Horrible Holiday

It's just a couple of days till December. And it has actually started to get cold as hell outside. I hate the holidays. I just hate it. Whenever I tell someone that I hate Christmas, they go blank (the kind where it's just dead silent and you can hear crickets). They ask me why I hate it that much and I just do not have the strength to explain everything to them. It just boils down to one thing.

I hate being alone on Christmas.

Since I was a child, I never had a real family to spend Christmas with. With my mom abroad and my dad going loco, I never enjoyed Family gatherings. Yup, my brother would say he feels the same crappy way too.

Aside from having no real family to spend the holidays with, I also have never experienced having a lover during the holidays. The last time I had a Christmas relationship, it turned to be just that - a Holiday fling. Nobody goes "ho-ho-ho" in a post Holiday break up. :(

I think that would answer all their questions.

I love Christmas songs though. They somewhat make me long for that one simple kiss that ends the day after a cup of hot cocoa by the fireplace. I love the cold because I feel very comfortable under a nice toasty comforter. Sigh. Now I am feeling nauseous and depressed.

To the Best Mom in the World

Coffee date with my only brother. It has become a staple activity, once a month, usually on the second week. I have never been close to my brother before, but as they say, absence makes the heart go fonder.

We have talked about everything before, but now, the Daniel Lem I knew since childhood became so simple, stronger, and more intellectual. Our monthly coffee date became something that I never imagined. We talked about family, something that has become such a touchy topic for me.

We never knew who our real parents are. We are from different birth mothers, but we only recognize one, our Mother, who had to go through tremendous hardships just to get us to where we are right now. In the course of our conversation, he told me something that I had never thought about, something that I don't have the courage to even say out loud. he talked about the possibility of us getting old and our parents going to somewhere more peaceful. I mean, it is a fact of life. People come and go. See, I can't even write the word, much more utter it. I haven't thought of going through life without my parents, my mom in particular. She has always been my strength, my beacon.

If people only knew how hard it is to live aside from your family, knowing that they are just a jeepney drive away. I chose to savor independence, and though it is really tough in the real world, I have to get away from my comfort zone - my family - and live on my own.

"I can't bear to think about Mama dying," he said.
"Then don't think about it," I replied.

I wanted to tell him that I am scared too, knowing that in a decade, or hopefully in 3 decades, my mom or dad would pass away to a better place. It made me sad just to know that that is a possibility.

It made me think of what I have now, of where I am, and it makes me want to be better in what I do. I pray that before that time comes, I could at least do something, or give something to the only woman I would ever love in my entire life.

I talked to her once, after a long while, after she left for Italy. I was glad to know that she was in her best health. I was actually happy that after 18 years in the land of gladiators and olive oil she finally toured Monaco, and has plans of going to Paris. I envy my Mom. I wish I could be her.

If there is one thing that I would remember until the day I die, it would be that one time when I held her hand and commented that she had rough hands, like me.

"These are beautiful hands," she said. "They are working hands."

I couldn't agree less, she had the most beautiful hands in the world. In those hands I was born and raised. Those hands made me who I am right now.

This is for all the moms in the world. You make the world a better place to live in. Without you nothing would be what they are.

I love you Ma, you are the sunshine of my life.

Happy Birthday.

Manhattan and Happiness

I am obsessed with Manhattan.

As any obsessed person would know, being obsessed means always thinking about it. Dreaming that you are in that place. Just knowing that in a couple of years you'll soon wear that dreamy pair of sandals you bought half price at a Shoe Sale walking the streets of Lower - or Upper Manhattan.

Maybe it's Sex and the City. Or it maybe the dream itself. I am amazed about how much I think of Manhattan. NYC. The Big Apple. I dream of being able to enter Wall Street and just be there, in the midst of all the hustle and bustle.

Oh, how I dream about Manhattan.

Manhattan, if you think about it, is a lot like Baguio, my home. It can get VERY cold sometimes. Or very warm in certain months. Manhattan is a place of "many hills", just like Baguio. And just like my hometown it has a lot of places to go to, restaurants to eat at.

Session Road, like the famed Golden Gate Bridge, has been a haven for those who do not have someone in their lives. And just like Carrie Bradshaw, I have nothing much to do except fret about being single, and write feelings for everyone to see.

Plans in my life ALWAYS involve Manhattan. Someday, I would also see those sailors, and maybe I could hook me up with someone. Just like Miranda. Or Samantha Jones.

Writing this entry makes me realize I am not obsessed with Manhattan itself. It's with the dream of someday, I would be just like the people in the series I grew to love. Too busy to care, too busy with life to even think about the bad things going on around them.

