the naked truth

To say that my Uncle was weird is an understatement. When he was dying, he held on to my mom's hand, looked at her and said, "Annie, they're here to take me". Mother believed it was delirium talking. They were in my uncle's room, a small room tucked under the stairs in our old ancestral house. The room was filled with books on the occult - astral projection, reincarnation, chakra manipulation, atlantean voyage, opening your third eye and telekinesis. Most prominent were two blue-black hardbound books with a simple symbol on the cover, elements of which consist of a rose and a cross. It was the symbol of the Rosicrucians.

The Rosicrucians, or Rosy Cross, is a secret society of mystics dating back to the medieval times. They believe that the soul has limitless powers, powers that can control the physical and spiritual universe. But these powers are inaccessible to the common man due to the limitations imposed by the physical body. So they follow a set of principles, in the form of lessons, to slowly break from these limitations. Uncle was taking these lessons. And based from the pages of the two books with various notes and markers on the edges of the pages, he was taking the lessons seriously.

The two books, along with his other books on the occult were destroyed by floodwater from the storm that hit our town a few months ago. I was only able to remember the first two lessons in the first book because I tried them. It didn't work when I did. The first lesson was to turn a candle's flame from yellow to blue by sheer will. I'm not sure if the lesson will still work if pink or lilac was substituted for blue. The second lesson was to know the exact time of day without consulting a clock or looking at the position of the sun. I'm not sure if the lesson will still work with Daylight Savings Time.

In his final seconds alive, Father, my uncle's brother, wasn't there beside him. He was at that time running towards the house of the only doctor in town. My younger sister and I were already asleep and Mother, fearing that witnessing a death would scar us for life, did not wake us up. So that night, it was only Mother who saw Uncle's eyes after he said they were taking him. He was looking upwards, seemingly at nothing and his eyes showed fear. And then just like that, his life left him.

Uncle died when I was but six. Now that his books have been destroyed, what was left of his effects were his clothes, tailored and tasteful, which Mother recently dutifully washed and given to me. Me and my uncle were the same size and shared a love for florals and pastels. I now wear these clothes to work; a reminder of the weird Uncle who everyone in our town said was a spitting resemblance of me and whose curious nature he took to the death. I lit a candle for him, along with candles for my mother’s mother, father’s mother and father and my older brother Emir who died when he was two. They live on through us, their sons, daughters, grandsons, granddaughters, brothers and sisters, just like everyone else’s dearly departed.

Except for the white gushing curls of water brought in by the tide, a black wall seemed to separate the sand from the sea. Habagat flirted openly now, from the tops of coconut trees to the bangs of my hair that flirted abandonely back. Music had stopped playing at Mykko’s Bar minutes ago and the gaggle of gay waitresses currently busied themselves stacking the monoblock chairs on the deserted dance floor. Some foreigners were still by the main bar finishing their nth drink, seated comfortably in high stools carpentered from bamboo. They were with their partners for the night, names withheld or changed for now, and tomorrow, forgotten as they take their ferries back to Batangas. But they were Bob’s and John’s and Steve’s and Jane’s and Andrea’s tonight. The name was never important. The experience was, and they all arrived at Puerto Galera seeking just that.

In front of the bar, just after the concrete demarcation that separated the sand from the business establishments, were sets of seats and tables made from coco lumber. All were empty except for one occupied by a group of friends, four girls and a guy, who ordered Mindoro Slings one to many, and were attempting to finish their last jug. The guy was like the sea, rippled and unchartered by my tongue and while he stretched I stared imprudently at him, undressing him in my mind. No, not just undressing, my mind was more creative than that, and my eyes were soon glazed over with visions of him, me, packets of Frenzy condoms and E-Z lubricating jelly, a 12-inch double-headed dildo and us in positions made only possible with years of yoga and pilates, which both I’ve never done but always wished I had.

Nature had reclaimed the beach. Tourists which had earlier frolicked along the shore playing volleyball, sun-bathing, taking pictures to post in their Multiply sites, walking, building sandcastles - essentially all cliches one can do when on beaches, were now sleeping back at their cabins, or some may be fucking, or others still awake catching late night movies on HBO.

Save for us and a handful of others.

How long has it been since I last talked to Glenn? Maybe a year now, or maybe more than that. We got involved in different pursuits, ran in different circles for a while, and if not for my unannounced visit at their house a week before the trip, we wouldn’t be sitting in monoblock chairs facing the black wall that is the night and Puerto Galera, talking, catching up and eating our hastily-cooked arrozcaldo ordered from the other still open store on the shore.

"I really needed this trip," I said in between spoonfuls of hot thick broth scalding my mouth.

"Me too. It’s been so long since I’ve had a real vacation," Glenn mentioned, not even looking at me, looking instead at the flexing, stretching guy a few meters away.

"Ever since we’ve broken up, I haven’t really allowed myself time to sit and think things through," I said.

"And it’s the first time I went out of town without worrying about work-related stuff," he offered. On the bus going to Batangas City, he had mentioned that he was in Puerto Galera back in January. He is Executive Director of an NGO, and he and his staff were here for a mix of business and R&R. Sorrounded by his staff and bogged down with work-related issues, for him it was all business.

"I didn’t give my mind time to process everything that happened so far. I read novels, comics and short stories so my mind won’t have time to think about the break-up," I said.

"Well that’s never good," he said.

"Yeah. But here, now, finally, it all sinked in. We’ve broken up," I said.

Glenn gave me a glance before another spoonful of arrozcaldo went to his mouth. I continued.

"And I finally figured out why I haven’t really had a good cry about it. Cha and Hex both broke up with me. Their decisions were final and it made me react instantly to the impending loss. But now with Jerron, I’m the one who broke up with him. And it had been clear that he wanted us back together. So I haven’t really cried because the impending loss is not there. I can always get him back if I just decide so."

I drank from the 2-liter mineral water I bought specifically for the trip. Glenn’s arrozcaldo was nearly empty. Mine was still half-full. I stirred my food while I looked at the sea.

"But I don’t want to. Not anymore," I said. "I’ve given this a lot of thought and decided that it’s all for the best. I can’t stand being lied to anymore. I’d rather take a chance on someone new. But it’s still too soon. For now, I’d rather be single. I haven’t been single since second year high school. It’s a good time to relearn how it feels. Get in touch with myself for a change."

Glenn gave a sound in assent. We’ve both finished our food and I stood up to pay for it. We walked back to our rented room, talking about inane things, our conversation branching from one topic to the next. Morpheus grew ever stronger, comforted that Helios was not due to arrive in a few more hours. Jerron and I have walked the same route a few moon cycles ago, holding hands, comfortable in each other’s presence even without the slightest hint of sound, but new moons are yet to come, and I always may find myself walking the same route holding someone else’s hand. If not, I could always walk alone, aware of the memories of hands held, lips kissed, bodies hugged and hearts held. Old loves never grow old. They will die with me.

The quest to not think of anything with a semblance of sense continues - this so as not to analyze the impending doom of my sorry excuse for existence brought about by the recent turn of events involving my work life, love life, social life, family life and life life.

There are three easy ways to do this, all involving an abuse of eyesight. Depending on whichever comes first – blindness or death – I plan to continue doing all these.

1. Finish reading 1,228 comic strips. Specifically, http://questionablecontent.net/ I alternate between giggling like a Japanese school girl cosplaying at Harajuku and getting all mushy like emo boys making crappy, sad poetry posts in their livejournal.

2. Overload on novels. In this case, they are as follows: Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse and New Dawn, Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett’s Bad Omens, Neil Gaiman’s Anansi Boys, Richard Matheson’s I am Legend, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Hound of the Baskervilles and Israel Zangwill’s The Big Bow Mystery – all read in the span of four days.

3. Watch recently downloaded complete seasons of Veronica Mars, Pushing Daisies and Moonlight. These are shows that have their protagonists getting all P.I. (not putangina or if you’re from UP, Philippine Institutions 101, more like Private Investigator).

So that sums up my life right now. I’m not even getting laid. Crap. This is why I'm avoiding this blogging gig.

Daming problema sa trabaho.

Daming problema sa pamilya.

