A call for tasteful cruising

I have lived long enough to know the ins and outs of cruising. Not the kind that traverses countries and oceans, although it brings you the same heavy breathing and tensed muscles. I’m talking about gay cruising to be exact. Sometimes I can’t help by laugh quietly when I realize I have probably breathed cruising air for so long I can smell it from miles away. I can very well sense it in my surroundings even if I close my eyes in sleep or plug my ears to rest.

That’s how I have grown to be so unknowingly skillful in this field. By that, I don’t mean I top the cruising field. I’m quite more of the reverse. I’m dreadfully shy. You would have to fill me up full tank with vodka or tequila or anything extremely intoxicating to make me lose myself and forget about my inhibitions. That’s probably the only time I can manage to smile seductively or even walk up to somebody for a small talk. I needed to be prodded in a special kind of way just to initiate what otherwise would have been something unimaginable.

When I say cruising pervades my space it can drown me in no time, all I wanted to declare is something that’s so plain and true. One doesn’t need to pray for mammoth eyes or ears that grow like wild giant mushrooms to be familiar with the finer points of cruising. What’s all needed is just a heightened sense of intuition, one that leads to being perceptive and insightful of people’s feelings, behaviors, or the slightest move of a body part. For instance, there is a way to read a person’s seemingly innocent glance or second stares and find out they really meant something else. There’s also a way to know that a harmless brush of elbows in a music store or a moviehouse or even inside a church during an ongoing mass really was meant to communicate one’s desire to pursue a tryst.

For gayguys, this is not something foreign. We have all grown accustomed to the step-count-look back habit or that celebrated three-second eye contact. We have likewise polished our face muscles so well we can whip out a craving look anytime or, worse, that one that depicts a yearning to devour certain body parts no end.

I don’t have anything against cruising and people who cruise. I won’t even lift a finger and talk people out of their decision to walk around the entire city to pursue a partner even for a momentary bliss. I will not stand in the way of people who might opt to spend the rest of their lives doing this. There’s only a small request I’d like to make: That when you do it, can it please be done in a way it doesn’t lead other people – gay or straight – to think lowly of the gaykind. It doesn’t help that, while other people silently work hard to break long-standing myths about gay people, some recklessly flush down hardly-fought constructive imagery of gays down the drain with their unflattering conduct.

I’m no manners police or anything. I just beg, please be at least tasteful.

Row, row

It was the second dragonboat race for local club teams last Sunday. My friend Jed took this shot.



I spent around nine to ten hours at Manila Bay for the 2nd Quarter Regatta, just about the same time it'll take for one to travel from Laoag in Ilocos Norte to Manila. Out of around 17 club teams in the men's division, we belonged to the six which reached the finals. We didn't get the top prize. No team ever manages to beat the navy, air force, police teams. For a club team, it's enough that you race with them.

The seventies

There is a statement my mom would always use to pacify me when, as a kid, I would throw tantrums whenever I failed to get what I wanted. Very calmly, she would say, “Make do with what you have.” And she would swiftly follow that with a reminder that we’re not well-off and we should be on guard against coveting things our playmates owned.

I think it started with trivial things like shoes and schoolbags. I’d sometimes spot a differently colored shoes or some bag that has more sidepockets and that starts me off on a relentless move to be difficult and upset everyone with my whining. I would refuse to do my assigned chores or decide not to talk to anyone at home. When that fails to get the attention I wanted, I would then deliberately pick a fight with my sister with the most petty things like she having more bread spread or me spending less time in the bath.

Mother’s words definitely leave a permanent mark in you. I moved to high school always getting reminded with those six words whenever I find myself desiring something which I knew wouldn’t kill me anyway if I didn’t get it. I learned to manage with just one bag in my entire high school and didn’t mind if everyone had new shirts on the first day of class after the holidays and I’d be the only one wearing same old shirt. A few years later, I survived all of college with just two pairs of low waist Levis and wearing shorts most of the time.

Looking back, I still don’t fully understand how just one statement managed to tame me throughout those crucial years. On one end, I would have to pay tribute to my parent’s unending patience. On the other hand, I’d say the seventies I grew up in were the finest period to parent kids. Life was so much simpler then. Traditions and manners carried more meaning. Authorities were more respectable and respected.

Lest you think I'm sporting white hair now, I am just as old as that year martial law was declared in the Philippines. That makes me ancient in some ways. But at the same time, it has given me so much beautiful stories and memories I could go on and on talking about them.

