Human, All Too Human

Kane is a friend and confidant. We met at a blogger's party many years ago. At first, I chose to stay distant because impressions tell that I might get snubbed. It was until he plugged his music player and learned that we have the same fondness for house music that we began talking.

Ties took time to grow, and often, what reached me at first were his dating exploits. But soon, as he get to know more bloggers, while I got invited to house parties hosted by common acquaintances, (where we actually get to bump with each other) I did eventually warm up that soon, I was already selling him my juiciest secrets.

Memories about the parties we graced (and sometimes got ourselves wasted) is something I will always treasure.  More than the deep admiration I have for his writing, it is his openness and down-to-earth character  that makes him so endearing. Since tomorrow (July 3) is his special day, it would be fitting to write something in honor of our Spit Roast author.

My dear Kane, let these three things I've learned from you be my birthday present.


Telling the truth no matter how ugly the reasons are.


Someone left a comment wishing me dead. It was after he read a blog entry of someone I ditched  (in the most cruel manner) where he painted me as the bad guy he can't reach. An earlier written confession had already annoyed me. But it was the deliberate and deceptive "missed text" he sent that made things ugly. The sweeping judgement was uncalled for. Not only was I betrayed once, I was stabbed by those who actually don't know the full story.

To get back at him and his sympathizers, a retaliatory post with a link to the  blog entry was my response.  Words were crafted in a way it would appear as a defense and not an expression of rage. A few days later, Kane and I had a phone conversation about the backbiting and asked why I exposed the ex-admirer by leaving a link to his blogpost.

Without sugarcoating my words I told him the truth.

"Kinamumuhian ko siya."

Coming from someone who carefully picks his words, what I said was downright mean. Kane never asked follow up questions and thanked me for my honesty. Since then, he is one of the few people who I could actually tell everything without  fear of being judged for my actions.  


Perfume and men.


I have always seen my ruggedness as my strength. For this reason, grooming was never a priority, except, when I had to hard-sell myself.  Since I was never into neat-looking guys to begin with, (besides, in places where I used to haunt i.e dance floor, you would almost always end up grungy because of smoke, sweat and alcohol) appearing very manly was enough.

It  was Kane who suggested that I smother myself with perfume just before I party.  "Ayaw mo nun, pagdating mo sa O-Bar lahat ng tao mukhang wasted na pero ikaw eh fresh and clean pa rin?"  I kept his idea for future reference.

Two weeks later at a house party, a long-time blog reader was introduced to me by friends. The punk looked attractive and we instantly clicked. In one of our not-so-intimate conversations, the guy whispered. "Ang bango mo naman."  His compliment had put a smile on my face. Kane's suggestion worked. Mutual attraction led us to stick with each other for the rest of the night.

It turns out the guy was recently taken. I decided not to cross lines in respect to his absent partner.


The makeover of the not-so-fashionable me.


Speaking of ruggedness, I used to think that wearing a fitted black shirt, tight jeans and showing up with a  pumped-up body are enough reasons to get someone's attention. I have no problems loosening up under the influence of alcohol and when it comes to conversations, I know exactly whom to speak

It was in a party exactly a year ago that I decided to raise the bar and square off with the high society.  I knew I would be rubbing elbows with some of the most beautiful men in the city and the people at the ball would surely scan me from head to toe.

So off I went to the Shangri-La Mall to buy a new and expensive shirt. The one I had in mind were not the ones my mom used to buy.  It took me three baths, a dozen sprays of perfume, a drink with the Encantos (for morale boost) and a cab ride all the way from Timog to Harrison Plaza before I could debut with my new look.

The party was euphoric. Saw some teary-eyed guests while reminiscing their best times with the host. I stayed until daybreak to mingle with the crowd. It was crazy. Drinks were overflowing. And while the host locked himself in a room with a date, his inner circle of friends were there to entertain his guests. Though I never scored not even a single kiss at the party, the makeover was a success.

I went home in one piece after refusing to sleep in other people's bed.