There are three other gentleman aside from me in J. Wendell's class every Tuesday.
The first is a proud Bicolano and is the son of a Philippine National Railways manager. The second is a nerdy-looking guy who works for a book publishing company. He usually leaves with a rugged guy who waits for him outside the room when our class ends at seven. The third is the eldest in our batch. He is a plump guy who prefers dressing up in a monochromatic attire and chooses his words carefully when he speaks. Rest assured however that when he talks, his words are heavy with profound insights that leaves me awed and inspired for days after our class had ended.
I rarely speak in class or participate in subject discussions. Instead, I spend my time gazing blankly at the lone tree outside our consultation room's window and contemplating on our professor's words of wisdom that inspires harmony and compassion in our daily lives.
"Some writers become successful in their careers, but when they retire, these writers realize that they did not make any friends..." J. Wendell told us during our recent meeting. "You know why?"
"It's because they establish their prominence by destroying other people's credibility." The eldest guy, who I will call Mongol for this entry would solemnly nod his head to agree to our professor's statements. He would sometimes expound what J. Wendell said by sharing his experiences after meeting different writers throughout his life.
These past two weeks, my attention shifted from my nerdy-looking classmate who was always accompanied by his guy "bestfriend" going home, to Mongol, whose thoughts resonate with what our professor loves to discuss in class. It's like attending a healing therapy session and not a creative writing workshop once a week. On the contrary, when I applied the lessons in those "sessions," it felt like I was able to grasp the depth of my subjects better. Take for example my entry 700; I take away grammar lapses of that piece and the entry still gives me goose pimples whenever I read it.
Going back to Mongol, I always have this impression that he is an accomplished person. He appears to be well-connected, (a national artist used to invite him for breakfast at her place and he rejected the idea of being seated next to GMA on several occassions) poetic, (he once said to Cristina Pantoja-Hidalgo that being in her class is like riding a Rolls Royce, one will not settle for anything less) and his thoughts struck deep when he talks about life. One thing that keeps me mystified about him is that of all my classmates in Wendell's class, he is the only one who never said anything about his profession. I initially thought that he runs an advertising firm based from what he vaguely said when we were introduced in class. All I know is that he seems to be a powerful person who keeps everything under wraps by showing modesty to class, which gesture made me interested to find out more about him.
So when did I first notice Mongol's presence?
It's actually during our second meeting, when he was greeted by a chinita friend who turns out to be her classmate in another subject last semester. Suddenly, the reserved chinita who was talking to me earlier turned babaeng bakla when the two of them began talking. It didn't catch my attention, since what really caught my gaze was the hunky late-twenties guy who passed in front while waiting for our professor to arrive. I remember having a conversation with my lesbian classmate about the guys I dig. This guy suddenly appeared out of nowhere and crossed my line of sight. Since I needed a perfect example for the lesbian to get the picture I tried to describe, I nudged her to look at the hunk in front of us. Next thing I knew, the guy turned out to be Mongol's assistant.
Admittedly, I sense something in Mongol that I tried to repress but the more we get to talk, the more he validates my suspicions. It is well known that there are only a handful of straight guys enrolled in my program. If I believe in the spoof written on our university paper last semester, it is possible that the real straights are actually marginalized in my university. Anyway last meeting, Mongol and I had a small talk. He asked me why I don't have a kikay kit inside my bag when all the gays he know have one - that is how I understood his question. I told him that I just came from the gym and what's inside my bag were my gym attire.
Our topic shifted from kikay kits to gym places.
He told me that he used to work out in Fitness First.
"Hmmm.. daming PLU dun ah." I said to myself.
To cut the story short, I told him about my gym and how it was different from other work-out places. I said that we never do cardio workouts but instead focus our training in weight lifting. I tried to guess where the conversation would lead to. It happened many times before and with absolute confidence I thought that I was close to getting my validation.
That Mongol is actually one of us.
"So did you go out last Saturday," I asked him subtly, hinting whether he went to the White Party in Malate or not.
"What's with last Saturday? Is there a big event that I am not aware of?" He replied, trying to grasp what I'm trying to get to.
"I mean do you go out during weekends, you know, to unwind in bars or watering holes." I answered defensively, knowing that I might be wrong with what I was sensing.
"Oh I'm passed that age. I prefer to stay home, read books or write poems."
Very lucky for me, I decided never to get direct with my statements. Had I been tactless that afternoon, I would have embarrassed myself to epic proportions.
Because as Melanie Marquez once said, "Don't judge my brother, he is not a book."
After spending the evening yesterday researching in Google all the available information about Mongol. He turns out to be a high-profile Pastor who leads a huge Christian Ministry. He is well connected to National Artists not because of his personal merits but because of his advocacy to "redeem, restore and rededicate Art to God." Now I understand why his profound words radiate with grace whenever he speaks in front of class.
How malicious my assumptions were.
