Nostalgia In Blogosphere

"Where have all the fireflies gone.

Come out, come out, dear bloggers.

Spread your wings, cast your light.

Let us all fly home one more time."

- Closet Geek

  January 4, 2018

---

"Use whatever format you want: essay, short story, 

poetry, photo essay, whatever.

We are a diverse community. We always have been. 

Go at it however you want.

Let's all publish our entries on January 20.

Then send me a link to your posts after you have published them.

I'll update my entry and add links to your post.

See you all in the blogosphere.

- Jap Nishiguchi

  January 4, 2018.

There is nothing here but memories, of exciting times when voices echo through this chamber. Slice-of-life narratives abound, and so were erotic vignettes that titillated the senses. There were confessions of dreams, pronouncements of grand schemes, and whispers of accomplishments celebrated in distilled stories. Some found closure as they laid down their burdens for eager voyeurs to read, while others learned that life could imitate art in-between cryptic paragraphs. 

A community flourished in this place, publishing blog entries, day in and day out.  It didn't matter what you write. After all, the strength of your words came from personal truths. And although the style set one blogger from another, in the end, one thing has always been certain: everyone was welcome to tell their stories.  

In this tight-knit space, where one is connected to another, real-life friendships burst forth and multiplied. Anecdotal evidence now scatters the social media pages of ex-bloggers engaged in some form of collective merriment. There were romantic unions too that bloomed here, and while others have withered through time's passing, a few endures to this day.  There is no denying that we have carved divergent paths after we have outgrown this fancy and all that is left is a hollowed shell replete with draft narratives and words left unsaid.

How I wish we could bring back the old times.

Cocooned in the cradle of microblogging, (with 280 words now, to tweet your thoughts in exchange for swift catharses) a return to long-form writing is nothing but a pipe dream. It is something that I have begrudgingly accepted now that penning this blurb meant giving up precious hours before slaving again for my two jobs. But there is a wish to rekindle old ties; to bring together kindred souls back, and I for one wouldn't miss this chance to again say hello to old companions and read their lives after blogging. So I return ahead of everyone, to tell some of my stories, in hopes that this collective call to write "One More Time" would be answered by the rest.

Once more, this is Mugen, and here's to writing.

Whirlwind

Once, I knew this boy who used to lay his heart next to the man he had slept with. The first he met in Malate. They left the dance floor together at daybreak and ended up in a motel somewhere in Quiapo. The next day, lust had turned into affection. A week later, they elevated their bonds to being partners. 

The boy was 21. 

The second was a random chat mate on Yahoo Messenger. They exchanged scanned photos, liked each other, and then, decided to meet a few days later. On the evening of their hang out, it rained, drenching both kids, which lead them to make a detour in a motel instead of going home. After the make-out and the fucking, they left the grounds promising to keep in touch. A week later, the guy was introduced to friends as our boy's next lover. 

He was barely 6 months out of his first relationship. 

Somewhere between that time and today, the rules of engagement had changed. The heart, which he used to expose on the first night of intimate contact, is now the last he reveals to strangers. Boys, who would grow fond of him after spending a day (or night) in his company never gets his attention. He would wonder how others would speak of endearment when little by little, his gestures hint his desire to keep some distance. 

I sometimes ask, does he feel pain when he disappoints another, a guy he probably had sex with, in real life, or through digital trade-offs? 

"Why should I?" He'd say with ambivalence. 

He would then go on telling me the burden of realizing how someone's tenderness is like a poison to his solitude. The last time he coupled with another, he was dumped for reasons unjustified. That, or he would cling to the faintest of hope that a sharing of minds would eventually lead to the oneness of hearts. 

Chances are, he would give up after finding another worth exploring, and when things don't work out, he would move on and begin another cycle. 

Looking back through all the days he had closed his eyes and allowed his heart to lead the way, he would end up bruised and limping, with nowhere to go but back to his fort. And all the lessons he learned - from sharing lives with other beings - pile up, like thick stone blocks he use to reinforce his walls, making it more difficult for the next soul to reach him, and pull out that boy who once believed in unconditional attachments. 

Still, there are remnants of that childhood, cocooned and waiting to break free for that one chance to soar again; like how he still finds himself under the Weatherman's spell, promising he would look after him even when the kid searches everywhere for that one-of-a-kind attraction; or when he comes across some "bromance" video clip, mistaking it for homemade gay porn on Socialcam, and then spend the rest of the morning lamenting how he once believed in such fairy tales; or when he listens to his Spotify playlists, and shares some of his favorite tunes on social media, hoping someone would actually dig his music. 

I would like to believe the boy still wanders within; past the turbulence of new-found and fleeting trysts, beyond the trappings of lust that open the door to longing; and laid beneath this narrative of always looking back, and using past heartbreaks to make someone's attempt to get close as complicated as his thoughts of having relationships.

Once, I knew this boy who used to lay his heart next to the guy he had slept with. And now that this boy had grown into a man, he sleeps with his heart lay hidden, never for the one whose impatience would not even bother to learn the troubles it had gone through, and understand why it takes longer nowadays for that organ to even sound a beat.

*After A, whose troubles and hang-ups rival mine.

Salisi

Note: Fleeting, our expressions have become. And while poetry abounds in forms unexpected, the social media landscape tends to bury these words under a cacophony of random thoughts. And while obscurity has become the new norm, let this pursuit allow voices to be heard, here in this corner of the web, where permanence, for now, remains certain.

