The Man Who Kissed My Neck

It was a Saturday night bordering Sunday.


The air was festive. The place was perfect. The people were marvelous.


A birthday bash fit for a king. 


Everyone had been anticipating one of the most royal occasions of this year. Surely, an age gone up is but a number. For people really just grow wisely.


When you put good-looking gay guys in a place filled with life, liquor and libido, miracles are bound to happen even if you never asked for one.


Remembering all that happened is not necessary because even the happiest events always have their high lights and low downs.


But it was that momentary peck on my neck that I remember very dearly.


A guy, a guy wearing plain white fitted shirt and jeans that accentuates perfectly his figure. His smile is simply adorable, one you would look every time he makes it.


Who would have thought I'd be able to describe him? I didn't.


"California Girls we're undeniable. Fine, fresh, fierce we got it on lock." And while Katy Perry's song was playing I gyrated my best implying that I was enjoying the party and enjoying the crowd.


I was not paying attention to the people around, it's Katy Perry for crying out loud!


And all of a sudden he went close. Close enough to make me feel his presence.


His breath was hot, up to the point of scorching my skin.


Lips were tender and supple. Too tender and supple.


His kiss, a good mix of beer, Soju and intensity.


But all I know is that he was drunk.


And I, on the other hand, was playing one.

Face Smack!

The truth is harder to believe than reality.

Analogies

Some friends are meant to be great ones.


Some friends are meant to be close ones.


Some friends are meant to be best ones.


Some friends are meant to be average ones.


Some friends are meant to be acquaintances.


Some friends are meant to be visitors.


And some friends are meant to be strangers.

More Than Anything

The phone was vibrating and ringing simultaneously. I picked it up with skepticism.


Hello? Was my opening greeting.


Hello. Was his.


Um, yeah, how are you? I doubtingly asked.


I'm gooooood. Was his annoying reply.


I see, good to know that. Anything new? I added.


None. Just work and work. And work. Was his dull statement.


Good to know that.


(Silence)


By the way, I heard the song you sent through FB just the other night.


That song? But I sent it to you a long time ago.


Well, yeah, I know but our speakers got busted months ago so when I was helping my cousin do a three minute speech I asked if I could use their computer.


What was the song I sent to you again? He quickly said.


It was Carrie Underwood's "What Can I Say". And it's beautiful. I could relate. I told him, sadly.


Ah, yes, that one. I've picked up the phone a thousand times, and tried to dial your number, it's been so long. 


What was that? I said with a slight hint of surprise.


I've picked up the phone a thousand times, and tried to dial your number, it's been so long. Part of the lyrics of the song. He added.


Ah, okay. I thought you were telling me that. I gave out a fake chuckle.


So, Lee, are you seeing someone? 


Okay, so I wanna know. Is it a crime? ;)


Do I have to? He sarcastically rebutted.


No, I'm just asking you.


Well, none, your memories expire long.


(swallowed a gallon of saliva)


The call that started awkward suddenly went into a conversation we used to have. Him asking me about my family and stuff going on with my life and me asking him about his. The conversation lasted more than what I expected it to be. Actually, I wasn't ready to talk to him after what happened to us, it's not that I don't want to talk to him anymore, it's more of I'm not ready to talk to him for some unusual reason I can't fathom.


Humiliation? Could be.


Embarrassment? Hope not.


Unsolicited forgiveness? Already over.


Talking to him again made me feel important.


Special.


Appreciated.


Loved.


Secured.


But I can already sense from the way he talked that what we had will never return again.


I can live with that. After all, it was definitely better than nothing.

Halfway There

I was 17 when I came out for myself. I remember feeling elated after that realization. Heck, I wasn't even thinking of the consequences. What mattered most that time is that I am free.

And my freedom ended.

That's because I haven't come out, personally yet to my parents.

Yes, they're bigots so that is a major, a huge problem even.

I guess I want to come out to them face to face because I know I respect their decisions, I respect them raising me, I respect them providing opinions, I respect them giving solutions to family problems.

