crossroads: should i turn left, right or stay at the center and wait for a bus to hit me?

i know i should not be sentimental about it. this isn't the first time that i will be changing places again. in my life, i probably have lived in a thousand different homes, in different places, meeting new faces, recycling some memories and stories to tell, reinventing some parts of me either to make me seem more interesting, likeable, hatable or relatable, depending on the people that i met.

but this time, it's different. this is the flat where i had the happiest years (two years) of my life, when i was at my lowest, and at some points, at my highest. i don't know why i am saying this, i never measured my life in terms of the ups and downs, the ebbs and peaks. life is just life. made up of seconds, minutes, days, weeks, months, years and in between some people who were constantly there, some we've just met, kept or discarded, loved and hated and forgotten like yesterday's breakfast, liked and disliked, or remembered forever.

i love this flat. it was through a friend's generosity and the bigness of her heart (she is as much a saint as mother theresa) that i ended up staying here longer than i thought. it was supposed to be a temporary shelter until i figured out what to do next after a tumultuous short adventure in the city of dim sums, steel and glass skyscrapers, punctuated by broken hearts and bruised egos. enough said.

there's just something about this flat that made me fall in love with it. it's old and new, the size just enough to accommodate my soul and my ghosts who went with me where ever fate brings me. these ghosts kept me awake most nights, kept me laughing when i was drunk, and crying when the mood hits me. there is just so much sadness in this world that a bagful of happy memories are not enough to wipe it all out. plus, i love being tragic. so there.

the first thing i did when i saw it was to have the walls repainted blue -- the blueness of the ocean during the peak of summer, to complement its white tiles and white ceiling.  so that even if i didn't go out to the sea, the walls would remind me how warm this world is, even if it's raining heavily outside. the thoughts of the beach, like the cerulean sky, the cruel sun rays flirting with my skin, the salty breeze, kept me sane during those cold, painfully lonely nights.

it became not just my shelter but that of my nephews and niece (and their parents) after the typhoon left their city devastated, with thousands of people dead, and the air heavy with the pungent scent of rotten flesh, and of the grimness of death that was so sudden it was like a nightmare on elm street.

it was here where i celebrated small triumphs with a glass of cheap red wine, laughing all alone while my favorite movie was playing on dvd -- could be the english patient, love story, or any winona ryder, ethan hawke, daniel day lewis, meryll streep, marion coutiliard, or any other french or italian films that i happen to dig up on the internet. god knows why this city never appreciates good movies that make you savor life's many emotions like the colors of the rainbows. there are tears too, but i rather not dwell on them. life is already full of sorrows.

anyway, in a few weeks i will be off to another journey. i have  no idea yet what it will be, where my wandering feet and mind would bring me, but one thing is sure -- it will be another repository of life's, my life's many unpredictable twists and turns, so unlike your favorite telenovelas where the story, plot, and characters are so unbelievable, so cartoonish (without the laughters) you wish you'd die than suffer their stupidity!

but that's just me.

here's hoping that whoever lives here next that he/she will really good care of it, love it, and keep it clean, beautiful and wonderful the way i did.

after all, that's the least we can do to her.

&&&&&&&&&&&

i will also miss the great place near the ocean that has a postcard perfect view, especially at dusk..when the sun is about to set and the sky is all flaming red, bloody red, or just plain orange, yes the color of your favorite to hate fruit juice because it reminds you when you were sick as a kid and that was all you wanted to drink all day after taking those awful medicines.

when will ejay falcon's star shine, and shine brightly like the megawatt star that he is?

whoever is in-charged of promoting stars at abs-cbn and its sister film production outfit, star cinema, to become future superstars must not be doing his job well. i suggest the country's biggest teevee network hire fresh talents to overhaul this department, if there is such, tasked to ensure that its stars, especially the promising ones, will become the next piolo pascual, claudine barretto, judy ann santos.

it was a bit sad that the company had to let go of the gorgeous tom rodriguez, who had already shown promise during his first screen appearance in the remake of temptation island. look where he is now. given the right project that showcased his handsome looks, well-toned body and raw talent, tom is now one of the country's most popular young actors over at gma seven, abs-cbn's rival network. 

(here is hoping that tom will be given more challenging projects to further hone his craft. his most recent big screen outings so far are all trash. if he continues this way, he might end up like paulo avelino, whose career fizzled after starring in lousy projects both on the small and big screens.)

&&&&&&&&&

anyway, abs-cbn still has a lot of talents, promising, good looking stars, that it should develop and put good money into so that their stars will shine even brighter. like ejay falcon.

now before  you raise those bushy or trimmed brows to high heavens, let me give you the million dollar reasons why abs-cbn should invest more on ejay instead of those not so handsome, not talented and obviously gay but pretending to be straight young men that they have been shoving to our faces shamelessly even if we have rejected them so many times.

let me stress this: unless the young man looks like the demigod piolo pascual and said wannabe has his acting prowess, then there is no way that abs-cbn's currrent crop of obviously gay and not really handsome young stars will make it. at best, they could become character actors like the durable eddie garcia (if they have his talent). if not, its best for them to consider another career. showbiz is cruel.

anyway, back to ejay falcon. here are the things that work well to his advantage.

- he is darn good looking.

- he is popular. otherwise, he would not have won that contest. (sorry, forgot its name!)

- he is  tall, trim and sexy. like tom rodriguez, ejay emits this raw sensuality onscreen that's lacking among today's male starlets that abs-cbn has been blessing with projects on teevee and films.

(look at those eyes. they're so intense. mala-nora aunor. masarap paglauran ng kamera. masarap pasadahan ng iba't-ibang emosyon.)

- he exudes machismo. walang bahid kabadingan, as my gay friends would say with glee every time we talk about him.

-he can act.

- he is humble. he does not try hard to speak english unlike some of abs-cbn's stars who murder the queen's language every time they try to sound affluent, erudite and cultured. chos!

%%%%%%%%%%%

now, all abs-cbn and star cinema have to do is to find him the right projects. he says he wants to be a drama slash action star, then mold him into another rudy fernandez. it's been a long time since we have a very handsome and sexy action star like the late mr. fernandez. 

from time to time, give him roles that will also feature his sexiness. maybe some scenes showing him in his underwear (or even naked) would be well received. 

&&&&&&&&

how about a project ala ojt, with piolo pascual. in fact, he would have fared better in the role that went to gerald anderson (a ham actor, sorry) in the movie.

&&&&&&&&&

flashback...because we are talking about a filipino star...

during his pa-cute, pa-heart throb days, ejay looked as vapid as the next paminta star at his home network. but no one can deny his prettiness.

even if he tried the sexy route:

stardom remained elusive.
but look at him now.

bit older, bulky and burly.  with or without the messy hair.

will somebody please give him a launching film ala richard gere in american gigolo?

but unlike richard, ejay does not need to wear those fabulous armani suits.

we just want to see him sans clothes.

so we will all discover what he is hiding inside that ohhh so tight fitting jeans. (i can write the script and i won't charge the producers too much, as long as i will be one of his "clients. haha.)

blush. major, major blush.

chos!

