Words Left Behind

We have lost count of the days since the last time words once filled these pages. Confident that we won't disappear into the night, the promise of writing didn't follow. We have become complacent; gratified by the terse thought afforded by 140 characters on Twitter. With over a thousand followers in that microblog website, why bother with long-form writing when pint-size narratives can be shared with your audience? 

So we ventured past the cradle, believing this outdated storytelling no longer appeals to our blog readers. With the raketship demands soaring, the two hours spent writing and publishing an entry no longer fits the busy schedule. The stories that were supposed to be penned for posterity have all piled up, accumulating dust in the fringes of our memory. There were many attempts to come back, but nothing had gone past the plan - until today - on the eve of my literary awakening did I make this most serious attempt of returning.

We can no longer deny this calling.

There will be no assurance. No guarantee that this enterprise will work. If this homecoming bears significance; if someone stumbles, and finds time to digest the remnants of these restored pages - read: this is our attempt to carry out what we started 12 years ago. May we remain faithful to the craft until our last breath.

This is Mugen writing back.


*raketship - second job

Ice Block

Previously on L'Heure Bleue:  Missing

A Twitter Direct Message:

"Into the Woods."

Insert a smiley emoticon after the invitation.

"I-calendar mo na." 

His message received no reply.

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

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

But no. 

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

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

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

No longer did I hear from him after he apologized.

--

I knew this would happen.

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

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

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

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

--

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

There is no escape. Only atonement.

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

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

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

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

 I was his for all time.

Back To Zero

Dear Mugen from 2009,

My apologies for getting in touch, now, just when you have probably thought I have figured things out. I may no longer share your need for affirmation. But you and I cannot escape our fate. Years into the future, I would still lose my battles. I would be crushed from within; hurt in ways you may have easily deflected. The difference now is that I refused to see the writings on the wall. Unlike with you and Phanks, you engineered the dissolution. 

You mounted a rebellion.

I am writing to you to find solace. No. I am seeking resolution. You were a tough kid, with a mind set for tomorrow. Five years after publishing this entry and you will get acquainted with a Mugen who is set to settle down. Time is running out. I no longer have the strength to play around and explore like you did in many, horrible ways the future me would find it difficult to confess. 

I remember, you had a goal before: To be able to pull out the shard lodged within your heart in a matter of days. Did you achieve your target? Did you ever run away and never look back? Tell me how because I need insights.

My mind tells me to flee, yet my feet remain stuck, until perhaps, I find out the depth of his lies.

Allow me to end this log as spontaneous as it came when I screen shot that entry you had many summers ago. Of course, I knew what happened next, how it took you another year before you let someone breach those walls. 

And to be honest, this is what I am terrified of.

Knowing how we've cradled that solitude long enough to find joys in being alone.

There are reasons to believe that I may never seek this road called love again.

I will tell you what happened in time. For now, let me mourn our loss.

Matter Of The Unspoken

In my other life a long time ago, my dad set me up on a "chaperoned date" with this pretty lady. She was about the same age as me, and the daughter of his fraternity brother who used to head our security agency. I was a junior at the university, and despite going out with some girls in class, nothing really prospered out of the platonic engagements.

Now this friendly meet-up, which I thought would gain some traction, since it had the blessings of my father, was different. Never had I been paired in the past, thus the air of permanence permeate the first time we met. We went out for some snacks and as the elders had a little chit chat, I had the chance to talk to this girl, and observe her up close. 

She was a creature of beauty, with her rounded hips, thick eyebrows, pointy nose and a full chest that would always catch others' attention. One might even mistake her for a Spanish-Filipina, if not for her thick accent. And she had this vibe of self-assurance that tells she went out with much more interesting boys in the past. Given my lack of self confidence, it felt awkward bringing up a subject to talk about. I can't even recall if I ever found out what her likes were. Much of the account of the meeting was already forgotten because there was nothing really to remember. After all, our conversation was replete with one-liner, close ended answers. 

We never saw each other again.  

My dad spoke to me after the "date" and he had some words that might be useful - now that I am mortified by my ancient demons once more. 

"Ikaw kasi, masyado mong pinakita na interesado ka." He said in a jest.