I glance into my Golden Gate Bridge and wonder how life would be after 15 years. Will I still be the same? I have changed a lot, I know, and with that a lot of people are affected. People I always think highly of, people that make me who I am.

Someday, when I am standing, looking at the real Golden Gate Bridge, I will remember this entry, and the people I wouldn't want to leave behind, but have to, for me to find real happiness.

Ah. Now I know. I am obsessed with finding real bliss.It is not Manhattan.Nor Sex and the City.

It's finding genuine happiness.

Pain

Pain. Everybody goes through them. Physically, every time someone experiences any illness, a common headache perhaps, we are assured that sooner or later it will go away. But emotionally - ah - it is fact that it will never go away that easily. In fact, it may never be a bright sunshiny day for some of us.

I have heard a song so many times before. In fact, I have memorized most of the lines myself. It has been one of my favorites, the first song I have ever saved in my MP3 player, and it is still there. I have tried my best not to hear the song, listen, yes, but hear? It pains me that somewhere, a long time ago, I sang the song in front of someone I have loved for the longest time. It was a song I have lovingly dedicated to the one person that made me think ok my future with. The song was full of hope, full of earnest patience. In the future, we will all have better days, it said. And in order to be in a better life, one should get through the night.

It was a busy night last night. I had a lot of work to do, things thought about. The player was silently playing in the corner of the office, to give comfort to those who would like to have a break in the middle of the shift. Then there is was, the song. My best pal, who sat next to me, told me about her conversation with the person I dedicated the song to.

"He said 'This is Chaz' song.'" She said.

I was surprised. How could one song make me want to cry, again, after a couple of days that I haven't thought about him? Was it because that song was heartfelt-fully sung in front of an eager crowd? Was is because in a way, he felt what I felt when I sang that song? Or was it because he knew that I am still hurt with the situation that we are both in. I wondered, aloud, to my best pal, about being able to get through the pain I have been going through.

Funny to think that I have gotten over it. I thought I was. But that song brought me back to my senses. I could never really get through this. If there are any closures to make, it would be with my feelings, my emotions.

I thought I already made amends with myself. But I was wrong.

Pain.

Everybody goes through them.

Physically, like breaking a bone, it would go away, with a strong 500 mg pain reliever pill and a short period of time. But emotionally, like having your heart broken, can take a long while to heal.

I am still hoping for better days.

I will make it through the night.

Going Straight

Once you've joined the bandwagon, there is no turning back.

That's what I have always believed in. Realizing I was gay in the 3rd gay, it does count that I have reasons why I'd like to believe that. However, because of a recent event that rocked my belief to the core, I tend to ask a question: Is it really that possible to join the "other side" when you have been on "this side" for the longest time?

It is one of the nightmares a straight woman would never dream of having- learning your "better" half turns out to be gay. I have asked a friend about that before.

"What if you learned your lover was gay?" I asked, curious about what the "no-so-opposite" sex thought.

"I'd die" she said. "I'd die then die again."

A close friend once told me a story about finding out her lover was gay. She told me her ex-lover did not admit he was. He just thought it was silly. She thought it was silly too. Until she found her ex in bed, with another man.

Maybe it's because I have cursed the label "hopeless romantic" already. Or maybe it is the fact that I don't think I would be happy living a lie. But I really don't think it would work. Call me pessimistic. I don't think a "straight-woman-gay-man" scenario would work.

Not unless both parties know ALL about the other person. And that would require a lot of courage, not to mention denial.

Do not get me wrong, I think in love, nothing is impossible. There are no barriers in loving someone, not even any if's or but's. Everything is fair in war and love.

That is where the real question lies. I am confused, can a real woman really love someone, knowing that the person she loves may love someone else, someone that has something she could never have? Can a gay man actually love a woman, with all his heart, without looking at the man at the next line, realizing that he has rock hard abs?

Okay, it is not a question on loving someone. It all boils down to one thing - being able to remain faithful no matter what temptation comes. Now that's something we really should think of.

To my friend, who have found real love in an unexpected situation - at least for me - I am happy for you. You have found love, something that I have been looking for for my entire life. In a way, I envy you, because someone has accepted you for who you are. I just wish that even if everything changes, you would remain the same person I have known for a while.

Congratulation, you have now gone straight.

The Case of the "Pancit" Date

One of the perks of working during graveyards shifts is being able to go on early morning dates. The bad thing about it is that if the person you have just met is really interested in you, it's either he is too young (and on the way to school), to old (can't sleep because of athritis), or is just to plain ugly (the "what-do-i-have-to-lose" guys). Yeah, I know, I sound really really conceited. But really, most of the guys I meet during earl mornings are (sorry) sore losers.