For the first time, my Gaydar had betrayed me,
Big time.
The first is a proud Bicolano and is the son of a Philippine National Railways manager. The second is a nerdy-looking guy who works for a book publishing company. He usually leaves with a rugged guy who waits for him outside the room when our class ends at seven. The third is the eldest in our batch. He is a plump guy who prefers dressing up in a monochromatic attire and chooses his words carefully when he speaks. Rest assured however that when he talks, his words are heavy with profound insights that leaves me awed and inspired for days after our class had ended.
I rarely speak in class or participate in subject discussions. Instead, I spend my time gazing blankly at the lone tree outside our consultation room's window and contemplating on our professor's words of wisdom that inspires harmony and compassion in our daily lives.
"Some writers become successful in their careers, but when they retire, these writers realize that they did not make any friends..." J. Wendell told us during our recent meeting. "You know why?"
"It's because they establish their prominence by destroying other people's credibility." The eldest guy, who I will call Mongol for this entry would solemnly nod his head to agree to our professor's statements. He would sometimes expound what J. Wendell said by sharing his experiences after meeting different writers throughout his life.
These past two weeks, my attention shifted from my nerdy-looking classmate who was always accompanied by his guy "bestfriend" going home, to Mongol, whose thoughts resonate with what our professor loves to discuss in class. It's like attending a healing therapy session and not a creative writing workshop once a week. On the contrary, when I applied the lessons in those "sessions," it felt like I was able to grasp the depth of my subjects better. Take for example my entry 700; I take away grammar lapses of that piece and the entry still gives me goose pimples whenever I read it.
Going back to Mongol, I always have this impression that he is an accomplished person. He appears to be well-connected, (a national artist used to invite him for breakfast at her place and he rejected the idea of being seated next to GMA on several occassions) poetic, (he once said to Cristina Pantoja-Hidalgo that being in her class is like riding a Rolls Royce, one will not settle for anything less) and his thoughts struck deep when he talks about life. One thing that keeps me mystified about him is that of all my classmates in Wendell's class, he is the only one who never said anything about his profession. I initially thought that he runs an advertising firm based from what he vaguely said when we were introduced in class. All I know is that he seems to be a powerful person who keeps everything under wraps by showing modesty to class, which gesture made me interested to find out more about him.
So when did I first notice Mongol's presence?
It's actually during our second meeting, when he was greeted by a chinita friend who turns out to be her classmate in another subject last semester. Suddenly, the reserved chinita who was talking to me earlier turned babaeng bakla when the two of them began talking. It didn't catch my attention, since what really caught my gaze was the hunky late-twenties guy who passed in front while waiting for our professor to arrive. I remember having a conversation with my lesbian classmate about the guys I dig. This guy suddenly appeared out of nowhere and crossed my line of sight. Since I needed a perfect example for the lesbian to get the picture I tried to describe, I nudged her to look at the hunk in front of us. Next thing I knew, the guy turned out to be Mongol's assistant.
Admittedly, I sense something in Mongol that I tried to repress but the more we get to talk, the more he validates my suspicions. It is well known that there are only a handful of straight guys enrolled in my program. If I believe in the spoof written on our university paper last semester, it is possible that the real straights are actually marginalized in my university. Anyway last meeting, Mongol and I had a small talk. He asked me why I don't have a kikay kit inside my bag when all the gays he know have one - that is how I understood his question. I told him that I just came from the gym and what's inside my bag were my gym attire.
Our topic shifted from kikay kits to gym places.
He told me that he used to work out in Fitness First.
"Hmmm.. daming PLU dun ah." I said to myself.
To cut the story short, I told him about my gym and how it was different from other work-out places. I said that we never do cardio workouts but instead focus our training in weight lifting. I tried to guess where the conversation would lead to. It happened many times before and with absolute confidence I thought that I was close to getting my validation.
That Mongol is actually one of us.
"So did you go out last Saturday," I asked him subtly, hinting whether he went to the White Party in Malate or not.
"What's with last Saturday? Is there a big event that I am not aware of?" He replied, trying to grasp what I'm trying to get to.
"I mean do you go out during weekends, you know, to unwind in bars or watering holes." I answered defensively, knowing that I might be wrong with what I was sensing.
"Oh I'm passed that age. I prefer to stay home, read books or write poems."
Very lucky for me, I decided never to get direct with my statements. Had I been tactless that afternoon, I would have embarrassed myself to epic proportions.
Because as Melanie Marquez once said, "Don't judge my brother, he is not a book."
After spending the evening yesterday researching in Google all the available information about Mongol. He turns out to be a high-profile Pastor who leads a huge Christian Ministry. He is well connected to National Artists not because of his personal merits but because of his advocacy to "redeem, restore and rededicate Art to God." Now I understand why his profound words radiate with grace whenever he speaks in front of class.
How malicious my assumptions were.
For the first time, my Gaydar had betrayed me,
Big time.
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