(all pictures were taken from the internet. no copyright infringements intended.)

the objectification of filipino men and the boys who love them

(the following is an intellectual odyssey into the rise of filipino men as, what else, sex objects!)

the subject of men (especially the macho filipino) as sex objects is nothing new.

to my youngish mind,  this phenomenon started way, way back to the time when the young vic vargas appeared in movies wearing next to nothing in the sixtys and seventys. but those movies were few and in between -- like ishmael bernal's classic pito ang asawa ko. 

the phenomenon became a trend in the eighty's when regal films saw the potential of having adonis like young men prancing in front of the camera in their white hanes underwear or tight speedos to draw ladies and paladies inside the dark, cold world of the cinema. thus born the likes of alfie anido, gabby concepcion, al tantay, lloyd samartino, jimmy melendez, mark gil and albert martinez. stupendous!

their movies almost always included scenes that displayed their well sculptured bodies, as if god himself had moulded them. what set them apart, though, was the fact that these actors looked and sounded educated and came from the bueno familia (or commonly known as cono or burgis) like gabby concepcion-- as if they reported to the movie sets in their chauffeur driven limousines and were followed around by their yayas in pristine white uniforms while shooting scenes.

they all had milky white complexions, looked prettier than their leading ladies (especially alfie and gabby) and spoke english with a certain collegiala accent.

oh they looked and felt so unreachable -- the real movie stars.

take note though that in most of their films, it was still the reigning sexy actresses of the time that were the main selling point of their movies -- alma moreno, dina bonnevie, cherrie gil, lorna tolentino.

watch any movie by joey gosiengfiao (temptation island, katorse), ismael bernal (bilibid boys), elwood perez (summer love) and you will know what i mean.

(by the way, have you seen gabby concepcion lately? it's as if he did not age at all. he still looks delectable. albert martinez too. ah, the gods have been very kind to these erstwhile regal boys.)

&&&&

it was during the advent of seiko films (remember ang wallet na maswerte?) in the ninety's that filipino actors nearly eclipsed the ladies in the bold department . this was the period when movies like machete starring gardo versoza, talong, patikim ng pinya, burlesk king marketed nearly naked (sometimes totally nude) men (not just women) on the big screen to lure moviegoers.

this was the time when gardo versoza, leandro baldemor, rodel velayo lorded over the film business and were the main attractions of their movies.

unlike their predecessors at regal, the seiko boys looked (forgive the word) common, reachable. some like anthon bernardo looked pedestrian even. as my gay friend loves to say -- parang guapong tambay sa kanto. chos! nevertheless, they were as delectable as alfie anido and company. no doubt about it.

this was also the time when the philippine tabloids and film magazines such as chika-chika featured actors wearing underwear (and sometimes nothing) on their covers and posters inside the pages. when the then number one tabloid bandera had a famous sex column (dear xerex) featuring stories about men's encounter with other men. oh di va?!

&&&&

today, with the popularity of blogs featuring all kinds of men (naked or otherwise),  the various bikini contests, indie gay films featuring men in different states of undress, the objectification of men continues and has, in fact, become too common that the thrill (and kilig) of seeing a naked man on the big screen, on stage, on pictures has diminished. it has become too visceral for comfort (as if there is more to it than sheer fun and, uh, lust?)

every summer, for instance, you would see adverts for bikini opens in various bars (not only gay bars, mind you) and even in shopping malls, cities, municipalities and universities. there's ginoong pilipinas, ginoong luzon, ginoong university, all looking for the brazen young men with the bodies that will put even brad pitt in his thelma and louise days to shame.

no wonder the fabulous pink population is looking even more pinkish!

there are also fashion shows (and huge billboards until they were taken down for being "immoral") by underwear brands featuring the hottest actors, models and sports stars in their tiny underwears.

with the increasing competition among movie actors, some of them go to the tried and tested route to stardom -- bare on pictorials and on screen (a route used exclusively by countless movie actresses before -- remember regal producer mother lily's magic kamison made famous  by alma moreno, rio locsin, and even the "sweet" former child actress snoooky serna).

&&&&&&

no wonder then that most of today's young, desirable men can be found in the gym, toning down their bodies to achieve the washboard abs. it's no surprise that most of them dream of being underwear models - the easy route to fame and fortune!

look at paulo avelino. he used to be just one of the generic faces over at gma seven, until he decided to bare it all on those bench billboards and ads and look where he is now. one of the biggest stars at the country's largest television network, abs-cbn. good projects keep on pouring. he is even recognized now as one of his generation's finest actors, thanks to his occasional dalliances with indie films.

&&&&

even if it's no longer summer in the philippines, there are still a lot of flesh feasts around (bikini contests, anyone?) that make the stormy days and nights simmer and sweltering! i have friends who hop from one bar to another in a single night just to watch these different bikini searches for mr. whatever. some of them even serve as judges and donors for the cash prizes to the winners. lovely!

&&&&

and so we come to ponder and answer the most important question of the season: who are the current boys that are making manille's flooded streets boiling?

in the showbiz front, after paulo avelino decided to hang and seal his tiny underwear inside his now golden closet until further notice, younger and equally brazen * gerald anderson is hogging the sexy spotlight. gerald sizzled at his most recent teleserye at his home studio, abs-cbn, playing leading man to the latest incarnation of the mermaid who fell in love with a man. hohum.

baring his torso under the glare of the summer sun was probably one of the wisest moves by this young fil-am boy -- whose career was slowly fading into oblivion after his recent projects both on the small and big screens flopped as a result of his controversial break-up with a not so pretty starlet and his hooking up with her best friend, a prettier, talented actress -- because let's be blunt about it, he can't really act. the same thing can be said of his co-stars in the summer soap, the starlet playing the title role and the other, older leading man forming the love triangle. chos!

true enough, after the teleserye, the public's interest on gerald was rekindled, paving the way for his star to sparkle once more like diamonds in the sky. hopefully, this time, he will be wise enough and hone his acting skills (that can be done, you know) so he could morph into another piolo pascual, still the leading man to beat this side of hollywood based on the box-office success of his most recent movie, the aptly titled starting over again.

then there's former varsity basketball player turned model turned movie star * miko raval, who is likewise baring his washboard abs in a sexy afternoon soap also at abs-cbn.

