Leafing Through

"Dare mo ako," I asked Nox as the two of us busted a move on the dance floor.

"Dare!!" He said, without batting an eyelash.

Earlier that night, I went to the gym only to find out that they are open until 10pm. It was past midnight when I arrived. With no place to go, I asked my DJ friend Cal Soesanto, where to party. 

She said, Bed Manila. 

So I went there, for the second time after they moved to Greenfields, Shaw. At Bed, I met some Twitter friends - by accident - and decided it would be better to hang out with them than to go solo. Para naman maka-bond ako with friends I only get to see online, and to spare myself from getting into trouble again.

Because the last time I went there, I ended up going out with my dance partner days later. It didn't prosper. The "date" was a disaster. Before that, during Bed's closing in Malate, a couple invited me for a threesome - which I declined. Said, "I don't play this game anymore," before walking away from the horny bastards.

That night, I thought I could leave the dance floor without causing any incident.

But I was wrong. I was a tease from the moment I entered the club until the minute before I leave.

Fate was kind however, for I was able to part heartfelt words to people who mattered. I was able to tell Nox how I admire his long distance relationship with Ron. They have been together for almost three years. We talked about their future, their plans of getting married, and my wish - to one day - get to read Nox's Facebook where he's sharing his trip to Oslo.

To visit his partner for the first time. 

I was also able to share some good moments with Babit, the guy who made a cameo on the Indie Film, Camera Obscura. The silent film has sentimental value to me because of the ex, and Babit, having played a role in that movie has somehow touched my past - in a very endearing way. While we didn't get to talk - like Nox and I did, his presence was a relief, especially since one of their friends was someone I had my eyes on. We were getting physical and every time I get reminded that Babit was watching, I come to my senses and hold back the rage I had for his friend.

Finally, Ron was the one who found me while smoking outside Bed. I was having second thoughts of going in, and while weighing my decision, I saw him looking at me. There was instant recognition - and association with his boyfriend. Ron called Nox who was drinking inside, he, in turn, convinced me to get in, and the rest was history. In their presence I realized that I could leave my comfort zone and still feel at home.

And as Ron and Nox danced and kissed in my presence, there's this whisper of hope, that one day, I might find myself dancing and kissing my partner on the same dance floor. Perhaps not there, but in some other place that would forever be special to me. I might have had a different story to tell for this entry, but it was their sweet moments that held me steady during the naughty incidences I had with the rest.

Kasi nga, ang harot ko, and since I was perked up, it was easy to hook up, had I wanted to.



Maybe it was in my way of doing pelvic thrusts in the air, or bending my knees and dropping my hips on the floor, or arching my neck like reaching an orgasm that caught others' imagination. All I know is that I have always been a horny dancer. This thought, I recalled, when Prodeeboy once told me about a guitarist who made sexually charged facial expressions while he performed on stage. Prodee claimed he had a boner just by looking at him. And in the way I stuck out my tongue, or kept sensual eye contact with my bet, I was subconsciously doing a mating call that others found hard to resist.

An inflated assumption.

All I know was I was able to kiss a dance partner, felt someone's six packs as his hand guided mine into his torso, and had hands sliding inside my pants to check my limp package. In times of inebriation, it was easy to let go. And that night, the urge to drop the inhibition brought me close to being reintroduced to the clubber that I was: the Malate Kid who went to gay places every Saturday to occupy a portion of the ledge and show off.

It was fun then, and thrilling, still. But at the back of my head, I made a promise that none of these, will be seen by the Next: The tease that I am; the command I show on the dance floor; and the moves that get me into trouble every time I go to dance clubs lately. These will all be, but a figment of the imagination. A fiction story I put in my blog to write my days of singlehood. The Future will just know me as a clubber who happens to be passionate in Electronic Dance Music.

For him, I'd just be the domesticated type. The artsy geek who drinks every weekend with friends.

And that's what I'd become.

So perhaps, for the last time this year, I kept my word by mounting the ledge once more: To bring back the dancer in me, and to celebrate friendships that are often overlooked. I raised my fists into the spotlight and closed my eyes to let the music take control. In my head, all I hear was the track "Eat, Sleep, Rave Repeat" bouncing off the man-sized speakers and the howls of friends watching from the dance floor.

The Beast In Me

you are scary and wild
i'm afraid to meet you
again on the dance floor.

4:15a

Time In Manila, Makati

Pausing to catch my breath, as the man-sized speakers over my head continue to pump heavy bass from the DJ's progressive trance set.

Bed, Malate (First Part)

It was just a matter of time before the laser lights and disco ball lure me back to the dance floor. I was in my early twenties, my second relationship was just barely a year old, and my time at Mint and Mister Piggy's - dance clubs that were infamous for their scant lighting and perverse dark rooms - were too memorable, I would like to be seen at the club scene some more. I've been a regular fixture in Malate for the past year and a half. To suddenly walk away and abstain from the nightlife - like men in relationships are expected to do - means losing the place I go for solace and distraction.

I am not ready to give up the dance club.

So when friends decided to check out the newest party place in town, it didn't take a lot of convincing for me to join. "You're in good hands," they assured. "Your boyfriend will not find out." I no longer remember where on earth did we go in Malate to drink that night, but after the Contingent went their separate ways, those of us who stayed behind sashayed to the belly of the Orosa Courtyard to queue at this place called Bed.

What I recall is that Bed was flanked by Fidel and New York Shop Cafe - boheme restaurants that offered fine dining experience to those who can afford it. Upstairs, there's this boutique called Pride Exchange. The store sold lubes, dildos, neon-colored undies and undershirts for those gay enough to wear them. We have no idea what to see inside Bed. What we know is that it occupies a sliver of space, and we doubt it can accommodate everyone who tried to get in. 

When the dark-skinned bouncer opened the red bar door for us, I was in complete awe by what I found inside. Gorgeous men were everywhere. Some were half-naked, almost all of them had the physique of Adonis. Even the Go-Go boys looked like they did some commercial photo shoot first before moonlighting at the club. The likes of me - who was fat, fashionably challenged and had no social connections in Malate felt unwelcome.

But I had no choice. I need to fit in.

The dance floor itself was a narrow strip with a disco ball hanging from the ceiling. It divides two ledges and a stair leading to the second floor. Drinks were served below deck. Across the bar counter were velvet sofas where the demi-gods of Malate out-gay one another. Upstairs, there's a plush seat shaped like an O. It overlooks the dance area. I used to lounge there when parties wind down. Dazed and exhausted from all the dancing, I would look at the people below and think of the lives they lead outside the club. 

Bed 2 opens to public (2005)

The first time was followed by another, and another, until the weekly pilgrimage stayed unbroken for years. And despite unsuccessfully finding lasting friends there (I have my Brodders anyway), I would rather stay at Bed than get in all sorts of trouble and temptation in Bath and Red Banana. The only time I had to leave the place was when it had an expansion. Government opened its doors. I loved the music and for the first time, my attention was diverted.