"Next time, hinay hinay ka lang. Atat ka masyado. Ayan tuloy, nawalan ng gana sa iyo."

The Pauper

Laying peacefully on his side, in a flattened carton box he uses as a mattress, the world goes by as the pauper slept at the steps of Banco de Oro. It was a sight seldom noticed, for our eyes have grown used to watching these less fortunate souls turn the pavements into their open air bedroom. For some, their sprawled arms and legs are a cause of dismay, an eyesore they have elected to ignore as they went on with their hurried lives. But that early morning, the presence of a pauper a few steps from where I stood became a subject of rumination: of how fate weaves our sullen, sorry lives.

"Tell me your story." I walked closer to take his picture, while a colleague waited at the teller machine for it dispense some cash. He wouldn't answer my question. He doesn't even know I stood next to him, curious as to what difficult life he has.

In my head, I was tempted to craft him a story. A far-fetched one given my immensity to twist a narrative. But then, as my colleague and I were about to separate ways; when I have finally given up writing a fiction that doesn't even encapsulate the pauper's back story, I have resigned to the idea - the cause of my sudden fancy towards the likes of him.

"You could have been anyone," I shudder at the thought before my admission.

"Including the future me."

Taming The Kitsune

Between a person you constantly go out with, but you find difficulty in confiding your feelings, and a newcomer - someone - you have never met, and yet, he never fails to reach out and make his presence felt, even when you raise your guard and brush off his hollow affections, to whom will you lay down your arms, when it is time to let your heart out?

From the Little Prince
Chapter XXI


"I am looking for friends," said the Little Prince to the fox. "What does 'tame' mean?"

"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. "It means to establish ties."

"To establish ties?" 

"Just that," said the fox. "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. 

To me, you will be unique in all the world." 

A Fool's Joke

Fresh idea, it isn't. But I took the cliche, and applied it to my Facebook page. It is time to shake the guarded image, if only to share in the spirit of the April Fool's day.

A few hours before my night shift ends, the big announcement was made. That on the first day of April, I became in a relationship. The response from friends was swift, the joy they felt, intense. A guy, who I was supposed to meet for sex last year, even sent a heartfelt message on Twitter. I was shaking my head while responding with appreciation. It took a few more comments on my wall for everyone to realize that it was a joke. That it was a trick I pulled off, hoping so many people will believe.

And they did.

Thirty seven "likes" and counting; against the posted day of union, and successful attempts of killjoys to blow my cover; it seems, human nature will go against the obvious for some grain of truth of a romance budding.

The truth, however, is much easier to glean: in the pervading silence between two men who had just dated, to the apparent distance both showed on social media, and in the growing uncertainty that maybe, one submits to another too soon. These, the heart wouldn't disclose in public.

Better to save face than to admit defeat.

In the meantime, the trickery on Facebook has revealed a poignant afterthought; a musing that cannot be put into words to keep the emotions from spilling. After all the sighs and chuckles, and upon knowing the relationship is nothing but a creation of the imagination, the questions of singlehood returns to haunt, now with more probing questions than clear answers.

   

And yes, the fact remains.

I am unbound and will be for a time, and when I am found - if ever such time comes - in no way I will announce to the public the romantic milestone. For after all these years, I remain, terrified to walk completely out of the closet.

The Doppleganger

Coming from a movie hang out with an old friend, I decided to log in on Twitter to check my timeline. One of the conversations, which included my name, caught my attention. First reaction was disbelief, and then, as I begin to grapple other people's reaction, a sleigh of embarrassment restrained me from sending a reply.

@tripnautic alam ko na kung sino naaalala ko sayo! si danny sa teen wolf! nanood ka ba nun? manood ka! :)) pic.twitter.com/KJRKHuMMzB
— basiq | genEriq (@disarmingAyres) March 18, 2014

The comparison of course, didn't convince me. Keahu Kahuanui is hot. My flabs have no match for his killer abs and pectorals. I could even while the days away gazing at his dreamy eyes and sexy dimples, or even distort reality by channeling his vibe on Teen Wolf and make it my own. In a sense, I was flattered, but lack of self esteem leaves me brushing off claims of similar features.

But then.

