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.