Being in a bad date is like being in a boat ride in Burnham. You know the water is murky, and it definitely smells like sewage (cause it is sewage), but you and your tourist friends still ride an overpriced boat just for the heck of it.

A bad date has three factors:
1. Me, and my hopeless quest for someone to truly love,
2. Him, and his awfully quiet or sometimes bad date demeanor, and
3. An overpriced restaurant or cafe where a bowl of overcooked pasta sells for at least half the price of the entire building.

Yes, we have been through bad dates. A night out with a date usually ends up with him drunk and you covered in puke. A stroll in the park with him in GOd-forbid tsinelas and you in a Choo. Ordering an expensive coffee at a cafe, not knowing that he does not have money and you have to pay for it.

But nothing beats a Pancit Date. This kind of date usually involves you, him, and a bowl of pancit. Yes, pancit. Pasta would be nice. Fetuccini Carbonara, or a bowl of piping hot Pasta Putanesca to warm your cold belly. But pancit?

It is not that I have anything against the typical Filipino merienda fare. It is just that if you would like to please someone, pancit is definitely NOT the food to place on the table.

Rei, a very good friend, was with me a couple of days ago. It was my restday and I wanted a change of scenery. So we talked. And having brought up the situation where he met a couple of gay guys who bought pancit for him to stay, I cant help but laugh. I mean, it really is not the food. I love pancit just as much as the people at the other table. It is just that a lot of people right now cover the fact that they are something they aren't! I mean, I wear makeup and huge earrings just as an expression, but these guys wear men's clothes, but has an inch-thick application of foundation on their faces. Talk aboout confused.

I know, I really don't make sense right now. Maybe it's because I am also confused. I mean, I love pancit and I am still looking for the right man.

Maybe with the right man, a plate of pancit wouldn't be bad, after all.

I Miss Me

In the dark night, I am amazed to see a light
At the hidden corner of the room.

A hidden corner in a dim room where
the only thing I see is me.

The light flickered, like a burning candle
ready to give up, the breeze forcing it to die.

I covered the flame with my hand,
I was amazed.

Twas the first time I saw my hands.
My own hands.

And I never let it go until
the wax it lived on boiled up to smoke.

My eyes tried to find the light.
Nothing was left.

So there I was.
In the middle of the dark room.
In the middle of hurt, and pain.
I was back to the place I have known so well.
The room of loneliness and sadness.

Here,in the quiet, I miss you.
But most of all...


I miss the light.


I miss me.

Alexandria

Is it over? Am I alone again?
Has the sun finally set?
Is my world in the dark again?
I woke up in the glittering sun,
There was too much light, I squinted.
And when I got used to the warmth,
to the shining, shimmering sunlight,
It ended.
Just like that.
Like a candle finally giving in to the breeze.


I sit in the corner of my dark room,
It was flooded with light before.
I listen to the murmurs from the distance,
asking me why I finally succumbed to darkness.

"I finished the book," I said,
a tear flowing from my eye.
"I finished the book," I said again,
not knowing why.

My Alexandria's full of scrolls,
bound books that where never meant to be there.
And there, before the light flickered to death,
I put the book I finished
I never got to the end.
I just knew what would happen.


So I closed the heavy book I held in my hands
and placed it with the others I have read.

In the dark corner I drifted to sleep.
In the dark corner of my Alexandria I wept.


Is it over? Am I alone again?
In the dark corner of my Alexandria
I wait for the sun to shine again.

The Long, Lonely Road to Him

So there I was, in the midst of 3rd class hotels and videoke joints frequented by old, drunk farts, inside a chessy drag show bar. A nice, old but goodlooking drag queen starting lipsynching to a song I haven't heard for a while. It was a poem I was trying to tell him. I am loving again, and I wanted him to know that he was who I wanted to love, forever.

It was the second night. Everybody came to the office on Sunday, when it all begun. The news was welcomed with mixed emotions. Many dreaded that day. I looked forward to it. The fact that our job was in jeopardy did not compare to the excitement I felt. This was what I was waiting for. Rest, at last. The past few weeks after the promotion was tiring, I needed space.

When our Manager OIC told us that we needed to take leaves - forced leaves - I looked at my dear friend, Di Anne, and told her that this was it, that this was what we were looking for. We immediately planned for a much-deserved relaxation "thingie", and we decided to take a visit to Asin, a popular Hot Spring Resort center around 20 minutes away from the heart of Baguio City.

We rode a jeep to Asin, just the two of us, and enjoyed a whole day of just swimming and basking in the sun while submerged in warm, inviting jacuzzis. It was heaven. Pure bliss.