miko certainly looks dreamy and has a bit of a resemblance to the young jay manalo, one of the hottest male sex symbols several years back. look at the bushy pit. hope he makes it bigger in the industry because it clearly needs stars like him who are every inch a man, so to speak. the better way to get rid of those closet fairies pretending to be straight men that are currently dominating the biz landscape.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

over at the fashion scene, it's the meaty * john spainhour and the leggy * vince ferraren - both sumptuous -- who are still grabbing everyone's attention due mainly to their exposure to the public's consciousness in their underwear only, thanks to the country's leading underwear brand, bench.

john, of course, exploded into the local modeling scene and into the many gay man's fantasies after he won the century tuna sexiest model a few years ago. since then, he has graced a number of billboards, fashion shows and pictorials wearing only his tight underwear to the delight of his mostly gay and women fans.

he even made the already hot season more scorching with his latest commercial (don't know if it ever comes out on tvs) for bench, showing him taking a shower. hot!! here it is:

then there is vince. who came out of nowhere. no, he did not win any beauty title unlike john, but his boy-next-door looks and numerous bikini advertorials, editorials and pictorials easily captured the not so easy to please tastes of the pink community.

john and vince, if i am not mistaken, are again heralding bench's fashion season this year.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

still on the "fashion scene", everyone's excited about tonight's bench underwear and denim show at mall of asia with stalwarts john spainhour, paulo avelino, and newcomer but uber hot jeff langan (hope he's invited to grace the event).

this early, jeff has awakened the earthy desires of a million pink sisters, which bodes well if he decides to stay longer in the country to pursue his modeling and even showbiz career. as they say, strike wihle the iron is hot, right?

jeff, a filipino-american and based abroad, has modeled overseas, thus, his ease in going sexy in front of the camera. he led the bench's back-to-school marketing campaign last may.

and of course, there are the twinks, cute young stars who have yet to make a mark in showbiz but already attracting the attention of the country's top underwear brand.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

then there are the thousand other bikini contests in manille, whose candidates look as delectable as the following:

from the looks of it, these boys can give the bench men a run for their bikinis.

that's all fairies, bitches, queens, princesses and wannabes. keep the boys coming! (pun intended, double chos!)

**************

(ps: all pictures were taken from different web sites and facebook accounts. no copyright infringements intended. please inform the blogger if you want your photos taken off this site. thank you.)

mahatma gandah's list : top five best actresses in philippine cinema

what's a pink blog without a post on actresses. i know, i know, list posts are such a cliche. they shout "lazy!" in bold, capital letters.

but please bear with me. sometimes i get so busy with my newfound career that i hardly have time to sleep, much less think of new, funny posts to make your day. chos!!

so let me start this mahatma gandah's list with the best actresses, in my book, in this little part of hollwood. if you don't agree with me, go make your own list. haha

1. nora aunor. but of course. unlike other actresses, la aunor is still great even if she is not handled by the masters (lino brocka, ishmael bernal, mario o'hara) and even if the script sucks. case in point -- the flor contemplacion story -- directed by the mediocre and overrated joel lamangan. she was so good there that she won various awards. need i say more?

as i have mentioned earlier, nora was superb in nearly all of her movies -- tatlong taong walang diyos, himala, merika, andrea, bulaklak sa city jail, minsa'y isang gamu-gamo  -- but she was nowhere near brilliant than in that film with another great actress lolita rodriguez in lino brocka's masterpiece "ina ka ng anak mo," an entry in the the nineteen seventy-nine metro manila film festival (those were the days when the entries were really deserving to be entered in a festival) where its lead actresses tied for the best actress and raoul aragon (an underrated talent, mind you) won the best actor trophy.

it's a story about mother and daughter who shared the same man.

watch this clip and be awed by her greatness.

2. hilda koronel. another lino brocka favourite. but unlike nora aunor, hilda had very few movies that really did justice to her enormous talent. three of her movies remain a favourite until today -- "insiang", which pitted her with another great actress monalisa, in another story about a mother and daughter sharing the same man, only this one has a twist; "maynila sa mga kuko ng liwanag, and angela markado."

here's a clip of insiang, where she showed remarkable talent as an actress, even if the role required her to test her mettle with the veteran monalisa.

3. lolita rodriguez, monalisa, nida blanca and charito solis. these four lino brocka favorites have to share the third spot. i can't really decide which one of them is better than the other three. of the four, it was charito solis, like nora aunor, who made a number of memorable films with excellent portrayals. she also won a lot of best actress and best supporting actress awards.

but my most favourite charito solis film was the one with nora aunor and maricel soriano -- "minsan may isang ina", which also featured the very young manilyn reynes.

lolita rodriguez did a number of films that made a mark in the industry including "tinimbang ka nguni't kulang", also directed by lino brocka, "ina ng kang anak mo", and "tubog sa ginto."

in my book, her greatest performance was in "tinimbang.." with the very young christopher de leon, who was then very captivating and whose talent was raw and unencumbered by techniques, and gorgeous hilda koronel. this was christopher's first movie, by the way.

as for monalisa, i was torn between her performances in "insiang" and "cain at abel", another lino brocka masterpiece. in "cain.." she played the mother of siblings christopher de leon and philip salvador (both actors were very good in this film, and very sexy too.). in the end, i picked both. watch her in this clip with carmi martin, philip and christopher in "cain.."

nida, another box-office star just like nora, vilma and charito, made a lot of movies. most of them showcased her wide range as an actress. she excelled both in drama and comedy. my favourite was the lino directed "miguelito, ang batang rebelde" where she played the role of a wronged mother (of then teen heartthrob aga muhlach) searching for justice. watch this scene and weep.

(speaking of aga, until now i am wondering why some critics hailed him as an actor and even won some awards. the same sentiment i feel for richard gomez, who is also an overrated "actor".

4. vilma santos. like her fiercest rival as local cinema's superstar, vilma played a number of great roles that awed both critics and moviegoers. she was unforgettable in burlesk queen, pag-puti ng uwak, pag-itim ng tagak, sister stella l, relasyon, ekstra, broken marriage, haplos, and the few films that she made with nora aunor like t-bird at ako and ikaw ay akin.

but since i only have to pick one movie, it's got to be "relasyon", a film she made with christopher de leon (they made tons of fils together, all box-office hits and some were critically acclaimed such as this one) and directed by ishmael bernal. i like her role here and her style of acting (restrained, minus the shouting and slapping scenes she had been famous for).