No longer would I see the club the same way again

Life went on unhinged, and Bed - for half a lifetime of my gay life - had been a place of refuge and reverie. I return every time I need to unwind, to nurse a broken heart, or when the need to belong outweighs the call of solitude. Sometimes, I would return to introduce a rookie into the fabulousness of the Pink life, or simply, to catch up with the latest dance anthems spun by the club's resident DJs.

For a generation of gay men, Bed was the original nest. It was the place to be; the spot where the has-been and will-be converge to be seen, checked at, and be talked about. But for me it was home - until they thought of occupying large swathes of the courtyard and their music stayed - Diva House - when my ears sought something orgasmic - like progressive house remixes.

Club Bed would burn to the ground. But by the time it was put back in place, I have stepped on so many dance floors that I no longer feel the vibe of Orosa. For some of us who had returned to the flirt side of clubbing, we would begin to see Bed as a social place - where the old vanguards and their stateside guests go, and reminisce the early days, when Malate was every gay guy's fairy tale. I would go on complaining about the music. The pricey cover charge. The swanky atmosphere when all I wanted was a quick and easy lay.

I would fall in love the third time. Succeed in purging myself of the dance fever. But the union didn't last and I would once again pick up the pieces in places like Bed. Upon my return just a few weeks ago - to grieve once more at the derelict that has become Malate, I would learn of the club's fate - like the fate of all the dance clubs before it.

Bed leaves Malate. Never to return again.


-tobecontinued-

Historical Reference

After the tequila joe shindig, ENDY and i headed for malate, its been a while since ive been there so i siezed the opportunity. We decided to go to BED, i havent been there and im intrigued about the stories i have heared about it. So once we entered the establishment...i was in complete awe...its like ive gone to GAY heaven! Gorgeous guys left and right, with the built and physique to match. There were great looking guys by the stairs, on the ledge, near the bar-everywhere! The best part about the place was the music...so far the best i have sampled in malate-with the exception of aquario for playing vinyl on turntables. So, with great music comes great dancing. Guys were really gyrating and swaying to the beat...never have i seen such great dancing after "Keep on Dancing" ceased airing on channel 2. 

D'Alchemist

July, 2003

The Sounds Of Bed

Music parts two gifts. Sound and memory. Sound pleases the ears. It makes the listener hum, sing, and sometimes bounce his head to the beat. But it is memory that lets melodies paint scenes and turn music into an experience. It doesn't matter if the scene is about a person, or moment. The purpose of remembering is already present. 

Bed has been around long enough to shape an entire generation's outlook of the Pink life. For the most part, I was there to celebrate diversity under its glittery Disco Ball. Bed's retro-inspired plush seats and solid red accents mirror the influences of Queer as Folk in our collective consciousness. Its dance floor was burned to the ground, and yet, Bed was reborn - like a Phoenix from its ashes.

The club has become the symbol of Malate we used to know.

Nothing lasts forever and as Bed opens its doors for one last time, tonight, allow me to look back at the last decade with five dance anthems that has become synonymous with the club. Well-hidden in my sound collection so memories will never skip, I play these songs in my music player and reminisce.

Andrea Doria - Bucci Bag

Who Da Funk - Shiny Disco Balls

Misia feat Kevin Aviance - Into The Light (Gomi's Beauty and Beast Remix)

Inaya Day - Lift It Up

DB Boulevard - Point of View

Speculations

"Let's make a story," I told Darfie. He was downing his third bottle of Tanduay Ice when O-Bar's show girls took the small stage.

"Once upon a time, when O-Bar Ortigas was just an experiment - a doomed experiment I used to say." I paused to watch a drag queen lip sync to Rihanna. "These ladies were asked if they'd like to be assigned there." 

"Or they'll stick with Malate."

At that time, every out guy wants to be seen in Orosa. It's the gay capital, not even the dingy but cheap Palawan bars could match.

"Of course, no one wants to perform in Ortigas. Nobody goes there." I tossed my cigarette and kicked it under the table. "So they stuck with Malate, leaving the present Dream Girls of Ortigas running the show."

"For some reasons, they agreed never to switch places."

"Now Malate's patrons are disappearing. Pansin mo naman, kung hindi mga tanderz ang pumupunta dito eh mga affam* na katulad ni Miss Jay." Miss Jay was the black guy who wore a muscle shirt, a very short, shorts and fishnet stockings to complement his skinny legs. He looked like Miss Alexander of ANTM.

"Kaso wala na pumpunta ng Malate. Hindi na jampack dito gaya noon." Darfie nodded. "Lahat tayo, sa Ortigas ume-eksena."

After thirty minutes of lip syncing and sashaying, the girls' performance had ended. They went down the stage to collect tips. Unlike in Ortigas where I hide from these queens, I gave enough cash to buy a bottle of San Mig Lights. The lady holding the bag thanked me before shoving it to the guy behind.

It was one of those chilly Saturday nights. I was restless, lonely and feeling a bit blue. I was allowed to stay out, but I had nowhere to go. Ditching boredom, I went back to the dance floor. I chose Malate over Ortigas because the cover charge was cheaper. Darfie, my twitter acquaintance was also there.

"Felt like I leveled down." I told him after the party. "Kung hindi estudyante eh mga laborers kasama natin." I was telling him earlier of a friend who is a Starbucks Executive. He goes to Ortigas. Meanwhile, a twink barista was one of the revelers among us that morning.

The call boys still lined the stretch of Nakpil even when daybreak was fast approaching. In desperation, some even tried to call our attention. I traded naughty glances with them.

"This place is dying."

No longer the fairy land of our time, Malate is now an echo of its colorful past. Gone are the nights when men of every shade of pink spilled over the streets after they can no longer stand suffocating inside the bars. The corner of Nakpil and Orosa used to be a melting pot of ideas and dramas. And while love and lust were found and lost there, people return to purge themselves. It is their way of renewing the bonds that attached them to the community.

There is no doubt that I'd return. Malate has always been home. And even when the club who had seen the best and worst of times will be, but a history come February.

"After seven party years, O Bar Malate will be closing its doors on January 31, 2013." I read on Facebook. "We would like to thank everyone who helped us become what we are today. More power to all of you! See you all at O Bar Ortigas!

Party out......Party loud!"

Life will move on. Another wicked dance club will take its place.

Like all dance clubs and watering holes before it, O-Bar Malate has served its purpose. No longer a place to have fun or forget one's sorrow, I hope that those who have seen its pink walls and green laser lights more than half a decade of their lives will find a place of solace: some to perform on stage and for some, to forget the present even just for a night.

*affam - white/black gay men

Every Vice Has A Price

O Bar, Ortigas

Strange how stage lights and full-blast speakers take your life a little, and yet, when mixed with high doses of booze and unnumbered sticks of nicotine, they keep you going when smoke-screened nights become a bitter aftertaste.

Do it again and again, and in no time your words will be laced with electronic dance music that speaks nothing but the emptiness that comes after a feel-good Progressive house set.

Ninang

Masayang nagsasayaw si Bunso kasama si Shattershards malapit sa stage nang mapansin ko ang lalaki sa aming likuran. 

