Some Kind of Life (First Part)

It was a sort of Thanksgiving; an unspoken promise to the Weatherman that once we walk out of the woods together, I will take him to the ridges of Tagaytay and spend a night chasing the clouds. 

And so during my periodic breaks at work last week, I have been checking AirBnB for possible leads. First to be crossed out are the condominium units. While they offer fancy accomodations, the thought of people spending the weekend in droves in Tagaytay would have easily turned me off. 

Next were the cottages and apartments. A few caught my fancy but I was too late to make a move and so my preferred houses were booked first by somebody else. It was only last Friday that I had come to a decision - after realizing that the Weatherman and I have been together for years, living as couples minus the kids; that I wanted this weekend staycation to happen in a place that could exceed our ideal home. And so I looked on and found a room in a house overlooking the fields. Beyond is the Taal Lake with the silhouette of the volcano. 

At first I had my reservations. The place we would rent wasn't just in Tagaytay, it was at the heart of the most exclusive gated club in the city: The Tagaytay Highlands. I had to pay in cash, which I found too steep for my budget. The nightly rent was similar to a three-star hotel, except that you can enjoy some bliss and solitude since the 10 acre guarded community had very few houses and even fewer residents who likely treat their properties like grand vacation houses. 

But what made me decide to book the room was the thought that we have never done this kind of adventure before and in all the days we made pilgrimage to the ridges, never had we set foot in the Highlands. 

We arrived at the meeting place in Crosswinds at past 4 in the afternoon. Showing up way past the agreed time, my first gesture upon meeting the host was to apologize for being late. I couldn't tell that we took our sweet time packing our bags nor we spent some reflection time at the Little Souls Sisters Convent while doing a videocall with my mother, who took her time to pray for everyone she knows. 

The host was kind enough to overlook our disrespect of his time, and instead, quipped at me for not telling that I would be arriving with a male companion. He did merge together the two single beds in our room as I have requested for a comforter to be included. Later, he realized that when I said "partner" during our call, I was referring to a male companion, which he admits he rarely host. After showing us the amenities of our quarters (wifi connection, wall air conditioner, and a water heater whose plug won't fit in the socket), the host turned over the room. It would be the last time we would see him during our stay.

- to be continued - 

Daybreaker (Rinavia Remix)

Previously on Daybreaker

"Indigo sky. Lovely. This is the reason I love daybreaks." I posted on Twitter. I've always been a sunset person. The one you'd see staring blankly into space as the sun disappears on the horizon. But there are times I turn my back and crane my neck to the east. It's difficult for a nocturnal person to chase the sunrise, but seeing the world in slumber, about to open its eyes to a new day is a sight worth waiting.

There is nothing amusing to fall asleep at past noon, only to wake up when evening falls. Joyless it is to regain awareness (after sliding from one forgettable dream to another) only to sink into the realms of confusion as the absence of sunlight robs you with the perception of time. Occasionally, sleep knocks hours before midnight, only for me to regain peak wakefulness when everyone is already in bed. With silence as my companion, I start my day during the hours of the wolf, which extends around lunchtime, and then the circadian rhythm renews another cycle.

This has been my body clock ever since the Weatherman decided to look after his siblings. When the 3rd ECQ was announced early this month, he had to be the Kuya once more. Their father, the once head of the household, is already living with his sister and is looking after his nephews. Someone has to step into his shoes and direct the affairs of the house.

The Weatherman's absence had forced me to move my sleeping time way past sunrise. Not only do I dread the thoughts of nightfall, but in the early days of his return to his familial duties, the significant other also found it difficult to catch that much elusive sleep. So I kept him company only to realize we're still up at past 7 in the morning.

Make no mistake. Sleeping past brunch time has already been a habit, especially when there is a need for long-distance driving outside the city. The only difference now is the seemingly unshakeable pattern and the hours when drowsiness finally catches up. It's not healthy anymore.

And so, this is the nth time I would likely go to bed sometime around noon. And though the daybreak wakefulness has its perks (the sights and sounds before sunrise still leave you a little bit hopeful of tomorrow. Also, less human exposure means lesser chances of catching and passing along the Covid 19 virus), I still yearn to return to a more conventional sleeping pattern. 

Nobody wants to be the sole person awake when everyone has gone deep into slumber.

Antipolo Senti Nights

For some reason, the same ridge became a testament to my dreams. I attempted to conquer my fears of driving just to be in that place with the one I will invite to keep me company. The thought of embracing the chilly silence, with only the same distant shimmering lights to bear witness to our moment of connection was the ultimate Emo moment I could imagine.

The Ridge Racer

It was the years before the turn of the new millennium. Dad would come home very late at night after spending the whole day at work. He would park the Toyota FX just outside the house, in a compound with a very narrow driveway.

As a nocturnal young adult, I would prep myself to sneak out. With my dad's driver as my collaborator, I would often make the escape - with Darwin, Christian or Eugene - my college buddies back then, for a short joyride around the neighborhood. So I turn the engine on, rev the gas pedal, and slowly inch my way out of the driveway and into the empty streets of Sampaloc. With no driver's license to show, no blessing from the car owner, and often, no guidance from an adult, it was a very stupid move. 

But back then, there was a sublime purpose for all those late-night practice driving.

"Balak ko lang naman makapagdrive hanggang Antipolo - ng madaling araw - kasama ang tropa at makapag-sentihan* hanggang umaga habang pinagmamasdan ang kapayapaan at katahimikan ng Kamaynilaan sa overlooking."