Unti-unting naaagnas ang bilang ng kaibigan ko.

Tapos ngayon pa naging sirang-sira relasyon namin ni Jerron.

Hahay. Someone down below is working over time.

The following story contains sexual scenes between two men. You have been cautioned.

"Oh Harold, dalhin mo tong pagkain sa Tito Dan mo", ang sabi ni nanay sakin sabay abot ng basket. Dahil sabado, nasa bahay lang ako’t nanonood ng tv. Nakasimangot kong kinuha ang basket kay nanay at padabog na lumabas ng bahay.

"Ikaw na bata ka. Minsan ka na nga lang uutusan ha", ang pagalit na sabi ni nanay. "Pangdalawang tao na yang pagkain dyan. Sabayan mo na rin syang kumain."

"Opo.", ang pasigaw kong sagot. Nakalabas na ko ng bahay at pasakay sa aking bike.

"Wag mo kong ma-opo-opo dyan. Hala lumakad kana at tanghali na", ang pahabol pa ni nanay.

Sa totoo lang, hindi naman talaga ako naiinis at inutusan ako ni nanay na dalhan ng pagkain si Tito Dan. Natutuwa pa nga ako dahil excited na kong makita si Tito. Pero hindi dapat mahalata ni nanay na excited ako. Baka malaman pa nya ang lihim kong pagkagusto kay Tito. Sa tuwing nakakasalo namin si Tito sa pagkain, panakaw-nakaw ako ng tingin sa kanya. Minsan nahuhuli nya akong tumitingin at lagi naman nya kong sinusuklian ng ngiti. Hindi naman napapansin nina nanay at tatay ang ginagawa ko.

Kahit katorse pa lang ako, alam ko na ang salitang libog. At yun nga ang lagi kong nadadama kapag napagmamasdan ko si Tito Dan. Hindi mo naman sya matatawag na gwapo. Pero sa paningin ko ay katakam-takam sya dahil sa kanyang katawan na banat na banat sa trabaho sa bukid. Ni isang katiting na taba ay wala sya. Moreno ang kanyang balat dahil sa kakabilad sa araw. Napansin ko rin na malaki ang bumubukol sa kanyang harapan kahit na makapal na shorts pa ang kanyang suot. Pero ang pinakagusto ko sa kanya ay ang kanyang malamlam na mata. Lalaking lalaki ang pustura nya pero pinapalambot ng mata nya ang kanyang itsura. Mahaba ang mga pilikmata nito at sa bawat pagngiti ni Tito sakin ay ngumingiti rin pati ang mata nya.

Patuloy ako sa pagbabike papunta sa bukid. Malayo-layo rin ito mula sa aming bahay. Usually, mga bente minutos kong binabaybay ang daan bago ko matanawan ang munting kubong pahingahan nina tatay na katabi ng aming palayan. Ngingisi-ngisi ako habang nagbabike. Nagmamadali rin ako sa pagpipidal. Alam ko kasing mag-isa lang ngayon si Tito Dan sa bukid. Si Tatay ay pumunta ng kabisera upang bumili ng pataba. Matagal ko nang gusto masilayan ang santol na bumubukol kay Tito. Sabik ko na syang matikman.

Hindi ko naman talaga Tito si Tito Dan. Simula nang magkamuwang ako, kasa-kasama na lagi siya ni Tatay sa bukid. Disi-sais lang sya nun. Anak sya nung isang dati naming katiwala. Sya na ang pumalit dahil mahina na ang tatay nya. Sya na rin ang naging breadwinner ng kanyang pamilya. At ngaun nga ay bente-singko anyos na sya. Hindi pa rin sya nagaasawa.

Narating ko na ang aming palayan. Nakita ko kagad si Tito Dan na busy sa pag-iispray ng insecticide sa palay. Tinawag ko ang pangalan nya at kumaway sya sakin. Kumaway din ako sa kanya at iminustra ang basket na hawak-hawak ko.

Lumapit si Tito Dan sakin at ginulo nya ang buhok ko.

"Sakto dating mo. Gutom na gutom na ko", ang sabi nya sakin sabay ngiti ng pagkatamis-tamis. "Maghain ka na sa kubo at maghuhugas lang ako sa may poso."

"Sige po Tito," ang tangi kong sagot.

Tinungo ko ang kubo at binaba ang dala-dala kong basket. Inilabas ko isa-isa ang mga pinack ni nanay na pagkain sa maliit na mesa ng kubo. Mayroong ginisang monggo, pritong tilapya, enseladang mangga at kanin. Meron ring patis at sili tsaka malamig na tubig. Naglagay na rin ako ng plato at baso. Walang kubyertos kasi nagkakamay naman kaming kumakain.

Pumasok si Tito ng kubo at umupo sa hapag-kainan. Maganda pa rin ang ngiti nya.

"Ang init. Tanggal ako ng t-shirt ha," ang sabi ni Tito Dan.

"Sige po", ang sagot ko.

Napalunok ako nang tumambad sakin ang katawan ni Tito Dan. Matambok ang dibdib nya at umaalon-alon ang mga pandesal sa kanyang tyan sa bawat paghinga nya. Hindi ko maalis ang pagkakatingin ko. Bumaba ang tingin ko mula dibdib, patungo sa tyan hanggang sa kanyang suot na pantalong pangbukid. Mabuhok ang dibdib ni Tito. At dire-diretso ang buhok na yun hanggang paloob ng kanyang pantalon. Napalunok akong muli. Ang laki talaga ng bukol nya.

"Uy Harold, anong tinitignan mo dyan ha?" ang nakangising tanong sakin ni Tito.

Umiwas ako ng tingin at sinabing, "Wala po."

Tumingin akong muli sa kanya, ngumiti at sabay sabing, "kain na po tayo."

"Hindi mo ba ko pagsisilbihan?" Nakangiti pa rin sya. "Lagyan mo na yung plato ko."

Tumayo ako at tumabi sa kinauupuan nya. Sinandukan ko ng kanin ang plato nya at nilagyan ko na rin ng monggo at tilapya. Tiniris ko ang sili sa patis para sa kanyang sawsawayan. Nilagyan ko rin ng tubig ang kanyang baso.

"Wow sarap mo namang magalaga", sabi ni Tito sabay hila sa bewang ko. Napaupo ako sa kanya.

"Type mo ko no?", bulong nya sa tenga ko.

Hindi ako makasagot. Nabuko na nya ko. Uminit ang pakiramdam ko dahil sa hiya. Hindi ako makatingin ng diretso sa kanya. Pinilit kong tumayo pero mahigpit ang pagkakahawak nya sa bewang ko.

"Wag ka ng tumanggi. Matagal ko nang alam. Ikaw naman, pakipot ka pa."

"Hindi po Tito. Tsaka pareho po tayong lalaki", ang di ko makatotohanang sagot. Halata sa boses ko na maging ako ay hindi naniniwala sa aking sinabi.

Tumawa ng malakas si Tito.

"Eh bakit pag nakikita mo ko laging napupunta ang tingin mo sa nakabukol sa harap ko? Tapos ngayon sasabihin mo hindi mo ko type."

"Hindi po talaga Tito. Please, bitawanan nyo na po ko. Kain na po tayo", mahina kong isinagot.

"Oh cge, hindi na kita kukulitin. Pero subuan mo na lang ako."

Wala akong nagawa kundi sundin ang utos ni Tito. Habang nakaupo pa rin ako sa kandungan nya inumpisahan ko syang subuan. Kahit nahihiya, hindi ko maitago ang aking pagkatuwa sa kasalukuyang nagaganap sa amin. Tapat na tapat sa pwet ko ang bukol ni Tito at nararamdaman kong unti-unti itong tumitigas. Gumagalaw-galaw ako sa pagkakaupo upang lalong malibugan si Tito.

Parang hindi naman napapansin iyon ni Tito. Manaka-nakay umiinom sya ng tubig sa baso sa harap nya habang patuloy ko syang sinusubuan.

"Ang sarap mo namang gawing asawa. Magiging alagang-alaga ako sayo nyan."

Ngiti lang ang naging sagot ko sa kanya. Niyakap nya ako ng mahigpit.