Maputi ang binata, nasa mid-twenties ang edad at ang mga mata nito'y nakatingin sa aking inaanak. Ramdam ko na siya ay naaakit. Hindi nga lang nito alam kung paano magpapakilala.

Nahuli ko ang binata na pilit inaabot ang balikat ni bunso. Magalaw ang kanyang pagsasayaw kaya't hindi nito napansin ang pagdampi ng kamay ng tigahanga. Umulit pa ang lalaki ng isang beses, ngunit ito ay muling nabigo. 

Sa pagkakataong iyon ay ako na ang kumuha sa kanyang kamay. Ipinatong ko ito sa balikat ng aking kasama sabay pihit ng buong katawan nito upang makaharap ang binata. 

"Go dance with him," utos ko na may pilyong ngiti sa mukha. Sunod-sunuran naman si Bunso na tila alam na walang patutunguhan ang kanyang pag-kontra. 

Nagsayaw ang dalawa at sa aking kinaroroonan ay mukhang bagay na bagay sila. Magkasingtangkad, guwapo, at parehong may ipagmamalaking katawan. Sa piring ng usok at laser lights ay naaninag kong magkadikit ang katawan ng mga binata. Bumulong ang lalaki sa kanyang kasayaw. Si Bunso naman ay sabay turo sa akin, na tila nagpapahiwatig na ako ang kanyang kausapin sa kanyang binabalak.

"Puwede ko ba siya i-kiss?" Paalam sa akin ng binata. Ako naman ay tumango sabay turo ng aking hintuturo sa aking pisngi.

"Sa lips..." Paglilinaw niya. Muli ko naman diniin ang daliri ko sa aking pisngi.

Walang nagawa ang binata kaya't patuloy na nagsayaw ang dalawa. Makailang ulit na hinalikan ng lalaki si Bunso sa pisngi, habang ako naman ay nagsawalang bahala. "Trip-trip lang," sa isip ko. Tutal, pati ang Ninang ay ipinaris rin naman sa inaanak ng iba. 

Ngunit sa tuwing ilalapat ng lalaki ang kanyang labi at makikita kong umiiwas si Bunso, naroon ang mumunting pag-aalala. Paano kung maka-iskor ang binata samantalang hindi naman ito ang ibig ng inaanak ko? Paano kung sa biglang paghawi ng mga tao ay dumaan ang prinsipe na aming hinahanap?

Hindi nagtagal at ako na rin ang umakbay kay Bunso, at sa muli ay pinihit ko ito paharap sa akin. Walang nagawa ang kasayaw kundi bumalik sa kanyang mga barkada. Bakas ang disappointment at pagkabitin sa kanyang mukha. Party Pooper man kung titingnan, pero sadyang may limit lang talaga ang flirting lalo pa't hindi naman gusto ng isa ang kanyang kapiling.

Return To Bed

I can still remember the number of souls I pulled from the ground.

One was a skinhead guy. Short and manly. He has a mole smacked just above his upper lip. He was an energizer bunny at the fringes of the dance floor. He began swaying his hips long before I busted a move. I reached for his hand when the party gods picked me to share their podium. Being sober, he turned down the invitation and disappeared in the sea of crowd. When he emerged a few hours later, intoxication had already wiped his inhibition. Once again, I reached for his hand to join me. Accepting my offer, he went up the ledge, danced in front of me, before I left my spot as cramps were beginning to squeeze my leg muscles. 

Another was a kid, whose slim, smooth body became the playground of my clammy hands. He was an energizer bunny too. And being the only guy who paraded his nakedness for all to see, his presence sparked my fancy. So I climbed the ledge once more and took the spot adjacent to his sphere

He was aware that I was resonating his groove - even complementing his hand and body gestures with my own movement. The music turned a faster pace, and soon he was inching closer for a close-contact showdown. His body heat steamed off his sweaty chest. I felt it when I wrapped my arm around his torso. But when he refused to look at me in the eye, somehow I knew the reason why. 

On the ground, choked by noise and smoke, his companion was watching. I didn't see him standing there. But when my dance partner pulled him up to join us, I had to reach his hand, lest I would be seen as hostile. If there was such a thing as a Ménage à trois on the dance floor, I played my part, and I played well. Replete with selfless intentions, the naked kid was sandwiched between me and his companion, as the three of us hugged one another. But when I felt that my presence was no longer needed. When the romantic tension had already built up between my other companions, I happily disengaged and danced from a distance. When I looked at them again to see how they're doing, the kids were making out in the corner.

Smiling, I remembered the reason I came back.

Lightbringer

There were others that night. Happy ladies I had to pull up so they would feel at home among the gay crowd. Drunk, wasted boys who deserved a slice of the spotlight. Old, familiar faces who might need a friendly tug. "I'm back in the puddle!!" I would have shouted, gleefully. "Pardon me if I carry a glass shard...  under my skin." I would say in a soft voice.

That night, I returned to Malate with a proud smile and even prouder spirit. No longer slave to the needs of flesh - even when my subconscious-dripped-libido channeled those energies into raw body movements, I saw myself as one of those who enthused the exhausted to party on until our bodies quit.

Because when we all return to our old selves, with some nursing a hangover or blue balls until late in the afternoon, a hearty reflection would tell that it was all, but just an illusion. For those of us who seek shelter there, and get pulled by gogo boys up on the ledge, and dance until daybreaks turn into mornings, a detour is all that we need to carry on the journey.   

And move on.

The Spinner

When Arrjae Puno and I were in our early twenties, our tireless selves used to be the poster boys of Orosa. At 1 am on a Saturday morning, we would walk the streets of Malate on our way to Bed. The scene then, littered with wasted, happy folks who want to be seen and get laid were hardly a distraction. We still yearn to get to our destination.

After paying the 200 pesos cover charge, we would force our bodies in spaces already packed with frenzied crowd. The club then was a narrow strip tightly squeezed between the New York Cafe and another resto-bar, whose name had already slipped my mind. Two bottles of beer empty, the sound of bass bouncing off the man-sized speakers; and with the sight of half-naked revelers sweating from the collective body heat; there is no way to hold back the euphoria. With eyes half-closed, arms floating in mid-air, and me giving up control with every pulse of the strobe lights, my body loosens and begins swaying to the beat.

I have no doubts that Arrjae had the same sweeping feeling as well. Given the nights we would mount the ledge, take off our shirts and occupy the spot the Gogo boys had just left. The experience never left. I still listen to Electronic Dance Music whenever I get hold of the sound. What I didn't know is that my dance partner had other aspirations. Seeing the spinner becoming the heart of the dance floor, he wanted to become the DJ himself.

Once, I showed up in one of his gigs. He was just an apprentice then, and the watering hole where he spun his music wasn't really the places he would like to show his craft. With a bottle of beer in hand, I leaned across the turntable and watched him as he smoothly transitioned an RnB track to another. Back then, the crowd hardly paid attention. Being a social gathering corner rather than a place to dance, he was merely a wallflower.