Of course, fate tells that I would never get to accomplish that goal. While driving an Isuzu Gemini - a car which my dad brought for me, eventually  - I accidentally dented the side of a neighbor's car. Having no proof to show that I was allowed to even start the car engine, I was nearly bought to the police station and because of the trouble I caused, I got a mouthful from my mom. Meanwhile, dad had to pay a huge sum for the damage. 

I vowed never to learn how to sit behind the wheel after that accident.

Until 2 decades later, when it was imminent that learning to drive would mean convenience for my household.

To master the road would mean getting to places, legally and responsibly. And one of those places I have reached was this hilltop restaurant next to Cloud 9 in Antipolo.

In one of those random, take-out early dinners with the Weatherman, he took a photo, while I was inside a Toyota Revo - a car I took custodianship from the Favorite Aunt over 3 years ago. Looking at the picture and remembering all those crazy nights I took my dad's car for a spin, It seems, I made a full circle.

I may not have spent the late nights musing about life and the future with my college buddies, but I get to spend a romantic evening with my lifetime partner in the same place I have dreamed of landing many, many years ago.

"Imagine mo ganyan ang backyard natin," The Weatherman pointed at the glimmering cityscape below. "Tapos napapaligiran tayo ng maraming mga puno habang umiihip ang malamig na hangin galing Sierra Madre."

Some dreams are still to be made.

Taking The Wheel (Last Part)

Previously: Taking The Wheel (First Part)

Cruising the SCTEx at 100 kph, motion slows down in one's perception while speed remains unchanged. While I do not understand the physics behind the phenomenon, it happens, especially on an empty highway with little road features to get your mind distracted. But the nippy breeze coming down from the mountains was a welcome relief. The Caraballo flanks the right side of the road when you're going to Subic, with the very pillars of the expressway, planted along the foothills. Being close to the uplands, the wind carries the scent of the mountains, of undisturbed forests and razed fields, tended and watched over by the Aetas who have lived off the land for generations. Across the metal barrier to the left is the lowlands of Pampanga. The plains are a sight to behold and while visible signs of civilization point to an ever-changing landscape, the sight of Arayat shrouded in clouds, reminds you that some things will never change. 

Getting there was a journey in itself and I have a lot to be grateful. It has been two years since the Favorite Aunt thought of giving away her Toyota Revo so that my mom would have a car to use. I returned to the driving school to sign up for a refresher course. While I have always known how to drive a car, histories and the lack of confidence on the road kept me from taking the wheel. It didn't help that I have always found joy in commuting and Manila, the city that I've always known, is walkable, especially when cars are non-moving. But I could not stand having to chase taxi cabs during rush hours only to be declined to get a ride when I am with my aging mother. The indignity was unbearable, and the inconsideration of taxi drivers, even when you're with a senior woman with a disability makes your faith grow less in humanity. It didn't help that car-sharing apps like Grab could not be relied on so there were times I had to push my mom's wheelchair long distances just to find a ride home.

In the beginning, I would have wanted the Favorite Aunt's other car - the Toyota Altis. It was compact and in my head, thought, it was far easier to maneuver than a cumbersome AUV. While I have driven something bigger - like my dad's FX - I have always wondered how I would steer those family-sized automobiles with motorcycles cutting you from blind spots. And so, I let my thoughts ran across, even telling my aunt that I'd be happy to buy her Altis. But my mother's sister had other plans and looking at hindsight, wisdom sprung from her decision.

For the household had multiplied since Baby Diego was born. He was followed by Baby Castro and just last year, Baby Bella became my sister's fourth child. A five-seater car would not fit a family of 10 and this became evident last Christmas when I had to bring home four kids and four adults from my Favorite Aunt's place.

Baby steps. That was how the first days were when I finally mustered the courage to take the wheel. When my mother had to stay at my aunt's place for a week, I did my first solo practice driving and ended up at a nearby church. It was a milestone, followed by a long drive from Santa Mesa to Bicutan the next day. My aunt's driver guided me as I cruise the Skyway. 

They say that in driving school, you only get familiarized with the machine and learn the traffic signs you find along the road. Real learning comes while stepping on the gas, crossing intersections with fast-moving cars and getting to destinations on your own. And so I did, despite the setbacks of the past and in spite of the near misses that I still carelessly commit. I have been to places I would never get on foot - to Mt. Purro in Antipolo, to take the Weatherman to his retreat, to my mother's social engagements whether with friends or family, to the Manila Doctors Hospital, when Baby Bella was about to be pushed out of my sister's womb.

I have been to destinations, too many to even mention. And in every place I step my foot on after parking the car, I always carry the thought that the journeys I have been were once-upon-a-time aspirations. Whether it be that late-night cruise, days after the NLEX Connector Road was opened to the public, or that trip to Santa Clara one early morning while I did my practice driving, all I know is that there's a time and place for everything and 19 years after sneaking out my father's Toyota FX while he slept soundly in the master's bedroom, I've finally arrived at my destination.

Weeks before the first drive to Subic, I often check Google Maps to chart the next possible destination just outside the city. I was cautioned not to venture too far for I am driving a 17-year-old car. But the Weatherman had to attend a wedding and while he was fine commuting to the venue and just staying at a hotel somewhere in Olongapo - with me, I have always seen out of town trips as a chance to create those rare and memorable bondings. The Weatherman and I both enjoy road trips and him being the navigator, I knew this wedding road trip is something we do not want to miss. And so after getting permission from the Favorite Aunt herself, I brought the Revo for a last-minute checkup. Getting the green light from the mechanic, we left the city at 5 in the morning on a balmy Saturday, the first week of April. 