Crushed by my lack of direction; the struggles of taking selfies and not be horrified with the photos; the losing battle to slow down the advance of aging; the romantic void I shoved myself into; and the reluctance to get intimate - even with strangers - have already collected their toll. In secret, doubts have already misplaced my priorities, I no longer know what I truly want from life.

So this trivial association with a TV series character was a welcome and needed respite.

For even when downplaying the claims would become my public statement, it still feels good to be identified with someone you would actually like. Positive reinforcement might be a human need, but for someone who hardly speaks of his outer flaws, it shows, that beneath the stoic appearance lies the thirst for validation.

At the very least, no longer would I have to restore my self-worth in ways, that would lead me into lots of troubles.

Creative Dissonance

The world is yet to be written. 

And drafts have not been penned.

Reasons remain elusive. But these days, I confess losing strength to craft prose and weave stories. Maybe it's the seasonal lull, or the mad rush of the holidays. It scares me. It makes me remember the day this page no longer breathes: that I finally fade away - like the stellar bloggers before me.

There are simply too many distractions. Noises, befuddling the mind. When the urge of creation puts me in front of the laptop, or face to face with my phone to put into words the contents of the heart, I'd be gone even before brewing the thoughts for the closing sentence. I am running out of ways to tell stories. 

The soulful writer hibernates.

But there are narratives that are yet to be inked. Journals, the readers are expecting to read. I am not done yet with my life as a bit player. Or what makes me so proud of Ndoto, my new smartphone. I haven't told yet the secret; why stall getting a driver's license when I have always been behind the wheel. The accomplishments of the year have yet to be gathered. Put in a sturdy vessel, to remind myself of life's turning points. 

There are so many tales that are in need of ending.

And I don't know where to begin.

A writer once told, the secret to good storytelling is to draw narratives from experience; to suspend time and speak your mind like there's no one reading. But if longevity is the question, and a creative dissonance pins down the writer, how can good stories be told when words no longer flow even when there's no audience? 

Patterns

Ding, the ex-boyfriend of Pilyo was rushed to the hospital early this month because of gallstones. He had to undergo surgery two days after being confined at the Medical City.

A week later, Panda found himself sitting in one of the chairs at the emergency room of the World Citi Medical Center because of swollen appendix. He too, had to undergo surgery to excise the pouch-like tube, which in pictures appeared to have grown the size of a small hand-held communication device.

On the third week of November, Papa Tagay was one of those injured in a vehicular accident. A bus lost control along Edsa and ran over several waiting commuters before slamming into another bus. While our chap wasn't among the casualties, he was seated at the back of the bus that was hit by the passenger carrier that lost its break. He cannot remember the blow, only blood dripping down his face. He was discharged at the Makati Medical Center three days later after suffering concussion. 

We thought he was already recovering.

But we were wrong.

I received a direct message on Twitter this morning from his partner telling me that Papa Tagay was once again rushed to the hospital. He was to undergo an emergency medical procedure. A clot formed somewhere in his brain and has now blocked the passage of blood. When I paid a visit at the Heart Center this afternoon, my friend was visibly weak, unable to sleep because of the sharp pain he felt.

We are still waiting for news as to the outcome of his Ventriculostomy

I do not know how to put it in words, but I see a pattern in all these unexpected surgeries. All the people subjected to the forced laceration of the skin belong to the same group who get to see each other for our weekly drinking binge. From Ding (who happens to be Santi's present partner), to Panda and now Papa Tagay, it seems the series of unfortunate events affect the ringleaders. 

Much as I don't want to think about it, but we still have eight days before the month is over. And when I look at the situation with superstitious and ominous eyes, the only ring leader left; spared from all these handiwork of an unseen hand, is none other.

But me.         

   

Out Of The Hermitage (The Highlands Last Pt)

Previously on L'Heure Bleue

Twice, the kid had invited me for a roadtrip - back to the highlands. 

The first was when I sat beside him as he drove home from our drinking binge. It was already past 6 in the morning and out of the blue, he thought of having breakfast in Tagaytay. The second was when he casually invited me on the day itself he wanted to go there. I had work. Both invitations I declined for reasons of convenience. So when he asked me the third time, I decided to abandon my post to become his chance passenger.