I remember that time, for I hardly followed his rise to stardom. He spun in some of the swankiest club in town until he landed on the very same place where we used to forget the weekends. I had retired from clubbing because of other aspirations, and him being the resident DJ of Bed hardly crossed my mind. But with the events happening around me lately, the only place I know - to start over again - is the place I used to run and forget.

The club.

It was Friday evening when I saw his invitation on my Facebook Wall. Arrjae was chosen as one of the five finalists who will compete for a chance to open for David Guetta this Friday And as part of the race, exposure counts when candidates play at clubs where the judges take residence. Not knowing what to do that night, I said I'll come to his event. High on House is one of the shows I listen on FM radio and since they were the ones who set the gig at Time, I knew where I'm getting at.

It was home.

So at three in the morning tipsy on alcohol and drunk on Electronic Dance Music, I took my place outside the DJ's booth as Arrjae flipped open his laptop. With the Apple icon glowing amidst the smoke-filled room, he introduced his set with a Trentemøller classic. The DJ said he would play disco, but he ended up electrifying everyone with a progressive house set. And there we were, the spinner and the dancer. One, living his dream, while the other reclaiming his old spot in the new order of things. I may not be that kid who used to mount the ledge and take off his shirt in Malate. But that night, as one of those who lead the crowd and got consumed by the music. 

I knew a part of me was awakened.

It was almost 5 in the morning when Arrjae ended his set. He left the booth amazed by his exceptional performance. The reception was insane, for despite being an outsider in the sea of straight crowd, we walked past the dance floor still packed with people gearing up for the night's climax. He had asked me to join him and his friends for breakfast. But having to work that afternoon, and with my strength already used up, it was time to go home.

Prelude:

I was reading Bien's blog when his EDM sampler put me on a party spin. The idea to grace the dance floor was his doing. And to return the favor, I will share my music. May these songs put you in good spirits the whole week.

These are for you too Tipzsta. Cheers! Let's celebrate, for you have found your one. 

Trance Vs House

It's been a while since U-Radio went on air and its absence leaves me dry without my electronic music fix. Gone are the happy days when I would travel from one place to another with dance music playing on my phone's radio. Furion's stolen and I can't even play my club tunes at Eclipse anymore. And since my dancing days are over, the current chart-toppers and club anthems have become unfamiliar to me. 

It would have been easy to simply list down my current trance and house tracks, so I may lay claim to the sound that once shaped my nightlife. But to do so would not give justice to a blog entry telling about my deepest passions. Instead, let me share what I know about the genre and why it keeps me hooked even when the body craves the music no longer.

Dirty South feat Rudy - Let It Go (Axwell Remix)

House plays much slower than trance, resulting in a more danceable sound. Its important elements are the heavy bass, sample recordings taken from other music genres, (such as pop) and the repetitive kick-drum effect usually generated by a drum machine. 

Shogun feat Emma Lock - Run To My Rescue 

Soothing female vocals, ambient, airy background noise and fast tempo are the essentials of trance. Since I don't find the music danceable, it serves as my relaxing sound, (I'd fall asleep while Trance plays on my music player) or audio companion when lifting weights at the gym.

Morgan Paige feat Jan Burton - I've Had Friends (Jan Elan Extended Remix)

Electronica is such a versatile genre that a single track can spawn a dozen remixes. Some of these remixes end up being spun in the dance floor, or become part of compilation. After so many audio layers and vocal tweaks, some remixes turn out better-sounding that the original.

ATB - Ecstasy 

Trance is seldom played in dance clubs and bars around Manila. Instead, they are being performed by the international DJ's themselves in big events such as those set up by Big Fish Manila. What we usually hear - in gay clubs - are house remixes of songs played on mainstream radio.

Offer Nissim feat Maya - I'm In Love

House and trance keep me upbeat in moments of sullenness. It keeps my mind wandering every time I go on a journey. With a sprinkle of imagination, a vocal trance can take you to a cold, vespertine place. While a house track, in all its seductiveness, can make you feel sexy even when the mirror shows a lie. 

The five video clips above are some of my favorites.  

Listen and feel uplifted.  

   

The Grand Eyeball (First Part)

It was a night I will never forget... 

Just like what I've said to Spiker when I left - Every minute of the EB was worth it. Sana nakapagtagal pa ako para nakapag-bonding pa ako sa kanila. Pero it was time to leave then. 

Ten kaming nandun, I followed them to Malate. At first, nawala pa ako pero. They were great. Lots of Dancing - Hard Dancin' talking and everything. For the first time, I am home. I am not alone. 

I asked Spiker and Archerblaze of what will happen today. I am already awake and I have accepted myself as who I am and who will I be. They said everything will be fine, and yes everything was fine at the moment. 

February 17, 2002 

Bi-Pexers Unite Thread, Pinoyexchange

At past 10pm, the security guards ordered everyone to leave the campus. Most of the students had left, except for our group, who were still preparing for the council elections. 

The leaders have agreed to move the venue to one of our member's residence. There were still many tasks to finish and a night of consultation and planning is not enough.

But instead of joining the ranks, I asked the chairman if I could be excused. I cannot remember my exact alibi but it was along the lines of a "class project" and an "errand" at home. Since I was the secretary-general, my presence was necessary. I gave my word to return. The chairman gave his blessings and without telling the rest, I left the pavilion to ride a jeep in Dapitan.

My destination was Malate.

The trip took less than 30 minutes. It was a Saturday night and all roads lead to gimik places. The bars and clubs lining Nakpil were packed with merry-makers. Like them, I was nursing a hang-over from that week's Valentines.

I was told to join the Pexers when I learned of the eye-ball that evening. "We're already there" the organizer said when asked if the meet up pushed through. Being new to the gay side of Malate, it took sometime for me to find Orosa. When I caught glimpse of the meeting place, I waited across the street, thinking if its better to retreat.

There is no turning back once I got introduced.

What separates me from others who were still in the closet is that I was already comfortable being in the company of gay people. The college teems with folks who act more effeminate than some of the girls there. Besides, the political party was run by students from different walks of life. To close our doors to the pink community, some, even elected representatives of their class meant an end to our aspirations. It would be a slap on our party's face since half of the core group were actually gay.

But to be out in the open, like where I found myself in necessitates mind-conditioning. Given my place in the social hierarchy, one slip and my reputation would be forever tarnished. (or so I think) Yet, the need to connect was so strong that I was willing to risk everything - even my heterosexual relationship. In a few months I will be leaving the university. If I intend to start over and embrace what I had recognized a month before, might as well show up to those who first accepted me.

"Come join us, we're inside." The text message read. My heart pounded. What if someone from the group turned out to be an acquaintance?

Bahala na.

The watering hole at the corner of Nakpil and Orosa had a rainbow flag hoisted above the entrance. Ladida was its name and I've learned it was the ladies from the Girl to Girl thread who suggested the place.

Taking a very deep breath before sneaking past a forties lady who appears to be the proprietor, I made my way inside the dark-lit hall - to say hello to my future, and to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, finally a changed man.