It was day 1, and we planned that by day 4 we would be sitting on a sidewalk at Session Road begging for food. The plan turned around. At 12:00 am, we found ourselves sitting on Ben's car, to Manila, after he had invited us to come with him to the Big City.

Arriving at Makati at around 5 a.m., we had coffee at the only Starbuck's which had a room for smokers, at Legaspi. That was after a warm, sweaty walk looking for an open Starbucks around the Harbour, Baywalk, and Malate.

Coffee finally ended and we found ourselves at a hotel along Makati Avenue. We slept for a couple of hours and had late dinner at Hai, a restaurant near Highstreet, near the Fort. It was Chinese food, and we loved it. We met new friends, and I introduced her to MamaBelz, and Zenos, Ben's friends way back from Elementary and College, part of Casa Guapa.

After a walk at Highstreet, Nath called us, telling us that we had to go back to Baguio, because operations will start the next day. So after that call we decided to ride MamaBel'z car to Cubao and visit Palawan. We danced the night away, after the drag queens showed us what they got. It was the end of the 2nd day.

Di Anne's departure was dramatic, to say the least. She was crying, thanking me and Ben for a wonderful time. It was her first "wala lang" visit to Manila, and I was glad to be part of it.

That night, before I went to bed, I asked a question so innocent, I thought the answer was the only way to my salvation. It was the end of everything. It was the end of my life.

He answered my question with honesty, something I have always expected in our friendship. what I didn't expect was the intensity of pain I was going to feel.

I slept crying, not knowing what to do. I wanted to go back to my heaven, to Baguio, where everything seems to be alright. But I fought that feeling.

When I woke up, I decided to stay, even for just a few hours. I wanted to be with him, to savor the moment that we were alone, together.

That day became the longest and loneliest day I have ever had, like the car drive from Kanlaon to the Bus Station at Pasay. I wanted to jump out of the car, to wave for a cab and get on the earliest bus.

It was 6:00 pm of day 3 when I got on the bus back to Baguio. There, he stood, with the person he loves, my bestfriend. Inside the bus was me, the man that loved him even if it hurt me like hell.

I slept all the way to Baguio. Except for the ocassional cigarette breaks on bus stops, I remained on my seat, trying to fight the tears that wanted to come out.

Baguio City was the same. Cold, foggy, like I left it a couple of days ago. And when I saw the familiar roads and street lights, I sighed. I was back home - back to where I belong.

I rode a cab home and immediately laid down on my own bed, in my leased apartment. I closed my eyes and remained calm. It was the end of a very long struggle.

It was the end of the long, lonely road to him.

Voyeur

I'd like to now what they are thinking.

I'd like to know who they are.

In the sentences they write,

the songs they sing.

He wrote about saying goodbye, about thinking

someone was his forever love.

He was wrong.

I was wrong.

I'd like to know who this man is,

The man who loved.

The man who got hurt.

The man who bled.

The man with the likeness of Adam,

the heart of Eve.

The Eve that stood in the corner

of love and hate.

I watched him as he slowly died.

I watched him and thanked God it wasn't me.

It was not me who died that night.

That night it rained.

Yes, everytime someone we knew was sad,

it rained.

It rained that night, that same night

the man with Eve's heart and me.

We lost something that night.

Our dignity.

Our hopes.

Shattered into a million little pieces.

I'd like to know what you are thinking.

I'd like to know who you are.

In the sentences you write,

the songs you sing.

To the man with Adam's likeness,

and the heart of Eve.

I envy you.

At least you have said your last goodbye.

A Cup of Coffee

Almost all the blogs I have read - well, most of the blogs made by gay men anyway - have the word "coffee" in it somewhere.

Coffee addicts, caffeine freaks, coffee beans, coffee cakes, coffee conversations.

Somehow, I relate to them. What does coffee have anyway?

The bitter black liquid has become a staple to every gay man above 18. Now it's this bean concoction, and unless its piping hot and $3.00 for a tall cup, it does not count. Maybe it's the high. Or the wakefulness - that sudden burst of energy that will eventually dwindle to nothing. Or the company.

Hey, I enjoy coffee even if I am alone. With a cancer stick on one hand and a mugful of fresh, brewed coffee on the other. Somehow, there's comfort in coffee. Like a warm, lazy Sunday afternoon, or a cozy night on a fuzzy carpet by a fireplace. The warmth fills a cold emptiness in anyone's existence, a wonderful bliss out of a heavy burden and a dramatic life.

In a way, that cup of coffee we always hold in our hands become a connection to friendship, a link to love sought.

I have a fantasy. About meeting Mr. Right. I am alone, in a coffee shop, nursing my Tall Caramel Macchiato, when someone comes over and asks me if the seat is taken. I will tell the guy it isn't, then instead of taking the chair to another table, he would sit down, and we will have a conversation so long that the coffee shop crew actually asks us to go because they have to close up. After that long, meaningful conversation over coffee, he would actually ask me out. He will get my phone number then we will have dinner.