Subic Bay and Morong were the farthest destinations we've reached so far, farther than I've ever imagined in the one and a half years I've been driving. A record was broken. There's no longer any limit to where I can take the car.

Mga Gabay Sa Gabi Ng Hilahil

And should you find yourself asking, if, everything you will be doing would make a difference, keep this in heart and remember, this might be the design all along.

Hindi man kita mabigyan ng
material na bagay tulad ng
hinahangad ng mga tao sa social media

Gusto kong malaman mo na
masayang-masaya ako na
nakilala kita.

Masaya na nakakasama kita
sa gitna ng pagsubok.


- February 14, 12:00 MN

In the Silence of Aldebaran Space: First Pt.

Previously in Rinavia Prime

Masasabi ko na sa nakaraang higit kalahating taon ay nalagay ako sa katahimikan. Ito ang isa sa mga dahilan kung bakit pansamantala akong lumiban sa pagsusulat. It was November of last year when I published an entry on my blog. That doesn't include the months of intermittent postings because of my work commitments. When not hitting my quota for the writing job, the days were spent seeing places and experiencing new things with the person I choose to love. To help you put everything in perspective, the exclusive dating setup I had with the Weatherman did bear fruit. Armed with patience and a firm resolve to hold on to the notion that there is no one I'd like to see the world except him, the two of us ended up getting closer. Parang Aldub lang. It was fun and exciting. Ganoon pala ang feeling kapag yung taong kasama mo ay kapareho mo ng hilig. One thing leads to another and the next thing I knew, one year had passed since he came back into my life. While we seldom talk about our beginnings, I can say that our lives are more intertwined now than in any other time in our history. We still have more journeys to come and milestones to cherish - but for now - let me share what we have accomplished so far. 

1. Taal Heritage Tour

At the belfry of the Basilica of Saint Martin de Tours.

The town of Taal boasts grand ancestral houses and a century-old Basilica built in 1856. Only a three-hour drive from Manila, a visitor can see the places around the poblacion on foot.

The heritage tour was my surprise birthday gift to the Weatherman. And it was probably the best I ever gave to someone.


2. Cloud Nine Chill

The Weatherman doing a time-lapse video

The Cloud Nine Hotel and Resort, with its cliffside view of the metropolis has always been a secret hideaway. I fell in love with the place when my schoolmates decided to watch the sunrise there after spending the night partying in Timog. To this day, more than a decade later, I can still count with my fingers the number of times I came back -

half of them with people very dear to me.

So I returned for the nth time with the Weatherman in tow. While inside the UV express going to the highlands, he told me that his fondest memory of Antipolo was seeing the city in the distance. He had no idea that the place we are going is known for its viewing deck. So yun, imagine his eyes glow when he saw the unobstructed view of the skyline for the first time. He took pictures, climbed the hanging bridge leading to the hotel's rooftop, and watched the sunset while attempting to create a time-lapse video on his phone. As if nature wanted us to stay longer that evening, we chanced upon low-lying clouds passing through, shrouding the hotel and its surroundings in a think blanket of haze.

The weatherman's grin was priceless.


Wawa Dam Adventure

Mt. Binakayan in the Distance

I came across a travel blog about Montalban a long time ago. Written on the essay were some interesting points about the town's famed mountains, whose peaks were a favorite haunt of rock climbers trying to test their skills. Back then, I have no intention of checking the place out, not even when Bentusi, my editor, lives in town. But when her father died and I went to the wake at 6 in the morning, I thought of exploring Rodriguez on foot before returning home to get some sleep.

Curiosity prevailed, and the next thing I knew, I was on a jeep heading to Barangay Wawa to see the mighty dam up close. Taking some pictures for posterity, I vowed to bring the Weatherman there, and one fine afternoon I finally did. The kid, who is a confessed nature lover could not believe what his eyes could see: rock boulders as big as houses, the crystal clear waters of a dead river downstream, the twin peaks of Mt. Pamitinan and Mt Binakayan bisected by the Marikina River. the everyday rustic lifestyle locals seem to enjoy. It so happened that we went there on a Monday so we had the place to ourselves.

It felt like a spiritual journey.

We went home exhausted after shooting pictures of nature and looking at the sky to catch a glimpse of the mountains while riding at the back of a tricycle, a rainbow appeared on the horizon.

---

We had other adventures, including the ones he surprised me with. These and our other stories, I will write in the next part of this blog entry.


-tobecontinued- 

Perigee

Previously on: Rinavia Prime

Credit

I will always remember those three blood-colored, heart emoticons he would once, or twice drop between Facebook chats, or the hesitant whispers of those three magic words I can never recall reciprocating during our partings. After all these years, I carry on the regret, and so is the burden of hardly making him feel assured when he was the one trying to get close.

However, things have started to change after our exclusivity pact a month ago. We would see each other once a week. Watch events or movies that appeal to our common interest. Lay side by side at night, with my arms wrapped around his chest, and my lips, planted on his shoulders. This has become us after three years, and despite my occasional and delusional fear that this might be all just a dream; that we would one day get tired of being dating partners, we go on, hanging out as friends and sleeping as lovers.

I pray the best is yet to come. And we would realize how this bond brought us closer than we ever been since the first time we reached this point in our lives. And if these sweet nothings, conveyed, just before he leaves for his religious duties last weekend hint not of what we really are, I don't know anymore how to put into words the depth of this special ties.