Smelly men

I thought I was one of the very few who have perfected a certain set of body twists and bends to do this particular kind of clean-up. Apparently, there's a new way to do it without having to contort and strain your back.

I've said this before and I'll say it again. Men should learn the virtue of grooming not just for their hair or whatever's left of it at the top but, more importantly, the ones down there too. There's nothing more disturbingly distasteful than blowing somebody hoping you'll lead them to the heavens and instead, end up getting your head blown off because of a stinky smell. Nobody should be subjected to that virtual death on earth. It's just inhuman, so heartless, so despicable!

But the reality of stinky men, while without a doubt a death sentence, is still widespread. Which makes me question a lot things. Were these guys ever present when hygiene was discussed in the homeroom class or do they they live in some place desert where water turns up only once a year? I mean, can't they smell it? Or granting that they don't, can't they at least connect the dots? That even when you shake and rattle and roll little junior after peeing, there's always something that's left which, when made to contact with a thick bushy pube area in a hot humid weather like Manila, detonates a putrid scent that kills? It doesn't take so much to comprehend that.

I hope sooner, rather than later, men will finally grow up and learn. There are three basics, so kindergarten, that can be done to completely reverse conditions so we are left with men who not only smell good but whom we enjoy doing blowing bubbles too.

1. You got to trim those hair. If you worry about hairs growing long way past the nostrils, by all means, worry also about pubic hairs growing way past your navel. At best, the length of the hair left should be less than half an inch. The shorter, the better.

2. Start wearing boxer shorts. Briefs, regardless of brand, type, textile, and cut, cling on too tightly to the skin it absorbs sweat and other juices that ooze. In a humid weather like Manila's where we sweat profusely, that means more sweat. More sweat + Bushy hair jungle + Tight undergarment = Only one thing, nasty stench.

3. Bath, bath, bath.

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Thanks Mavic for showing the way.

A prayer

To a certain extent, I am vain too. I’m terribly guilty and there’s no denying. I spend a considerable amount every month on foot massages, pedicures, lotions, moisturizers, facial creams, facial scrubs, body scrubs, and a whole lot of other pampering menu. Not only that, I make sure there are at least three different shampoos available at any one time when I take a bath aside from a number of hair conditioners on the side waiting to be noticed whose ultimate use largely depends on whatever scent they carry or mood I feel like having stepping out of the bathroom. I thought I have become too narcissistic with all these that I sometimes have to beat myself to calm down.

However, sitting over lunch with a friend’s friend a few days ago made my idea of vanity fall six feet under. I was quietly enjoying my meatless taco salad lunch when this guy matter-of-factly asked if we had plans of having our body fat checked at the gym. He said he was going to have his appointment later in the day and asked if anybody wanted to come along. I was stunned. I didn’t expect to hear something like that. I mean, this was a guy I thought carried the least worry on body fats and all. Yes, you’ll have a hard time spotting him in a dark room, but it’s a breeze to single him out from a crowd if lovehandles become the basis. He absolutely doesn’t have any. You look at him and think he was born with just muscles beneath his skin.

I am one who’s not easily offended, but hearing him talk about body fat check as if it’s the only measure of a man really put me off. I got upset, not because he was repeatedly boasting about his single-digit body fat, but more because I got so frustrated. Big time.

My thought was simple. I conceded, that's one less soul over there who couldn’t contribute to breaking myths that shapes and curves make a man. What made it even more infuriating for me was hearing it from a gayguy. In between heavy breaths, I prayed for lenience. My brothers hopefully appreciate sooner that men are so much more than body fat and waistlines.

Age and waist

September 9 vanished so quickly as it came. I didn’t even feel it enough. It turned up like a wink of an eye, something that was so uneventful you wouln’t even notice it was there. Like in my previous birthdays, I still spent the day by myself with nothing else in mind but a well-deserved rest and quiet time.

I was roaming around the mall as early as ten in the morning that day. You would mistake the mall to be some place haunted. Nobody was there. It was eerie yet strangely soothing. It was what I needed. It is what I always long for every year when the ninth day of the ninth month pays a visit.