- tobecontinued -  

Return To The Dance Floor Last Part

Previously on Souljacker

Let us slow down the frame rate at which the club scene is rendered. Imagine an invisible camera panning down towards the crowd. Its glassine lens float past the nicotine mists and beams of disco lights revealing frenzied faces held spellbound by Kylie's re-engineered sounds.

And there was I, with my hands in the air. I was nearing my sonic orgasm, the music could no longer hold my moist body in place. With my shirt slightly unbuttoned, my hips crouched like it would spring at the next beat, and with Nishiboy looking up from the ground unfazed with my awakened demons, I have once again staked my claim to the ledge, with two affams, and a couple of trannies sharing my space.  

"Just this once," I breathed heavily, as I bend my legs as low as they could. "After this, I'll go down and pretend that nothing ever happened." 

At last Jap and I finally made it. After getting our first beer, we waded across the sea of fairies to get at the far end of the dance hall. Old, familiar faces were everywhere. Some were once runaways from the places we used to call home. Others were acquaintances from a time when the uninitiated differentiated their love for boys over girls on MiRc. 

A head nod, a fist bump, a small talk, and ties were again cemented. Strange how some people become friends - even lovers, while others straddle at the peripheries of your social circle, but for some reasons the two of you never get close - even when you know each other for a lifetime.

The long wait for Kane was rather uneventful. In fact, the first few monotonous minutes were only broken by the random and rudimentary (read GPRS) accesses on Twitter to check if the partner had replied.

The timeline was still silent.

Fortunately, the growing panic was muffled by Kylie's breathy voice. For a long time, I had turned my back on the diva, but when "All the Lovers" played, there was instant attachment. Not even the worrisome me could resist the euphoric beats coming out of the overhead speakers. The slight bouncing of the head to follow the thump of the anthem's synth beats give way to more graceful hand movements - only to be rudely interrupted by the song and dance drag shows that cut you just when you have finally found your groove.

Some things never change, and for a balik-dance floor like me, the familiarity seems to tell that the clubbing instincts never truly left.



The DJs next set was about to begin when someone called my name.

"Joms!" It was Kane.

First thing I noticed was his braided hair and then, there was his slightly more youthful appearance. I don't know if its the effect of too much alcohol, or the games he played just a few weeks ago, but boy it did some enhancements. I was almost short of saying in a falsetto voice, "Ang ganda ganda mo talaga ate," but of course, doing so would break my character and Kane would step back, stunned. So I smiled ang gave him a manly hug.

"Guess who's with me," Kane grinned like a la petite thrilled to introduce her pony-tailed lollipop-licking bff.

"Waaaah! Ang tagal ni Kane, Alas dos pa ako dito!" It was E. The Chronicles of E.

The last time the three of us were at a party, a private one hosted by a blogger friend, Kane and his entourage (including E) brought the house down. The best thing about the duo is that you can be yourself as long as you won't stress the crowd. (read, throwing out on the floor, making hysterics to scare even the most wasak of the drunkards) And you get to meet all the beautiful people too who would most likely snub when you solitarily offer your friendship.

"Humanda ka Jap, Aalta tayo," I whispered to Nishiboy.

So what does Alta meant? Actually I just coined the word that night to reflect the sudden kick up the social ladder. The hunky boy ex-varsity Eugene, the boy next door Carlo and the gorgeous tranny I often see at BED ages ago are not my crowd, not even in my twisted imagination, and to be lumped with them and have fun, just for a night is what partying with Kane is all about.

Well-placed social orders suddenly become undefined.



And like staring at the beer bottle half-filled with booze, with all the shaking stirring a mini-tsunami within the round amber glass, the rest of the night was spent dancing and drinking.

The flashes of bright light beamed from overhead systems merely skinned the superficialities of the memory, but I remember exactly the sights and sounds and the words that left my lips while being surrounded by souls who brought out the inner Dionysus in me:


There I was, talking to Kane. It was about the merits of a monogamous relationship and why I'd stick with one even when teased by the hottest guy the horny devil throws at me, when some lumbering mass of party pooper bumped my hand easing my grip on my precious Red Horse. The bottle slipped and fell to ground. It made a crashing sound. Instead of moving elsewhere, I stepped on the broken glass as if it wouldn't pierce through my shoe. Taunting fate eh? No, I think I was just too lazy to move my ass.

***

I was asking Kane how could he make a boy slave out of Eugene. Imagine our girl asking the boy to get him a bottle of San Mig Light at the counter. I didn't even hear him say "please." Eugene, with his good looks and very manly appeal and big dick (according to Kane) could have easily make a gay guy become his slave - even moneymaker. How such reversal happen - self assured demeanor. Show someone who's the boss and even a model-modelan would kiss the ground you tread on. Tell someone he's the master and you would probably become his personal cum rag.

***

We were talking about this blogger who ditched a blogger because he found someone more interesting, and then after a year, he exchanged his old boy for a new one. His previous ex said the blogger dwells on self-imagined realities - even romances. Once he finally wakes up realizing there's no spark anymore, he won't hesitate moving on with another guy who could supply him with endless daydreams and cold-blooded fairy tales.

What's fascinating about this boy is that he has a face of a child and a voice of an angel. (That's what I've been told) Unfortunately, he plays his role differently when he starts making boys cry.  

Not to mention, between the two of us - especially in such bacchanalian setting, I'd be easily judged as the heartbreaker and him, the damsel in distress. Funny how impressions run against our true nature.



Talk about someone's being out of character.

I won't deny that when I was out there - dancing - glances were at me. I might be out of the market these days but you cannot turn your back at what the dance floor had already taught you. In the past, I could have taken advantage of these glances. These are the glances that made me grope someone, kiss someone, and sometimes even open my gates to know someone better.

But it wasn't what I came for.

Remaining true to my character, the "Amasonang Pulis," some of the Encantos have begun to associate me, I was able to take the strongest of temptations by its neck and slam it to the ground. At one point, I was too fucking drunk to open my eyes that all I did was to squint at the person in front. But never did I let myself get compromised by keeping my hands answerable only to my body. I know what happens when it makes touchdown on someone else's skin.

"Ngayon alam mo na bakit ilag sa akin ang mga pasaway sa grupo," I told Jap in a slurry voice while dancing some more.

It was already 5 in the morning and the crowd wasn't done yet with the party. Kane and E were nowhere to be found and with Jap finally exhausted, agreed for our departure.

"Basta ha, isa lang ang request ko habang nandito tayo." I told my companion earlier that night.

"Ano yun?"

"Pumunta tayong magkasama, uuwi tayong magkasabay." It was a rule I've always imposed when bringing friends to the dance floor.

The sky was still dark when we left the club and after giving Jap my parting words - the groups conveyance of support should he decide to break free again, I let Nishiboy get inside his cab. After saying my goodbyes, never did I bother to look back at the pink-lighted O-sign behind me.

I immediately sat next to the driver in the cab parked behind Jap's. 