Positively. I came out to the world and the world embraced and accepted me for who I am. But not my parents yet. I don't expect them to understand my lifestyle and how I live my life. I just want them to know that by the time I out to them, they would still accept me as that little boy they had nourished and had known since conception.

But for now I give them the space they need not to know my sexuality. Or a more appropriate term, deny that they have a gay son.

True, you could say that coming out to yourself is the most wonderful feeling in the world! 

I got that!

I knew that!

I felt that!

However, being out to people you know you treasure can have the best of feelings. Even more than just accepting who you really are.


Because let's face it, no matter how proud we are as homosexuals, there would still be times of self-discrimination.

So for now, I'm getting there...

With a little optimism and a lot of luck.


And a whole lot of prayers as well.


And forgiveness.


And humility.

By the way, cheers to my first anniversary as a blogger and my 200th post as well!

Double celebration!!!

Yipee!!!


P.S. Oh yeah, thank you for taking the time to visit my page. Sixty-five people who read my blog. I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart.


Although sixty-nine would have suited better.


Hahahaha!


Lastly, credit goes to Philip Noyed for my new banner.


It's all good.

Just A Thought

For broken promises mean broken possibilities.

Even if we try to place back the pieces.

On how it used to be.

Guinea Friend

Looks like someone's start of September was not what he expected it to be.


And you know December and the cold lonely nights are just sleeps away.


Tell me, G, have you been the good boy everyone pinned you with?


Better yet, are you really that good boy you pinned yourself with?


While all his friends are out having a great time, he, however, will be staying at home licking open wounds.


Or perhaps, stay somewhere and let another person lick his wounds?


And how on earth would you even do that?


I heard you were more than willing to help a friend.


More like lend a helping hand. And a body.


Oh no!


Oh yes!


Remember, you were longing for something warm thus the volunteering.


While your friend was looking for someone to hook-up with.


Have you gone completely nuts, G?


A volunteer program worthy to be labeled sainthood just so your friend wouldn't have a random hook-up with guys?


Wait, don't tell me, I know that word, oh yeah, pathetic.


Desperate would be more appropriate.


And I thought you don't need someone.


Tsk, tsk, tsk blogger boy.


Growing old and hitting quarter-life ain't that easy you know.


But good thing your friend declined.


Or else.


Your friendship might be in total chaos after.








Mr. Gray: Hey, I just realized I don't want to hook-up with you. You're my friend and I don't want to be another one of your hook-up guys. No offense.


Indeed.


For s** is poison for the inexperienced.

Of Music and Memoirs

"Memory is a very strange thing. You can create memories, you know. I could make you remember this moment forever. All I have to do is mark it in some way, you'll never forget it."




For people, great and worst memories always leave a mark no matter what. We have this tendency to hold on to or let go of experiences.


Memories play a key role on how you see yourself today. Like an awkward caterpillar cocooning to become the most marvelous butterfly.


A person's life book consists of hundreds and thousands of pages full of simple, extraordinary, grandiose events that took place.


If one would ask, how would one know if they are worth keeping? 


Ah yes, the inevitable question of memory retention. It's as basic as these: 


Some would remember names far more numerous than all the countries of the world.


Some would reminisce through unique smells of the sweet, the pungent, the aromatic, the nauseating or the flavorful.


Some would feel nostalgic of places, yes, places where dinner dates, movie dates and dates that go three hours full were held.


Some would trail back using music, the heart-felt and vulnerable moments.


Music had always been how I get in touch with the past. It is when a particular music would be randomly played and my mood would be altered through hearing the song. It is when a specific music would be aired over the radio and suddenly you felt sad of what had happened. It is when that one song you would love to hear but forgot the title would eventually be played and for a mere four minutes, you were engulfed. Enthralled.


Countless experiences had been revisited thanks to songs playing over and over again. Even if you don't know the artist, even if you don't know the title of the song, even if you don't know the lyrics but that tune, that familiar tune made you realize of someone, some thing, some time.


From those Christmas family reunions you had to cousins having a good time at a bar to some arranged birthday party at a hotel in Pasig. Those, those absolutely treasured memories were stored because of the music played during the events.