Sabi mo
Gabi na.
Kailangan mo ng umalis.

Sa isip ko
Kanina ka umalis
Bago ka pa dumating.


Credits:

NASA
Binibining Camel

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-

Reboot

Note: To the blogger I used to be, who was struggling with words while penning his first blog post in his attempts to join a bandwagon, let me write to you how your first entry would appear like eleven years later. It's been a journey, my friend, and I'm glad that you took the first steps and did your best never to lose the craft.

I have a lifetime to thank you for. 

Previously: Colony Ship Landed

Every guy has a first time, and this is my introduction to the blogs. It's been ages since I wielded a pen - imaginary, or otherwise - to create a journal such as the one you are reading right now. Perhaps, it's time to move on. I'm done sharing my musings on online forums like Pinoyexchange.

My friends are leaving, and so am I.

I no longer recall who among my buddies posted it on Yahoo Groups, but his forethought was a chilling wake up call. He said, "Eventually, people outgrow a fancy and public forums are so yesterday." I've been checking the Odders' thread on Pinoyexchange everyday for the last three years, and absorbing what he said, I realize that I don't want to be left out. Sooner than everyone had thought, I hurled myself into this growing bandwagon, unannounced, hence the title "Colony Ship Landed." 

Folks, this is a migration.

---

Still, I find it devastating to hear what Henry's boyfriend did to him. The jerk cheated with another guy behind his back. Kunsabagay, boys will be boys, and the moment one gets bored with a partner, off he goes searching for a new playmate. Sigh. Hearing my friend's woes, I can't help but think of my own relationship. It's been almost a year since Phanks and I became a couple and one can't help but speculate,

What if my partner does to me what my friend's ex did to him?

Of course, I would break up, and return to my old ways of sleeping with every guy I come across online and in Malate. I don't know how long it would take for me to move on, but the accomplishments of the last 10 months will be wiped out all because one betrayed the trust of the other. Sana, totoo ngang seryoso ang boyfriend ko sa akin. I'm really looking forward to sharing a life, and future with him. 

---

Well, that is all for my first blog. There's a Contingent* at Garppy's pad tonight. Maybe I will post again when I return home later, or whenever I feel like writing.

Postcript:

While tinkering this platform, I learned how to add links to my blog. The boys wouldn't know yet, but I'm already snooping around and reading their posts. Lol. For some reasons, I'm beginning to understand why the friend who started this all finds it amazing to have an online journal. Anyway, it's time to leave this chair and take a bath. 

I've been warming my balls the whole day.



*contingent - weekly drinking binge.

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 

Kowtow

I have an ex-colleague, who lost his eyesight because of cancer. One of his corneas had to be removed because of tumor. I have no idea if his other eye can be spared, or if the T-Cells have not yet spread to other parts of his body. The tomography scan alone, which cost a fortune is enough for him to give up the treatment and leave his fate in the wind.  

With no job, and perhaps, even savings, it is yet unknown how he would recover from the disease.

---

An aunt, who lives abroad was diagnosed with Stage 4 Liver Cancer. Relatives on my side of the family say the hepatocytes are more aggressive, and more terminal than other forms of carcinoma. While the treatment is already ongoing, her oncologists still have to see if the cells cease multiplying. Unlike the friend who doesn't know where to get the money, my uncle is among the wealthiest in the family.

His wife can expect to receive the best health care the First World has to offer.

---

Making light of their situation preoccupies the mind these days. The aunt asks only for prayers. It is the friend who needs cash. While I can only suggest places where help might be given, there is no certainty of a financial package. He can simply give up, and live the remainder of his life with grace and compassion. Or fight it out like the rest, and breath his last still longing another shot at living. 

I pen this entry, not only for their sake, but for mine, who keep thinking what if such trial befalls my loved ones. Would our combined wealth be enough for the most difficult of treatments? Would we ever find comfort knowing we have given love in the days when the stricken used to be well? In contemplation, the answers elude me. And the distress continues to cast a long, lonely shadow as there is this growing fear I have lost favor with time.

"We have nothing but memories and goodwill to leave behind," I was supposed to tell my mom as a consolation when she broke the news to me about the aunt. I was referring to the photos of my uncle and his wife on a cruise ship in exotic destinations I saw on their Facebook page. Walking out of the door heavy with thoughts about mortality, I resumed working on the Raketship unsure of my chosen resolution.

"This." I pressed the enter key. The snippet I just sent to the client's portal adds to the bucks I accumulate every week.

"And perhaps a sprinkle of good vibes on the side." I thought, as I recall some people I know, who have hatred and spite to give.

I don't want asking the Almighty some favors in the future.

Not, when I have yet to do his bidding. 

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. 

Joppi

Previously: Ice Block

I fondly remember how you came into my life. 

It was last summer, and one of the dick pictures you posted on Twitter caught my fancy. There was nothing peculiar about it, except that it was bundled with other photos that reveal your true passion: coffee making. The exact words have escaped me now, but I recall telling you that I see beyond the perversion. That I find your photos artistic, and I think you're a nice guy who seldom gets into trouble. 

That you are worth learning.

The words might have sunk deep, for I saw the beginning of your transformation. Less you flaunted your dirty mind, and instead posted crafted words that resonate with your delicate side. It is unfortunate that I am beginning to see the Gundam Pilot as a steady date, hence, our ties were limited to occasional sexts tempered by pillow talks. In spite of the caution, I was paying close attention to our conversations. I was hoping to find a common thread in your stories that may draw me closer to you. 