Then we will have kids.

Then we will buy a house in the suburbs and live happily ever after.

IT'S A FANTASY, dang it.



So there. A fantasy had boiled from a cup of coffee.

A cup of coffee boiled from a handful of beans from the Amazon or somewhere.

A cup of coffee that brought friends together and made iron-clad relationships.

A cup of coffee that, for the next half hour, becomes my lover.

A cup of coffee that will be my constant companion no matter who leaves...


... or whoever stays.

Foggy, Faggy Baguio

(An ode to Sarah Jessica Parker's fictional Carrie Bradshaw character)

Baguio City. Home to fresh strawberries, fresh air and foggy faggy nights.

I am a 20 something, single, healthy gay man in a 90 something highly urbanized, cold climated city on top of the mountain ranges in a 3rd world country. People around me are constantly seeking for something all the time. A loaf of freshly baked bread, a cup of brewed coffee, the perfect pair of shoes, or, in my case, a love life.

Sounding like a personal ad for a long term relationship, I can not help but wonder why I, a very kind and outgoing gay guy, can not find someone who would love me like I want them to. And then it hits me. I am not what they are looking for. Most gay men in this city today looks for the same thing. Someone goodlooking enough to walk up and down Session Road with, or someone goodlooking enough to be in bed with.

Well, sorry.

Aside from the fact that I tend to hate model-gorgeous guys, I tend to believe that I do not have to go to the gym just to burn the fats and attract a male specimen. Nope, not me.

A couple of days ago, my friends at the office planned a "couples night out." We all get it. Friday night, a couple of beer bottles, and your closest friends with their lovely partners dancing the night away in each other's arms. Yuck.

I have enjoyed being single for at least 5 months, and believe me, it has been a blast. The fact is, as much as I want to give up being single just to be with someone special at the end of a tiring day, I enjoy being able to go out whenever I want and be with anybody I want. The thing is, I am in deep sh*t with work that I have shunned social life altogether. Not to mention my sex life.

I have a text mate. Yes, a text mate. A guy in his teens looking for someone to talk to. I tell him I am gay, and in a minute he sneds me a text message that somewhat read like disbelief.

"U R GAY?" he asked, all in BOLD, CAPITAL letters.

Hey, he was texting the biggest queer of all! But I was desperate, so I lied.

"Well," I said. "I just don't believe in Bisexuality."

True, to say the least. I do not believe in Bisexuality at all! I mean, if you have eaten "hotdogs" before, eating "shellfish" does not count anymore. Once you are gay, you are gay. So there, I was a 20 something "bisexual-who-does-not-believe-in-bisexuality" guy in cold, foggy city.


This morning, when I woke up, I decided to call the dentist and set up an appointment for teeth cleaning, and after I took a quick shower, I rushed to the clinic to avoid being late. Half an hour waiting in the dentist's comfortable but tight waiting room, I began to wonder - was I doing this because I wanted to look good, or is it because I wanted to feel good about myself? As the dentist sucked the blood out of my poor gums, I decided I was doing it to feel good. I have always been an advocate of feeling good to look good.

After the dentist appointment I went to my favorite salon and had a long overdue pedicure. The pedicurist had a hard time picking out my ingrown, and as I felt pain while she tugged on a very stubborn nail, I couldn't help but smile. I had gone through two painful beauty rituals, but when I looked into the mirror, it was just me! Just plain, old me. I stepped out of the salon and walked away, rushing to the nearest exit to get a much needed cigarette high. I puffed a cig and looked at my now-pink-toes. Gee, it really feels nice to have clean feet.


Session Road is now covered in fog, and I feel happy. I missed the old Baguio, the one I grew up in. Before it was all fog, almost deserted Session Road and just a handful of cars. Now it's smog, thousands of people and old, carbon monoxide emitting taxis. But I feel happy. And my feet is clean. I stop for a moment and thank God I am single. At least I can still enjoy foggy afternoons alone.

Now if someone could just be with me to enjoy this wonderful day.

Talk about irony.

Complaining Again

It's 5.oo am MNL time. I am famished, stressed, and irritated. Work is a blast, and I love what I am doing. It has started raining again, and I can't breathe.

Yes, I am complaining. Probably because I am tired. But at least I am not whining about my love life. THAT sucks.

I just came from work and I am really happy that I have the job. It is very fulfilling, to say the least.

The emails, the calls, the training, the constant changes. I LOVE it. But one thing is sure, nothing beats working when you get the salary you deserve. I have extra jobs, no extra monetary compensation. Now that's sad.