"Oh sumubo ka rin naman. Wag lang ako ang pakainin mo. Ayoko namang magutom ka."

"Sige po Tito", ang sabi ko sabay subo rin ng pagkain.

Matagal kaming nasa ganung posisyon. Wala kaming naging imikan. Halinhinan akong sumusubo at sinusubuan sya. Nang maubos ang pagkain, pinatayo ako ni Tito at pinaghugas ng kamay sa poso.

"Ako na magliligpit dito", ang sabi nya.

Pagbalik ko ng kubo ay malinis na ang hapag-kainan at ang mga baunan ay nasa basket na ulit.  Nakahiga na rin si Tito sa papag.

"Halika ka, dito ka, tabihan mo ako", utos nya sakin.

Lumapit ako sa papag at umupo. Hinila ako ni Tito sa may bewang at pinahiga. Umakap ako sa kanya at idinantay ko ang paa ko sa paa nya.

"Mula ngayon asawa na kita ha. Wag kong makikitang nakikipaglandian ka sa ibang lalaki. Pag may nakita akong lalaking lumalandi sayo, bubugbugin ko."

"Opo Tito. Hindi po. Ikaw lang po."

Nilalaro-laro ng kamay ko ang mga buhok nya sa dibdib. Tumingin siya sakin, kinuha ang kamay ko at ipinatong sa harapan ng pantalon nya. Matigas na matigas na ang titi nya.

Hinimas-himas ko ang titi nya sa labas ng kanyang pantalon. Inilapit nya ang mukha nya sakin at inumpisahan nya akong halikan.

"May experience ka na ba sa sex?", ang tanong nya.

"Wala pa po Tito. Ngayon pa lang", ang kimi kong sagot.

Nilabas nya ang kanyang dila at pinadaan nya ito sa aking labi. Gumapang ang kiliti hanggang sa dulo ng daliri ng paa ko.

Naging marahas ang paghalik sa akin ni Tito. Umabot ang dila nya sa kasuluksulukan ng aking bibig. Ginaya ko ang ginagawa nya. Inilabas ko rin ang dila ko at sinipsip ito ni Tito. Nang sumunod nyang ilabas ang dila nya, ako naman ang sumipsip nito.

Nagtanggal ng butones ng pantalon si Tito at naghubad ng pantalon. Isinama na rin nya ang kanyang brief. Patuloy pa rin nya akong hinahalikan.

Gamit ang dalawang kamay, hinawakan ko ang titi nya. Hindi man ako marunong humalik, alam ko naman ang gagawin ko pagdating sa titi nya. Sa laki ng titi ni Tito, dalawang kamay na ang gamit ko pero hindi ko pa rin mahawakan ng buong buo. Nagtaas-baba ang kamay ko sa titi nya.

"Dilaan mo ang utong ko", utos ni Tito.

Bumaba ako ng konti upang maabot ng bibig ko ang utong nya. Sinipsip ko ito gaya ng pagsipsip ko sa kanyang dila. Ungol naman ng ungol si Tito. Halatang sarap na sarap sya.

Hinubad ni Tito ang suot kong shorts at pati na rin brief. Pinahubad nya rin ang suot kong t-shirt.  Pareho na kaming hubad na hubad.

Hinawakan nya ang ulo ko at unti-unting pinababa patungo sa kanyang tigas na tigas na titi. Inamoy ko ito at halos malasing ako sa bango ng titi nya. Lalaking lalaki ang amoy. Ramdam ko na nun na maaadik ako sa kakaibang amoy na ito.

"Isubo mo", utos ni Tito.

Inilabas ko muna ang dila ko at dinilaan ang ulo ng titi nya. Wala namang kakaibang lasa kaya’t tinuloy ko na itong isubo.

"Aaaaah, putangina mong bata ka. Talagang pinanganak ka para chumupa", ang sigaw ni Tito.

Inumpisahan kong magtaas-baba ng ulo sa titi ni Tito. Sinisipsip ko rin ito at pinapaikot ang dila ko sa ulo nito. Hawak-hawak ni Tito ang ulo ko at pilit na ibinabaon ang kabuuan ng titi nya sa lalamunan ko. Nabilaukan ako sa ginagawa nya.

"Puta ka, kakantutin na kita", ang sabi nya.

Pinatuwad ako ni Tito at dinilaan nya ang butas ng pwet ko. Napasigaw ako sa sarap ng ginagawa nya. Sabay sa kanyang dila ay inumpisahan nyang magpasok ng isang dalari sa butas ko. Ni hindi ako nakakaramdam ng sakit. Naramdaman ko na lang na dalawang daliri na ang nakapasok sa akin.

Nang ang tatlong daliri ay madali nang pumapasok sa pwet ko, itinigil nya ang ginagawa nya at itinapat ang titi nya sa aking lagusan. Dahan-dahan nyang ipinasok ang titi nya.

"Aaaaah. Tito masakit!!!!!", sigaw ko.

"Tiisin mo lang. Sararap din yan", ang sagot nya.

"Masakit talaga Tito. Ilabas mo na. Ilabas mo na", pagmamakaawa ko.

Imbis na sundin, lalo pa nyang ibinaon ang titi nya. Hindi nya pinansin ang mga sigaw ko.

Nang maipasok nya na ng buong buo, inumpisahan nyang ilabas-pasok ang titi nya. Sa una’y nararamdaman ko pa rin ang hapdi pero naghahalo na ang sarap. Parang may binubundol sa loob ng pwet ko ang titi ni Tito.

Ilang sandali pa ay purong sarap na ang nararamdaman ko. Sinasalubong ko na ang bawat ulos ni Tito.

"Tangina ka, ang sikip sikip mo. Ang sarap mo. Aaaaah, bubuntisin na kita. Gagawin na kitang asawa ko"

"Ah, ah, ah, ah. Tito, ibaon mo pa. Ang sarap mo Tito. Sayong sayo lang ako. Anakan mo na ako."

Sabunot ni Tito ang buhok ko habang umaayuda ng labas-pasok ang titi nya. Ramdam na ramdam ko ang pagkakabaon nito sa pwet ko.

"Putangina kang bata ka, ke bata-bata mo pa, ang libog-libog mo na. Akin ka lang. Walang ibang aangkin sayo. Sayo ko ilalabas lahat ng katas ko."

"Tito, bilisan mo pa. Iputok mo lahat sa loob. Punuin mo ng tamod ang pwet ko."

Lalo pang bumilis ang paglabas-pasok ng titi ni Tito sa pwet ko. Hindi ko na kinakaya ang sarap na aking nararamdaman. Nilabasan ako ng hindi man lang hinahawakan ang titi ko.

"Aaah putangina mo, ang sikip-sikip mo. Eto na ko, lalabasan na ko. Bubuntisin na kita. Aaaaaah."

At ipinutok ni Tito ang tamod nya sa loob ng pwet ko. Ramdam na ramdam ko ang bawat pagsabog nito sa loob. Pakiramdam ko ay punong-puno ang aking likuran.

Pagkatapos labasan ay napahiga sa aking likuran si Tito. Pinaharap nya ako at siniil nya akong muli ng halik.

"Oh tayo na ha. Simula ngayon, asawa na kita."

Hindi ko alam kung ano ang gagawin ni Tito para magtuloy ang aming relasyon. Lagi silang magkasama ni tatay sa bukid at si nanay naman ay hindi umaalis ng bahay. Bahala na, ang nasabi ko lang sa aking sarili.

"Opo Tito", ang tangi kong naisagot.

The following story contains sexual scenes between two men. You have been cautioned.

Lunes. Araw muli ng pasok. Nagaabang ako ng elevator papanhik sa floor ng pinapasukan kong kumpanya ng dumating sya. Kahit sa suot nyang simpleng t-shirt at maong, lumulutang ang kagwapuhan nya. Matangkad, mestisuhin at namumutok ang kanyang mga braso. Ga-sanga ito ng puno, iyong tipong pwede mong paglambitinan.