This didn't happen for the announcement came too sudden. I already renounced my freedom on Twitter when our embryonic friendship was about to take shape. I knew you felt abandoned, but nothing could be undone. You came too late, and in our day-to-day banters, I failed to find a spot to anchor my feelings.

Time had robbed us. 

We walked away from each other knowing there's no chance of getting back. But there you are still, ready to provide cover when the ex and I separated ways - twice.

--

Ours should have been the classic rebound story, with you taking the place of the ex after he left for the flimsiest of excuses. Your patience is noble, and so is your perseverance. If I had any complaint before the pre-Christmas eyeball, it was your hesitation to make a move. Only after the second breakup did we set the date for the meet-up. By then, I was merely keeping a promise: a show of gratitude for holding me together when I was about to spiral out of control. And it was a memorable late-afternoon lunch: the stroll around Binondo, the feast at the Chinatown Mall, the revelations of a romance I would forever regard as a sham. If there was lacking in that first encounter, it was your stories. Either I was preoccupied with my own, or I didn't pay attention to your narratives.

At a hindsight, the Binondo hangout encapsulates my unsteady state of mind, and your place had I let you pursue what you truly felt for me. It will be a one-sided partnership, a union replete with heartbreaks, a relationship I might not take seriously given the infidelities of the past. But you carried on, with your everyday greetings on DMs, instant messaging apps, and sometimes, even on SMS. You would always have a comment about my rants, and even put stars on most of my trivial Twitter updates. I let you have your way believing infatuations fade without strong encouragement. This is why I decline your invitations to watch movies, or even see you during my free time. The ambivalence would have gone on if it never reached the point where the guilt becomes too unbearable. I had to step in and ask you to cease encroaching. Brutal as it sounds but this is how I care. There is injustice knowing I can never reciprocate the attention you give, and if it means driving you away to realize the futility, then so be it.

The hurt ends with me.

---

"I just want to be left alone. :)"

"Haha. Wala naman bago dun paps. Hehehe. :)"

"Unless you don't want to get upset and frustrated, I suggest you keep your distance."

"Stop sending DMs and Viber message to me. Let me be the one to reach out, in my own accord."

"May nagawa ba ko Mugs? Pero sige." In truth, this question hurts the most. You deserve fair treatment given the kindness you show.

"Wala, nalulungkot lang ako kasi todo effort ka mag-care sa akin pero hindi naman ako ganun ka-focused sayo."

"I find it unfair because if I were in your shoes, I won't exert much effort."

"I am not expecting anything in return naman. You are a friend of mine. And I know where my place is. Pero kung gusto mo na tumigil ako, cge."

"That's the difficult part. Not expecting. You think if I respond very warmly, you think you won't get encouraged to exert more effort?"

"Oks na. I'm stopping. :)"

"Thank you."

I know this is not the end. That I am not breaking ties, but instead, saving the friendship you recognize. In time, when you learn to be less intense. When you realize there's no point of missing someone you only saw once. And when you start telling stories, instead of trying to find where my soft spot is, I would reach out, and probably, hang out with you like I've always thought we would.

Until then. Let this entry be a token of my remembrance. 

I will always remember.

Walled In

For when the time comes I find a companion. Someone, whose world I would make orbit, there is certainty that this solitude would cease to exist and I would find myself tidally locked into someone's life.

Pride In Solitude

January 18, 2014

Early this month, Papa Tagay asked me for a drink. It was a four-letter invitation sent on SMS, but the subtext tells a lot about how difficult it is to invite me out these days. I could not blame his hesitation. Ever since my Gundam Pilot came, stepping back from the weekend get-together has become more evident as weeks passed. I don't even spread the word to common friends anymore when Papa T calls for a binge. I could not give my word of showing up, especially when the partner declines to join. Why should I tell others to be there, when I'm not entirely thrilled to leave the house and catch up with everyone?

It has become a full-scale social retreat. No longer would I go out - except if it's a date with my boyfriend. I still owe Shaun a merienda, but after postponing our meet-up several times, (with his gift already accumulating dust) he just ceased inviting. The same thing happens to the rest of my circles. If I cannot come to the Casa like I used to when I was still single, how can others draw me out from my seclusion?

This admission of exclusivity, is something I would not understand had I not become taken. I used to feel slighted when some of the guys we used to drink suddenly disappeared when they found a pair. In many ways, I did try to understand - that new couples make as much time for each other. This is how bonds are formed. Only when my turn came did I appreciate their disappearance, and given my solitary leanings, I could last weeks without ever seeing another human being - as long as my boyfriend is around.

I try correct my ways, and make time for people who matter. I did show up at the Tagayan that weekend even without the partner. And for a night, I was able to channel the remnants of my old self. That uninhibited me who loves to talk about the lives I have been through - and the lessons learned along the way.

If I could come up with reasons for this elusiveness; for this uneasiness when friends call for a hang out and the partner isn't available; and for this aloofness, when strangers try to be cozy on private messages, memory serves as a wellspring of caution.

Because the last time I felt this tremendous liberty of entertaining strangers, or showing up at parties hosted by friends, without the partner to introduce, was at the time of the Second.

And by all blog accounts, the dearth pulled us apart.