"Daddy Bear mo ako?" He smiled and nodded as an affirmation.

Kissing him in response, I replied, 

"Patotie kita."

Rinavia Prime

Previously: Neverwhere
         The Third Book

Barely a week had passed after the near-troubles with the two boys, and the Weatherman is back, making his presence felt, just when it all seems the long chill between us was about to set in. You see, we maybe too cozy in each other's presence, but when leading separate lives, the distance makes it look like we are mere acquaintances. The issue comes from hardly engaging in small talk. I would make attempts at reaching out, but depending on his mood, he would cut off the conversation just when I would like to prolong it. I never complained. He also pays little attention to my activities online, even when we speak of the same thoughts, and when my obsession strikes, I would stalk all his social media accounts just to glance at the things that keep him preoccupied. Sometimes his fascination with others fuel this jealousy, and to avoid getting hurt (or mad, whatever comes first) from being neglected, the habit of looking around has become a necessary distraction.   

Only that, it never gets me anywhere.

Now back to the Weatherman, he sent an SMS asking for a favor. It came as a complete surprise since we had nothing in store for the coming weeks after watching the Azkals semi-finals game last Independence day. The favor wasn't that much, knowing the situation he found himself in, and without having to think it over, I acceded to his request, especially since he had to pick it up at the most convenient place for me. He arrived an hour later at my doorstep, and without even saying a word, we found ourselves lip-locking inside my quarters, like we did when he came back into my life early this year.

To describe the moment as pure bliss would be an understatement for someone who has harbored this tenderness for three years. All I know is the futility of searching when the Weatherman holds sway over me. Someone has to step up, or the cycle would tear me apart. Not to spoil the day-long cuddling, I spoke my mind while having a stroll at the Malacanan on his way home. 

"Hanggang ganito na lang ba tayo?" The Weatherman was in for a complete shock.

I told him what has been going since the events of Deus Ex Machina, and no amount of pretending will erase the obvious that we treat each other as more than just friends. 

"Walang ganito na magkaibigan." I was referring to the deeds we do in private. Through and through, I have never seen him as just a lay. "At sa tuwing naiisip ko na masaya tayong magkasama, nanghihinayang ako sa maaring mangyari kapag pinili kong muling lumayo at maghanap ng iba." 

My words were broken and devoid of eloquence. 

"Ayokong malaman mo isang araw na wala na ako sa iyo."

I told the Weatherman of my plans for us, of how I think of no one to see the world except him. I reminded him of our common passions, of what keeps us getting drawn into each other's spheres. I asked how he sees me, and his vague answer makes my plea a little more unsettling. "You're very special and I can't think of anyone who enjoys the same things I do." 

"Wala pa akong nakakasamang iba sa ganitong mga lakad."

Maybe he was careful with his words so as to emphasize his non-commitment. Perhaps, he really felt nothing beyond the trappings of lust, and the companionship we enjoy every time we have these scheduled hang-outs. But given how our lives seem to cross paths without ever realizing that they bind us closer, I proposed a more steady arrangement - one that would at least make us hold on to something even when a romantic relationship may not be forthcoming.

"Can we at least be exclusively dating?" He was silent. "Exclusively dating means we're not in a romantic commitment, just the fact that we won't see anyone else." 

A further elaboration and the Weatherman finally said yes.

It was not the most ideal settlement, one, who is head over heels would find himself accepting. An observer might even think it was a desperate move by someone who would seldom let anyone breach his walls. I personally think it was done to collect more memories; and weave enough stories of being together, so as to make the Weatherman realize what I might become should he let me into his life. For the way I see things, it is easy to win someone's attention. It is the unwillingness to explore the possibilities that lead two intimate couples to drift apart.

"I really want to grow with you," I squeezed his hand as we sat next to the river. In the distance was the Quezon Bridge and the street scene during a Monday rush hour. The disclosure lead us to talk more about us, and what our lives were when we were still in someone else's arms. The day ends knowing it would be a struggle to win his heart back, the heart I almost had when he and I found each other many years back. But knowing I might never see no one beyond the Weatherman, and the difficulty of finding someone like him, risking everything in this seemingly puerile experiment might eventually win us a lasting bond.

Love might be a long shot, but at least, I would never have to confess again the sins I commit in the name of escaping his gravity.

Suspended between the eternal and the temporal, I have begun to orbit his world. 

Collaboration

Go Beyond. Create Tomorrow

Every four years, youth athletes from around the world come together for the world’s biggest winter sporting event. In 2016, they will go to Lillehammer, one of the oldest winter sports destinations in Norway.

The Youth Olympic Games medal consists of stylized snowflakes and ice crystals representing the winter climate and proud skiing culture of Lillehammer. The main snowflake at the center is formed by five youth athletes from all the continents represented in the Olympic rings. Inseparable at the base, these youths symbolize unity, peace, friendship, solidarity and fair play. The arms form letter “Y” which means ‘youth.’ It is also the universal symbol for peace, for which these games are held, to foster harmony and cultural exchange among young people through athletics. 

---

It was one of those random direct messages from the Weatherman asking for small favors. Around last summer, he submitted a medal design for the Youth Olympics Games. He was asking me to write a short description of the medal, and how it symbolizes the event. Knowing that I won't have the perfect narrative for someone's creation, I instructed him to draft an introduction. I will supply the right words. And so he did send a short blurb about his work, which required little polishing. That same afternoon, I sent him my version, which, became his entry for the contest.