Our electricity was cut the other day, we did not have the time to pay the bill. Talk about darkness. It is a good thing I work at night. At least I slept better. But it was wonderful to learn that electricity is back. I get to watch those BelAmi guys before hitting the sack.

It has officially been 3 months since the last time I made love with someone. Now if lack of sex kills, I would be dead now. Ha ha. I am a walking, talking, sex-deprived zombie. LOL.


So I am famished, stressed, tired, sleep deprived and sex deprived.

I am complaining.

The Battlefield

"I'm already in my own watchtower where my towerblock lords over the silencing of the fields. I'm already in my watchtower where bloodshed is not near."

Someone told me that. And the funny thing is that I wanted to be there, in the middle of that battlefield he was talking about. The fields where everybody was fighting for one thing, and that being his heart.

He is Helen of Troy. A thousand ships sank because of him. And I survived the shipwreck. I stood there, in the middle of the field, my loins girded, my battle helmet in my hand and my shield in the other. I was wondering why I needed the shield, I was already wounded, hurt from the previous battle I was in. But I kept in near, hoping that my heart won't be speared, yet again.

I saw him, in his watchtower, looking over the soldiers vying for his love. He was there, resplendent in his silver armour and feathered helmet. His face glittered with hope that someday, the war will be over. He knows he had lost, that was why he left the battle to rest on top of everything. He wanted to leave, but he knew he needed to be there, to find out who wins.

His kingdom was torn, the war was between the Loved and the Loving. He loved him. He cannot let go of him, and although he knows someone is trying to win over his heart, he also knows that the loving person will not win. He knows, and yet he continues to watch over the bloodshed.

I am the Loving. And although I know I won't win, I carry my shield and my sword. I stand, in the middle of the war, letting my shining shield catch his eye. And yet he is focused on the other soldier, the one that slashed my heart into two.

The Loved soldier rode his horse to where I was, and I was surprised, hurt, and bleeding. And yet I kept my eye on him, the one on the Watchtower. I longed for him to stop looking at the Loved. I am here. I am Loving, I am loving you like I haven't loved anyone before.

As my heart bled, I was thankful that I was there, in the middle of the battlefield. I have proven that I am worth it, I know I can do it, and yet, without any hope that he will see me as what I want him to see me, I long for the end of it all.

My armor shone, in the setting sun, and I smiled as he smiled too, not at me, but at the Loved.

It was the end of the war.

As I stumbled, blood pouring into the grass, my life ending with a broken heart, I saw him look at me, and shake his head.

"I am not worth it, he seemed to say."

Oh, but you are my love. You are worth the blood I am spilling.

So in the battlefield, the man in the watchtower walked to the Loved soldier, and they rode their horses into the sunset.

I was left there, in the middle of the battlefield, the battlefield that I fought on.

I do not have any regrets. At least I died in my own terms.

At least I fought for you.

Waiting for the Rain to Stop

It was raining in Malate.

Of all the nights it can rain, it would be now, when it was the only time I had to enjoy a little piece of heaven.

It was a road trip, down to Manila, for the first time in the 24 years of my existence. I have never been to Manila alone, just once, and it was for something really important. I was with two great friends, Kiko, and Ben.

Manila was great, it wasn't like what I have always thought it was, the gateway to hell.

The air was just right, not scorching hot, and the taxi drivers were friendly.

The first night was spent just horsing around, taking pictures and sleeping. After the night we arrived, we headed to the mall, where we bought some things for that night's Pride Party at Malate. I was personally excited. I always wanted to dance to the beat of the bars I have heard of in stories, places I have only imagined in my daydreams.

That night, garbed in my precious white tank top, new silver chandeliers and trusty white leather sandals, I travelled to Malate. It was quite a short distance from the hotel we were staying at. Ben had a date, so it was just me, and Allan, a very good friend from Pampanga, and his friend, Jenny. Kiko stayed at the hotel, waiting for his lover to arrive from Europe.

It amazed me. Every street corner was full of gay men. Men just like me. Men who loves men. People Like Me. I was immediately mesmerized. This was Malate.

Then, just like that, the wind blew in from the South and it starting raining. Not the "cat and dog" kind of rain, but the drizzly, "sticky-when-you-dry-up" kind of rain.

My gold makeup was the first thing I tried to protect. I spent half an hour just trying to perfectly put the goddamn gold powder on my face. My hair was wet, and Allan, Jenny and I were running to and fro, looking for some of my Manila friends at the numerous bars around.

At last, after another heavy downpour, we got to the Rainbow Project, where some of my friends were. There, I realized, that no matter how eager I am to see my Manila friends, I would love to see someone else, be with someone else, dance with someone else.