Another year was added and it seems the more that it takes place, the more that I savor retreating to the sidelines and enjoy quietness. I no longer get paranoid receiving prying stares from some people who see me dine alone in a restaurant when everybody else’s tables are filled with family members and friends. I have long mastered the art of enjoying solitude in multitude so to speak. Nothing, virtually nothing of it appears dreadful to me or at the very least awkward.

Maybe it’s the age. Maybe the long years have finally paid off. Whatever it is, I love how things are now with me. Love may be elusive, I may be older than some, and worse, I may look older my age, but my god, my waistline falls way below my age. That's a tall order the moment you go past 30. Except of course for some selected few, but those are the gifted lot either with extremely active genes or with enormously huge bank accounts that they can easily head to the nearest lipo clinic. Which, on both counts, I unfortunately don't have. But which I completely don't mind.

Alone yet surrounded

Out of the blue, I felt water slowly wedge in my eyes and blurred my vision. I was close to letting my guards down and dramatically surrender to my feelings, but I thought I’ve been caught in a similar dilemma before and I’ve always managed to get through each time. I should be OK. But last Sunday afternoon however was different. This time, it was unusually difficult to keep my bearing and repulse the urge to bawl as I sat in the middle of a crowd watching kids perform in a musical number. I kept urging myself to remain calm and poised. It just wasn’t the place to cry.

The urge to cry your eyes out was the last thing anybody in that audience thought anyone should feel that time. The kids were in their elements as they swayed and glided on the stage. You can see them enjoying themselves, not mindful of the crowd that has gathered to watch them. They felt comfortable performing. Stage seemed to be a second home for them. I was genuinely enjoying myself watching them.

I couldn’t place where the feeling of being utterly sad was coming from. I ran thoughts in my head asking if there have been gloomy days earlier, and I couldn’t exactly agree if there ever was one. I just kept looking at the strobe lights above the stage to push back tears so they won’t fall over. I would bite my lower lip to put me in pain. I would force a smile and move my head to the beat in my attempt to fend off sad thoughts.

I still cried.

Being guy is fun

It was noon but the sun was out which made the weather a bit more bearable. Although not exactly a San Francisco kind of weather, the mild breeze were a refreshing delight as I walked down Ayala Avenue heading to lunch. The slightly chilling wind drove away the noontime heat and, at the same time, helped dry sweaty armpits and groin. I noticed several people swing their arms a bit farther from their hips than usual or would undo a shirt button one gap below than normal.

That’s when I realized there’s one more huge reason why men are infinitely more privileged than women. This time, it’s no longer just about men being able to unzip and spill wherever and whenever they want. It’s now become a battle of shapes and sizes instead.

Some women, like some of us men, at times amusingly equate their worth and merit with sizes and shapes. They feel good when they rest their arms across their chests and feel something that’s firmly rested and fresh as a plump bun. Others retreat in a bit of self-pity and embarrassment when they realize that what they have feels more like a fatigued and lifeless accessory. A few refuse to be troubled and just go about their way not minding incredulous stares from some people who seemed unusually mystified if they’re ogling at real boobs or just oversized zits. No matter how women try to hide their “deficiencies” with water-filled condoms or push-up bras, it’s all there for the world to see. You can’t just harvest them one second and try to relocate them some place more discreet the next moment.

In the case of men, at least there’s a little more secrecy to it. One may not be exceptional down there, but at least you don’t unwittingly scream to the world and give the slightest clue. Everyone is still left wondering about the real score. Of course, they can always ask for foot sizes or measure the length of forefingers, but you can always argue and start citing the latest scientific studies disproving theories of dicks and feet and fingers being related one way or another.

It’s really fun being a guy!

Google me

I got surprised finding out what Google has to say about my blog when you use the search engine to find it. I don't know how on earth this liner got there or who exactly put out that call to notify the writer about "objectionable content." Geeeezz!!

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Web
Mga impormasyon tungkol sa promdi.blogspot.com
Living, Loving, Lusting Notify Blogger about objectionable content. What does this mean?
BlogThis! ...promdi.blogspot.com/
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I suggest that you check out what Google has in store for you. Cliche-ish but, you'll never know what you're gonna get.

Old time refrain

As I walked out of the office for lunch today, I stood momentarily in the hallway before swinging the door open. There it was on the radio. A familiar sound, a witness to my younger days when everything was light and fresh and naive.

All of you out there who, at one time, got hooked on Xanadu's melody and refrain, here's to us.