Hindi rin naman ako papalamang sa itsura. Dahil sa dugo ng tatay kong español, mestiso rin ako, matangos ang ilong, at matangkad. Sabi nga ng iba ay hawig ko daw si Jake Cuenca. Nakacorporate attire ako as usual kaya ang tikas tikas kong tignan.

Bumukas ang elevator at nauna syang sumakay. Pumuwesto sya sa dulong kanan ng elevator. Sumunod akong pumasok sa kanya. Sa harapan nya ako tumayo. Pinindot ko ang 36 sa elevator panel.

"49", ang sabi nya.

Pinindot ko rin ang 49 at sinuklian naman nya ako ng pasasalamat. Dahil umaga, marami pa ang nagsisakayang tao kaya’t nasiksik ng husto ang elevator. Dahil pausog ako ng pausog, di sinasadya’y dumikit ang pwet ko sa kanyang harapan.

"Sorry", sambit ko. Pero hindi ko tinanggal ang pagkakadikit ng pwet ko. Sinadya ko pang ikaskas ito sa kanyang harapan.

Hindi naman sya pumalag. Inilapit nya ang bibig nya sa tenga ko at sinabing "Okay lang", sabay kuha ng kamay ko.

Inilapat nya ito sa kanyang harapan at habang hawak pa nya ang aking kamay, iminustra nya kung paano ko ito hihimasin. Dahil sa punong puno ang elevator, walang nakakapansin sa ginagawa namin. Hinimas himas ko ang bukol sa kanyang maong.

"Oh fuck", ang pabulong nyang sinabi.

Dahil busy ako sa ginagawa ko sa kanya, ang sumunod na bukas ng elevator ay floor ko na. Nag-excuse ako sa mga taong nasa harapan habang ako’y lumalabas. Bago magsara ang elevator, nasulyapan ko pa sya at kitang-kita ko ang tamis ng kanyang ngiti. Ngumiti rin ako.

Ilang beses na rin kaming nagkakasabay sa elevator pero first time na may nangyaring ganun sa amin. Usually, panakaw lang naming tinitignan ang isa’t isa. Syempre, lagi kaming nagkakahulihan ng tingin. Kapag nagyoyosi ako sa 15th floor kung saan naroon ang building cafeteria, nakikita ko syang nagyoyosi din kasama ang kanyang mga officemates. Never ko syang nakitang magisang nagyoyosi.

Dahil sa nangyari sa elevator, buong araw maganda ang mood ko. Ang dami kong natapos na trabaho. Ng mga bandang alas-kwatro ng hapon naisipan kong bumaba sa 15th para magyosi. Nangangalahati na ko sa aking sigarilyo ng dumating sya. Hindi nya kasama ang mga ka-officemate nya. Linabas nya ang kanyang sigarilyo habang papalapit sa akin.

"You have a light?", tanong nya.

Dinukot ko sa bulsa ko ang aking lighter at inabot sa kanya.

"Thanks. I’m Chuck by the way", sabay soli sakin ng lighter.

Tumango lang ako at sinabing, "Harold".

Dahil tanaw mula sa kinatatayuan namin ang mga padating, napansin nyang bumaba na rin pala ang mga officemate nya kaya’t pabulong nyang sinabing "Meet me here at 9 tonight. I’ll wait for you at the tables near the C.R." Tumango lang ako. Alam ko na ang gusto nyang mangyari.

Naubos na ang sinisigarilyo ko kaya’t bumalik na ako ng office.

Limang minuto bago mag alas-nuwebe, bumaba na ako sa 15th at dumiretso papuntang C.R. Nakita ko syang nakaupo malapit dun, nagaabang na. May iniinom syang beer at may two empty bottles na din sa kanyang harapan.

"Hmmm, excited! Kanina pa ko inaantay", ang naisip ko.

Nginitian ko lang sya at dumiretso ako ng pasok ng C.R. Nanalamin muna ako at naghugas ng kamay. Nang pinapatuyo ko na ang kamay ko sa hand dryer, pumasok sya at dumiretso sa isang cubicle. Sinundan ko sya.

Pagpasok na pagpasok ko pa lang ay hinila na nya ang ulo ko at siniil nya ko ng halik. Sapo-sapo ng dalawang kamay nya ang ulo ko habang lumilingkis ang dila nya sa loob ng bibig ko. Putangina ang sarap nyang humalik, swabeng swabe. Isinandal nya ko sa dingding habang sinisipsip ko ang dila nya.

Di na nagpaligoy-ligoy pa ang kamay ko. Dumiretso na ito sa grand prize. Ipinasok ko ang kamay ko sa loob ng kanyang maong pants. Shit, wala syang brief. Jinakol ko ang tigas na tigas nyang alaga.

Impit ang mga halinghing ko habang hinihimod ng dila nya ang aking leeg. Nakakakiliti ang nuo’y patubo pa lamang nyang balbas.

Tumigil sya sandali sa ginagawa nya upang tanggalin ang kanyang t-shirt. Habang nakataas ang kamay nya sa akmang pagtanggal nya ng t-shirt, tumambad sa akin ang maputi at mabuhok nyang kili-kili. Inilapit ko ang bibig ko sa kanang kili-kili nya at inumpisahang dilaan. Pinipigilan nya ang kanyang halinghing habang tuluyan nya ng matanggal ang kanyang t-shirt.

Sya naman ang isinandal ko sa dingding habang ang kaliwang kili-kili naman nya ang aking dinidilaan. Pumapaling kaliwa’t kanan ang ulo nya sa kiliti at sarap na kanyang nararamdaman.

Ibinaling ko ang aking atensyon sa nipples nya na nuo’y tayong tayong na. Pinaikot ko ang aking dila sa mala-limang piso nyang nipples habang tinanggal naman nya sa pagkakabutones ang polo ko at sinunod ang pagbaba ng zipper ng aking pantalon.

"Oh fuck, you’re big", ang bulong nya sakin.

Inilabas nya ang titi ko at inumpisahang jakulin. Inipon ng kanyang kamay ang pre-cum na lumalabas sa titi ko at ginamit iyon na pampadulas. Dahil busy ang kanang kamay nya sa pagjakol sakin, itinaas ko ulit ang kanyang kaliwang kamay upang muli’y dilaan ang kili-kili nya.

Binitawan nya ang titi ko at hinila ang ulo ko pababa sa kanyang harapan. Kinagat-kagat ko ang titi nya na nuo’y nasa loob pa ng maong nya. Binaba ko ang kanyang zipper upang matikman ko na sya. Tangina, mas malaki sya sakin. At hindi lang sya mas malaki, mas mataba pa.

Dinilaan ko ang kahabaan ng titi nya sabay subo at sipsip ng ulo. Pigil hininga nyang hinawakan ang ulo ko at idiniin sa titi nya. Nabilaukan ako.

"Sorry", sabi nya.

Na-challenge ako sa laki ng titi nya kaya’t inunti-unti ko ito uling isinubo. Una’y kalahati lamang ang nakakaya ko ngunit dahil na rin sa libog ko, nakaya kong maisubo ito ng buong buo. Sagad na sagad hanggang lalamunan.

Nilawayan ko ang daliri ko sabay pasok sa pwet nya. Hindi naman sya pumalag kaya’t labas-pasok ang darili ko sa pwet nya habang taas-baba naman ang ulo ko sa titi nya.

Nang naramdaman kong lumuwang na ng konti ang butas nya, dinuraan kong muli ang daliri ko at dalawang daliri naman ang ipinasok ko. Halatang sarap na sarap sya sa ginagawa ko dahil sinasabayan na ng pwet nya ang bawat ulos ng mga daliri ko.

"Fuck me", ang tanging sabi nya sabay talikod sakin. Dumura sya sa kamay nya at sya na mismo ang nagpahid ng laway sa titi ko habang itinatapat nya ito sa kanyang lagusan.

Dadahandahin ko pa sana ang pagpasok pero kumapit na sya sa bewang ko at sa isang diinan lang ay naipasok ko ng buong buo ang aking alaga.

Inumpisahan kong barurutin ang pwet nya at rinig na rinig ang bawat paghampas ng katawan ko sa katawan nya.