The rest is history.

Though the Weatherman never got the prize, (the chosen design was from Romania) the collaboration was a milestone I have never achieved when I was in a relationship. It was a communion of two artists, who made attempts to accomplish a common goal out of their desire for recognition. It maybe said that my contribution was merely to articulate what the designer had in mind. But for me, it was a demonstration of a talent my inspiration may not be aware of.

He will join design contests each time he comes across invitations in the future, and hopefully the next time he decides to showcase his work, it will be conceived by two minds: One who creates symbols and images through digital illustration,

And one who masterfully put words to make the opus stand out from the rest.

  

The Depth Of My Fidelity

No longer apparent, my words were.
This time it is for real.
You may never hear me speak of vows before you,
much like you would even care.
But behind your ears, let me assure my sincere intentions.

I take our exclusivity agreement very seriously.

Sway Over Me

I always tell every potential date, or acquaintance that I cannot go out on weekdays, much more weekends, because of work duties.

Not even during my rest days.

But with you, work is of no essence. My time, no matter how short, will always belong to you.

The Third Book

And if in some future, fate affords another crossover, it is my hope that the affections I still cradle today already disappears, only for reasons of enduring a lifetime of friendship.

Previously: Almost

The slow, almost dragging pull-back commenced as instructed, after the decision to give up the idea that the Weatherman and I had chances of romance set me into the path of exploring. There were moments when the growing distance was tempered by my habit of checking his Facebook wall for his activities, or the Twitter updates he posted while I was offline. He would still remain the first person I'd look online when I wake up, or before I begin working at night, when I knew it was his bedtime. The stalking habit was unobtrusive, I would like to believe, and the only occasions I break the silence and send him an SMS is when his absence leads to longing; when there's nothing new to read on his social media accounts.

As much as I would like to walk away from his life, and mind my own affairs, just like I've always did before the events of February 3, the truth is, I have underestimated the attachment. It wasn't easy to step back and see him as a casual friend when I find him "liking" my Facebook posts, or putting a "star" on my Twitter updates, or worse, re-tweeting the same news, that both appealed to our senses. In all my experience forging bonds with other men, no one has gone so close as to what the Weatherman and I share aside from our past intimacies. For this reason, complete extraction may only happen when he falls in love with someone else, or he himself initiates the distance.

But no. He knew when to strike, and every time he does, all my attempts to escape his sphere go for nothing knowing I may never refuse his invitation to hang-out - even when it is for activities that hardly get my attention. And every time he does leaves me with questions I am afraid to find the answers:

"Free ka bukas ng gabi?" His SMS came unexpectedly. I was of course, pleasantly surprised.

"Yup, anumeron?"

"Gusto mo manood ng football sa Bulacan." I knew only of the sport because of FIFA. I stopped watching the spectacle after the Germany - Brazil match at Rio left me shouting expletives at the middle of the night.

"Sure what time tayo kita?"

"Mga 4pm sa Ayala, malapit sa office. 8 pm ang match." The subtext was quite easy to glean. Finally, all these bodybuilding preoccupation would be put to good use.

"Naghahanap lang ako ng kasama." 

Why does my best hang outs never had labels?

Barely fifteen days after I have resolved to make a calculated retreat and here I am, more entrenched to the person who refuses to let go. I do not expect this renewal of bonds to lead to deeper, more romantic ties, but the chance to be with that one soul who inspires you in more ways you can count is enough to stay longer, 

Hoping the memories subtlety created would make you inseparable, even if such tender moments only last an equivalent of a provincial bus ride.

Almost

Previously: Ice Block

Shifting tide, it will always be, the events of February 3. He showed up unannounced, and the rest, as they say, is history. I trailed behind for a whole month. Searched for his footsteps and adored them to no end. I looked for ways to get close. Dropped the armor that sheathed me from pursuers. I was hoping he would notice, and maybe, resurrect once was, an emotion that he had already put to rest. 

It is for this reason I overlooked the epic fail that was the Hopia caper. I could have retreated, or maybe, set my eyes elsewhere. But there was a word to keep, an invitation I personally set. On the night of our re-encounter, I promised a dinner on the eve of Lunar New Year. He was gracious with the accommodation, and despite the absence of labels, the caresses of the nippy air, as fireworks lit the skies of Binondo, tells of a romantic evening. 

A moment, I wish not to forget. 

It was followed by an unplanned day trip at Intramuros. He was there, waiting, as his siblings took the entrance test at the state university. The pangs of attachment pinched, and despite having to deliver work for the Raketship, I choose to see him for reasons the heart will never speak. Over a shared breakfast meal at KFC, we spoke of what ifs - Chinese Junks mounted with cannons to aid the aging Galleons at the Battle of La Naval. Omitted in history to glorify the feats of Imperio Espana; Left-hand traffic in the streets of Manila before the Postwar returned American cars in the black market; the Tranvias and the question of the hours they operate; and the uprisings of the Chinese in Binondo, and how, despite the bullying of Beijing, we will never extract the race from our blood. Such trivial things we would talk to no end. 

How unfortunate that I realized too late. 

That me and him speak a common tongue.

Looking through a rose-stained glass window, the events of February would have ended positively: that he would recognize the mended bonds; that he would show reception to the prospects of trying again, and he, at the receiving end; that we would have spent the hours thinking nothing but our lofty dreams and silly imaginations. I would have love that mirrored reality, and savor the fictional narrative, but the present divergence speaks of one thing:

My time is over.