It is these reminders, written and yet rarely spoken, that I find that resolve to build my walls up, and spook myself at the slightest chance of solitary wanderings. For after going through a relationship, and forging a union once again, with another person, I have yet to come into terms that the absence that lead me astray from the Second, could gravitate me closer to the Fourth.

To this day, I have never learned to trust myself - and my thoughts - when I take a peek and see what lies beyond the wall.

The Higher Ground

"I don't owe anyone an explanation. What happened between my ex and I is just between us. Unless the details are shared to you, all you can ever do at this point is assume you can make sense of what happened. This will be my first and only post about the breakup. 

I'm moving forward."

I was told the other day that your romantic relationship had gone kaput. That your cheesy union with that snoot had come to an abrupt end. But instead of getting emo and stuff, you dumped the old guy for the new one, and you had the guts to tell all on Facebook when everyone you know believes you are still with the ex. 

The news, of course, didn't escape the prying eyes of your digital friends. After all, who wouldn't be surprised of the announcement. There was a photo of you - next to your ex - together with your "Supermom" last Mother's Day. The result of your pubic disclosure was collective disbelief. Some thought it was a hoax. Others reluctantly threw their support. While those who didn't approve the budding romance spoke in hushed tones. You will know them by their refusal to respond to your calls for validation. Dazed and confused as to what had just happened, they will scoop the details from common friends. Then attempt to put together the missing pieces. And soon, those we reserve as speculation become established facts.

A morning was spent with friends, and all we did was to decode your movement.

"Magkasama pa nga sila sa Laboracay eh." A friend said on Viber. "Pero I find it weird na they're not as sweet."

"Tapos may time na antagal namin magkasama, tapos magkayakap lang kami kasi 'antaas' niya." He added. "Yung bf, dumaan lang, nag hi-hello tapos umalis din."

"Tho may slight instinct pa rin ako na gusto ko siya tulungan." Another friend confided during the course of our three-way chat. "Pero gusto ko rin siya matauhan."

"Let's wait and see."

Regardless of the cause of breakup, we were displeased with the way you introduced the new guy on social media. It was premature and distasteful. You made him look like a convenient replacement for the one you left behind. (or was it the other way around?) And from the way you wrote your heart on the Wall, you didn't spare a thought about the parting.

You were more excited in taking a journey with the new beau instead of finding closure.

Where is the humanity in that?

Break-up Etiquette - if ever it exists - requires a little discretion in romantic affairs. Especially when your social circles still reel from the shock of the fall-out. You may not care about what people say. But when image matters - especially for someone like you - whose social clout reaches far and wide, sooner or later you will be obliged to explain the details.

And it will be messy affair.

With the ex keeping a lid as to what caused the break-up, while you desperately sell the notion that everything's okay and you're happy with the new boyfriend, your audience sees through the masquerade. Much as they would want to reserve their judgement until the truth comes out, some might have already dismissed you as a heartless loser.

And I would have publicly smacked you in the head for letting yourself sink like that.

But you are my friend - someone who's already been around since the earliest days of my gay life. I still want to protect you no matter how silly some of your actions are. Because I know, you need the voice of reason to get through this difficult chapter of your life.

"Kirsh, an unsolicited advice." I began tapping the keys of my laptop to send him a private message. "The way your Facebook updates read like, you are making a big issue about your breakup. 

I do not know your motivations and the reasons for parting ways. But sincerely, I don't like that doofus even before. I am telling you this as an outsider. If someone who doesn't know you that well reads your updates, it sounds like you're getting back at your ex. Love in silence, for this is what the situation requests. You still have to prove so much with your new relationship.

Best wishes." 

The Rocky Dream

As told to MyBoo minutes after the steam-room conditions inside my room stirred me from my afternoon nap.

"Nagkita kami (Rocco) sa SM Mall of Asia para daw mag-bonding. Tapos nung nag-iintay kami ng taxi para kumain elsewhere, nagulat na lang ako at nakita kong may ka-flirt na yung kasama ko. Yung ka-flirt ni Rocco eh biglang gumawa ng eksena in public. Paano kasi, naka-unbuckle na yung belt ni best friend tapos partially open pa yung pantalon niya. Ayun, dinala siya sa security office nung mall. Ako naman e sumunod para magbigay ng moral support at magtanggol kung kinakailangan. Nung naareglo namin sa office yung kaso, naghanap ulit kami ng makakainan. Dito na nag-iba yung setting ng panaginip. Napunta daw kami sa isang building na may open field. Yung Main Building yata ng PUP yun. Mula sa sixth floor, bumaba kami ni Rocco. Tapos sa ground floor nakita namin si JM na naglalakad papalapit. Inintroduce ko sila sa isa't isa. 

Meron pa kaming isang kasama na long-haired guy na hindi ko kilala. Inintroduce ko na lang siya bilang si Red. Natapos yung panaginip ko na naglalakad kami sa open field patungo sa gate para kumain daw ng kwek-kwek sa labas ng campus."

At the back of his head, the beau would probably think that I'm making up a story. That, or he would find my memory too sharp to capture every little detail of the scenes. He even said that it was a long dream, a fact that could not be disputed given my recollection.

The practice of keeping a dream journal has allowed me to recall some of my dreams with clarity. Including this one. From that time I dreamed of Godzilla sacking Manila, (the details I still remember) to that fateful decision to cross the bridge, (a subconscious resolution to end dating a romantic interest) it seems I am getting more skillful in remembering the events in my slumber. 