A place where nobody dared to go
The love that we came to know
They call it Xanadu
And now open your eyes and see
What we have made is real
We are in Xanadu

A million lights are dancing
And there you are
A shooting star, an everlasting world
And you're here with me eternally

Xanadu, Xanadu, (now we are here) In Xanadu
Xanadu, Xanadu, (now we are here) In Xanadu
Xanadu, your neon lights will shine
For you, Xanadu

The love, the echoes of long ago
You needed the world to know
They are in Xanadu
The dream that came through a million years
That lived on through all the tears
It came to Xanadu

A million lights are dancing
And there you are
A shooting star, an everlasting world
And you're here with me eternally
Xanadu

Xanadu, (now we are here) In Xanadu Xanadu
Xanadu, (now we are here) In Xanadu
Now that I'm here
Now that you're near in Xanadu
Now that I'm here
Now that you're near in Xanadu
Xanadu...

Singles and doubles

In an isolated village up in the remote parts of Ifugao, I found the perfect metaphor to explain my present love condition. It came in the form of three lifeless clothespins --- two snuggling tightly beside each other; another quietly sitting by its lonesome not so far from where two are.



That’s how things have been in the last few weeks or so. Some of my friends seemed to have finally found their way hitting jackpots one after another. All of a sudden, it looked as if love and partnering became excessively easy for everyone to just take and keep. Few of my friends finally took the plunge and bade singlehood goodbye. They are in high heavens now, permanently upbeat, constantly smiling, always giggling, forever on the phone.

All these while I peacefully park myself in the sidelines enjoying life and love. Well, lust sometimes.

Small is beautiful

Observe closely. This is no ordinary bar graph. Every guy --- whether straight or gay, cut or uncut, virile or lethargic, popular or nameless, experienced or unexplored --- is represented here.

Some people may raise their eyebrows, but global survey results say, on whole, men are just six inches long down there. There are a few who are excessively gifted, but it's not something that causes much celebration. More often than not, these are unfortunately the same lot who thinks that dicks are used no other way than urinating. They somehow assume that the size makes up for whatever performance shortcomings they may have. And so, they decide to just lie down there like a log and let their miserable partners take charge. They take for granted that they needed to perform too believing that their contribution to lovemaking ends with their phalluses.

Which leads my friend to forcefully declare, he had always preferred being with Asians (ok, ok…. specifically Pinoys) when it comes to sex. The pieces may not be huge, massive, or enormous in length, diameter or thickness, but its stiffness is guaranteed to endure four seasons of the year. That's what matters.

I humbly submit.

The stars spoke

It started out as a joke between me and my sister. She said it was going to be purely for fun. Nothing to be feared about. The guy is all but scary, my sister assured me, he won’t start a raging litany of misfortunes involving my life, she added. I just needed to abandon all my prejudices in the door and allow him to present his readings about me based on just my full name, date and place of birth, and nickname.

And so I YM’d this guy, this complete stranger based hundreds of miles away in India whose appearance was as mysterious to me as his ability to read the future. But still, I gave all the personal details he needed. For once, I decided to be lighthearted and gave in. I have an 11-lettered middle name and a family name that’s nine. It took him a while to read what those numbers have in store for me.

I was interested to hear what those numbers will say about work, change in residence, and possibly love. Most likely in that order. I don’t have any idea how he works but some of his readings, I must admit, came as pleasant surprise. We have never known each other from Adam but his “findings” got me seated firmly to spend some time with him.

Changing jobs apparently won’t help me now. It will take about a year or more before any change will do me favor. My birth number is 9 and my future number is 1. My expression number is 96 or 6, heart desire number is 1 while personality number is 5.

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Excerpts of my conversation with the astrologer, unedited:
V - astrologer, managillo is my yahoo username


V: ur a man of strong personality, lot of leadership qualities,
V: having selfrespect,stubborn,
managillo: im listening...
V: ur lucky in most areas of ur life
V: ur main concern is ur familly,parents, family members
managillo: that's true
V: and finally ur cuntry
V: u will alwys think to contribut to ur family and cuntry
managillo: yes


managillo: about living abroad? or working abroad. what does it say?
V: u will settle in abroad
managillo: does it say when?