He promised me he will be there. He told me he was going to be with me the entire night.

He did not come.

But I waited. He said he was coming.

At the Bed, I danced my heart out. The music throbbed in my ears as I moved, I ignored the beautiful men around me. My Baguio friends would envy me, I thought. Surrounded by beautiful, half naked men, and not a care in the world.

I was drenched in sweat, I felt like the queen of the night, but I was not happy.

The night ended like it ended before. One by one, my companions went home.

I was still hoping he would come. He promised he would come.

It was 4:00 am. In the middle of the street I walked, looking for a place to rest my tired, sandalled feet. After an hour in a nearby Starbucks I stood up, and I continued walking. I decided to go home, I was tired.

It rained in Malate that night.

It rained like it never rained before.

And as the cab I rode drove away from the place I thought was heaven, I wondered - when will I stop waiting for the rain to stop?

C E N S O R E D

In a world where almost everything sells because of the concept of SEX, it is quite ironic that a site that promotes the freedom of speech and the ability to express one's feelings can get banned just because of some people who post pictures showing their true selves.

I am against the censorship of FLICKR in some countries. I want freedom, I have fought for mine. The people of the world deserves complete freedom - freedom of everything from expressing one's self to choosing one's orientation.

Here is to FLICKR and it's continuous effort to serve people who are unique.

Diwata

Ikaw na ang maging Diwata...

I Will Be Ok

Life is unfair. Everybody knows that. But what's unfair is that the truth that you can never have everything you have ever wanted in your life.

I am in a dark place right now, after a long while I am back to where I have tried not be at. When my former lover told me that he had found someone else I didn't even feel any remorse. I was at peace. But right now, when I am beginning to love again, I am in deep sh*t.

Truth is, I am bringing this on to myself. I am looking for something that I can never have, someone who cannot love me back. I am in paranoia, the one that makes you think everyone is ganging up on you. I am afraid that somewhere in the near future, before I die, I would really be alone, with everyone having someone else, and me left alone in an unforgiving cold tundra, waiting for the sun to set.

I am not at ease, my feet are tired but I long to feel the pain. I can not breathe because I am forcing myself to stay underwater, for fear that when I get out of the tides I will disintegrate into
nothingness. I want to be alive, even when it hurts.

I wanted to die before, to just ease my pains, and let everyone mourn of loss. But I guess no one will be there at my wake, so I'll just stay alive. At least even if it hurts me to see all the people around me getting along just fine, I know I still have the chances of changing my life.

Nothing is constant but change, another proverb. To me the only thing that doesn't change is the need to go on, to face obstacles and fight for the right to live.


If you are reading this and you are happy, embrace happiness, never let go. If you are not, happiness is just a state of mind.

I will be ok. I can never let myself down.

My Happy Sunshine Corner

"It took me 2 months to fall in love, 2 weeks to realize I cant have you, 2 days to try to fall out of love, and a lifetime to forget about you. And that's all the time I have. I guess I won't be your happy sunshine corner anymore."

For the past few weeks, it took me one person to realize that I am really a beautiful and strong person. Not as strong as Samson, or as beautiful as Delilah. But as strong as the bamboo waving in a strong gust of wind, and as beautiful as the sun ready to set into the blue and black horizon.

This entry serves a purpose, as an open letter to someone that have been an important part of my life.

Dear You.

Thank you, for being there when no one was around.

Thank you, for showing me that I can love no matter what the obstacles are.

Thank you, for making me realize my potentials and making me work harder for a much deserved life.

Thank you, for setting me free and for showing me that there can a sting to honesty, but that sting will awaken us to reality.

I can not say I can stay, nor can I say that I will leave.

This world is too small for us, so I will just let life take its course, like water in the neverending water bed.

The truth is, when I met you, I knew I wanted someone like you. And I know we can never get EVERYTHING we wanted in our life.

One person "lost", one person gained. Thanks for bringing another person into my life. Without you, I could never have met one of the best persons in my life right now.

So there, no matter what happened or what happens, I will remain grateful for the heartache you have brought me.

Take Care Always, my Happy Sunshine Corner. You will always be a sunny part in my dark, cloudy existence.

knowing

I know.
I have known since I first opened my eyes.
The dream.
It was the most unpleasant dream.
But I longed for every minute.
I would love to have that dream again.
You.
If you were mine you won't.
Shed a tear.
Walk a mile.
Carry a load.
Me.
Share the pain.
Drive the distance.
Push the cart.
If pain was constant.
You are my pill.
A bitter pill.
You.
Never will be mine.
Me.
Happiness.
With you here.
Just here.
In my dream.