There was one significant piece I later told my boyfriend as to why I was caught unaware of Rocco flirting with another guy:

"Habang nag-iintay kasi ng taxi, may kotse kasing huminto sa harap namin. Yung pasaherong lumabas ay dating editor ng newspaper ng dad ko na matagal ng patay. Kunwari hindi ko siya kilala pero namukhaan niya ako. Kinuhaan pa nga niya ako ng picture point blank gamit yung camera phone niya. Foul yun at dapat ako yung magrereklamo sa security sa ginawa niya. 

Kaso naunahan ako ng eksenang ginawa ni Rocco."        

But the detail omissions didn't stop there. And I didn't bother telling the partner about them out of fear that he might get confused of my story telling. I would have to say this is one of those rare dreams you get to remember in its entirety. A subconscious hint that I should meet my friend who has been there ever since I switched preference more than a decade ago.

"Yung head ng security ng SM na nag-invite kay Rocco na sumama for questioning ay dating manager nung security agency ng dad ko. Hence, madali namin na-areglo."

"Habang naglalakad pababa ng building at papunta ng field, tinanong ko si Rocco kung bakit nakipag-flirt siya dun sa guy. Ang sabi niya sa akin, mukha daw kasing daddy."

  

Progressive Love

Previously on That Nishiboy

"This time, I’m loving myself. This time, I’m going put my body on the line solely for the pleasure of it, and not because I’m looking for someone who’ll have me or because I want to take revenge on someone who hurt me. This time, I won’t care if someone calls me depraved or whatever label they decide to stick on me, because I know that I’m doing exactly what I want. Yes, this time I know exactly what I want. This time, I’m not letting anyone near my heart.

Love is unnecessary. Love is something I’m incapable of. I will write about love no more."

I Will Write About Love No More

January 7, 2014

Dear Nishiboy,

Love is something you are capable of and I will write about love with you as the subject. Behind the sleazy, chem-friendly reputation others have grown to regard you, some of us believe that the image is there to mask the fissures you still keep within. The wounds left by your first ex has yet to heal. For this reason, those who have known you from the time you have set foot outside the university, still has to see you settled down with one guy. A partner, who will love you for who you are, your past, and your flaws.

Unconditionally.

And we know you as the passionate one. You get attached to a guy within days of first contact, and disengage, without looking back when romance don't work. When others negotiate unions in secret, you tell the world how madly infatuated you are. You never give a shit to whispers. It is a pattern we have seen over and over, and when you gave up on that four-letter word whose essence has been lost to our age, I just shook my head in disbelief, knowing you will eat your words soon.

I was right.

Less than three months had passed, you sent fillers on Twitter hinting of a sea change. I even reminded you of your blog entry, of your sacred vow, written not so long ago. We scribblers of stories live in ironies. We tend to be poked at by fate and write our predicament. Annoyed by my taunt, or your resignation to the truth, my question was ignored. You went on with life and brushed off my remark.

Still, I watched you from a distance.

Not only because I am a friend, but because you're a character worth observing. A stellar creature to be awed no matter what others say behind your back. The same narrative amused me (you dated several times, your press release read). I am yet to hear the details when we get to meet.

Nonetheless, budding romance always is, a subject of conversation. Snippets of your account will reach me faster than the sound of your voice.

And we would wager on your ability to keep the romance thriving.

Eyes will be watching.

So make no mistake. Reluctance may clutter my head, but I am hoping that this is the person you are searching. It is your sheer will that holds the tide - of being a step ahead of the consequences of your lifestyle - and the way I see it, luck may run out soon. People like you do not deserve to be ruined.

And so I am placing my bets on your happiness.

News spread, and like a tempest breaking the stillness of a contemplative weekend, I heard that you have told the world - your sphere - that you're in a relationship once again. The swiftness still took us by surprise. With sincerity, we felt relieved.

May it be lasting. May his arrival bring peace and joy to your life. For if this union ends the way it begins. If this narrative tells once more of your hollow cycle, the next time you speak of love (or the refusal of it), your words will find no meaning.

Make it work. Because accept it or not, there are those who will journey with you, in this interesting chapter of your life.

The Finn Confessions: Hornet

"Papakels, I have a confession to make." I told Santi at the Casa. It was already past 2 in the morning. Papa Tagay had already left, and Markus was busy checking out his Grindr account. Laid on our table were empty bottles of San Miguel Beer and leftover pulutan.

"Mukhang nang one-way ako ng ka-eyeball." I said softly.

"Hindi ko talaga sinasadya and I feel bad." Santi smiled and patiently listened intently as I went on to tell my story.

A flashback.

Hindi pa natatapos ang isang araw mula ng mag lie-low ako sa Twitter nang maisipan ko i-reactivate ang account ko sa Hornet. Gaya ng Planet Romeo at Grindr, ang Hornet ay isang gay dating site. Doon ang puntahan ng mga lalaking naghahanap ng karelasyon sa kapwa lalaki, ngunit ang totoo, booking ang kanilang sadya. Doon ko din nakilala si kid na tinutukoy ko sa entry na Lip Service.

Wala pang isang oras simula ng pagka set-up ng aking profile ay may nakapukaw na ng aking mga mata. Ang isa ay bata, around 10 years my junior. Ang isa naman ay mas bata sa akin ng 3 years. Si kid ay madali kong na-friendzone. Kasi naman, ang choosy ko rin minsan. Si Kuya naman, na half-Chinese at mas mature ang looks sa akin ay binalak ko sana ayain mag hang-out. 