Habang nakapasok pa rin ang titi ko, tumayo sya at pinaupo nya ako sa toilet bowl. Tumayo sya saglit, humarap sakin at inupuan nyang muli ang titi ko. Siniil nya ako ng halik habang taas-baba ang kanyang puwitan.

Ilang minuto rin kaming nasa ganoong pusisyon. Siya na mismo ang jumajakol sa titi nya habang nagpapaligaya sya sa titi ko.

"Putangina malapit na ko", ang sabi ko sa kanya.

"Sabay tyo", sabi nya sabay ang pagbilis ng kanyang pagjajakol. Hawak-hawak ko ang bewang nya habang itinataas-baba ko ang puwitan nya.

"I’m cumming, I’m cumming", ang sabi nya.

Naramdaman kong sumikip lalo ang butas nya sabay ng una nyang putok. Ito lang ang hinihintay ko at ipinutok ko na rin sa loob nya ang kanina pang gustong kumawala kong tamod.

Iyong pangalawang putok nya ay tumalsik sa aking mukha. Iyong mga sumunod pa ay sa dibdib ko na tumama. Dinilaan nya ang tamod nya na nasa mukha ko, inilapit nya ang bibig nya sa bibig ko at pinatulo ang magkahalong laway nya at tamod. Ibinuka ko ang aking bibig at tinanggap ang kanyang katas.

Nang kami’y mahimasmasan, nagpunas na kami at nagbihis. Sinabi nya na una syang lalabas ng C.R. para hindi kami mahalata. Bago sya lumabas, hinalikan nya ulit ako at tinanong ng "Same time tomorrow?"

Ngiti lamang ang sinagot ko.

Luke is a classmate from high school and is probably my worst critic then. We would often cross swords, our tongues lashing at each other for fabricated or embellished gossip that one or the other had started. After several years of not in speaking terms, we finally talked, and since straight men don’t generally talk, we had to do it amidst bottles of beers. We both decided to let bygones be bygones and considered each other friends now. Recently, I came out to him via text. I decided to do it because I thought it would not come as a shock to him anymore since in high school, he must have thought worst things about me.

Me: May gusto sana akong tsismis na i-confirm sayo.

Luke: Hindi naman ako nakikinig ng tsismis.

Me: Ows? Nakikinig ka naman ah. Bka nga pinapaniwalaan mo pa.

Luke: Haha. Hindi no. Ano ba un? Diretsuhin mo na.

Me: Bakla ako.

Luke: Ha? What? You mean nagmemakeup ka na at nagdadamit babae?

Me: Ulol. Sabi ko naman bakla ako. Hindi ko naman sinabing gusto kong maging babae.

Luke: Eh di ba pareho lang un.

Me: Magkaiba un. I still dress the same way, act the same way, speak the same way. Walang nabago. Pero lalaki gusto ko.

Luke: Lalaki as in lalaking-lalake?

Me: Hindi ako pumapatol sa straight no. Gusto ko bakla rin.

Luke: Ah okay. Haha. Nagulat ako dun. Bakit mo to sinasabi sakin?

Me: Tlga? Nagulat ka? You must have thought about it before.

Luke: I mean nagulat ako at sakin mo sinabi. So bakit nga?

Me: Aaah. Eh kasi sa tingin ko malawak ang utak mo.

Luke: Try mo rin kayang sabihin dun sa mga friends mo nung high school. Malay mo matanggap din nila.

Me: Hindi na. Sayo na lang. Ok na ko na at least may isa akong kaklase na nakakaalam.

Luke: Salamat sa trust.

Me: Ang galling no. Kung sino pa ung worst enemy ko nung high school sa kanya ko pa sinabi.

Luke: Hindi naman tayo magkaaway ah.

Me: Haha. Loko. Nakakarating kaya sakin ung mga sinasabi mo behind my back.

Luke: Friendly pa rin naman kami sayo ah.

Me: Friendly? Hindi ah. Kayong buong barkada never made an effort para maging friendly.

Luke: Well, tarantado rin naman kasi ung mga kabarkada ko. Question pala.

Me: Ano yun?

Luke: Sinong naging crush mo sa batch natin?

Me: Nge. Wala no. Ako kaya ang pinakagwapo sa batch natin.

Luke: Ayan. Kaya kami nagalit sayo. Sinabi mo din yan nung high school pa tayo.

Me: Ows? Sinabi ko un? Parang di ko naman ata sasabihin un.

Luke: Sinabi mo un. Kaya nga nagalit kaming magbabarkada sayo.

Me: Eh totoo naman ah.

Luke: Kahit pa. Hindi ka dapat boastful diba. At tsaka gwapo rin naman kami nun.

Me: Haha. Well narealize ko na mas gumagwapo ang lalaki pag di nya alam na gwapo sya. So kunyari di ko na alam.

Luke: Haha. Tarantado. So sino nga?

Me: Wala nga.

Luke: Kahit isa?

Me: Wala tlga.

Luke: Ows?

Me: Oo nga. Sino na lang pinakamalaki ang titi?

Luke: Tarantado ka. Malay ko.

Me: Eh diba nanunuod kayo ng porn dati tapos sabay-sabay kayong nagjajakol.

Luke: Hahaha. Syempre hindi ko naman tinitignan. Bka ung matatangkad satin. Si Ram at Fred.

Me: False advertising yang height na yan. May mga nakasex na kong matangkad pero hindi naman malaki.

Luke: Tarantado ka talaga. Teka bakit ba natin pinaguusapan to?

Me: Ikaw kaya nag-open nung topic ng mga crush crush.

Luke: Tama na. Change topic tayo. Inom tyo.

Me: Sige ba, kelan?

Luke: Sa weekend. Dami pa akong tanong sayo. Kaw una kong nakilalang bading na hindi nagbibihis babae. Nacucurious ako.

Me: Curious saan?

Luke: Kung paano ang ganyang buhay.

Me: Same lang din. Walang pinagkaiba. Ako naman may tanong.

Luke: Sige.

Me: Nagpachupa ka na ba sa bakla?

Luke: Hahahaha. Oo. Nung high school tayo. Buong barkada kami.

Me: Kawawa naman ung bakla. Pinasakit nyo ung panga. Sunod-sunod kayo.

Luke: Oo. Tapos sya ung sumagot ng pinag-inom namin.

Me: Aah. Buti inamin mo. Kumalat kaya yung tsismis na yun.

Luke: Hala. Kumalat pala un.

Me: Oo no.

Luke: Oh cya. Inom tyo ha.

Me: Cge cge. Txt txt?

Luke: Yup. Txt txt. Good night.

Me: Good night din.

ate: Bakit ba ayaw mong magabroad? Sa ating magkakapatid, ikaw ang may pinakamalaking chance na makapunta dun.

ako: Eh te, never naging kasama sa dreams ko ang magtrabaho sa abroad. Mamasyal, oo. Magwork, never.

ate: Ang selfish selfish mo naman. Isipin mo sina mama at papa. Pwede mo silang kunin.

ako: Ayoko dun kasi hindi masayang magtrabaho at mamuhay dun.

ate: Eh hindi ka naman pupunta doon para magsaya. Pupunta ka dun para magwork. Kaya nga mas malaking pera kikitain mo eh.

ako: Kumikita naman ako dito ah. At tsaka marami akong kakilalang mayaman, hindi sila masaya. (Sabay walkout. We haven't talked since.)

---

This is an actual conversation between my sister and I. The truth is, she's the one who is really desperate to go abroad. It has been her dream since time immemorial. So if I think about it, she's the one who is really selfish because she'll even use me just to achieve her dream.

What's weird is that we don't really need much money anymore, especially my sister. She has three cars. They have a big house in QC. Both she and her husband have XDAs for phones. Their refrigerator is teeming with sugpo and alimango. They have three househelps. They have all appliances you can think of. And both she and her husband have all the latest gadgets.

Only one thing is missing from her - contentment.

This is an old article from The Economist. One of the few essays that truly captured the Filipino spirit. Read on:

AN ANTHROPOLOGY OF HAPPINESS

The Economist | Dec 20th 2001

Out of misery, some extraordinary lessons

ONCE a week, on Sundays, Hong Kong becomes a different city. Thousands of Filipina women throng into the central business district, around Statue Square, to picnic, dance, sing, gossip and laugh. They snuggle in the shade under the HSBC building, a Hong Kong landmark, and spill out into the parks and streets. They hug. They chatter. They smile. Humanity could stage no greater display of happiness.