5. gina alajar, liza lorena and amy austria. just like nida, charito, lolita and monalisa, i also can't choose who should be at the number five spot between these three underrated actresses. so i chose them all. of the three, it was liza who had a number of memorable characters, but my favourite remains to be "oro, plata, mata", a piece of cinematic gem directed by peque gallaga.

gina alajar also made a number of great movies, especially those directed by lino brocka such as bayan ko (kapit sa patalim) and orapronobis, as well as by ishmael bernal like sister stella l and city after drak. she was also unforgettable in brutal, moral, salome. i liked her best in "orapronobis" with philip salvador and bembol roco, who was very memorable in the film as the main villain.

gina and amy were batchmates in showbiz. like gina, amy too had a number of impressive performances such as in celestina bubbles sanchez, brutal, jaguar, hinugot sa langit, atsay, gabun, caught in the act, and kung mahawi man ang ulap, where she played contravida to hilda koronel.

but my favourite was "brutal", directed by marilou diaz abaya and also starred gina alajar; and hinugot sa langit, where she played maricel soriano's eccentric cousin. amy is a versatile actress who can play both leads, anti-heroine roles, and supporting characters with aplomb. sadly, i can't find the clip for brutal, but luckily i got hinugot, a movie directed by ishmael bernal.

surrendering some churva for a bit of chenes

"in my youth, i was too busy making a living that i forgot how to live. i want to change that now," mahatma gandah. "anyway, i can always rely on the kindness of strangers."

it's raining heavily outside, as if there was a storm, and soon some streets were flooded, garbage floated like dead fish killed by too much pollution.

the weather just matched my mood. i was feeling the blues, and hopefully it would stay that way and not morphed into reds, heavy reds.

when i am blue, i usually just watch my favourite movies like the english patient, the age of innocence or before sunrise/sunset and i would be fine.

when i feel the mean reds, it gets worse. i have to go out, get really drunk and hunt afterwards. or else, i would sink into the depth of misery, while crazy thoughts would plague my beleaguered mind like throwing myself out of my forty-story flat and into the crowded streets. or jump into the welcoming arms of the sea, be carried away somewhere far, far away from this madness.

%%%%%

at around eleven, my sister sent me a text message: let's eat at an eat all you can restaurant  to celebrate your birthday. i was hesitant. my thirteen year old nephew, her oldest son, was in the hospital because of dengue. his blood platelets had dropped to risky levels a few days ago.

instead of replying to her, i just continued lying in bed and soon i fell asleep. my nearly three year old nephew, her youngest still in diapers, woke me up with his laughter. he was lying beside me, watching his favourite show on cartoon network, mr. bean. my brother in law had earlier told me that seven eleven (my pet name for him - he was named agapito, like his father) was not yet able to speak well because he kept watching mr. bean, who hardly talked on the show. i suggested that he should encourage his son to watch kris aquino's show. he laughed.

when seven eleven saw me awake, he smiled at me and pointed to the teevee screen. i said, yes, i luv mr. bean too. i luv the fact that even if he hardly say a word, he made us laugh and helped us forget our troubles even briefly, unlike most people on earth. as if seven eleven understood me, he laughed out loud and rolled in bed.

@@@@@

too lazy to take even a quick shower, i rolled some deodorant on my underarms, sprinkled perfume all over my body, applied wax on my messy hair and changed to a freshly laundered shirt, underwear and shorts. i felt clean. but i still felt a tad sad. the rains always bring out the blues in me.

$$$$$$

lunch was sumptuous (mostly filipino cuisine), but uneventful. seven eleven wanted to have his own plate. so i gave him one, even if his father did not approve. earlier, his father told him "no!" when he pointed to the stack of plates under the buffet table. seven eleven looked sour. sad. i had to carry him and gave him a plate to cheer him up again. i even asked him what food he wanted and put them on his plate. that cheered him up. i merited a kiss on both cheeks.

#######

after lunch, my sister took me to her family's dentist to have my teeth cleaned. i felt better afterwards.
as if in tune with my feelings, the rain had stopped pouring. the streets were a little flooded, but i didn't mind. i was wearing cheap flip flops anyway.  though my sister warned me that the dirty water might contain some disease causing germs. i just shrugged my shoulders. i didn't care. i have battled bigger wars in my forty four years on earth, why should i be bothered with a "what if" disease.

$$$$$$

from the dentist's office, i asked my brother in law to drive me to the sto nino shrine. when i stepped out of the car, the rain was pouring again. he tried to give me an umbrella, but i refused. at the gate, a filthy beggar was standing, singing alone. he did not bother me. i passed by him quietly. he smelled of the sun. too much sun and body odour. i didn't care.

the cathedral was nearly empty, except for three or four other pious people who were kneeling near the altar. i sat at the back and talked to whoever was in charge in heavens to please help my nephew recover, take good care of my old and ailing mother, keep my family and friends safe and in good health. i also implored them to please give me a new job, a new flat and a new lover (yes, in that particular order) as christmas and birthday gifts.

for the finale, i thanked him for all the blessings, big or small.

*****

from the cathedral, we picked up my six year old niece at her school and we drove to the hospital. at the  car, i was teasing her about her crush. she said he was absent. did you miss him, i asked her. she blushed and covered her face. ah kids nowadays. they want to grow up fast. please don't, i said silently, until the world has become a better, friendlier place. 

at the hospital, i was glad to hear that my nephew had gotten better. he was cheerful and he joined me in teasing his younger sister about her crush. it turned out, he was friends with the older sister of my niece's crush. small world? it is. especially mine.

%%%%%

at night after dinner, i sat alone, outside of my sister's house, surrounded by flowering plants and orchids. they looked like lonely souls at night, crying for a lost love. i stared at the darkness. i was hoping for a moon, even truman capote's "skinny as a lemon rind" moon. but there was none.

it was only eight o'clock, but the entire subdivision was already quiet. i had almost forgotten that people in the province sleep early. the weather had improved. there was no more sign of rain. in fact, some stars appeared on the sky, keeping me company in my solitude.

the silence forced me to look back at the last forty four years and what happened. unlike in my previous birthdays, this time, i didn't feel anything. i wasn't sad nor happy. i was not depressed. maybe i was getting used to this. to this so called life.  the middle-aged life, weight gain, wrinkles, nostalgia, melancholy, and all.

sure, there were so many things to be thankful for. but there were also so many things that i thought were still missing in my life.

regrets, like the song, i had a few. who doesn't? the biggest of all was my failure to exert more effort to be close to my distant and cold father, to get to know him better, to draw out the funny side of him before he passed away. i knew he could be funny at times, especially when he was drunk. when he was drunk, his icy personality would melt away, and a lighter, happier him would appear. he would tell jokes, start singing and even go dancing.

but it could also go the other way. he could pick a fight with anyone, get his gun and threaten to kill anyone who would get in the way. his ill temper had kept him from me, from us, his children. even to his wife.

other than that, i had nothing else.

love you say? what is it, anyway? why make a big deal out of it? as tina turner once sang - what's love got to do with it? who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?

what you don't have, you won't miss. of course i still miss the company of another human being, especially on a cold, cold, rainy night. when even the soft pillows and thick blanket won't keep me warm. when even  the teen-age angst of winona ryder and ethan hawke or the wisdom, poetry and romanticism of gabriel garcia marquez and haruki murakami can't ease the blues and reds away.

the only consolation is i would always have my family and my friends to make me smile. these thoughts would somehow comfort me.