The overwhelming truth of degeneration may wake us one time and provide us with vague, shadowed and blurred pasts.

Humans want to get the best out of life but we all know it is an impossibility even if we try our best to be righteous, patient, truthful, loyal, eager, punctual, flexible, religious plus other positive virtues one can think of. But we can have the best. Sure, memories may be bittersweet for most. Life could incline more to be unfair than fair.

Nonetheless, music is here to stay to remind us how we truly are and what we truly were.


"I could make myself immortal in you." - Fabian, The Amnesia Clinic

Operation Home Sweet Home

It was a beautiful Sunday morning.


The sun glistened its fullest, most golden glory.


The morning mist had just barely faded leaving crystal-like dews on the tip of the leaves.


The humid wind surrounding the room was more than enough to make the children cover themselves up with the warmth of their blankets.


But the sizzling sound of bacon and eggs plus the wafting smell made them changed their minds.


With a slow opening of their eyes, an awkward getting up from their beds and a long yawning of their mouths they knew it was time to leave their world of comfort that had provided them the solitude they needed for eight hours.


And the enticing bacon and eggs were replaced with the aroma of garlic and rice.


A sumptuous combination! The children's eyes were now glistening and lips smacking with hunger. Barely a minute passed, they hurriedly jumped out of their beds and raced downstairs.


Only one thing was in their minds that time, to eat with their hearts' delight. And their day was just beginning.


Their round table is made of light plywood which has a rotating center for serving meals more comfortably. It's clothed in fancy-colored tablecloth that looked like a bipolar's choices of hue. Their mother love colors so much that it reflects from her personality to her choice of clothes to choice of furniture accessories. The middle was now festooned with viands fried to a crisp and cooked to perfection, the mound of garlic rice shined like a treasure chest waiting to be grasped by the hunters.


The children giddily took a seat - the older one by the father and the younger one by the mother. They sat down excitedly but instantly bowed their heads and clasped their hands for a meaningful prayer to thank the Creator for providing them food sufficient to make their day worth appreciating. After a quick moment of silence it was now time to dig in.


Their mother grabbed the plateful of rice and handed it first to the younger child who quickly obtained more than a cupful of precious bits of rice. Then she handed it to the older child who took more than enough rice to be energized for the whole day. After that their mom placed it again at the middle of the table and got some for her own. Meanwhile their dad, who was the last to place rice on his plate got all of what was left and dished it out to be washed later.


Next in line were the cholesterol-laden tandem of bacon and eggs. Oh, the rich color of rightly cooked bacon seemed very inviting, add to that the golden yolks of pure heaven encircled of white islands of purity that were more than willing to be gobbled up by a hungry family of four and we will see bulging stomachs in no time. One by one the strips of bacon were reduced to nothing but microscopic crumbs while the sunny side up eggs  were reduced to lifeless splatter of yellow paint on a canvas of porcelain plate.


Wiping their mouths clean with embroidered hand towels, they placed their plates on the dish washing area, and every one felt more than just a full stomach. 


It has been a while since the family ate together. Usually the parents would eat first for they wake up first during weekends and their mother would cook them breakfast while the children would still dream of bountiful, spectacular and magnificent experiences that may happen soon. Wet dreams may or may not have been included. 


A family was once again reunited. True, they see each other everyday but nothing beats a genuine family interaction through eating together. Minimal conversations were exchanged but every once in a while they would all look at each other as if trying to convey how they appreciate each and every one and would give out the best smile there is.


But you know there is the worst part.


It is when the youngest child has to wash the dishes because the superiors said so.

Shadow

T.K.O


You were totally knocked out at the back of the vehicle; unaware of the journey, unconscious of the ride, uninterrupted of the ruckus (if there were any).


Ten, twenty, thirty minutes and you are still out cold because of the tiredness of the body yet the mind was willing to sacrifice it all just for the sake of the club lights you have been anticipating. Forty five minutes and a quick jolt of the vehicle suddenly made you open your eyes and look to where you are currently into.


Aristocrat, Malate.


