Friday, May 24, 2013


A text message:

"Good. Kelan ulit tayo magkikita?"

"Not sure. Balik work na ako bukas. Siguro sa inuman with Karl Martin (Papa Tagay)"

"Kelan yun?"

"Kapag nagtawag siya."

"Namiss kitang kasama hahaha... Sorry ha."

The eye-ball was set at the RCBC Plaza. Outside the Fitness First Platinum gym - where I thought of checking out the branch to pass time. I was ten minutes early - a rarity - when I agree to see someone for dinner or friendly banter. But after indulging myself listening to the agent complete his sales pitch while pretending to be interested in switching gyms, I ended up ten minutes late for my appointment. 

The guy was five foot, six inches tall and dark skinned. He wore thick, dark-rimmed glasses, and donned solid blue shirt to accentuate his black slacks. In text messages, he would always raise his drawback. That he mostly get rejections. The reasons, I will keep to myself, but there is a grain of truth to his modest self-assessment.

I tend to plan my engagements very carefully. Not because I am picky, but because I wanted to cherish the moments of seeing another person. I try to be comfortable with him, and probe questions that would lead to knowing the soul better. So that even when the outcome ends in a fruitless venture, I would leave good impressions for others to find my trail. 

With him, the eye-ball was half-cooked. There was a general impression that it was rushed. The day before, we were mere strangers. The night ended with us digitally inseminating one another, and as our ties grow the next morning, we were already hurling sweet nothings like love was forthcoming. This is what he believed in; the idea I didn't consciously sell. For me it was all part of the searching, and just like the hangouts before him,

I have learned to leave the heart behind.

We found ourselves sitting in an empty chair across Mary Grace. Words were barely spoken. My growing disinterest had already set my eyes elsewhere - perhaps to that cute acquaintance I saw at Fitness First's locker room. But I tried to be civil, and performed as if I was doing a show. I invited him for dinner. At Stoops, where their famous Bagnet draws executives away from the business district. It was a sumptuous meal, despite burdened by a memory. 

For it was the other who first brought me to that place.

After our meal, I invited him for a walk. To talk, and perhaps rekindle the short-lived bonds we had over the phone. He told me his story, his family and his regrets in relationships. He was a planet-dweller, and his past flings and boyfriends he met there. I told him of my ex, and with each hand picked words, there was the subtle hint that I preferred embracing the memory. 

He tried scaling his arm around my broad shoulders. I stood still, to show him I did not care. He caressed my back as we walked past unlit light posts, I doubled my cadence to distract him from his advances. For some reasons he didn't figure my masterful stroke. Perhaps, my decline was too subtle, or I was too nice unlike the ones before me. The fact that I went the opposite way going home instead of joining him at the train tells that I'm better off going solo.

It pains me to recount the story; to savor the feeling of relief, when I saw him climb the stairs going to the train station; of the cold spell hovering above my phone's touch screen when he sent a complement enjoying the dinner; of the treatment he continues to receive now that I have restored myself to my senses. Looking back, to tell that I have no issues being in bed next to him didn't drive him away. It was a sign of approval, a signal for him to pursue and win me over.

Such is the narrative of men who know only of fleetingness; and who find great comfort looking through stained glass, hoping to figure a shadow behind the breakable wall. I don't know what missing is. I even try not to speak the words. 

Because the last time it was truly felt; when all the dormant memories came tumbling, like tears that were never shed. I was hugging my guy tight.

No words. Only stillness.

The longings of one's absence convey in the oneness of skins. 




Guyrony said...

Yet somehow I remember you telling me that you're in a phase where relationships don't matter anymore.

Even warmness of embrace from others are unwarranted.

Blakrabit said...

Master, how you wrote this somehow lets me feel your emotions.

But it's better to feel this than not feeling anything at all.

kaloy said...

This is heartbreaking...