%%%%%

as i grew older, i noticed that i have become more cynical. i have also become more optimistic. how can that be, you asked? how can someone be more cynical and be more optimistic at the same time? i don't know. but that's how i feel right now.

at forty four, i feel i have proven what ever it is that i need to prove, whether in my personal life or in my work. nothing much matters.  i no longer have the need to achieve more, to possess more. there is comfort in that. as long as i have a job that i love, it no longer matters even if i am at the bottom of the food chain. if my boss is half my age. if my peers and colleagues are already way up there.

ever since, anyway, i never compared myself to others. i am always satisfied with whatever small things that i have achieved.

in fact, at forty four, jobless, homeless and loveless, i feel good. contented. of course, it could be better. 

and it will.

that's all bitches, fairies, queens, pa-queens and princesses. sorry for the heavy musing.

the sun-kissed smile that melted into a dream

"here, making each day of the year
changing my life with a wave of her hand
nobody can deny that there's something there.."
                       -- beatles, here, there, and everywhere

i knew something was wrong the moment i entered the room. a pungent smell of cigarettes and alcohol greeted me when i opened the door.

inside, the light was dim (the bulb was covered with his shirt), cigarette smokes swirled like invisible tiny clouds hurting my eyes and caused a few tears to swell up, a case of beer on the floor, and the soft humming of the beatles on the cassette player -- here, there and everywhere. 

he didn't notice me. he was there, but he was not. i removed my shoes, my shirt, and my pants. put on last night's short pants. 

then i sat on the floor, right across from where he was seated. beer bottles, cigarette butts and a lighted stick between us. finally he saw me and gave me a lukewarm smile. i could not see his face clearly. but i knew he was forlorn, like the grey afternoon sky when i stepped out of the classroom and rushed to my next class in another part of the city.

his bare legs were stretched on the floor. his toes touching my legs. like me, he was wearing only short pants. no shirt. 

even if it rained earlier tonight, it was still hot. the windows were open and the noise of the traffic below and of students looking for a place to hang out on a friday evening invaded the room like unwelcome visitors. the ceiling fan was in full blast, but it was not enough. we were both still sweating.

we didn't mind. we were used to this kind of weather. scorching, even if summer was over four months ago. all that was left of those sweltering days were the memory of a bitter-sweet evening with a gorgeous boy whom you've met one smouldering night at the beach, flirted with you even if he was with his girlfriend. then he let you kiss him on the lips when you were both drunk and high, then ignored you for the rest of the summer. painful, but that was life.

"are you ok?" what else can i say? it was a cliche, a very impersonal greeting that you give anyone, even a stranger who looks grim. but he was not a stranger. he was roy, my roommate. we've known each other since we were freshmen in college. now we were on our senior year. one more semester and we would leave the university, this life, and become someone else. who knows what.

he sighed, inhaled his cigarette, then drank his beer. i thought i won't get an answer. he offered me a bottle of beer, surprisingly still cold. i counted the empty bottles on the case, six. then he spoke in his soft, sleepy voice. the one that said, all is alright. don't worry. 

"nothing. just having a good time. it's friday." there was no arrogance in his voice. he was just like that -- disinterested. he would rather be quiet, read a gabriel garcia marquez or a poetry book, listen to beatles, than make conversations.

i was a bit like him. i love my solitude. i love to think than talk, to read than respond to a question, or listen to music than hear anyone's rants about life. 

in the years that we have stayed together in the same room, inhaled each other's smell, heard each other's sadness and shared each other's joy, we could almost read each others' minds. our moods. our actions without the need for words. 

i could count on my fingers the number of times that we had a long, decent conversation. usually it happened when we were both drunk, high, or just plain tired of life and the people's stupidity. we could talk for hours about anything and everything: love, one hundred years of solitude, the meaning of the lyrics of norwegian wood (did he really burn the girl's flat just because she won't sleep with him?), the brilliance of coppola's apocalypse now.

%%%%%%%%%

but that night he was different. i could sense there was more to his silence, to his sadness, to his sorrow. the room could feel it, even the hot september air that came rushing from outside of the windows. but i did not want to pry. that had always been our silent rule -- no meddling. we waited until the other one opened up. if not, we let it go. we let it pass. we ignored it, even if we could hear one of us sobbing at night, sleepless, counting the minutes as they turned into an hour, and those hours to turn into a new day.

"ok," was all i said and started drinking beer. i had not eaten dinner yet, and i could tell he too was drinking on an empty stomach. he offered me his cigarette rolled into a dirty white paper. i knew what it was. he smiled as i took it from him and brought it to my waiting, eager lips. like him, i also needed the smoke. i was so stressed out from all the requirements for graduation -- the thesis that i had to defend, the projects, the final exams, the incomplete grades.

silence. 

then finally.

"i like this song," i said and started singing: 

"there, running my hands through her hair
both of us thinking how good it can be
someone is speaking, but she doesn't know he's there.."

he joined me.

"i want her everywhere
and if she's beside me i know i need never care
but to love her is to need her

everywhere, 
knowing that love is to share
each one believing that love never dies
watching her eyes and hoping i'm always there

i want her everywhere.."

then we stopped and he raised his bottle and offered a toast.

"to broken hearts and the beautiful girls who rule our world."

i started to laugh. ah, the irony of it. then i repeated what he had just said while raising my bottle of beer and let it touched his. it made a faint sound. 

"have you ever been broken hearted?" he asked right after he put down his bottle on the floor, right next to the ashtray that was now overflowing with cigarette butts. i felt light headed. i felt good. i felt sad. i felt like crying. i felt like jumping for joy. i felt like jumping out of the window and ending all of this. tonight. after graduation, there was nothing to look forward to. 

i was scared of the world outside. what was waiting for me out there? what sort of person would i become? another ambitious young man with stupid dreams -- get a well paying job in a bank or in a multinational firm, preferably with a car plan attached to it, get my own apartment, buy anything that i want, show it all off to friends. let my parents proud.

i dreaded the thought that after slaving for fourteen years in school, i would turn out just like any mindless, dumb asshole that got a well-paying job in a huge company and think that i already owned the world. that thought was just too depressing. so i drank some more beer, ignored his question, and smoked some more pot.

he repeated his question. this time a bit louder. 