You look around and saw a light-less restaurant. Weird. You thought to yourself. Usually the weekends would be jam-packed with diners from all walks of life mostly eating their famous chicken barbecue. 


Hmmmm...pretty weird.


You go a little further and asked the driver to halt the vehicle. Upon alighting you look at Max's Restaurant and there were also no people, no lights inside. Freakishly weird. You felt a slight anxiety building up but then again, maybe they closed for the weekend. Or maybe the power went out? Maybe so.


Intermittently, your gaze reached the farthest part that you can which was Malate Church. And still, no hint of light. Your anxiety level went up a notch. Well, what happened to the lines? You started looking at the electric posts and all lines seemed to look fine albeit needing a slight replacement but overall, the lines were still fine. No cuts, no hanging live wires, no mouse chewing on them.


But you were still determined to party and have fun that night so you walk a very careful one. Step by step by step. You can only hear your footsteps one after the other. No other footsteps were heard nor made. And your heartbeat nearly thumping out of your chest. And like a lion to a gazelle, it was instinct to run. You ran from the alley to street corners to the road called Orosa-Nakpil.


Once reached the destination for the night you try and sense with your eyes and your ears if people were lining up outside O Bar or perhaps Che'lu or that videoke place called Synder. There were none. Your heavy breaths and sudden gushes of the wind were the only ones present. 


The place was more dead than a cemetery. At least there are roving guards but Malate as we know it, died that night.


Since there was no place to go, no guys to hang-out with and no partner to share the cold, slightly damp night,  the best place to go was home. You started walking from where you were running before, slightly hugging your jacket as if longing for something or someone. Yes, the night was a failure only if you think it is. Your shoes making that click-clack sound while slowly looking around the deserted area with surprise and wonder.


Uneasiness suddenly crept in like an aura to an epileptic client. You felt someone was watching, even staring every move you do, every breath you make, every click-clack of your shoes. You turn around and there was no one. Of course there are no one in sight, just like when you went down.


From Orosa-Nakpil to Adriatico you still have that gnawing feeling that someone really is staring at you and it was giving you the creeps. The small amount of hair located at your nape was slowly starting to rise and you try to place your arms around your body as if giving it more warmth, comfort and security. You walked faster, hoping that it was just too much paranoia going on and not some person who might swindle you of your cash, purity and grace. If the last two were still available for swindling.


Your slow pace increased in speed and your slow look around the area heightened. You were now doing a brisk walk, one where the heart rate goes up from 60 to 90 in a matter of five minutes. You were starting to huff slowly implying your shortness of breath.


Roxas Boulevard.


And now you were back from where you alighted earlier. You sighed over what happened. Nothing can be done now. Forget it, at least you can sleep peacefully at your home over a Saturday night. Oh well, hardly a deal breaker but sometimes you can't have your cake and eat it too.


Crossing to the other side now, you looked how calm the pitch, dark water of Manila Bay is. It was completely still even if your hair was still being blown by the air. And again, weirdness crept in but nonetheless, you were bound for home.


Now on the other side of the road you hailed a public vehicle bound to pass in front of your subdivision. You sat at the back, turned your Ipod on, plugged the earphones and well, slept till it was time to go down, again.


As the song 2012 by Jay Sean started playing, your mind went reminiscing: for him, with him, just him. Everything your mind thinks was no one but him, no matter how you try, no matter how you might persist. Avoidance was futile.


Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts. You were repeating these words over and over like what Julia Roberts was saying to Robbie Williams in order for him to fly across Neverland in the movie Hook. 


Happy thoughts prevailed but it was all about him.


You cringed. You digressed. You winced. You were uncomfortable knowing that after all these months, your heart still longs for him. You tried your best or did you?


Opening your eyes trying to distract yourself, you look outside the travelling vehicle. Lights were lined up in an orderly fashion although the colors were bursting with spontaneity. And for the mean time, happy thoughts did not involve him.