There's something about him that caught my fancy.

Kaso mo, nang hindi ko binigay ang Facebook account ko, hindi na rin ito nagreply sa akin sa Viber.

I had to move on.

The next day, masaya at makulit pa rin kung makipag-chat sa akin si Friendzoned kid. We share a lot of things in common, kaya hindi naman nakakasuya mag reply sa chat. Ngunit lingid sa kanyang kaalaman, abala ako sa pakikipagpalitan ng messages sa Hornet. Marami ang nagsend ng request para makita ang mga private pictures ko gawa ng aking display profile. Mangilan-ngilan rin ang kusa na lang hindi nakipag-usap. It's part of the game. It takes time nga lang tanggapin na it's all about who's looking better.

There were near misses. Yung mga nagyayaya ng threesomes, at mga nagtatanong kung may place ba ako. Tamad ko lang talaga makipagtagpo, at mag-engage sa activities na papawi sa tawag ng laman. Pero kung ako ang tatanungin, tunay naman ang nadarama kong libog sa mga nakakausap. 

Mahirap nga lang magtiwala. Nakakatakot, ang basta-basta makipag sex sa mga taong di mo tunay na kakilala.

Pagkagat ng dilim ay patuloy pa rin ang pakikipagusap ko sa mga nasa dating app. Animo'y para akong tanga na nag-iintay ng mag memessage sa akin. Andun ang pag asang makahanap ng kaulayaw. Yung top na may angas. Nagtawag ng inuman si Tagay. Nagpasyang sumama si Santi at Markus, pero sa tuwing dinadaanan kami ng anghel, ang mga mata ko'y nakadikit sa phone screen ni Ndoto. 

Hanggang dumating ang aking inaabangan.

Isang kanto lang daw ang layo ng kausap. Mag isa ito't naghahanap ng matutulugan. Basa ko naman ang ibig niyang sabihin, at who knows, maaring puwede ko siya i-sneak in sa kuwarto. 

O puwede rin naman i-motel.

Pagkakuha ng bill, nagpasabi akong mag-intay ng sampung minuto. Mag-aabang daw siya sa isang bangko kung saan malapit ang Casa.

Five minutes matapos ang huling send ng message sa Hornet, lumiban ako sa table para mag-withdraw. Pinuntahan ko ang bangko kung saan niya ako iniintay.

At hindi malayo sa kinalalagyan ng ATM, isang lalaki ang aking na-spot. Balingkinitan ito, moreno at upong prinsesa. Walang duda na ito ang aking katagpo.

Ngunit.

Bakit iba yata ang picture ng taong kausap sa Hornet sa taong lalapitan ko?

Sadya bang malabo ang mga mata ko? O tunay akong haharap sa isang poser?

Ang katotohanan, sa kasamaang palad, ay hindi ko na malalaman.

Sapagkat sa halip na lapitan ang lalaki, dumiretso ako sa ATM para magwithdraw. At nang madiskubre na nabawasan ako ng pera nang hindi ko naman nakuha, kaagad akong tumawag sa bangko. Ang lalaking katagpo ay bigla kong nalimot. Pinabayaan.

Na one-way.

Bumalik ako sa aming tagpuan matapos ang pakikipag-usap sa customer service agent. Subalit ang lalaki ay wala na. Ilang beses ko itong ni-message at sinabing hinahanap ko siya ngunit hindi ito kaagad sumagot. 

Pinilit kong magpaliwanag.

"You flaked out!!" ang sabi niya.

"I'm in West Avenue meeting someone else." Reply niya kinalaunan. Seryoso, sa sobrang guilty, gusto ko siyang puntahan saan man siya naroon.

"You enjoy." Ang nasabi ko na lang.

"Ang sama ko," I told Santi after. "Those places really bring out the worse in you."

Santi, Marcus and I parted ways soon after. I forgot Santi's advice because I was already tipsy. However, there was no denial that I was still restless despite the botched meet up.

It so happened that while confessing my sin, to a friend, who had his own episodes in the wilderness exactly a year ago, I gave my word to delete my Hornet account when I wake up in the afternoon.

"Minsan, gusto mo lang talaga makaramdam ng init ng iba." I said while looking at my phone, whose battery power is almost gone. 

"Excuse na lang ang libog." 

True to my word, I walked away from the Hornet's nest 51 hours after creating my account. I didn't get laid. Not even a chance to cuddle someone. And as if the cosmic joke's on me, I would learn a few hours after deleting the app that a chance to sneak someone will come up.

I'll be left alone as my house companions have to go somewhere.

But then, I made up my mind and stick with my decision not to return to the dating sites. It's enough that I lost my balls in that one cruel moment.

Ampalaya Ginisa Flavored Mix

A few hours before daybreak on the last day of the love month, a gay guy thought of pouring his heart out on Twitter. It caught the attention of the audience and soon enough, another guy felt a relation to the post. The gentlemen seem to share the same sentiments about being unlikable and unloved. Two emotional conditions I have never felt in a long time. So I paid close attention to their conversation; and find out if there is something to learn from their musings. 

"According to a very reliable source, hindi ako likable at hindi ako loveable. K, fine. #foreveralone."

"Me too." The other guy segued. 

"Hindi kaya!"

"Oo nga, kaya nga ako iniwan diba?"

A keen observer, known for his compassion made attempts to lift the sagging spirits of the two men. He succeeded only in bringing out the pain and bitterness the guy who recently broke up felt within.