"sorry," i said. "i heard you the first time, roy. it's just that my mind is somewhere else."

he ignored what i have just said. "so have you been broken hearted?"

i laughed. i don't know why, but when i am drunk and high, i laugh at everything even if i just want to do the opposite -- cry and cry and cry. let all the sadness that have accumulated in my entire twenty years on earth leave my body. to let it all go. to ease the tensions in my muscles, let my mind breathe, my heart expand a little. open the damned dam and let all the water leave so that there was nothing more inside but a comforting emptiness. 

but will i still be the same person once i poured them all out? that was one question that i was too afraid to confront. ironically, i was happy the way i was -- sad and depressed most of the time. roy was different. though he was quiet all the time, preferred his solitude, he had this sunny disposition about everything. he was ever the optimistic and believed that after a rain, there would be sunshine. that nothing lasts forever, and all those cliches that made hallmark cards and oprah very popular.

"so many times. i could no longer count them. what about you?"

he looked at me with another question in his eyes. "how many times?"

"let's see." then i kept quiet and started counting my fingers. then the cigarette butts on the ashtray. the empty bottles on the case. 

roy laughed.

"see?" i said. "sometimes i even wonder if i still have a heart. it's been broken and torn to pieces so many times that at times i think it has stopped beating. that i am already dead and this person, or this empty shell in front of you is just an imitation of who i was, of who i was before i discovered the pain and the pleasure of falling in love."

"wow!" he shouted. "just wow! i always knew that you were a poet and a philosopher, but i never realised how deep you are."

hahahahaha. we both laughed and roy opened more beer and we kept on drinking. he lit more cigarettes and we kept on smoking.

then it started to rain, followed by strong winds as though there was a typhoon, sending curtains swaying, reaching out to us. the rain entered the room, and even if we were caught by surprise, we managed to stand up, close the windows. then once it was done, we sat down and started laughing again.

when we have recovered, it was my turn to ask roy.

"what about you? have you ever been broken hearted? how many times?"

i was expecting that he would ignore my question. but he gave a curt reply. "once."

"when?"

"this afternoon."

"who?"

"darlene."

"the darlene from our class?" (roy, darlene and i were block mates since first year college.)

"yes."

"wow! i did't know that you two were..."

"she wanted to keep it a secret."

"why?"

"why?! don't be ridiculous darryl. she is the darlene of the bsba class of 1989. always on top of the dean's list. the prettiest girl. the only daughter of a family of shipping merchants. while i...." his voice trailed off. as though he was about to cry. "what am i, darryl? just another moron who can hardly pass our subjects. if not for your help, i might have flunked all my subjects. i might have been kicked out of the university a long time ago."

"don't be silly. you're roy. the best looking guy in the whole campus. tall, tan, lean. who looks like tom cruise, especially when he is wearing his raybans, tight fitting levis, black long-sleeve shirt, and his hair held together by a bottle of gel. the roy who can melt a girl's heart with his bedimpled smile. the roy who excels in history, philosophy, literature and arts. the poet, the editor of the carolinian, the....."

i stopped, before i became too obvious. i suddenly realised that if i went on, i might say some things that i might regret later on. things that might offend him. with roy, i had always to be mindful of what i was saying, of what i was doing because i was afraid he might misinterpret them.

it was difficult. it was like walking on a thin ice. you could fall anytime and drown in the freezing waters underneath its blinding whiteness.

"oh stop it. you know they don't count. in the world of the darlenes...if you are not chinese, if you are not rich, if you are not on top of the class, you are nothing."

"what happened? how long you two been together? why didn't you tell me? was she the one who kept on calling late at night?"

i didn't know if i was starting to irritate roy. he usually hate it when i asked him so many questions. especially very personal ones. but tonight, roy was full of surprises. he actually wanted to talk, and i loved listening to him. to the way he spoke. malambing was how we called it in the vernacular. very romantic.

"ah darryl. questions. questions. stop being a lawyer this time, ok? i know you will make a good lawyer someday, but right now, i just want to get drunk, get high, and forget all about her and her bullshit, fucking world."

i nodded my head and offered a toast:

"to darlene and her bullshit, fucking world."

more beer. we were no longer aware what time it was. if the rain had stopped. how many bottles of beer we had emptied. how many pots we had smoked.

we talked and talked. even if roy said he didn't want to talk about darlene anymore, he kept on mentioning her. he kept on telling me how much they loved each other. their plans after graduation. when they wanted to get married. how many children they would have. 

at some point, he was crying and calling out her name. just like in a movie. this was around two or three or four in the morning. i really didn't know. i was too dizzy, too drunk. everything was cloudy. hazy. but i knew he was crying. it was the first time that i heard him cry. i let him.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%

i woke up with the music from the cassette player.

"i will be there, and everywhere
here, there and everywhere.."

it was dark. roy must have turned the light off. i stood up, still groggy, groped for the switch. when the light was on, i saw him asleep on the floor. surrounded by empty bottles and cigarette butts. he was sleeping on his side. i went to the toilet which was outside of the room. down the dark and quiet hallway. i passed by several rooms. all dark and quiet. it had stopped raining.

the entire dormitory was wrapped in darkness. as though we were inside a mother's womb. in a way, we were still babies -- still finding our way out of the confines of the university.

when i came back, i sat on the floor next to where roy was sleeping. i decided to get a pillow from his bed and put it under his head. very carefully because i did not want to wake him  up. i covered his body with a blanket. then i switched off the light and went to sleep on my bed.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

when i woke up the next day, i was alone. the room was neat and clean. that was one thing i liked about roy. he was a neat freak. just like me. for us, everything had to be shiny and clean. things in their proper places. nothing in disarray. ours was the only room in the dorm with a trash bin and the windows were covered with curtains. 

there were no empty bottles or cigarette butts. the ashtray had been cleaned and was on top of the study table that roy and i shared. the windows were still closed, and the whole room still reeked of beer and cigarette smoke. my head was aching, and i felt so thirsty.

i looked at the clock on top of the table, which stood between roy's and mine's narrow and small beds that could hardly fit our bodies. 3:00, the time said. i didn't know if it was three in the afternoon or three in the morning. it was dark outside and when i opened a window, it was raining heavily. a cold wind entered the room, turning the pages of the books on top of the table, and sending some papers flying into the other end of the room and finally on the floor. i quickly shut it off, my hands getting wet.

i was hungry. no, i was famished. but i didn't have an appetite. i wasn't craving for food. i was just thirsty. so i opened the mini ref that roy owned and drank from a pitcher. we never used a glass. it felt good. thirst quenched, i laid on my bed again. hoping to get more sleep. but sleep was now elusive. 

i tried to masturbate but i wasn't in the mood. it usually helped me go to sleep. so i stood up and decided to play music. i scanned the cassette tapes on top of roy's bed (like the ref, he also owned the cassette player, the tapes, the guitar that was hanging on the door, the posters of the beatles and of john lennon on the walls). 