- end -

Return To The Dance Floor Second Part

"Grabe Joms, anlaki talaga ng titi niya!" 

And even though I was already tipsy from downing two bottles of Red Horse beer at the club, the very graphic description was simply too much. Kane was referring to Eugene, (not his real name) the 6-footer, semikal ex-varsity player who was also a runaway boy from Malate. 

Back in the old days, the crowd literally part - like the Red Sea - when he and his ex-boyfriend who had a resemblance with Tim Yap showed up. The couple had a reputation for being the creme de la creme inside the club. And we are, but hapless peons who could only watch as the royal couple and their entourage occupied the best spot on the dance floor. 

Of course, like all Malate shotgun marriages, they broke up long before they were able to celebrate their first anniversary. The next thing I knew, he was already hanging out with Kane and the Eastside girls.

"So na-botbot ka niya?" Kane smirked. Some questions are better left unanswered.  

"Well let's just say I saw him fuck someone in my kitchen!"  

"So this is the threesome you were telling us in your blog?" The resident clubber smiled without entertaining my inquiry and went on to make beso with some acquaintances.

"Welcome back to O-Bar, Joms" 

I said to myself as Jap and I got off the cab. While on our way, my biggest worry was how to tell Baabaa about it. Should I just keep it a secret, like what I did with my ex or simply tell everything and just swallow the consequence after.

"Sabagay, I'm with a friend." Not only will I be answerable to my partner, I'd be answerable to our common buddies should I do something really stupid.

You see, I shouldn't be there at all. Not after the reformation that comes with the quiet union. But as with all rules, there is always an exception, like when you tag a tropa at a night out and you feel responsible for his well-being.

I could have told Jap that I'm calling it a night after the videoke session at Top Grill. But between letting him get wasted in Malate (and waking up in someone else's bed) and going down together as brothers in Ortigas, (and going home at sunrise) I would always choose the latter. I am being reminded of that time I had to meet Bunso at Palawan 1 just to keep him sane after becoming his dad's punching bag. Following the same logic, my return to the dance floor this time was justified.

And so what I did was to leave a Twitter message to the Notthewimpykid telling him about my whereabouts. This was reinforced by Jap's tweet saying the same thing. Baabaa didn't reply immediately, but the openness should be enough reason for me not to be alarmed. For in this kind of life, it is easier to keep clandestine operations unsaid and to open yourself up for scrutiny and judgement shows how much you trust your partner's discernment.



Jap and I climbed the stairs to reach the entrance. But before paying the bar fine, we made a detour to the toilets to pee and fix ourselves. The narrow corridor leading to the restrooms was littered with men, making out in the dark. Some were having a small talk with friends, perhaps they haven't seen in a long time. I caught glimpse of the drag queens, half-naked and dressing up for their next act. The large hall at the bend already had chairs and tables. Probably the bar gets so crowded during weekends, the party spills even in once-abandoned places.

The 350 entrance fee was too pricey for my wallet. The last time I was there, a 200 peso ticket had a complement of three alcoholic beverage of your choice. The steep price had almost convinced me to back out. After all, I recall my companion first suggested Mugen Bar at Metrowalk as our destination. I could always cancel my plans at the last minute.

Just like I did when I used to go clubbing before.

"Parang ang mahal ata." I told Jap. "Gusto mo ba talaga dito?"

We let the other guests get their ticket as we decide our next move.

"Baka naman mas mura sa Mugen. Dun na lang kaya tayo." You could see in Jap's facial reaction his silent protest.

"Nandito na tayo eh. Bakit pa tayo lalayo?" Well, he had a point. Besides, I asked Kane to meet us. Even though, he goes there even without my presence, to walk-out just like what I had in mind would be terribly, terribly rude.

And so I pulled out my leather wallet from my back pocket, and without saying a word, I paid the exact fee. The exact money I had that night. With a deep breath (or a sigh, I really cannot recall.) we entered the door to join the guiltless revelry and be one, after a year of absence, with the hedonist crowd.



- tobecontinued-

  

Return To The Dance Floor First Part

October 1, 2011
Top Grill, Jupiter Street

"Inom pa tayo!" Jap Nishi insisted. Three bottles of San Mig Light would never quench his thirst. I was told this guy could down six bottles of Red Horse without becoming a casualty. The last time we were in an inuman session at Rain Darwin's place, he didn't even get tipsy.

Jap and I went to a videoke party arranged by Poi and the gang. I would have went there alone but knowing that YJ would be coming, I decided to tag the Encanto along. I wanted the two of them to meet. After all, it's been a while since they saw each other.  

The party was fun and I'm so glad to return to my old pals again. Despite the fallout last June, people were able to overcome their differences and see the depth of our bonds. In fact, the bloggers hardly changed, except for DN, who have become more outgoing and confident since the last time we met. He opened the videoke night with a theme song from Pokemon.

Unfortunately, the party had to end early. Wiwik and Curiouscat needed to go to work that morning and the new tanders were already sleepy. The gay attendant barged at the door and asked if we still wanted to have an extension. Since nobody asserted that the party should continue, we paid our bill and decided to go our separate ways.  

But not for Nishiman and I.

The last time I got drunk, I went all the way from a cousin's birthday bash in Bicutan to Fox's place in Novaliches. Imagine the distance I had to cover just to have a shot of Empi Light. Not to mention, it was already past midnight, I was tipsy and I didn't even take a cab. Adik lang. The party I attended before that ended at 5 in the morning. For these reasons, I somehow agree with Jap. At 2 am, it's still too early to call it a night.  

Now the question is, where to go. A quiet watering hole won't do since I would become the night's "El Tumbador." Besides, it's no fun talking emo shit. Not with someone heartbroken. At the back of my head, Progressive House beats bounced off my imaginary boom-box. And I know a perfect antidote for a swelling heartache. Like I said to Pexer named No Label Noise on Facebook just a few weeks ago, I'm already a clubber when he was in high school. 

Whatever trappings I have lie in a dormant state.

After the question of going out has been resolved, the next issue to agree at was the venue. Jap didn't care whether its Malate or Metrowalk, as long as the place overflowed with beer. Meanwhile, I initially avoided stepping foot at any establishment packed with gays. Not until I have forgiven my past sins. But because of my limited knowledge of straight bars, it seems a confrontation with my history was imminent. To narrow the options, there was O-Bar and Chelu. Palawan was out of the picture and so was the pricey BED, which I've heard is not as fun as it used to be when it used to occupy a small corner of the courtyard. 

Then out of nowhere, O-Bar Julia Vargas came to mind and the good memories I had with that place. I recall once, it was the exiles' home after they decided to abandon Orosa for good. Meanwhile, while the crowd somehow were notoriously snub than the ones in Malate, I made some nice acquaintance there, and I left the Eastside club with a spotless reputation. It should be enough reason for me to go back. 

"Mas malapit ba sa inyo ang O-Bar Ortigas?" I asked Jap.

"Yup, mga 120 lang ang pamasahe sa cab unlike 240 sa Malate." So we cover the distance now by the taxi fare we pay to the cab driver.