"Huwag ganyan, makakahanap din tayo ok?"

"Di naman ako naghahanap and I don't think papasok ako sa isang relationship ulit."

"Di naman kasi hinahanap yun, kusang dadating kapag panahon. Kapag handa na ang puso." 

"Ayoko na. Wala ng darating. Sarado na ang puso ko." He dropped his words with much anguish and spite, I can't help but feel sympathy for the guy.

"Don't say that. Iinom na lang natin yan. Kailangan mo ng kausap. Ako, hopeless romantic for life."

"Ako din. Love is only for those lucky enough to have found it. At last. Forever. But forever is just a concept, so is love."

"First off, nothing is forever. Not life, neither is love. Once you've accepted that, you can love without promises."

"I used to believe in love. Not anymore."

The written exchange ends there. Nothing follows. The empath may have given up on the jaded, or the pair felt it best to take the conversation away from the prying eyes of the audience. As for the guy who said he is unlikable, he chose not to reply and participate in the dialogue. I would rather not speculate on his reasons, but he did engage others in a breezy banter.

Biases aside (the guy who initiated the conversation is someone I used to follow on that micro blog, and the one who was ditched by his partner is known for his abrasive personality), the reason as to why the two seem to share a common fate is caused by their own doing. I may not know much about how they engage others, but judging by how they deal with impressions, it is easy to glean the image they show in public.

The empath, who claims to be hopeless romantic is right. There is no such thing as forever, and given the temporal state of things, would it count to give your best before your time is up?

From the way I let someone in, and in ways I transit out of people's lives, I keep in mind that moments will always be judged by the kindness I have shown. Let's take love out of equation, not even the possibilities of romance. All I know is that as long as you keep the faith, and see beyond the cracks and molten fissures of life, being unlikable will never be a question of state.

Light, no matter how faint attracts attention when loomed by darkness. And kindness, no matter how little overturns impressions of the nastiest kind.

Distant Lights

Previously: The Great Neutralizer


Perfect strangers when we meet 
Strangers on the street
Lovers while we sleep


Perfect
Smashing Pumpkins

Still, I can feel the tenderness of your skin; its warmth and smoothness as I wrap my arms around your chest. Once more, I asked you to lay next to me; allow me to show affection, that intimacy I indulge only with you.

It was New Year's eve when you last slept over. Never will I forget, for you have shown what the two of us could have been. On that night, I made love to you. Love, for there were no words to describe that longing; that joy of the soul when the two of us locked ourselves in my room. I tried to convey it through my kisses, through my hands that refused to part with yours; through my veneration of every inch of your body, that boundless sensuality I seldom show to those who get to see me in the flesh. I tried to overwhelm you with my brute strength, to impose my will over your lean frame. But at the back of my head, I was the one conquered. Had you said the three magic words, I am ready to respond in kind.

Certain I'd be yours that night and for all time.

But the tryst didn't end that way. 

After watching the films Napoleon Dynamite and Goodbye Lenin; and after the discovery of our common fascination with Dream Pop, we greeted the morning like complete strangers. That it was, but a mercy fuck.

A playtime between friends.

A remnant of a dead romance.

As it had been in the past, you refused to make contact. Seldom would you "like" my Instagram photos, when it often had reference to you. I would visit your Facebook page, and sigh in frustration with how similar our minds speak. And then I'd lament our divergence; how I'd miss the time when you're the one whose attachment was deeper.

Felt within.

I could speak of the reasons for my hesitation. Sound ones, given the histories scarring my head. If I were to judge our direction then, there were tell-tale signs of our doom. Perhaps, I wasn't ready to take risks. After all, confidants warned of your qualities I didn't see.

So the stalemate of being friends with benefits defined our future ties.

And sadly, we always knew, we could be more than that.

The fourth day of the second month came, and the apparent thaw quickly changed my perceptions. After a month of sporadic text exchanges (me initiating the conversation), you suddenly clicked the favorite button on several of my pictures on Twitter. The quick succession of my phone's chime begs for attention. The subliminal thoughts were too clear to ignore. I was intent on making love to you once more, even when you see it as nothing but a lay.

And so I sent an SMS.

"Hi Weatherman, may church ka mamaya?" Insert the smiley emoticon after the question mark.

"Wala. Pero may meeting kami later para sa event ng church e. Bakit?"

"Namimiss kita. Gusto sana kita makasama mamaya." It took more than ten minutes for you to reply. 

"Di na ako umuuwi madalas sa may atin. Sorry, di ko nasabi agad. Sa Sucat na ako." It felt like a glass jar inside my chest had just imploded to bits and pieces.

"Na figure ko nga sa Facebook mo. Sige, next time na lang. Ingat ka lagi." The smiley emoticon is still at the end of the sentence. But deep inside, the face I'd like to send is welling up with tears.

You ceased replying when I asked who you stay with. I can safely assume it's with friends, but I also cannot discount the presence of a lover. 

Or maybe both.

I was meaning to end our chapter before our last conversation. But given your proximity to home no longer have bearing; and the uninterrupted dreaming has to give way to a somber awakening, maybe it's time to move on and finally, embrace you as a memory.

"Paano mo na-figure? Hehehe."

"Yung hill between PNR Station saka Sucat Interchange sa picture mo e isa sa mga astig na lugar na nalakad ko. Babalik ako dun para kumuha ng shots."