Time was ripe for a reunion.

While the fog-covered ridge was our destination, we were there for work. He was doing his rounds of convenience stores and wanted some company. As for me, I can't turn down a joy ride. Not when you have strong affinity with the person behind the wheel. 

And not when your heart races away from the metropolis. 

We met outside SM Bacoor at past 4 in the afternoon. He parked his car near the overpass, and when I slid inside the passenger seat, it felt as if the corner was already reserved for me. Gone was the strange awkwardness of the first time, when he had to pick me at the gym before heading to the same mountains after running out of places to hang out. 

The drive was uneventful, with silence punctured only when my music playlist caught his attention. Unlike the first climb where we had to wind through the hinterlands of Amadeo, we took the straight route this time albeit having to endure the rush-hour gridlock of Aguinaldo Highway.

Sunset was upon us, and we were still far from our first stop. To pass the time, I would skip tracks on my iPod and change the playlist to songs that would make him talk. I'd learn that he has a soft spot for acoustic covers and knows how to play the piano. I'd also see with my own eyes how his control over the steering wheel had improved, and with such skill comes a short fuse that would make him raise a finger, every time he was cut by another driver.  

It was already dark when we left the second and last pitstop. It was a gas station at the city proper. The rounds were not as productive as expected, but neither did he go home empty handed. It was time for dinner, and after driving around to find a modest place to eat, we ended having our grub at the Pancake House overlooking the lake. 

Over Roast Beef platter and Grilled Cheese sandwich, the kid and I talked not about his past, neither did we drop hints of the future. There were never any mention of the fling, or the boys he fancies lately. So light was our conversation that I actually have no memory of it. All I remember - musing - as he gobbled the lemon pancake he personally picked for our dessert was that had it been a date, it would go down in my history as one of those awesome ones.

The ones I'd wish had lasted until daybreak.

Over the course of two months, communication lines between the kid and I never got broken. It experienced some pauses, especially when my eyes trailed towards the direction of sunrise. But as I wrapped another episode in my long and arduous search for the Other, my ties with the kid grew stronger. So visible was his presence that friends thought he was my date.

"So bakit nga hindi puwedeng maging kayo?" Panda confronted me one Shoturday, in front of friends.

"Kasi sobrang bata niya." Nobody bought my excuse. 

"Alam mo naman na kaya mo maghandle ng bata pero bakit hindi mo magawang subukan sa kanya?" Everyone waited for my response. I was evading the question.

There were many reasons I could lay down aside from the 10-year gap. There is the honorable excuse of not flirting with the one you have just freed from a one-sided affair. The kid is not a conquest to begin with. There is also the unresolved past with the Weatherman. His story I would confess in another blog entry. And as I continue to court trouble every time I become a tease, the only path to atonement is to leave the kid in peace.

Any attachment I have for him must be quelled before it gets out of hand. 

However, despite mounting a defense, the truth is, I am more vulnerable than what my tough exterior reveals. I am prone to giving too much - attention, care, protection when I let my guard down. And judging from the last time I let strong affections take control, the outcome was getting a serious beating - a resounding defeat I'm still learning to accept as part of the great romantic enterprise. 

"Natatakot ako..." I said softly to the people around me.

Fear. Yes. I've grown fearful of attachments. After I had to give up someone because I felt it was going nowhere. Fear, thinking JC has become my benchmark and that it would be difficult to find someone who can hold me together the way he did. Fear, that if the kid and I were to switch places, the 23 year old me will never let a 32-year old guy get too close. 

I would never open up to him 

The way the kid does to me.

There were times I wish I was younger, or that, he was older. So I could pursue him without having to consider the age restrictions I have boxed myself in. Sometimes, when he drives and I happen to be in the passenger seat, there is this temptation to hold his hand and tell him the reasons why I'd like to stick around. And as I begin to open my eyes to the things that fascinate us - whether it be a song, performance art, or cats - I could no longer ignore that part of me growing a little more fond of him.

It shows every time he sends a Viber message, or when I refuse to part ways until he is mere blocks away from home. 

"You know," Panda said in a serious but motherly tone. "He might actually be your future." I merely brushed off his prognostication, to avoid harboring such thoughts.