This stands in stark contrast to the other six days of the week. Then it is the Chinese, famously cranky and often rude, and expatriate businessmen, permanently stressed, who control the city centre. On these days, the Filipinas are mostly holed up in the 154,000 households across the territory where they work as "domestic helpers", or AMAHS in Cantonese. There they suffer not only the loneliness of separation from their own families, but often virtual slavery under their Chinese or expatriate masters. Hence a mystery: those who should be Hong Kong's most miserable are, by all appearances, its happiest. How?

The Philippine government estimates that about 10% of the country's 75m people work overseas in order to support their families. Last year, this diaspora remitted $6 billion, making overseas Filipino workers, or OFWs, one of the biggest sources of foreign exchange. Hong Kong is the epicentre of this diaspora. Although America, Japan and Saudi Arabia are bigger destinations of OFWs by numbers, Hong Kong is the city where they are most concentrated and visible. Filipina AMAHS make up over 2% of its total and 40% of its non-Chinese population. They play an integral part in almost every middle-class household. And, once a week, they take over the heart of their host society.

It was not always thus. Two generations ago, the Philippines was the second-richest country in East Asia, after Japan, while Hong Kong was teeming with destitute refugees from mainland China. Among upper-class families in the Philippines, it was common in those days to employ maids from Hong Kong. But over the past two decades Hong Kong has grown rich as one of Asia's "tigers", while the Philippines has stayed poor. Hong Kong is the closest rich economy to the Philippines, and the easiest place to get "domestic" visas. It has the most elaborate network of employment agencies for AMAHS in the world.

A BED IN A CUPBOARDAlthough the Filipinas in Hong Kong come from poor families, over half have college degrees. Most speak fluent English and reasonable Cantonese, besides Tagalog and their local Philippine dialect. About half are in Hong Kong because they are mothers earning money to send their children to school back home. The other half tend to be eldest sisters working to feed younger siblings. All are their families' primary breadwinners.

Their treatment varies. By law, employers must give their AMAHS a "private space" to live in, but Hong Kong's flats tend to be tiny, and the Asian Migrant Centre, an NGO, estimates that nearly half of AMAHS do not have their own room. Some AMAHS sleep in closets, on the bathroom floor, and under the dining table. One petite AMAH sleeps in a kitchen cupboard. At night she takes out the plates, places them on the washer, and climbs in; in the morning, she replaces the plates. When AMAHS are mistreated, as many are, they almost never seek redress. Among those who did so last year, one had her hands burned with a hot iron by her Chinese employer, and one was beaten for not cleaning the oven properly.

The AMAHS' keenest pain, however, is separation from loved ones. Most AMAHS leave their children and husbands behind for years, or for good, in order to provide for them. Meanwhile, those families often break apart. It is hard, for instance, to find married AMAHS whose husbands at home have not taken a mistress, or even fathered other children. Some AMAHS show their dislocation by lying or stealing from their employers, but most seem incapable of bitterness. Instead, they pour out love on the children they look after. Often it is they who dote, who listen, who check homework. And they rarely stop to compare or envy.

Under such circumstances, the obstinate cheerfulness of the Filipinas can be baffling. But does it equate to "happiness", as most people would understand it? "That's not a mistake. They really are," argues Felipe de Leon, a professor of Filipinology at Manila's University of the Philippines. In every survey ever conducted, whether the comparison is with western or other Asian cultures, Filipinos consider themselves by far the happiest. In Asia, they are usually followed by their Malay cousins in Malaysia, while the Japanese and Hong Kong Chinese are the most miserable. Anecdotal evidence confirms these findings.

HAPPINESS IS KAPWAExplaining the phenomenon is more difficult. The usual hypothesis puts it down to the unique ethnic and historical cocktail that is Philippine culture--Malay roots (warm, sensual, mystical) mixed with the Catholicism and fiesta spirit of the former Spanish colonisers, to which is added a dash of western flavour from the islands' days as an American colony. Mr de Leon, after a decade of researching, has concluded that Filipino culture is the most inclusive and open of all those he has studied. It is the opposite of the individualistic culture of the West, with its emphasis on privacy and personal fulfilment. It is also the opposite of certain collectivistic cultures, as one finds them in Confucian societies, that value hierarchy and "face".

By contrast, Filipino culture is based on the notion of KAPWA, a Tagalog word that roughly translates into "shared being". In essence, it means that most Filipinos, deep down, do not believe that their own existence is separable from that of the people around them. Everything, from pain to a snack or a joke, is there to be shared. Guests in Filipino homes, for instance, are usually expected to stay in the hosts' own nuptial bed, while the displaced couple sleeps on the floor. Small-talk tends to get so intimate so quickly that many westerners recoil. "The strongest social urge of the Filipino is to connect, to become one with people," says Mr de Leon. As a result, he believes, there is much less loneliness among them.

It is a tall thesis, so THE ECONOMIST set out to corroborate it in and around Statue Square on Sundays. At that time the square turns, in effect, into a map of the Philippine archipelago. The picnickers nearest to the statue itself, for instance, speak mostly Ilocano, a dialect from northern Luzon. In the shade under the Number 13 bus stop (the road is off-limits to vehicles on Sundays) one hears more Ilonggo, spoken on Panay island. Closer to City Hall, the most common dialect is Cebuano, from Cebu. Hong Kong's Filipinas, in other words, replicate their village communities, and these surrogate families form a first circle of shared being. Indeed, some of the new arrivals in Hong Kong already have aunts, nieces, former students, teachers, or neighbours who are there, and gossip from home spreads like wildfire.

What is most striking about Statue Square, however, is that the sharing is in no way confined to any dialect group. Filipinas who are total strangers move from one group to another--always welcomed, never rejected, never awkward. Indeed, even Indonesian maids (after Filipinas, the largest group of AMAHS), and Chinese or foreign passers-by who linger for even a moment are likely to be invited to share the snacks.

The same sense of light-hearted intimacy extends to religion. Father Lim, for instance, is a Filipino priest in Hong Kong. Judging by the way his mobile phone rings almost constantly with AMAHS who want to talk about their straying husbands at home, he is also every AMAH's best friend. He is just as informal during his Sunday service in Tagalog at St Joseph's Church on Garden Road. This event is, by turns, stand-up comedy, rock concert and group therapy. And it is packed. For most of the hour, Father Lim squeezes through his flock with a microphone. "Are you happy?" he asks the congregation. A hand snatches the mike from him. "Yes, because I love God." Amid wild applause, the mike finds its way to another AMAH. "I'm so happy because I got my HK$3,670 this month [$470, the amahs' statutory wage]. But my employer was expecting a million and didn't get it. Now he's miserable." The others hoot with laughter.

The Filipinas, says Father Lim, have only one day a week of freedom (less, actually, as most employers impose curfews around dusk), so they "maximise it by liberating the Filipino spirit". That spirit includes communing with God. Some 97% of Filipinos believe in God, and 65%, according to a survey, feel "extremely close" to him. This is more than double the percentage of the two runners-up in the survey, America and Israel. This intimate approach to faith, thinks Father Lim, is one reason why there is virtually no drug abuse, suicide or depression among the AMAHS--problems that are growing among the Chinese.

THE LIFELINE TO HOMEThere is, however, an even more concrete expression of KAPWA. Quite simply, it is the reason why the Filipinas are where they are in the first place: to provide for loved ones at home. Most spend very little of their monthly HK$3,670 on themselves. Instead, they take it to WorldWide House, a shopping mall and office complex near Statue Square. On Sundays the mall becomes a Philippine market, packed with AMAHS buying T-shirts, toys and other articles for their siblings and children, and remitting their wages. More than their wages, in fact: many AMAHS borrow to send home more, often with ruinous financial consequences.

Father Lim tells a story. An eminent Filipino died while abroad, and it was decided that local compatriots should bid the coffin adieu before its journey home. So AMAHS showed up to file past it. When the coffin arrived in the Philippines and was re-opened, the corpse was covered from head to toe with padded bras, platform shoes, Nike trainers, and the like, all neatly tagged with the correct addresses.

