remained is this: singlehood.

Downelink and parades

I spent some time going over Downelink this afternoon and got sooooo overwhelmed with the unbelievably magnificent collection of openly Pinoy gay guys currently profiled in the site. I couldn't believe it, I kept asking, where are these guys every last Saturday of June each year when the Pride March is held? That way, we will leave strong mark in the faces of bigoted men (and women, for that matter) that we're indeed a massive amount, a huge number, a large mass, a whole force to reckon with.

Since the time I first started joining the Pride March in 1998, I observed that I would see practically the same faces each year gathered in Malate for the walk. We have grown practically familiar with each other and often joke questioningly if we're the only out and proud creatures in this part of the world. As we tread the streets of Malate, we see guys one after another watching us from the sidelines, the same one's we'd bump into one of those bars we'd frequent since they're predominantly gay. It's a sad sight, I must say. I wish they can experience the tremendous relief that can only come from a proud declaration made alongside other gay brothers and sisters. I tell you, it's very affirming, very affirming.

Marriage?? Ugghh

It has crossed my mind a few times how, over the years, my parents might have been so eager to see their first-born grandchild either from my younger sister or me. I don’t blame them. They’re in their sixties, old enough to be grandparents whereas we’re half their ages at the moment, old enough to produce offsprings.

I’m sure my parents have talked about this countless times in their private conversations. They usually do this when they both stretch out on the bed ready to sleep or when they both wake up middle of the night and decide to have a one-to-one instead of racing to find sleep. I know this because I have eavesdropped a few times when I was a kid and I’d sleep in their room. I just wonder, how exactly do their conversations end when they talk about me and my sister against their yearnings to be grandparents. They know perfectly well the rightful response. They don’t have to think hard enough for it. Their conversations actually don’t have to go far. The answers to whatever questions they have are staring at them squarely. It may not be too appropriate for me to detail all the reasons, but let me say the grounds are in themselves justified and valid. Otherwise, my strong-willed mom would insist on her way.

It just makes me think sometimes, aren’t we harsh?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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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.

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For a similar question thrown at me, this is likely how I will answer too. Is there another way?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.


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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.

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.

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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.

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.

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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.