"Sige, wait lang, may tawagan lang ako." Jap meanwhile went to a nearby ATM to get extra funds.

"U out sweetie," I sent to an old friend through SMS.  He didn't reply immediately.

After I withdrew additional cash to support my nightout, my impatience had gotten over me. Instead of waiting for a text message, I called his number.

"Oy Kane, party ka tonight?" He was out, indeed, with his girlfriends.

"Jap Nishi and I are going to O-Bar Ortigas. Hope to see you there." 

And after ending my call, I crossed the street and hailed a cab going to Julia Vargas. Jap of course, was trailing behind and was eager for his drink. Time check was 2:15. The party was just starting.

-tobecontinued

Sabado Nights

On a night like this, the first order of business is to choose the dance floor. Whether it be Che'lu, BED or O-Bar, what matters is that I get there and party. Clubbing is a sort of addiction - an excuse to be alone and purge that hangover left from last week's revelry. The weekdays are mostly dreary: work, home, empty sweet nothings, failed dates.

Life goes on in a blink:

All I ever desire is to feel alive.

So the gym is my temple and my body, the altar.  The week's work-out is in preparation for a war dance that has been going on for ages.  Sometimes I would leave the gym at past midnight, pumped up and ready for action. Destination is Malate. The goal is to get drunk and get crazy. Soon, I would have to muster enough balls to take-off my shirt and bust a move to catch someone's attention.

Up there on the ledge, I exhort the masses.  Possessed by a rave god who feeds on energy, the adrenalin rush would sometimes leaves me breathless and begging not to end the party. Of course there are the admirers and the rivals, when luck shines on some random nights, even dreams show up unexpected. The swift, sweet love is  intoxicating. Sadly, the fairy tale ends when the sobering up begins.



This was my life a year ago. Exhausted and searching for release,  all I ever looked for was that one soul who would stop me from repeating the madness. I wanted to end the cycle but I was to weak to let go. With Planet Romeo off-limits, and the risky entanglements with boys from the same space discouraged, the dance floor was my only cruise. How ironic for something that gave me so much freedom - and distraction, would soon become my prison.

Fate tells that the one soul was never found there, not even in the queue snaking around the nightclub. Instead he made his presence felt just before he got hooked, and possibly turn into someone like me. He has never seen me dance, nor spotted the drunken gaze in my eyes. For I turned my back the day he held my hand and from then forth, the clubber in me disappeared.

Soon, the dance floor became a distant memory.  Covered in thick layers of smoke and ecstasy, the thrill and loneliness - the great duo of the party -  stay remnants of a delinquent history.

And though the rave god still lives, and hum to the sound of Trance, its playground now stays inside my head. A decade of clubbing should be enough. No longer could my legs bear more. And while I still remember all the sins I committed in the name of dancing, redemption comes the farther I stay away from the dance floor.

Denial was my word the whole time I was there. Yet in my hidden longings, I was there hoping to find my another. Now that he has found me, restored and chastened, there's no reason to return and get lost like I once did in my search.

       

Graduate

Been a clubber for almost a decade now  and the dance floor - was for the longest time - my realm. Had I known that I will abdicate my throne for a much quieter corner, far from the glare of strobe lights, loud music bouncing off the man-sized speakers and cigarette particles suspended in mid-air, I should have arranged for my own graduation before I left.

Slipping my gem-studded white stiletto boots in place of my rugged sneakers; Exchanging my tight jeans and muscle shirt for something scantier - two-piece string bikini with gold wires and small flower sequins around the not-so-private places; and a bird-of-paradise inspired headgear with its wingtips arching close to my massive butt cheeks.

I would then mount the ledge at BED and shake my hips excitedly like this:

Pardon  my silly unbecoming, but I'm having bouts of sleeplessness thinking about the rainhas de baterias (queens of the drums) of the Rio Carnivals lately.

Fifty

I  am nothing but a second-rate trying hard copycat and I know that!  I will also be denying myself a lot of blog entries to write should I pursue this. Pero dahil feel kong maging sunod-sunuran kay Daddy Fox, gagawa rin ako ng blog kagaya ng kanya.

So, without much further delay, here are the 50 facts you should know about me.


50.  Sunsets bring out the sentimental in me.  Lalo na when my surroundings are moist after a brief drizzle. Then you would see the sun peeking between the parting clouds, one could almost catch me teary eyed.  

49.   I am a cat person. You would hear me say "Meow" when I come across a cat in the street.  Parang tanga lang diba?

48.    My room is so tidy, people often mistake my room as my sister's.  Ang gulo kasi sa kanya samantalang well ordered naman sakin. Hindi rin ako makakatulog ng magulo ang bed sheet. Baabaa could attest to that.

47.    I've gone to dance clubs since junior college. Unang napuntahan ko was Phenomena in Timog Avenue.

46.    I only got circumcised before I became a sophomore. Nung first year high school ako, successful ang pagtatago ko sa mga kaklase. I  revealed the truth (pinakita ko pa yata etits ko sa mga katropa ko) on the last day of the school year.

45.    Two weeks rin naghilom yung sugat ko.  Kasi naman, on the third day pa lang after matuli.  Nagtetebats na ako.

44.   Speaking of tebats. I couldn't last 2 days without doing it. I masturbate around 10 times in a week.  Kaya naman never akong nagkaroon ng nocturnal emission.

43.   Hirap akong mag-adjust kapag may mga lakad na hindi natutuloy. That's why I always keep back-up plans.

42.  Mami Athena told me that my leadership style could be compared to Mahatma Gandhi. Passive Resistance.

41.  Hate to admit it but I panic easily.  That's why in any leadership hierarchy,  I work best as second in command.

40.   I've  been raised playing strategy games.  I can be an excellent planner as long as you won't put me in the front line.

39.   I was never encouraged to play toy guns when I was a kid. Instead, mom would buy me lots of die-cast toy cars. Until now these matchbox cars are still with me.

38.  Isa sa mga una kong naging kaibigan nung bata ay bading. His name is Edwin and kids in our neighborhood used to call him Strawberry.

37.   When  I was in Grade Six, I was able to assemble a rock garden outside the house.  It was thriving with moss and ferns.

36.   Earned some coins taking trash from the neighbors' house. In short naging basurero ako nung bata at hindi yun alam sa bahay namin!

35.   Nalaman ko lang na marunong akong magsulat nung 4th year high school na ako. Hinahanap ko pa rin yung mga composition pieces ko nung elementary.  

34.   Nag put-up rin ako ng sari-sari store nung nasa elementary ako.  In fairness, kumita!

33.   Second year college pa lang ako, marunong na akong mag-drive.  Until now, wala pa rin akong driver's license.

32.   I had three relationships before Baabaa. A girl and two guys.  Friend ko na si babae at out ako sa kanya.

31.   Nung  first man-to-man relationship ko,  I was 20, the guy was 27. I was the obedient boy, but also the one running the relationship.    