"oh my love for the first time in my life

my eyes are wide open
oh my lover for the first time in my life
my eyes can see

i see the wind
oh, i see the trees
everything is clear in my heart
i see the clouds
oh, i see the sky
everything is clear in our world.."

john lennon's soothing voice filled the room. i liked this song. the lyrics were simple, but very heartfelt and in a way, deep. i loved beatles. the first time i heard one of their songs -- yellow submarine -- that my older brother played on our stereo, i was mesmerised. i was still in the elementary then, he was already in college. the long playing album was new. he brought it home from manila where he was studying at the university of the philippines. 

my brother, saint, was then a freshman at the university. he was home for the christmas holidays. despite our wide age gap, we were close. we were the only boys in a family of six. he was the eldest, i was the youngest. between us were four girls. i liked him because he treated me like an adult, unlike my parents and four older sisters who kept on babying me. my mother especially. at eight, she still insisted on letting me wear pajamas at night and putting on baby powder before i went to bed.

but saint was different. he talked to me about politics, about the tyranny of the marcos regime, the disappearance of his classmates at the university. he was always agitated every time he talked about politics.  i didn't know why.

during that time, saint had become a different person. he no longer wanted to hear mass, he no longer ate meat, he no longer watched soaps on tv. all he did the whole day was read books by karl marx, friedrich engels and other writers who advocated communism. he encouraged me to read them too. or he would talk about them to me. explain to me, for example, the theory of a classless society, where nobody owned anything, and all the country's resources belonged to the state. 

every time i heard the beatles, especially this song, i could not help but remember him. saint. his tragic death in the hands of the metrocom.

his new-found philosophy, his beliefs about communism and his hatred of the military became a source of disagreement between him and our father -- a military official. they too bothered me. 

our mother, the pliant military wife, was also mad at him because he no longer wanted to join us hear the mass at dawn (the traditional nine days of novena before christmas), which we all attended because as the chief of the military camp, father, a general, was expected to be there with his entire family in attendance, sitting at the front row and listening to the priest. as though the mass won't be complete without him there, without us all in attendance like obedient children.

saint no longer wanted any of it -- the bourgeois lifestyle as he called it. my father's fascistic way of running our household, which he treated like an extension of his office.

he refused to accept the christmas gifts that we gave him. he refused to wear the new pair of jeans, shoes, lacoste shirts and jackets that mother bought him. he used to love them. he was very fashionable before he went to college.

"what's wrong with going to church?" i asked him one time, when we were at the beach. baking under the sun. both shirtless and wearing only short pants. saint loved the beach. it was his only source of recreation, a break, a way to escape our father's rigid rules while at home on a break from the university.

"because it's useless. there is no god. we all had been fed with the wrong ideas about god, christianity and a christ who died for all of us. who redeemed our sins by dying on the cross. you see, religion was the most powerful tool used by the spaniards to colonise us for hundreds of years. they used the idea of hell to put fear on our hearts to make us obedient and meek as lambs. they introduced heaven to reward the meek, those victims of injustice, so they won't fight back. they won't get the idea of fighting the colonizers because heaven would wait for us in the afterlife."

at that time, i was confused. i was also afraid for him. because i knew that what he was saying was blasphemous and he could go to hell for that. i was also afraid that father might disown him, throw him out of the house if he learned what he had become. what he had been talking about ("there is no god"). what he had been reading.

indeed, a few months in the state university in diliman had changed my brother. he was no longer the shy, bookish, church-going boy we all knew. in fact, he didn't want us to call him saint anymore. just juan. we didn't know where it all came from. he was christened juacinto, and we all called him saint, not only because it was easier, but also because he was so religious. he wanted to be a priest when he was a young boy. the name aptly described him.

when he was about to leave the house and go back to the university the day after the new year, i saw him embracing mother tightly. then he shook father's hand. i knew he wanted to embrace him as well, but he hesitated. father did not tolerate any show of emotions, much less kissing and embracing in the family. 

i saw the sadness on his face when he stepped inside the military jeep that would take him to the airport in tacloban. i wanted to ride with him, be with him for a few more hours. but father said that the trip would take so long (six hours instead of the usual three) because some roads were being repaired. it was dusty and the trip might trigger my asthma. 

so i ran to my room and cried. i didn't know why i felt so sad when saint left that morning. maybe part of me was already mourning for the old saint that we all loved and who was now gone. maybe i already knew then that it would be the last time i would see him.

when mother received the telegram from her younger sister who lived in manila informing us that saint was killed by the metrocom during a rally that turned violent, she fainted. 

when father heard about it, he didn't say a word. he merely went inside their bedroom, started packing his and mother's clothes for a trip to manila. to bring home their eldest son's lifeless body.

since saint died, our home had been enveloped by this unseen gloom. mother had stopped talking for several months. she blamed herself for his death. father drank almost every night. he was angry that the same institution that he had served all his life killed his son like an animal, left to die on the cold pavement and his bullet-riddled body covered with newspapers. there was blood all over.

$$$$$$$$$$$

i sat on my bed and started to cry. until now, twelve years after, i still missed him. i still felt bad that i did not tell my parents about his new ideas and ideals. maybe they could have done something to prevent his death. maybe they could have transferred him from the state university to a private school in cebu, or in tacloban. if i did that, maybe he was still alive today, working in a bank, raising his own family. i wouldn't mind if he became one of those proud assholes with a nice house, a car, a well-paying job. spoiled children.

mainly, i was mad at him for depriving me of a brother and a friend. more so for turning our once happy home into a funeral parlour.

after he died, my parents were no longer the same. mother was always in the church, praying. she hardly even talked to us. father had become even more strict. he forbade me to study at the state university, forbade me from taking the entrance exam, lest i become another saint. another casualty in the government's war against the spread of communism. in schools!

i was still crying, my face covered with a pillow, and lost in thoughts that i did not hear roy arrived. when i removed the pillow, i saw roy with a puzzled expression on his face, staring at me. but he was quiet. he did not ask a question when i rose from bed and dried my tears with a towel.

he remained quiet when i stood up to get a cigarette from the side pocket of my jeans hanging on a nail on the door, next to his guitar. i could no longer endure the silence. 

"where have you been?" i asked, unable to think of something else to say. i stood near the window and stared outside. all i could see was the rooftop of the house across our dorm. branches of trees. students on the streets, the busy traffic. it was saturday and everyone had this weekend look on their faces, dressed in shirts, shorts, flipflops, blouses, skirts, sandals.

"gaisano. had a few bottles." he was red. drunk?

then he stood up and reached for his guitar. he sat down on his bed and started singing jealous guy. i sat down on my bed too, and just looked at him and listened to him sing. i always loved it when roy sang and played the guitar at the same time. he looked like a movie star, a famous one, on german moreno's gma supershow. i could not remember the actor's name.