The Desperate Housewives BUZZ

I am an addict. I confess. Its the glam, the drama, the story, everything about Desperate Housewives just makes me wanna STOP and imagine how life would be if I was in Wisteria Lane. Yup, to be seeing Mike Delfino or Austin Britt topless, or Gabrielle Solis hooking up with the gorgeous John (Jesse Metcalfe), would make me really really happy.

Even Oprah Winfrey was hooked up with the awesome show. She even had an Oprah episode where she made a 10 minute spoof, pretending she was a "Wisteria Lane" housewife. She even got a fake husband!!! Now that IS entertaining.

I really can't get enough of Wisteria Lane. The stories just keep on getting better!

And the promotional pictures? Oh, the promo pix of DH are to DIE for. The picture above is one of the best, taken at a Laundry shop or whatever. Hmmm... kinda makes me wanna wash my own clothes. :) The picture is very ironic, the glam in the ordinary... Makes me just wanna smile...

Lifetime Warranty

Whoa. My conversion is DROPPING, DROPping, dropping...
They put me on the f*ckin' Prio 1, making me take most of the calls that should be divided EQUALLY between all of the agents here. What are they trying to do? KILL my conversion, then FIRE me for not having good stats???

Sh!t, this day sucks. To think that I wore my one of my favorite shirts. Believe it or not, I am typing at one word per minute. After typing one word, my phone rings again, I have to do the entire lame spiel AND THEN, as typical as it may seem, it's a customer service call, or a workable call BUT I don't close the sale.

I have one sale today. One sale without any warranties. I have to have another sale with an attachment. OR ELSE. There goes my monthly appraisal. How can I be regularized? I mean, I have been working with this company for 2 months, and I wouldn't want to recieve an email or a letter saying that I didn't get through, and that I will have to stay as a PROBY for another 6 months. Double sh!t.

It's 11 pm. The queue has finally ceased. I get the chance to at least relax and breathe in the air-conditioned air.

For a moment I get the feeling this day will eventually be OK.

I hope I get another sale.

I'll add a warranty to that f*ckin' sale.

I Miss You

I miss you.

I long to touch your face and tell you that I love you. I have never like this before. I want to settle down and grow old with you.

You are the one that I have been waiting for my entire life. You are the one that I think about each time I wake up in the morning. The one I think about before I eat my lunch. Sound a little cheesy, but yes, I really can't stop thinking about you.

All my life I have been waiting for the time when I can experience being loved for who I am, no pretensions. You came to my life and made me realize how colorful life is. You are my pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. The icing on my cake.

Boo, before you came I felt really sorry for myself. I was in oblivion. Now I can definitely say that the days are brighter, colors more vibrant. I long to be with you. I want to feel your embrace.

My love, no one can come close to me as you did. Only God knows how happy I am knowing that someone has finally come to be my savior. You saved me from myself, you saved me from the limbo that was about to eat me whole. I was dying to die before you came. Now I long to LIVE.

I.
Love.
You.

Three words that can never be enough to tell you that I really do care for you. I adore you. Ti amo. Minamahal kita.

Today, as the world turns, as I wait for the sun to rise, I softly utter you name and wish that this is not a dream. I want to go to sleep and wake up knowing that this is the truth, that this is really the calm after the storm.

I love you. No, that's a lie. This is more that just love that I feel. You are my life. I continue existing because you are there.

I, William Charles Zenith, love you.

A contract will never be enough to fortify this feeling.

A hug will never be enough to let you feel what I feel.

A kiss will never be enough.

You are my love. My existence.

I love you. More than words can say.



And I miss you.

A Pianist's Dream - PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

Her hands moved gracefully on the keys of the piano, playing the deep and dramatic notes of a song masterfully created by a deaf man a long time ago. It was very obvious that the song was her favorite, for she has mastered the song, her emotions are clearly visible from the way her body swayed, her eyes closed as tears dropped from the windows of her soul.

A breeze blew from an open window, and her long white locks danced like ballerinas on stage. The pianist stopped playing and closed the piano's cover. She sat in front of the piano for a long time, staring at a picture taken so many years ago.

The picture showed two persons, both of them wearing black pants and white long sleeved shirts. Their ties were of different colors, although the picture has faded and the colors are not discernable. Their hair were jet black and well combed, there faces austere and unsmiling. Both of them were carrying rolled up pieces of paper. A school's logo and name was on the picture.

The pianist took the frame and touched the faces on the picture. She stood after placing the picture back on the piano. The pianist carefully walked towards the open window and stared at the garden outside. She savored the cool breeze and closed her eyes.

A door opened and a man entered the room.

"'Tay," the man said. "Its time to go. "