If his brief re-entry meant something, it is to prove that I am capable of feeling - of being selfless and perfect, for the person I would like to spend my days with. Of letting go of some breakups, so I may look into the unresolved hang-ups that will forever scar the heart. And of telling some once-upon-a-time story that may never find a happy ending. I had so much plans in store, ideas he may find amazing knowing I can dip my hands into what he enjoys contemplating. But I appreciate, too, what preoccupies him at present: his devotion to his faith, his family, and his artistry; his solitude and love of sunsets; his liberty to choose who he wants to spend time with. And for all the past I regard as legend, I might just be an abstract in his very interesting life. This, I now embrace with humility, and resolve never to take against him.

The second book of the Weatherman ends here, with me, stepping back but never forgetting who we are in each other's life. And if in some future, fate affords another crossover, it is my hope that the affections I still cradle today already disappears, only for reasons of enduring a lifetime of friendship.  

Soulmates

"Play the video again." 

The Weatherman instructed when I made a comment on one of the Vimeo links he shared on Twitter. Someone had created an animated clip of what the Skyway 3 would look like upon completion. It shows the entire length of the elevated highway, from Buendia to Balintawak, and it includes a portion in Santa Mesa that used to baffle me when news came out that the project was approved. I cannot picture how the engineers and designers would construct a motorway when homes and motels block that section of the passage. The video clearly shows how it will be done.

"I-mute mo, then play this song."

I obliged, at once.


--

The video shows an engineering marvel that would bisect the heart of the city. There are sections of the Skyway where bridge decks are stacked on top of the other, and are supported by single massive columns below. There are also entry and exit ramps, for god knows how, would be built in places where buildings now stand. Once the project is finished, the elevated bridge would look like a concrete serpent slithering across a blighted urban landscape. 

It will be a sight to behold.

What makes this short clip truly groundbreaking is the promise it brings. Seldom do I weave dreams for souls other than those of my blood. Should I succeed in getting my act together, and if such time happens when I remain under the initiator's spell, this blog entry may well be the beginning of that journey with the person who made it all happen:

"Nandito na ako sa labas ng building ninyo." I would SMS the guy shortly after parking my Chevrolet Spark. After waiting for almost an eternity, he would finally show up, sit next to me, and buckle up the seat belt before the long drive.

"Did you bring your camera?" He would nod before rolling down the car windows for some breathtaking panorama of the Laguna de Bay and the Fort Bonifacio skyline on the horizon.

And as we go up the concrete ramp, I would connect my phone to the hatchback's sound system. We would cruise the entire length of the newly-constructed motorway for some road trip my heart yearned to happen. He wouldn't know this, for sure, and should this time happens, I would play this song for him, the same Progressive House Music he once instructed me to listen, not knowing I would loop it over the years, while conjuring scenes of us riding into the sunset. 

Hopia (Finale)

O pagibig na makapangyarihan
kapag ikaw ay nasok sa puso ninuman 
hahamakin ang lahat masunod ka lamang.

Florante at Laura

February 14. 

The first thing to greet me in the morning, long before my shift was over, was a series of alerts on my mobile phone. On Twitter, someone had noticed the photos I uploaded the day before, and his stamp of approval erased all doubts about the Plan. It was the Weatherman, and even though there was no direct contact between us, I was hoping he knew all the posts on my social media account was for him and no one else. 

There will be no sleep for the day. After hitting the milestone for my Raketship, I left the house before noon to get my bag at Shopwise Harrison Plaza. I forgot to claim it at the counter when I bought the cake for my brother-in-law at the nearby bakeshop. Since I announced at home that Valentines' lunch was on me, a detour at Savory Restaurant in SM Manila was my next destination. Recalling a twitter post from the Weatherman expressing his cravings for sweets, I bought two bars of Swiss chocolate in the supermarket as well. Mint and Orange. The intention was becoming clearer, and I didn't mind being obvious. I have been given one chance to make an impression, and despite being unsure of the outcome, I choose to follow my yearning and deliver what I had in heart.

The matriarch wasn't even done yet with lunch and there I was, leaving home again to check out the Edsa Garden Store near Quezon Avenue. When the Manila Seedling Bank was demolished two years ago, they moved across the highway to set up shop and sell herbs I grow at home. The Weatherman told me he'd like to try gardening. Might as well have his first mints and lavenders come from me.

Task complete and I was back home once more. But still, I haven't sent an SMS to my Valentines' believing he was out with his siblings - or maybe, even friends. I have entrusted everything to prayers knowing the answers lie upon the success of this idea. Between dusk and early evening, I preoccupied myself writing snippets for the side job. My mother, which I have to help get upstairs to her room usually arrives at past 8. Only then can I leave the house and travel south for the big surprise.

---

They say, even the best laid plans sometimes fail, and it's a good thing I kept my expectations low or I'd be crushed by the epic failure. Consciousness afforded me to accept defeat, should some random event deviate my clockwork movement.

My mom, who was supposed to come home at 8 decided to go to the mall after class. I waited until past nine for her to arrive, which was a mistake I would regret when I found myself dazed in Sucat when the truth finally slapped me in the face. Between short naps, and checking the Weatherman's twitter account, he left a post about his journey toward the opposite direction. At first, I was resolved to waiting, even when I was certain it would take two hours for him to return. To be sure he knew where I was, an SMS was composed. He replied shortly after the message was sent.

By then, I knew, there's no reason to stay until he comes back.