It is their role as a lifeline for the folks at home that has earned the OFWs their Tagalog nickname, BAYANI. By itself, BAYANI means heroine, and this is how many AMAHS see themselves. Another form of the word, BAYANIHAN, used to describe the traditional way of moving house in the Philippines. All the villagers would get together, pick up the hut and carry it to its new site. BAYANIHAN was a heroic, communal--in other words, shared--effort.

It is no coincidence, therefore, that Bayanihan House is the name the AMAHS have given to a building in Hong Kong that a trust has made available to them for birthday parties, hairstyling classes, beauty pageants and the like. One recent Sunday, during a pageant, one of the contestants for beauty queen was asked how she overcame homesickness, and why she thought the people back home considered her a hero. She looked down into her audience of AMAHS. "We're heroes because we sacrifice for the ones we love. And homesickness is just a part of it. But we deal with it because we're together." The room erupted with applause and agreement.

"Nowadays, BAYANIHAN really means togetherness," says Mr de Leon, and "togetherness is happiness". It might sound too obvious, almost banal, to point out--had not so many people across the world forgotten it.

...when my ego suffered from lots of unnecessary pull downs makes me just want to curl up in bed all day.

Instead, I am in the office, afraid to go home to an empty apartment. In my heart there is dread, and sadness too.

Right now, my thoughts are leaning towards trying to find someone to be drunk with. But also, at the back of my head, I know I can’t because it’s a work night and tomorrow is another heavy day at the office.

In other news, my good friend Joms swung by the office today to personally deliver my application form to graduate school. Deadline for submission is on the 3rd week of September. Afraid, afraid.

Eigasai is here once again. From July 8 to 13, head to the Shangri-La Plaza for free screenings of japanese films.

A two day J-POP ANIME MATSURI will also happen at Shangri-la Plaza on July 26 and 27, 2008 where animated films will be shown.

If you cannot make it on the above dates, the movies will be screened at CCP (Aug 7 to 10) then at UP Film Insitute (Aug 11 to 16).

Check out the schedule at Japan Foundation, Manila's website.

A pdf file with the schedule and synopsis is also available at this location.

The blogs and sites I visit everyday saw a significant increase in number in the past months.

It came to a point where I dedicate at least two hours clicking through my wordpress blog roll to visit each site.

For the longest time, I've been trying to come up with a way to determine which of the sites have updates and which don't. First, I thought of using blogrolling (www.blogrolling.com) and embed it in my wordpress blog. Blogrolling is nifty because it not only displays links to blogs but also shows the last update of the blog.

But my wordpress blog doesn't allow for embedding the blogrolling html code.

Then it hit me: RSS.

According to wikipedia:

RSS is a family of Web feed formats used to publish frequently updated content such as blog entries, news headlines, and podcasts in a standardized format. An RSS document (which is called a "feed", "web feed", or "channel") contains either a summary of content from an associated web site or the full text. RSS makes it possible for people to keep up with web sites in an automated manner that can be piped into special programs or filtered displays.

The benefit of RSS is the aggregation of content from multiple Web sources in one place. RSS content can be read using software called an "RSS reader", "feed reader" or an "aggregator", which can be web-based or desktop-based. A standardized XML file format allows the information to be published once and viewed by many different programs. The user subscribes to a feed by entering the feed's link into the reader or by clicking an RSS icon in a browser that initiates the subscription process. The RSS reader checks the user's subscribed feeds regularly for new content, downloads any updates that it finds, and provides a user interface to monitor and read the feeds.

I used Google Reader and started subscribing to all the blogs I visit.

Now I only have to check Google Reader and see which sites and blogs have updates.

Google Reader is web-based which is cool because I can access it from any pc or laptop. For us internet users who still rely sometimes on internet cafes to go online, web-based readers are the way to go.

This blog has a very interesting non-techie way of explaining RSS.

So if you're like me who visits a lot of blogs and sites, you may want to try out subscribing via RSS. It's fairly easy.

For the google reader, all you need to have is a google account and you'll be all set.

If the weekend did something to me, what it did was to hit hard where it matters what should be mattering to me right now. And what is that you may ask? It is the plan that I have mentioned in this post weeks ago.

Why it matters that I should be beginning this plan already is that the clock is ticking. For those who read the above blog post and understood what was written between the lines, the change I talked about also meant having to break up with Jerron.

It was a difficult decision to make, one that I had to dig deep into my heart to find the answer to: whether I’m doing the right thing or not. This post, though the prose is torturous, explains how I finally decided to go for it. My mind had its opinion set. The essay was giving all the reasons why this is the right thing to do.

And this is augmented by what my heart told me; that I am indeed doing the right thing, that in order to better myself, I have to make this one sacrifice: to let go then, to let go for now.

But why do I have to let go? Why can’t I change without having to break up? I have asked this question to myself and here is the best answer that I can say:

My love for Jerron reached a point where it made me controlling, possessive, suspicious and crazed. This I did not imagine happening to me. I did not like what I had become. It is the last kind of person I wanted to be. It took me awhile to come to terms with this sad fact. I fed on Jerron’s love, fed my self-esteem with it because all my insecurities are dragging me down a spiraling well of despair, and I am afraid that his love will dry up. It was time to ask for space because I need space. I need to know that I can be happy with myself. I need to know that I do not need others to be happy; that there are a lot of things in my life I should be happy for. I want to be able to reach into the core of my being and find myself someone worth loving. I need to find self-worth. And I need space to do all these. I cannot say that I have truly emancipated myself from the clutches of despair if Jerron and I are still together.

I fear three things though: that I will fail, that I will lose Jerron, or that I will fail and lose Jerron too. And so I say the clock is ticking because I do not know how long Jerron will wait for me.

My mind had won the argument that it was the right decision to make. My heart told me it was a risk worth taking. I will succeed.

And Jerron will wait like he told me.

I've always loved the X-Men. But when their storylines became so confusing with the many story lines and alternate universes, I stopped caring all together. Now they're back and marvel's fixing the problem by releasing Ultimate X-Men where the marvel universe has one single arc and all histories of characters are refreshed.

So I checked out Powerbooks if the series is available and it is! But sadly, it's expensive. Huhuhu. I can't possibly afford 1 thousand pesos per comic.

I'll just read the summary in wikepedia after all. Or find a site where the comics have been offered for free as scans.

Make sure the neighbors are asleep. They cannot be bothered by blocked corridors.

Undress the bed and pillows. Drop the bedsheet and all pillowcases in the hamper.

The apartment is too small so the floor cannot be thoroughly cleaned without clearing it. So lift the bed by holding on to one of its edges, the naked pillows still lying hapless, and drag it out to the corridor. Bring out the small table as well as the electric fan. The bookcase is too heavy with books so leave it be.

The floor has been cleared. It’s time to clean it.

With a broom in hand, the handle spelling out Baguio in red, sweep the floor of dusts and hair fall. That done, half-fill a pail with water and pour Domex and Lysol, enough to make the water foamy. Now a rag is needed and an old t-shirt will do. Since there's no other direction but down, there’s no other way but to kneel. The floor is linoleum, designed to mimic bluish-gray marble. With the rag now in hand, take three linoleum blocks at a time, making sure that all stains are removed. Don't even think about how the stains got there in the first place. When the surface has been wiped clean, have another go with the broom.

The neighbors are still asleep. It'll be a long time before they wake up.

Drag everything outside back in.

Plop the bed, fluff the pillows, and lift the table.

Be ready with freshly-laundered bedsheet and pillowcases. These ones are a gift from Mother, white and blue stripes. Now it's off-white with age. But they are clean so they will do.

Dress up the bed and the pillows. Give the bed and pillows a few spritz of perfume. In this case, it's Gap Dream, bought by an officemate who came back from the States bearing gifts. The smell gives the heart a little tug.

The bathroom now beckons.