V: u have very srtong combination of 9-1 planets
managillo: what does it mean?
V: 9=mars= king, ruler, angry, royal
managillo: angry? stubborn? wow...
V: 1=sun= king, leadar, ego, govt. supported
managillo: prospect in politics?
V: very high
V: great leadrs and patriots born under 9-1
managillo: can you see me in politics?
V: but u will get every thing after little bit strugling
V: u will shine in politics
managillo: when is that time it will start shining? :-)
V: 2007 onwards but now also u dont have problems
managillo: is there a particular job or field that i should focus to help me when i eventually settle abroad
V: real estate , land devlopment, construction
managillo: does it say i will actually hold an elective position in govt?
V: hed of the institute will suits u most
V: genaraly u dont like to work under someone!
managillo: prospect in business?
V: service oriented jobs are best
managillo: service oriented job or business?
V: because mars, sun public sector group
managillo: so if i have to start a business, it means it has to be in the service industry?
V: ya
V: u and ur product will reach people soon by way of service
managillo: when's a good time to start a business
V: 2007
V: 2007=9
managillo: what about politics? when's a good time? also 2007?
V: but it will start ur year aug2006 onwards
managillo: what do you mean
V: aug2006 on ward is good
managillo: that's one more year of struggle
V: ur 2007 will start at 2006 agu to aut 2007
managillo: so between now and aug2006, what do you see?
V: alomst looks like but u dont have any thrate
V: it is time for u to do some mistakes


managillo: what about love? will it come, will it come?
V: u r king u will be loved by meny
managillo: and not by one? hehe
V: not so
managillo: that means what? i'll never be in a relationship?
V: relationship is not love
managillo: what does it mean
V: u might have not responded to somones love
managillo: do you see me being in a relationship soon?
V: i dont see any delays

Reminiscing

Having written three consecutive entries about intimacy makes me feel naked. I thought I have unnecessarily undressed before a jampacked coliseum with all the spotlights on me. There's this funny feeling that some friends have been unwittingly provided with new materials to make me a convenient conversation piece during the next gathering.  Not only that, I'd likely be forced to provide more juicy details and asked to answer follow-up questions that'll come one after another. 

 

I've never really shared these things --- ever -- before. I'm glad I did now. It feels like giving those lovely memories their rightful tribute.

Those were the days

I thought it'd be such a waste to just keep my fondest "couple" memories silently parked in the fringes of my failing mind. I'm sharing them now as my modest way to highlight the idea that there is nothing so distinctly different in straight relationships that sets it apart from those in gay relationships. Love is love, relationship is relationship regardless of whether it's between a man and a woman, a woman and another woman, or a man and another man.

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1. Sunday morning cuddles. Since we usually don’t go out Saturday nights, we would wake up early on Sunday mornings and just cuddle on bed. Whoever’s not too lazy between us would switch on the TV and we’d watch a Chinese cooking show of this elderly Mandarin-speaking woman who can clip practically anything with her chopsticks. My ex would serve as an alluring interpreter replete with all the funny gestures and dialogue. We’d end up a riot, laughing wildly while watching.

2. Doing grocery. We love to do the grocery together. I always prefer pushing the cart, patiently following him while he picks out items from the shelf and tosses them over to me. At times, I’d be asked which brand I prefer. I always quietly yield to what he likes. Except for bath soaps and lotion. Mild scent and unscented, respectively.

3. Visiting wet market. Occasionally, we’d wake up really early on weekend mornings and head to the nearest wet market. We’d charm the vendors and always end up going home with a few more vegetables, a few more meat slices, and a few more new friends.

4. Sunday lunches with nephews. His nephews would be rowdy when they come for a Sunday lunch visit with their parents, but they are always a welcome sight. They call me Uncle J. and would let me in about what’s latest with them. The elder one Ryan would charm me with his most recent fascinating puppy love stories while the younger one JR would ask me for help in his assignments or practice his latest declamation piece in front of me.

5. Using my own cutleries. It never fails to warm my heart seeing my partner use my own spoon or fork at home during a meal or even at the restaurant when we dine. It’s a lovely gesture to show complete acceptance and quiet devotion.

6. Sharing a cup of coffee. There’d be times when we would fix a drink, usually coffee, and would share the same cup. It’s the ultimate gesture of warm loving.

7. Lunch calls. I’d spend more days having lunch at work only to catch his phone calls around noon on weekdays. It’s the only time he can get to the phone to call me during the day. I thought the least I can do is make sure I’d be available to take those calls.