"i was dreaming of the past

and my heart was beating fast

i began to lose control

i began to lose control

i didn't mean to hurt you

i'm sorry that i made you cry

oh my, i didn't want to hurt you

i'm just a jealous guy..."

then he stopped. stood up. opened the ref and took two bottles of beer. opened them and offered one to me. then he sat on the floor, guitar on hand, and asked me to join him. i obliged and sat beside him. 

now i was feeling better. though my stomach started rumbling, i ignored it. i remembered that i haven't eaten anything since last night. but i would survive another day without food as long as i was with roy. close to him.

being with roy, hearing him sing, was enough. there was nothing else i needed. i always liked him. more than a friend, more than a brother. roy was my first real love. since i first saw him, four years ago, shy, a bit scared, unpacking his clothes and guitar when i entered the room, i knew that i was in love with him. 

he was not only handsome, he was nice, caring, passionate, intelligent, talented, a good singer and guitar player.

"feeling better?" he asked, then put down the guitar.

i blushed. "yes."

"why?"

"was i crying, you mean?"

"yes."

"nothing. i suddenly remembered my brother. how short his life was."

"ah saint. yes. sad."

"and you?"

"still broken hearted. i called darlene when i woke up at around one, but the maid said she was not home. but i knew she was there. she usually stayed at home on saturdays to do her assignments, or just hang out with her sisters."

"is she your first love?'

"yes."

"what is it about her?"

he laughed. wiping another newly opened beer with his shirt. "don't be ridiculous. everyone's in love with darlene. even you."

i smiled.

"aren't you?" he asked.

"no."

"really?!"

"no."

"why not? i thought you like her. you were always with her. everywhere. i was always jealous about you two."

i smiled.

"sorry. you're wrong. we're just friends."

"did she ever talk about me?"

"only that she likes you. that you were her crush since we were freshmen. but she never told me that you were together. when did it happen?"

"two months ago. remember we had a party at joan's? i was already drunk when i saw her alone standing at the gate, waiting for her driver. i started talking to her, and we had this nice conversation. she told me that it was the first time that i ever i talked to her. i told her that i was intimidated by her. that every time i tried to talk to her, i would clam up and get nervous."

i remembered that night. i imagined them talking at the gate, under those giant trees. joan's house was full of trees. there was a slight drizzle that night, a thin as a lemon slice moon. i imagined darlene opening her umbrella and roy quickly taking it from her hand. then they talked while it was drizzling, under a tiny moon. sharing an umbrella. a bit cold, a bit sad, but they were both warm and happy. their faces blushing, their hands shaking, their souls quivering.

"she told me the same thing when we were still freshmen. she always wanted to talk to you, roy, but she could  not find the courage. she was intimated by your intelligence, your eloquence when debating with our professors, and your movie star looks."

"yes, she told me about it."

"sweet."

then he started asking me questions. "what about you? who do you like at school?"

"nobody."

"ow....somehow i find it hard to believe. joan? lilibeth? anna? cherryl? divina? angelu?"

"none of the above."

"christina? angeline? reynalda?"

"stop it. hahahaha."

"then who? come on, we are graduating next semester. no need to be secretive."

"nobody you know."

when he realised that i wasn't going to tell him, roy reached again for his guitar and started singing love is real. 

"love is real, real is love
love is feeling, feeling love
love is wanting to be loved.."

i just stared at him. at his face. at his eyes that were focused on his fingers on the guitar. i liked the way his hair fell on his face and covered his eyes. i wish i had a camera then so i could capture that moment. roy at his most vulnerable, at his saddest state and he tried to forget all about it by playing one of his favourite songs. my favourite song too. 

and he knew it. if there was one thing that we always talked about, it was the beatles. on my 20th birthday, he gave me a shirt printed with the faces of the beatles. before that, the posters that covered the walls of our bedroom.

"love is touch, touch is love
love is reaching, reaching love
love is asking to be loved."

then i started crying again. i wanted to stop the tears, to hide them, but there was no way that i could do that. roy stopped. he rushed to my side and put his arm on my shoulders.

"what's wrong?"

"nothing." i was shaking my head like a wet cat that was shaking all the water off from its feathers. "don't mind me."

"come on. i am your friend. you can tell me."

then he put his hand on my face, on my chin and lifted up my face. his face was so close to me i could feel the heat from his already drunk body. i could almost swallow the beer and cigarette smoke in his breath. god i loved him.

"roy..."

"shhhhh...."

then he kissed me. long, passionate, tender. it wasn't the first time that i kissed a guy, of course. but it was the first time that i kissed someone i love. my first love at that. my heart was beating so fast, i thought i would die of a heart attack. i was no longer drunk, or sad, or confused. 

but i was bewildered. lost. i could not even remember where i was. if i were still alive. if this was all a dream. if this was really happening. roy and i...

i silenced my mind. 

roy did not say a word. he just kept on kissing me. then he pulled away and removed his shirt. i did the same. then he kissed me again on the mouth. then on my neck. then on my nipples. i could not explain what i was feeling. i felt like i just smoked pot, but better. i felt lightheaded, floating into thin air. 

our hands were busy. before we knew it, we were both naked on the floor.


@@@@@@@@@

"love is you
you and me
love is knowing
we can be

love is free, free is love
love is living, living love
love is needing to be loved.."

when it was all over, he stood up, took the towel from his bed, wrapped it around his naked waist, and went to the bathroom. he was in a hurry. he was quiet. he did not even look at me. i was left wondering, confused again, then scared. what just happened? did he know that i was in love with him? how? why? was i always that obvious?


i've always imagined my first time to be sweet, tender and full of romance. i grew up reading my older sisters' sweet dreams romance novels. i watched audrey hepburn fell in love in roman holiday. barbra streisand sang sad love songs to robert redford in the way we were. snooky serna eloping with gabby concepcion in hello young lovers, or running away from albert martinez in bata pa si sabel.

i never thought my first time would be like this: sad and full of guilt. the man i love was cold, distant, scared after having sex. both of us, actually. as though we regretted the whole thing. as though somebody took over our bodies while we were doing it, and then when it was over, they left us and we were ourselves again. could not face the horror of it.

maybe that was what happened to roy. a spirit took possession of his body and made love to me. then it left him and roy realised what just happened and he was clothed in shame. in disgust. in guilt. what happened was wrong, and sinful.

so he ran away. as fast as he can. away from me.

when he came back, the room was filled with the smell of soap, shampoo and toothpaste. i was in bed. fully dressed. lying on my side, facing the wall. i pretended to be asleep. i heard him put on his pants. sprayed perfume. then he opened the cabinet and i knew he took out a shirt and put it on too. then his socks. then his shoes. then i heard the door opened and closed. 

then his footsteps in the hallway. fading..fading...until only the silence was my companion and the gathering darkness in my soul.

"and when i awoke i was alone

this bird had flown
so i lit a fire
isn't it good norwegian wood?"

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