"Wala eh. Kasama ko mga kaibigan ko." This was the very cause of second guessing the direction of our dating the first time our ties got intense.

"Andito kami sa Luneta. Kararating lang mga 15 minutes ago." The moment he stepped foot outside the FX, I was probably about to disembark the van near his place.

"At one point pala, nagkasalisi tayo. Galing ako sa inyo. May bigay sana ako." Resigned to my defeat, I was still hoping he wouldn't let me get home with the stuff I was about to give.

"Pauwi na rin."

An alternate ending to this story would have been him, knocking at my door at 2 in the morning saying he'd like to stay over for the night. By then, I would have been emboldened to speak my feelings, and perhaps, find out what's in store in our future. To this day, he never acknowledged the SMS, neither did I bring up my unannounced visit at his place. The chocolates were consumed by me. The mint plant had shed most of its leaves, and one of the lavenders ended up in someone else's garden.

The apparent indifferent treatment I received, which he probably felt when it was him trying to get my attention many years back would have spelled the end of our short-lived affair.

But I chose not to give up.

Not yet.


-the end-






  

Hopia (Second Part)

Previously: Hopia (First Part)

All I asked was a sign; an unconscious permission to cross over, and for once, go beyond the established friends-with-benefits arrangement we have grown accustomed in the past two years. It's been ages since I really had a Valentine's, where suddenly I appeared in front of the ex's house with a slice of cake to celebrate the occasion. It was a brief, but unforgettable encounter, because as much as I wanted to stay, family duties required me to be at home for my brother-in-law's birthday salubong. 

It would have been a breeze to tell the Weatherman that I'll be coming over, and give him something on that special day. But to speak of the plan defeats the massive undertaking. We are not even a couple to begin with, and to lay down what I had in mind, probably results in being told to - politely, or even rudely - back off, like what I did to someone a month ago. There is certainty I won't be entertained had I asked even for a fraction of his time, so the idea was to surprise the boy, hoping the effort will pay off.

But first, he needs to make me believe I have a chance.

On the eve of Valentines Day, just mere hours after the cryptic Twitter post was seen by hundreds of digital souls, the succeeding updates on my timeline belonged to him. They were objects associated with our common interests, from historical speculations, to places and things that we both love. The idea was for him to click the "star" button to tell me he liked what he saw.

Just one.

So I know, we still have that connection.

To prove my attachment, I scaled the walls of Intramuros for that image of the clock tower of the Manila City Hall in the distance; I took a photo of that stray cat, even distracting her serene gaze into the sunset for her to crane her neck and look at my phone's camera. I rummaged the Internet for that song that got me hooked to his Tumblr account when he used to be a secret crush. Also, I came across an image of that painting by Juan Luna depicting two ladies pointing at the horizon. It represents Mother Spain and Lady Philippines, not as master and slave, but equals in progress and friendship. The corresponding Tweet includes musings about 18th century Manila, and how I'd probably speak English just to pass off as an American-Asian lost in a Spanish colony. The postings gathered more approval than I could ever imagine from my followers, save for one:

The Weatherman.

Either he chose to ignore my tweets, or I was on mute, therefore preventing him from seeing my references.

No sign ever came during the day, and as the night wore on, I was bracing for the possibility that the Valentine's plan had to be scrapped. It was only before bedtime, in a cab going home from buying a cake for my sister's husband did he finally respond to my call: A single "like" for that photo of the cat I posted on Facebook through my Instagram feed. It was not the validation I sought, but it would suffice to raise my hopes and pursue what I had in mind.

At the strike of midnight, I posted a tweet greeting everyone still awake on my timeline a Happy Valentine's Day.

To my surprise, he replied to the tweet, which further emboldened me to make the surprise visit.

"Happy Valentines, Weatherman." I shot back.

Of all the guys who greeted me, it was only him who received a resounding response.


-tobecontinued-

Hopia (First Part)

Previously: Deux Ex Machina

He would always hide that part of his skin to keep his scars from being seen. I would insist and say, "show it off, it's okay," which he would reciprocate with a smile, and sometimes a tender kiss, when we perform things lovers do in their intimate moments. As the years go by, the more I embrace his defects. It is a thing of beauty that assures me, the feeling is ripe with sincerity.

That he could have always been the one.

It is this pervading thought that hounded me days before Valentines' Day. A friend had just confessed his innermost fears one early morning. That with all the wounds he had collected searching for romance, he doubts ever finding happiness again. I would have hugged him at the spot, if not for the digital conversation. Craning my neck to look at my empty bed, thoughts of the Weatherman emerges. His wry smile every time I speak narratives of the past pressed me to make the belated reversals. What if, after all these years he had given up on me, he has resigned to the idea that nobody will accept his imperfections. 

That he is bound to grow old alone, misunderstood, with so many chances to fall in love lay wasted because he no longer have faith in it?

It is this desire to counter this make-belief assumptions that led me to act impulsively once more. A week before the events of February 14, I went all the way south at 6 in the morning to surprise him with a pot of Lemon Grass. He mentioned looking for one the last time he stayed at my place, and being the pleaser that I am, I saw to it that he received it, no matter the personal toll. He was elated of course, and all morning, we were exchanging SMS about showing me the wonders of his new realms. If not for the uncalled tweet about the ex and his lies (and that vow to never let anyone get close again), the Weatherman's mood would have never soured, and the very public social media tagging would go on, to the curiosity of observers.