30.    Naranasan ko makipag-break up ng February 14.  Ako na ang iniwan, masaya pa ako sa lagay na yun.

29.    I  always sleep naked. Madali tuloy ma-rape.

28.    May soft spot ako sa mga malalaking puno.

27.    Nail biting has always been a problem.  I've given up on  recovery.

26.    I  never had any handkerchief nor thought of buying one - ever.

25.    Mas mukha akong matanda nung 23 years old ako.

24.   Things that were written here are preview of my next entries.  Magiging wholesome rin ako sa mga facts with respect to my partner.

23.   Sobrang dali ko maging homesick, pero nung bata ako, kung saan saan ako nakakarating - minsan one week pa kung mawala ako sa bahay.

22.   I  see myself as very romantic. But I try to keep my actions subtle and seamless.

21.   I allude things to science fiction when I'm emo.  

20.   I was active in politics when I was in college. Kung  meron man na member ng Student's Democratic Party na nakakabasa nito, I was your Secretary General before.

19.  But never brought politics inside the classroom. Masyadong  mataas ang tingin ko sa Journalism na talagang  naging  neutral ako pagdating sa affairs ng class - even when I was their class president.

18. Bi-Pexers Unite was the first non-straight group na sinalihan ko. Nag-out ako sa sarili ko sa Pinoyexchange.com.

17. My first ever car was Isuzu Gemini. What I asked my dad though was Toyota Corolla. Sa disappointment, binigay ko sa ermats ko yung kotse.

16.  Isa ako sa mga mapapalad na bata na natuto maglaro ng langit lupa, bumtiyaya, text, taguan, patintero, chinese garter at shake shake shampoo.  Kawawa ang mga bata ngayon.

15.  I'm quite good in gayspeak. In fact, I correspond with my fag-hag superior officer using that language whenever I fuck up at work.

14.  My mom can't walk.  Part of the reason I work out is because of her.

13.  First most expensive thing I bought with my salary - Wheelchair.

12.  I  find New Age and Esoteric stuff really fascinating. Mas mag-eenjoy akong makinig sa nagkukuwento tungkol sa ghosts, UFOs, angels, telepathy etc kesa sa predictions ng isang tao sa magiging winner ng American Idol.

11.  I used to share an apartment with a girl and a boy and my parents didn't know about this until trouble began rocking our family business.

10. The most important object in my bag is my rosary.

9.  And it's hard for me to attend the mass.  I'd rather go to chuch when there are few people in.

8.  Especially now that I'm considered a heretic. Pro RH bill ako. In fact, each parent should be allowed only a maximum of 2 kids para sa akin.

7.  Mahirap maging wholesome kung pinalaki kang sexually liberated.  Pero wait, despite my exposure, I still consider my principles conservative.

6.  We were owners of a smut tabloid.  At 19, nakakahawak ako ng boobs ng starlet.

5.  I consider myself very elitist but at the same time, I have no qualms being seen with the masses.

4.  Ilang beses na akong nakagat ng aso at hindi ko sinabi yun kahit kanino.  Hindi rin ako nagpa-injection ng anti-rabies.

3.  Na-devirginize ako noong 20 years old ako. Sa prostitute. It was so traumatic, within weeks, ni-question ko kaagad yung sexuality ko.

2.  I  keep the cards and  letters given to me. Tuloy namimiss ko yung time na nag-eeffort talaga ang mga tao na sumulat sa mga kaibigan at minamahal nila.

1.  I'm afraid of the time I will stop writing.

Embassy In My Head

The  itch to go clubbing  begins with a recollection of  scenes from the past week:  the nicotine smoke swirling in mid-air, the half-empty bottles of San Mig Light and Tanduay Ice on the bar table,  the dance anthem played when the set starts to pick up, the after-party rumination inside the cab on my way home.  Most of the time, I  begged off from ever returning. But when the repetitive drums and hypnotic beats commence assaulting my head,  I  long to return to the club with much zest to dance the weekend blues away.

What  others didn't know is that this clubber has already been  fired up before he hits the dance floor. The laser lights were addicting, and so was the heavy and constant pounding from overhead speakers. But before this could ever happen, the stubborn mind has already set its goal in sight.

"Manong Malate po tayo." That would be my queue to the cab driver.

The addiction was so intense,  I could plot my course anywhere in the city and still reach my destination in less than 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, the driver usually listens to slow rock or anything that calms the senses. Never has he expected that a passenger like me  would disturb his peace and impose his own brand of euphoria.

"Lipat natin sa 107.9. Pampagising lang."   I was referring to U-Radio. The station that plays non-stop club music 24/7.

Small  talks emerge from such distortion.   The cab driver comments that he tunes in to that station  to fend off drowsiness. Others would reveal the discovery from passengers off to their parties. Attracted to the uplifting sounds, these cab drivers would claim the station as their own.

sampu na lang diretso na po tayo sa encore.

I  have always thought of  Trance, House and its minor derivatives as music for the elite. The masses have their Hip-Hop, Rap and those run-of-the-mill Techno that were first played in clubs over five years ago. Trance is so unique that it has a small niche in the country. It's no wonder that whenever a global DJ spins in Manila, the ticket price shoots to a thousand bucks.

Much as I would love to rub elbows with the rich and glamorous,  my parsimonious upbringing would  never allow me to cross over to their world. Beyond the stereotype of coke-snorting, partee-swallowing sub-culture.  I embarked on my weekly night-outs under a very strict budget.  Catching up with my socialite brethren is beyond my taking.

For this reason,  I  learned to appreciate their music from a distance. Gone are the days when I would  boldly embark on a bar tour, which would still probably end up in O-Bar. This time, there is no wish for a repeat performance. The eclectic mix of club sounds I get - with heavy doses - from U-Radio is enough to satiate the inner clubber in me. 

And at times when I  bump into kindred souls who know something about  Dash Berlin, Paul Van Dyk, Alex M.O.R.P.H and a couple of other DJs aside from David Guetta,  I try my best to connect.  For seldom do we proclaim our love for fast music, dizzying lights, dazed crowd and wanton feeling that comes with the experience.

I was on my way home at past midnight when I  rode a jeep that was strangely different. Normally, drivers are tuned in to Love Radio's sleazy "Wild Confessions."  Passengers snicker as Papa Jack asks the caller titillating questions about his or her sex life.

But last night.

Between the occasional glitches brought by a low power radio frequency, the stereo blares the same music that hasn't left my headphones after the exodus from the dance floors. Characterized by quick successive drums and looping synthesizer subdued by ethereal voices, another kindred spirit was discovered.

U-Radio's sound bounced inside the speeding vehicle, and the driver was our party boy.

  

Graceful Exit

K,

Well I know of this sober spider boy who left a party at five in the morning not only with a heavily perfumed shirt, but with a soul as well.

He is finally atoned.










The words are hushed let's not get busted
Just lay entwined here, undiscovered
Safe in here from all the stupid questions
"Hey did you get some?" . . . Man, that is so dumb
Stay quiet, stay near, stay close they can't hear

Hands Down
Dashboard Confessional