But

When I summon that memory of that second road trip to the highlands, on our journey back to the plains as we listened to Nerina Pallot's Sophia,

and realizing for the first time how one of a kind the kid was.

Passion and silence, every word, every rhyme a measure

It's the science of the soul

And his books they breathe a reason

And now I wanna know

Deep down, I secretly wish our cruise would still lead us to one destination.

Ask.FM

Ask.fm is a social networking website where anonymous users can ask other users questions they wouldn't bring up when their identity is in the open. It is taking my Twitter timeline by storm since last week, and some turned out more of an inquisition rather than a harmless Q&A pastime. Ask me for my insight and I would say that deception defeats the purpose of creating an account, and it's no fun to spin your answers when everyone tries to be real. 

  

When the trend became the subject among my friends, Garppy suggested that I create my own account. I said I'm terrified of being interrogated. 

"You can ignore the questions that you don't want to answer naman eh." He said in defense. At the back of my head, I thought censorship is boring. I might be able to bury the truth in cryptic answers, but then, it is in my nature to be brutal with facts. 

A single sentence question requires a single sentence reply. 

There were occasions I leaned towards joining the bandwagon, especially when intelligent examinations took place and the ones in the spotlight were able to articulate their responses. But when I thought of the prying questions - some, I would reveal below - I am convinced to leave the mystery uncovered for truth sometimes, trails into darkness than lead people towards the light.

• When was your last sex and with whom?
• You have let go of the past, but still, why don't you follow your ex's Twitter account?
• The kinkiest sex for you is?
• What was your strongest reason to stop pursuing your last date?
• Who among your friends did you sleep with last summer?
• Do you really have to cease talking to those you have hurt and those who have hurt you?

For these are difficult questions, comments will not be allowed for this entry.

   

Someday, I Will Find My Sunshine Too

Previously: The Bridge 

Minsan ako ay nangarap.

Nangarap na sa pagmulat ng mga mata, at pagsulyap sa telepono ay may bubungad sa aking mensaheng nagsasabing magandang umaga; nangarap na may mahigpit na kayakap sa mga gabing nangungulila; at kaulayaw naman sa tuwing ako ay humahanap ng kalinga. Nangarap ako ng isang kaparis na makakasama sa lungkot at ligaya, sa paglalakbay at paghahanap ng sarili, sa paggulong ng mga araw at taon tungo sa buhay na payapa at puno ng pag-ibig. 

Nangarap ako at nanindigan, dahil malakas ang kutob ng puso, na sa ikalawang pagkakataon ay nakahanap ako ng katapat. At sa mga araw na ang diwa ko'y nasa kanya, hangad ko ang kanyang kaligayahan, na sa isang dako ng karimlan, may isang taong handang umalalay sa kanya.

Sapagkat pakiramdam ko na kami ay iisa.

Hangad ko man ang magkuwento ng aming simula, ngunit ramdam ko na ito'y paso na. Gusto ko man ibulong sa papel ang aming mga pinagdaanan - ang mga tagpuang hindi makakalimutan - ay tingin ko'y hindi na naayon sa panahon. Marahil sa hinaharap. Sa araw na isang alaala na lang ang yugtong ito ako ay magsasalita. Ngunit sa ngayong ako ay lunod sa ligalig, at unti-unti natatanggap na marahil ay hindi kami itinadhana para sa isa't isa, tanging ang ihip ng pagkabigo ang humahaplos sa aking pisngi. 

Batid ko ang malalim na ugnayan - na minsan sa aming mga buhay ay hindi kami mapaghiwalay. Naroon ang buong araw na palitan ng mensahe sa WeChat; ang mga hawak-kamay sa loob ng taxi sa tuwing ibababa ko siya sa sakayan ng jeep pauwing silangan; ang mga pagtuklas ng hilig na nagpapatunay na isa lang ang aming tinig; at mga sikretong lakad na magpapatibay sana sa aming dalawa. Hindi ko nalilimot ang mga ito, kaya't sa tuwing ako ay naliligaw ng landas, ang mga alaala ng aming masasayang araw ang siyang nagtutulak sa aking kumapit pa.