"Ahh I see. Yeahhhh! Para akong di nasa Metro Manila nung andun ako."

What I didn't say is that I fell in love with the distant lights illuminating the Skyway on that cold December evening. Lights, I will associate with your name, now that I've resigned to the thought that you and I, are bound to drift apart.

Ekstra (Finale)

Previously on L'Heure Bleue

"Hawakan mo ng mahigpit kamay ko ha?" 

The girl paired to me by the assistant director held my hand tight. She was among the "hakot" who played as the crowd. From what I've heard from small talk among themselves, the bit players were from a slum neighborhood nearby. A friend of a friend, a neighbor along the narrow alley, a cousin of a buddy, these people were pulled from their homes, possibly, to play roles they live in real life.

Meanwhile, not far from our spot, the fire engines' water pumps began humming as hoses aimed at the sky spray the ground with cold water.

"Pota ospital uwi ko nito." The shirtless guy in front of us whined. Someone from the crowd was already coughing.

"Basta kapag sinabi kong action, tumakbo kayo patungo sa gymnasium ha?" The assistant director's voice boomed from the megaphone.

"At walang tatawa."

Filming was about to start, and being a last-minute addition, the instruction was not clear to me the way the crowd was informed.

"Basta kuya sundan mo na lang ako." My pair said.

"O sige ikaw bahala."

In the distance, the film crew take their places. 

"Lights... Camera..."

It was already past seven and Carlo has not yet returned. My wanderings outside the subdivision to look for a store and buy a cigarette lead to nothing.

When I walked back to the set, meals in styrofoam trays were already being distributed. The ekstras formed a line while their handlers made sure to account their men.

Of course, skirmishes broke out as some walk-ins appeared out of nowhere. There's free grub and freeloaders won't waste such opportunity. The result of course, was catastrophic. Some teams had to wait for more styro packs to arrive.

I walked past these burning disputes to return to where my stuff was. On my way, word of mouth flew as to the food items available. There were Pork Adobo, sausages and eggs. In a small room under the gymnasium, roasted pig was being chopped for the elite members of the production team.

Last taping na daw kasi.

I didn't partake in these feasts even when there's a food pack reserved for me. It is either I wasn't hungry, or I knew I won't be able to eat the dishes. Mabuti na lang, the canteen was still open. Several sachets of garlic peanuts and a bottle of Gatorade nourished me until Carlo brought a roll of Oreo.

  

"... Action!!"

The shivering crowd began to run. Screams and cries were everywhere. On my right, women and children were being hauled out of dump trucks. On my left, a group of extras pushed themselves into our platoon. We were to run under the spray of water; past the ambulances with their blinkers on; past the men wearing military uniform, waving their hands to guide us into the portal leading to the tennis court.

We have to make it appear there is pandemonium in the evacuation center, and I've learned - first hand - it's not easy to sow fear and terror when there is none.

On the ground, I got separated from my pair after deliberately tripping myself in front of the camera. I was hoping the orchestrated slump would make it to the final cut. When we reached the stairs inside the gymnasium, I nearly tripped again as the pushing and shoving, and wet floor made it difficult to leap the steps. And after going through those self-flagellation, we would learn that the first shot was a disappointment.

Screaming and running the crowd was, and yet, their faces were smiling.

We had to re-take parts of the scene.

Without the pair assigned to me, who probably got fed up with my attempts of upstaging the casts.



It would be the last heart-stopping scene to be shot for the film; and also the last time I'd be assigned to work with bit players. For the final acts, which took place inside the gymnasium court, centered around the lead actor and his search for missing loved ones.

There, as the cast and crowd bumped into each other in a sequence being shot on one side of the court, the rest of us waited for our turn. Some, splayed on the ground, while others wandered, hoping to be drawn to where the camera shots. Meanwhile, I indulged myself taking pictures of sleepy children who have been at the set since god knows when.

Also, Carlo, who had at long last arrived - with dogs in hand - introduced me to freelance talents. One can assume their presence is to lend support to colleagues, but also for exposure as the production already scouts the next cast for future film ventures.

It was fun rubbing elbows with indie talents - who are celebrities in their little turfs. I may not recall their names, but their zeal as artists somehow resonates with my craft. It was also amusing to stand behind cinematography wizards, as they create jaw dropping shots with their pricey cameras. But what made me stay worthwhile was the act I belong:


When lights went out, and the evacuees fed up with their miserable state resigned to silence; And as the collage of scenes showing snippets of flood victims on the verge of breakdown were about to be panned, there was a role assigned to me that was symbolic in a resounding way;

For I was one of those who resisted the hollow darkness.


Midnight was fast approaching and filming has yet to be wrapped up. There were sequences still needing to be shot, and production hints no rushing in completing the acts.

Knowing it would be a long and solitary trip back home, in perilous roads replete with robbers and other unsavory elements, I told Carlo and his partner, Ben, that I'd be leaving.

"Malayo pa kasi ako ng uuwian." I said.

Understanding my plight. Carlo smiled and hugged me tight. Expressions of gratitude and appreciation would be my TF.

The next day, I opened my Facebook and saw a single, striking photo. The only souvenir I will ever have of the experience.

Here's proof that you were there at yesterday's shoot for #AboveTheClouds in your refugee chic character. Thanks for allowing me to help you tick that box on your bucket list JM. I forgot to take a photo of us together though. With Ben and our baby dog Pogi boy.

End