For the first five minutes that is. And then his memories started to linger again now with more details - specific,  particular. You remembered how you used to run your finger across his hair and how you cup his chin and kiss him shortly. You remembered how you held his hands and how you placed it on your chest. You remembered how he smiles from the most superficial of stuffs and how he frowns from the deepest of things.


Everything. Even how many moles he has on his...


You cursed yourself silently while the passengers were soundly sleeping inside the vehicle. Tears were quietly flowing from your eyes to your cheeks to your shirt. You sniffed and wiped the carefully flowing stream ever so hopefully that it will also erase the regrets you had for the past months. But sadly it didn't.


You bent your upper torso towards your lower body to hide your emotions to the world. And from there, you were able to rest.


Thirty minutes went by with so much self-angst and pride burnt to ashes.You looked up and saw the overpass near your stop and after a few seconds you were down. Walking towards the tricycle station, you know it won't be a night worth remembering nor forgetting. This was a night of ambivalent feelings.


And finally you were able to reach home physically in one piece but emotionally in shards or whatever was left. With a quick bath and change of clothes you tumble to your bed of thorns and blanket of sand.


Hopefully an eternal sleep. 


One last look across your room you suddenly imagined his eyes peering unto you. Sincerely asking for reconciliation. 


For regrets haunt the most vulnerable of people.






Part 2


A tribute to an ex 

Just A Thought

Don't People Just Love Too Much of a Little Sarcasm?

Retribution: Afterwards

So now...


The cough and colds are gone after I disintegrated it into nothingness with two tablets of Loratadine.


The last recommendation form was faxed yesterday to the office of UST Graduate Studies.


The paranoid me will head towards DSWD on Monday to pass another application form.


The obsessive-compulsive jogger in me woke up early to have a great fun under the sun.


The great, no ailment weekend just started.


Ah, it is nice to be back on my feet after a slump.






On a telephone conversation last night with a friend:


K: Looks like someone just called it quits.


G: Who?


K: I'm pretty sure you know them...you even slept with one of them.


G: NOOO! Seriously?


K: Well, you didn't hear it from me. Has guilt taken over yet?


G: Hahahaha! No, not at all. What for? We did not do anything.


K: But that's not what I heard dear.


G: Looks like the whisperer just made you believe the fiction more.


K: Hahaha! But in any case, your sleep wouldn't be much more comfortable than this night.


G: Oh, please. I already took in medications to help me sleep with or without your breaking news. So, is there any reconciliation, maybe?


K: Well, there already had been a moving-out scene.


G: WHAT? That drastic?


K: Yes.


G: Oh well, that is life.


K: And what about you going to sleep? Isn't guilt eating you up yet.


G: Hahahaha! I have nothing to be guilty about in the first place.


K: Suit yourself, G.


G: Anyway K, keep me posted. I have to hit the sack now.


K: Alright dear, good night.


G: Bye and thanks for calling.


End of conversation.


And so a bond was broken between two lovers. Once tied of something momentous, surreal, genuine even. Now a thread is to be cut.

Just Think

We take the simple things for granted.


And the best things are more appreciated.


But if you look at the bigger picture,


Once you appreciate the simplest of things,


That is when you can genuinely appreciate how blessed you are.

Retribution

Currently.


I have freaking cough and colds. Damn the viruses and their ability to infect other people.


I still do not know if my former professor who filled-up my recommendation form already faxed it to the UST Graduate Studies. 


I have no effin' idea if I'll make it for the qualifications, hella scared.


I called DSWD yesterday and still no open position as Nurse I. And my application ends by the end of September. Grrr...


Why do these things keep happening to me? 


I know things happen for a reason but this is really animosity.


Is it because I sneaked out last Saturday at past 12 in the morning to party again?


Is it because I spent this week's allowance last week?


Is it because I kissed a committed man passionately?


Is it because we shared the same saliva over and over?


Is it because we had one thing in common that night, surging libido?


Is it because I slept with a committed man without the knowledge if he's in an open relationship or not?


Is it true?


Who knows?


"Well dear who would you rather believe, the whisperer of what might had happened or the doer of the speculated deed?" 


P.S. Good boys don't go bad, they get worse.


;)