8. Kiss before sleeping. Just before switching off the bedside lamp before retiring at night, he would lean over and kiss me goodnight. Of course, it’s always punctuated with ilavyus.

9. Spooning. It’s our favorite sleeping position next to him cuddling quietly on my chest with my right arm around him. When spooning, I prefer to be one doing the spoon. It’s my way of saying nothing can harm him while I’m around. Like the song. Cheesy but true.

10. Picture frames. One weekend, he brought several small picture frames with him and asked me to go over our photo album and choose photos we can cut and mount on the frames. It’s a happy sight seeing your “couple” photos on top of the dresser and the bedside tables. There’s that immense feeling of being loved and cared for that is so breathtaking.

11. Wednesday masses. Wednesday evenings before dinner are spent hearing mass first. It’s his Wednesday tradition of sorts of which I fully support. He knows I don’t make the sign of the cross anymore nor participate in the other elaborate rituals, but he doesn’t mind. We make sure, though, that we do our peace-be-with-yous. More often, we say something else.

12. Sunday service. He hears mass, I attend a service. That didn’t stop us from joining each other’s Sunday duties. He proposed a compromise, which I agreed: First Sundays of the month are spent going to my church while the rest of the Sundays we head to his. Finding the middle ground isn’t as difficult as some people think.

13. Heart drawings. We have this way of silently saying ilavyus when we’re in public. It only takes a split second to do it. No sweat. With just our right forefingers, we draw hearts in the air. Everywhere at any time but always very discreetly. We’d be seated together in a moviehouse, for example, and feel affectionate all of a sudden. It’s disheartening not to have a way of communicating it right away. And so we usually place our hand lightly on the other’s lap or back and draw a heart. We then know what that means.

14. Staring while sleeping. On few occasions, I would wake up earlier and just stare at him as he snuggled up beside me. I would stroke his hair till I head back to dreamland myself. When I wake up again, I would catch him staring at me lovingly with a ready smile.

15. Poo-pooing while showering. Nothing beats our conversations while I would shower and he’d just be a few steps away from me poo-pooing. He lights a scented candle first before getting settled with a magazine on one hand. We’d talk about, among others, our workday, a gift we’d bring to a birthday party we’ve been invited to, our next weekend schedule, what grocery items to buy.

Three things

I've been tagged. Several times already, but this is the first time I'm yielding. It helps that the questions are interesting and fresh, but having my cool friend Mavic do the tagging makes it more worthwhile. I never realized we had so much in common. Well, what do you expect, our birth dates are just a few days apart.

So, here it is. Let us discover more about each other.
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Three names you go by:
1. Jongjong (by aunties/uncles mostly)
2. Jong
3. Jayvee

Three screen names you have had:
1. promdi
2. rancho
3. basco

Three physical things you like about yourself:
1. Color
2. Lips
3. Butt

Three physical things you don't like about yourself:
1. Height, could’ve been taller.
2. Eyebrows, thick and unruly.
3. Cut, it could have been uncut.

Three things that scare you:
1. Losing a family member.
2. Growing old alone. Growing old single doesn't scare me.
3. Absence of friends.

Three of your everyday essentials:
1. Mobile phone
2. Gym bag
3. Wallet

Three of your favorite musical artists:
1. El Divo
2. Michael Buble
3. Shirley Bassey

Three of your favorite songs:
1. ‘Waiting for Love’ by Sergio Mendes
2. ‘You’ by The Carpenters
3. ‘Misty’ by Sarah Vaughn

Three things you want in a relationship:
1. Humor
2. Vow to make it work
3. Loyalty

Three lies and truths in no particular order:
LIES:
1. I’m not gonna cum inside.
2. I just had a bottle.
3. I love you.
TRUTH:
1. We should not ignore our spirituality.
2. Being in a relationship is easy. Being with somebody worth your while is not easy.
3. Strive to be friends with your ex’s.

Three physical things about the opposite sex that appeal to you:
1. Slim waist.
2. Nice feet.
3. Smooth skin.

Three of your favorite hobbies:
1. Sports
2. Travel
3. Photography

Three things you want to do really badly now:
1. A month’s vacation
2.Massage
3.A quiet romantic dinner

Three careers you're considering/you've considered:
1. Social worker
2. Teacher/Coach
3. Detective agent

Three places you want to go on vacation:
1. Italy
2. Austria
3. Remote places in China

Three kid's names you like:
1. Elise
2. Macky
3. Teresa

Three things you want to do before you die:
1. Bring my family to a cruise.
2. Write my autobiography.
3. Be in a long-term meaningful relationship.