Regardless, the plan has been set and all I wanted was his unconscious permission. And so on the eve of Valentine's Day, I let my thoughts in the open and posted a tweet that would, in my deepest prayers, get intercepted by the intended receiver:

Just give me the sign, and I will be your Valentines.
— MugenBear (@tr1pnautic) February 12, 2015

- tobecontinued 

The Pains Of Infatuation

Just seven days ago, I was telling Garppy over bottles of San Miguel beer about my longing to be infatuated. That terrible, terrible feeling where your mind is set for just one soul, hoping he would think fondly of you. The conversation started after my drinking buddy spilled the beans about his last date. You see, less than three months after he parted ways with his lover, our romeo is back at the dating scene. Being cute and smart, it was easy for him to meet his match. Garrpy came across this artsy bipolar on Tinder who turned his world around. I would leave the juicy details unwritten, but to cut the story short, after they spent the night at my friend's pad, he wouldn't cease thinking about him.

In school, and even at his side job - while giving instructions on how to snap pictures with high-end cameras; every minute, every moment he would take a break, his thoughts soar back to the Tinder boy. He would send Viber messages, ask him about his activities, and draw him into conversations, only to receive disinterested replies. 

My friend, obviously, didn't like his date's treatment.

Let's just say it all went downhill from there, and for the first time, it felt like my buddy's soft underbelly was exposed. What spared him from more heartaches was his decision to walk away before things get worse. 

It was a good call. 

Less than a month after the events surrounding the Tinder boy, Garppy is once again seeing another guy. He announced on Twitter recently they were exclusively dating.

His story is just one of the narratives I hear once in a while about the people who are about to end the search - only to see ties wither as pairs explore the intricacies of their relationship. While the longing was there, (to be filled with thoughts of a person you would move heaven and earth to see him smile) it is Garppy's lessons I keep in mind now that my wish is granted. Three days after the binge drinking, the Weatherman rang my phone to ask if I was home.

He was nearby.

Knowing it would add another chapter in a tale preceding all the heartaches after the third, I still hurled myself into the waiting arms of desire no matter how fleeting it is. 

And God, after all this time, the feelings only got intense.

We ended the evening, certain the Weatherman will linger longer than Garppy's first Tinder date.

To this day, the intimate moments of February 3rd remain lodged somewhere within my chest. 

Deux Ex Machina

The surprise phone call might have saved me from the risque behavior I was about to engage. The scorpions have returned, and on the eve of the provocations, there you are, putting a break to all the carnal ideas going inside my head.

It may amount to nothing, really, but there is a profound elation knowing you're my angel tonight.

Ice Block

Previously on L'Heure Bleue:  Missing

A Twitter Direct Message:

"Into the Woods."

Insert a smiley emoticon after the invitation.

"I-calendar mo na." 

His message received no reply.

"Papa Muggggsss!!! Miss you." The guy made his presence felt again, two hours after his first barrage. Irked, I carried on watching the first episode of Black Mirror and forgot the whole thing.

I thought it was the end of it - for that night. After all, I have already conveyed my muted disinterest. 

But no. 

Leaving the office after the short teleconference with our Jewish clients, the guy sent another direct message. I didn't let it go unnoticed this time. Thoughts can no longer be suppressed. And in a very gentle but frank response, I told him to fuck off.

"Mugggie, January 31 pala, Saturday. Into the Woods pag puwede ka." 

"Toy," I tapped on my touchscreen. "Medyo nakukulitan na ako. I can't say yes to an invitation I cannot commit on."

No longer did I hear from him after he apologized.

--

I knew this would happen.

Our lunch date at the Lucky China Mall a month ago went so well that it might have spawn an idea that I would be looking forward to more hangouts. While I don't discount the possibility of seeing him in the near future, there are two things one should understand about me: That I don't like being forced into situations I have no control. And that, the "missing you" part is something I reserve only to people who matter.

It's like saying "I love you." to someone who can never be yours.

Lately, I find it extremely difficult to understand some guys' idea of attachment. Another fellow on Twitter, who I accommodated by sensibly talking to him on the phone for 2 hours, misses our conversation. From the tone of his last direct message, he wanted to talk badly. Another chap, I engaged in edging last week started calling me daddy. Remembering that stranger who used to call me "dad" in some lucid dream, the kid never heard from me again. He too, apparently got attached when I told him I'd ram his tight ass and breed him real good.

Of course, that was sext. Latest government estimates say there are 500 new HIV cases last November. And for obvious reasons, the news didn't surprise me.

--

Albert Einstein is often quoted saying that insanity is doing something over and over expecting different results. Feel free to label me insane after this revelation, but this cycle has been going on repeatedly.

There is no escape. Only atonement.

I wish to convey my apologies to these men and tell them that the idea of a more intimate association is not forthcoming. And that the sweet overtures I show are mere courtesies. It takes more than words - and deeds, to make romantic possibilities happen. In the past, the response came too late and I would suffer more from the "what-ifs." and "why-I-didn'ts."

To this day, I am still beset by some regrets.

Also, much as I would like to stay away and remain detached for the rest of the year, the narratives of heartaches and repeated trysts come with sovereignty. Singlehood guarantees one's liberty to explore and get tangled with people in more ways than I could write in the blog. Hence, expect some juicy confessions from time to time.

And finally, despite claims of missing no one, in a twist that is utter madness, I learned last New Year that I still reserve a special place for that one soul I'd wish to go back in time when he used to say "I love you" in awkward whispers and tell him,

 I was his for all time.