Make a fresh pail of foamy water with Lysol and Domex. Specifically for the bathroom tiles, a brush with thick bristles is in need. Splash the white-tiled wall with water. Dip the brush in the pail and start scrubbing. Pay particular attention to the lines where tiles meet. They are the hardest to clean. The tiled floor is the color of either diluted orange juice or Dial soap. To scrub the floor is to kneel again. Hair fall clogs the drain. There seems to be lots of hair fall. Don't think about what causes it. Even with Pantene, hair fall is not reduced. Kris Aquino is lying. So does the Baretto sisters (not Marjorie), Judy Ann and Ruffa. Would switching to a different shampoo prevent hair fall? Just keep scrubbing. Some questions may be unanswered.

It's at the second tile from the door when it finally hits, an emptiness of both the apartment and the heart. When home is where the heart is and the home is empty, would the heart be empty too? It must be, because loneliness creeps in like crow's feet, a sign of aging. But so does age, its increment a definite sign of aging. Is it time for Olay? Is Gretchen Baretto really credible?

The apartment is only home when he is around. But he has to leave. He has to study. And Baguio is, sadly, where he studies at.

More than two months became a blur. For other gay men, it's the threshold of relationships. For us it meant only a brief rendezvous of a very long engagement. So there is no reason to complain. Think about all the others less lucky in love.

Don't fret. Yes the distance is killing, the apartment is hollow but the bed is ripe with stories and the pillows attest to a primal form of love.

The tiled floor of the bathroom is clean. It’s time to attack the toilet bowl.

Brush, brush, brush. Scrub, scrub, scrub.

The blotches of dried urine now golden on the toilet bowl's rim are easily removed. All stains are vanished like gay sons disowned by fathers; same amount of hate.

Splash water in all directions until the foam is gone. The bathroom is now clean. So is the small apartment. Now only the body is marred with dirt.

Hit the showers. Let Dial roam freely on the body, make it greet the skin like old friends do, with beso-beso and a welcome embrace. Shampoo the hair with Pantene. Don't worry about hair fall. The mane is safe for now, not receding like some friends.

Not the hair, the number of friends. They've traveled different paths and gained new friends along the way. Do the same too. Who are left? It's just few of the best ones, which is good.

Wash. Water is a friend. Let it cascade down from the scalp to the calves, making tiny ripples on the skin along the way.

Dry with the pink towel, another gift from Mother.

Now lie in bed. Listen to its stories. Let the pillows talk. Sleep. Dream of him.

Jerron is going back to Baguio. He’s been here since March and now that it’s June, it was finally time to go back. We started the long period of goodbye last Saturday when we went to Malate just so we could have a few drinks. We were seated at Sonata and we drank our beers as we looked at gay men in all shapes and sizes sashay their way to bars.

[It us really curious to note that gay men hazard fashion statements that even go beyond the current weather. It was really hot that night but some men were wearing mufflers and pashminas. Some even had jackets on. And to think it was even hotter inside bars. These men might die of heatstroke. Fashion kills.]

First one who arrived was Eric. That’s how we learned that Gregg, Patrick and Ralph were due to arrive shortly. Eric was accommodating as usual and he started conversation to pass time. Then Patrick arrived but he was with some Chinese friends so he didn’t stay. Then came Gregg. Finally Ralph.

The table became noisy with banter. I love how we could just jump from one topic to the next and all the while ogling at the passing flesh in front of us. There was a brief discourse on the pecking order, which is just another way of defining our gay imaginaries were. Stories were shared. And there was one about becoming a lawyer by osmosis, referring to this person who claimed he was a lawyer just because his friends were. Funny that.

When the beer dried out, Jerron and I went to Aristocrat for breakfast. We love the Filipino breakfast of two sunny side-up eggs, longganisa and chicken pork adobo. We ate heartily, our appetites further fuelled by the wonderful specimen of men coming in and going out of the restaurant. These men were all wearing semi-fit shirts and short-shorts which made their muscles bulge, displaying them prominently. At the back of their shirts, in yellow, was a word: PULIS. They were nice to look at, far from having the bulging bellies and slow walk of clichéd policeman imagery. We came home full and drunk and soon we were sleeping soundly.

Sunday we spent at WalterMart, first to eat dinner (Old Spaghetti House doesn’t offer anything extraordinary. Food was bland. Service was so-so. Prices were expensive.), then to eat ice cream at Amici de don Bosco (positively the best ice cream in town), then to try out my new laptop’s wifi connectivity at Starbucks, and finally to watch Sex and the City. It was a feel good movie, and we spent the whole time watching it holding hands and stealing kisses from each other. I even cried twice. The clothes were all wonderful to look at. The montages were fun. And the story, well, it’s still pure Sex and the City.

[Let me just say that fuck the MTRCB for ruining the film with cuts. They should change their name from MTRCB to just Board of Censors, because that’s what they are. Fuck them! It’s so sad how stupid they are and it’s also sad that they all think of us as stupid. I mean come on. Are we really that gullible? Are we really going to just mimic everything we watch without thinking of the repercussions? Would the sight of a man’s penis make me gay? Would the sight of a woman’s vagina make me want to rape the first girl I see? Damn. Stupid.]

Now it’s Tuesday as I type this and I’m in bed with Jerron. He just finished marathoning the two seasons of Dexter. And so he is asleep now while I look at him, hot and gorgeous, wearing one of my skimpy briefs, dreaming dreams and charting new frontiers we have yet to reach.

The months will be torture. But I will endure. I always do.

When I first read from Butch Dalisay's blog that his new novel, Soledad's Sister, short-listed for The Man Asian Literary Prize 2007, had finally come out, I scoured the bookstores of Glorietta and Greenbelt to get myself a copy. I did not find it. So I posted a comment on Dalisay's blog saying so. He replied saying it takes a month at least to get a book out from the publishing house to the book shelves.

In the same blog entry, he had mentioned that the book cover used a painting of Jason Moss. I've been a fan of Jason Moss' work for awhile now, first encountering his art in the illustrations of Nick Joaquin's book Rizal in Saga. Then much later, I discovered Moss' blog, and found, to my surprise, that not only is he gay, but a handsome one at that. So when Butch mentioned that the painting used for the book cover, along with a couple of paintings was at that time on exhibit at Rustan's Makati, I dragged Jerron and Jem to see the exhibit. Jason aptly called it Debut because it was his 18th exhibit. Butch didn't mention which painting was used, so while my companions marvelled at the paintings, I was silently guessing which one was it. After a survey of all paintings, I pointed to one in particular and said this must be it. The painting I was pointing at showed two figures wrapped in bursts of reds and blues. Two fingers pointed at the nose of the figure on the right.

A chance visit at National Bookstore Robinson's Galleria proved me right. There on the shelf, along with his other novel, Killing Time in a Warm Place, and a collection of his essays, Man Overboard, is his new novel, Soledad's Sister, the cover the painting I had pointed at at the exhibit. I took one from the shelf, found that the book was printed on cheap paper, realized it doesn't matter and proceeded to the counter to pay.

After paying, I tore open the plastic and read the first chapter while walking the tiled floor of Robinson's. I went to Pancake House, ordered ham and cheese omelette with a side order of bacon, two cups of rice and a cup of coffee, and continued to read while eating. This is my current version of heaven: reading a good book while drinking coffee and eating bacon and omelette. If Jerron would have been beside me, even if he was playing psp, it'd be 7th heaven. Ikapitong gloria. But I'll settle for what I currently have.

So what about the book? Well, it's very Dalisay. He practices what he preaches - evocative details, a steady pace of storytelling, well-drawn characters in familiar settings but unfamiliar circumstances, and of course, sparse dialogue. The full book review will be coming soon.

For now, I suggest you go buy your copies of the book. It's cheap at 275 pesos.

And no, I'm not getting paid by promoting this.

To push the promotion even further, if love stories make you tingle, go buy Dean Alfar's Salamanca; if a detective story is right up your alley, go buy Ichi Batacan's Smaller and Smaller Circles; and, if you want dry wit served in a platter of the absurd, go buy Butch Dalisay's Soledad's Sister. If you're pocket is filled with moolah, go buy those three. Let's support Filipino writers.

Check out my wordpress blog, Butch Dalisay left a comment. I'm starstruck.