Three ways that you are stereotypically male:
1. I can’t distinguish mauve from violet.
2. I don’t like shopping.
3. I sip my soup loudly.

Three ways that you are stereotypically female:
1. I eat pasta with spoon and fork.
2. I have penchant for romantic comedies.
3. Shampoo then conditioner; not shampoo+conditioner in one.

Three people I admire:
1. My Lolo Papang
2. Greg Louganis
3. CJ Hilario Davide

Bonding in little things

There came a time many years ago when I sought dining out with as much passion and thrill as a little boy blowing birthday candles. The visits to different eating places both classy and behind the times were always a source of delight for me. But, in a strange way, it wasn’t because I was high-maintenance or I moved in predominantly fashionable places. Absolutely not.

Instead, I relished those dining experiences because they gave me a more powerful insight on how intimacy can come in the form of the most minute gestures and facial expressions. I think that’s when I learned to be watchful and appreciative of even the most trivial and ordinary things. I think that was also the time I became hopelessly romantic. As the years passed, my idea of intimacy sharpened and made much more meaningful and personal.

For instance, everytime we’d dine out in the restaurant or decide to watch a movie, my ex W. would hand me his wallet. I didn’t think of it much the first few times. It never occurred to me that it was his way of making it easy for himself by lightening his load. When I thought about it much later on, I melted. It was such a bliss thinking how he would entrust me with his most private things. I never heard him warn me about not poring over the items inside nor give me creepy glances at any time. I made sure the risk he took was worthwhile. I guarded the wallet with my life and never let it out of my sight. Well, it helped also that I enjoyed looking at two leather men’s wallets sitting warmly side by side.

The wallet experience spread through even at home. There was a time he offered to scrub for me the hard-to-reach areas of my back when I was taking a bath and he was just two feet away from me brushing his teeth. Sometimes he’d volunteer to clip my nails or clean my ears while I watch tv with my head resting on his lap.

Inside the car, there is an unwritten rule that a hand rests on the other’s thigh. Most of the time, it was my left hand gently perched on his right thigh while he drives. A break only happens when I notice him doing head rotations and I would instinctively have my left hand massage his nape and shoulders. The car has also witnessed me blush while receiving my first two dozen roses and lifesize doggie stuff toy.

So in what other ways did intimacy reveal itself? Five have been listed. I have 15 more in my list. Perhaps I shall write again sometime to give them life. But in the meantime, let the first five live through. I tell you, you haven't heard the best part yet.

Intimacy

When friends ask me about my most intimate moments, they seem to imagine me naked cavorting with somebody. They pucker their lips and dilate their pupils as they stare at me passionately, eagerly waiting for me to feed them with very explicit rundown of events from the time doors are locked to the time flys are unbuttoned and shirts fly around the room.

But sadly, that’s not my idea of intimacy. How I have understood intimacy over the years has nothing to do with undressing but everything to do with taking your fears and mistrust away as you build something with somebody. I’m not a love doctor and I don’t claim to be one, but my experiences have led me to think I’ve been on the right lane.

Church reality

I turned a bit to steal a gaze at him. He seemed to enjoy the moment it made me happy quietly. While he would occasionally read mindlessly the service bulletin, on whole, he appeared calm, introspective, and thoughtful. He would nudge me now and then or paste his thigh so closely against mine as he smiled, but he stared most of the time on the huge cross plastered prominently on the center of the sanctuary.

It was first Sunday of the month. We found ourselves going to church together even if we have known each other slightly over 12 hours earlier. It was late afternoon that time and I just finished working out at the gym. On my way out, I decided to drop by a nearby food place to while away time and catch my breath. That’s when he came. He approaced my table and asked if he can join me. I pulled back my tray to give him space.

We talked and talked and talked some more. It led us mostly to interesting discoveries. I don’t know, but the interest probably lived until the next day since he called and asked what I was up to that morning. He said he was heading to a church service and he wanted to know if it was possible to meet after that. I floated the idea of us going together to my church since the worship schedules were more or less the same anyway. He agreed. That’s how we ended up at the church.

But this is not about the guy. I’m not going to write anything about us. There is no us. He confessed he got into a relationship four days before we met. His eyes turned misty when he spoke about it. So there is no us.

But I insisted on writing this because something took root in me that morning. Nothing new, but something I have always advocated.

For people in a committed relationship, there has to be something more than just their love to keep them together and enrich their bond. For some, it’s a hobby or a sport. Others engage in charity work. For me, it’s going to church. There is something about the sight of a praying man, a prayerful man if you may, that’s infinitely appealing. But what captivates me even more is the idea of surrender, of acknowledging mortality, of recognizing something powerful that puts order into things, of appreciating the need for balance between things of this world and those ones that are spiritual.

That Sunday, I thanked God for letting me feel so strongly about my beliefs. I thanked Him even more for showing it to me clearly that it's not at all impossible to still find prayerful men today. It's just sad that most of them are in their respective relationships already. Be it happy or otherwise. I don't care to know.

High school life

Growing up in the province at times gives you an edge over those who have been in the city from birth. For one, there's just a lot more colorful stories to tell and equally more animated ways to tell it. In my case, I have attempted to list down, from top of mind, things I associate with high school spent in a remote town far from the city.

Here's my list. I had a grand time coming up with one. You should try coming up with a list too. I tried to elaborate briefly each item. Some though speak for themselves. The 80's was just a very fun time to always look back. And besides, most of the people I know who come visit my blog are well familiar with the period. Except for Mavic who may know something way, way beyond the great 80's.

Enjoy my high-school-days-oh-my-high-school-days-I-remember-kay-saya list:

1. Manilyn Reynes-Janno Gibbs notebook. Patok na patok sa probinsiya everyone had it.
2. Menudo craze. Girl classmates drooled over Robby Rosa, Ricky Martin, Charlie ---, Roy ---.
3. Florante at Laura. Hindi ako um-absent sa class kasi gusto ko iyong love story.
4. Panatang Makabayan. Memorized ko ito noon; ngayon kelangan ko nang tulong.
5. Nutri-bun. May binibigay noon na tinapay sa mga public schools. Super laki na super sawa na ang lahat.
6. Splash gel. Diyan nagsimula ang lahat.
7. Rick Astley, Fra Lippo Lippi, Ray Parker Jr. Sikat noon, sikat pa rin sa amin ngayon.
8. Kumander Gringa, Bala at Lipstik, Petrang Kabayo. Roderick Paulate has since become the only one who can make me laugh without really trying. :-)
9. Rolling store ni Manang. Utangan namin pag recess, taguan pag late.
10. Slumbook. Lahat meron. Lahat dapat sa-sign ka rin.
11. Every name has the letter H as second letter (Mhalen, Lhilet, Vhangie). No comment.
12. Padamihan ng letter E sa pangalan (Mercee, Lucee, Virgee). No comment pa rin.
13. Mr. DJ ni Sharon. Naririnig ko sa radyo ng kapitbahay.
14. Scott Baio. May poster ako ginupit pa sa Women's magazine yata (o MOD). :-)
15. Cassette player & cassette tapes. Diyan ko napakinggan ang Footloose na soundtrack at Thriller tapes.
16. Bic ballpen, THOR pencils. Masarap ngatngatin.
17. COD, Syvel's at Footstep sa Cubao. Pasyalan sa Cubao noon. Sa COD ako dahil sa christmas displays, Syvel's dahil sa nanay ko.
18. Bagets porma. Naka-fold na short sleeves, baston na pantalon na may zipper sa gilid. Huwag na please....
19. Basketball sa ulan. Kasama sina Mao, Doc, Toddy, Jimboy.
20. Biology field trip. Kuha ng algae.
21. Dutong, dutong. Tawag sa teacher namin na putol iyong isang daliri pag gustong maasar.
22. Practical arts subject ni Mr. Hubalde. Dito nagsimula ang pangarap kong maging carpenter. Project ko non plantsahan.
23. CAT pag Monday afternoons. Astig porma.
24. English elective class ni Mr. Verana. Always fun.
25. Teammates (John L., Victor Z., Rodel B.) sa 4x100m relay. Winning team for three straight years.
26. Induction balls. Ligaw, ligaw.
27. Girlfriend, girlfriends. First kiss, first kiss.
28. Sperry Topsider. Porma shoes.
29. Kungfu shoes. Gift lang sa akin, hindi ito porma shoes ko. :-)
30. Bulletin board sa Faculty room. Where class rankings are posted.