Maaring isang araw ay matagpuan pa rin namin ang isa't isa.

Ngunit darating ang panahon na ang nanampalataya ay panghihinaan rin ng loob; na ang kanyang walang kamatayang pangako ay marurupok at mababali gaya ng isang stick; na siya mismo ang gagawa ng paraan upang lumayo at lumimot. Tadtad man ng galos ang lupaypay niyang katawan, pilit ilalaban ang hinaharap sa dahilang masakit talikuran ang nasimulan:

"Baka naman kailangan pa ng mas mahabang oras - at pasensya." Udyok nito sa sarili. "O baka naman hindi pa siya nakakawala sa anino ng kanyang nakaraan kaya't patuloy akong naisasantabi lamang?"

"Hindi kaya patuloy akong nagbubulag-bulagan sa aming mga hindi pagtutugma dahil hindi ko man sabihin pero minahal ko na siya?"

Anuman ang mga pakiwari ko sa aming dalawa, tila ang panahon namin ay lipas na.

Ituring ko man siyang higit sa isang kapatid. Gawin ko mang sandigan ang mga bagay na aming pinagkakasunduan, at maging haligi man ng anumang samahan ang aming pinagmulan. Subalit ang katotohanan ay napagpasiyahan ko na:

Abutin man ng dantaon ang pagsuyod sa langit sa nag-iisang talang magsisilbi kong gabay, pero siya, na nagbigay sa akin ng maliligayang araw at gabing puno ng mga matatamis na panaginip ay hanggang kaibigan na lang. 

Mataimtim kong tinatanggap, na ang pusong ipinaubaya sa iba sa loob ng dalawang buwan ay mapapasakin muli.

Kambyo

Previously: Planetship 

"Construction crews are ready to fix the breach." The head engineer in his heart said. With a terrified look, he knew how difficult and painful the task is. Part of the unfortified shell enclosing his citadel shattered for reasons the Directorate wouldn't tell. 

Whispers tell it was deliberate on their part. It was long ago when they last felt this urge to be vulnerable.

But the exposure has to stop. Radiation kills.

"Just say the word and we will begin rebuilding."

Abstinence

It was the middle of summer the last time a guy slept next to me. I invited him over out of my need for affection. The guy was someone, whose presence my family has learned to embrace. Accepted. Only that the ties never leaped out of the cradle of friendship. Our romantic bonds remained fluid. Undefined, for almost half a year. That morning when he left, we would not see each other again.

Before our intimate reunion, I arrived home from an early dinner. With another guy I thought was a budding love interest. We had a great time at the BGC. I was somewhat attracted to him that I thought of becoming his driving companion. I wanted to know him better. In his car, we held hands. It was when we parted ways in Laguna - at the bus station - that I realized how the affection could not be sustained.

The chemistry is weak and the heart never lies. So we drifted apart.

I would still get to meet three souls along the way. They, who somehow softened that tub of ice within the cavity of my chest. Hopes ran up, for some moments of consummation. But then, the carnal leanings were no longer there. It is as if I got tired of picking fights that I simply chose to walk away from the adversary.

There are times I think it is just a phase: that I have lost my drive to have sex - especially with strangers - out of this belief that I lose something every time bodily fluids are exchanged. And whatever I give away could no longer be recovered. Replenished. And that is why even if I want to. Even when provoked by situations, I would rather retreat than let someone caress my skin.

To be sure, I had my share of encounters. The best ones happening in beds I will never get to sleep in. But then, I also remember how it felt getting up, wearing my clothes back, hugging my companion tight and saying "thank you" before leaving his lair.

I remember never looking back.

For deep within, I still feel empty. Used. The guilt lingers for days, and the extraction of whatever attachments takes longer as I mature.

I know some would say, why bother feel when you know it is just a fix. Has sex become too intricate that thoughts are needed before one can get on with his life? I guess, after all those fucking years, of engaging random men in trades happening on the surface of Planet Romeo, there comes a time when you cease things to be temporal. You begin searching for that one you can sleep with and still see the next morning; that person you can feel without having to stroke his cock every time you share a single bed; that someone you can pillow talk at night and tell a life that nobody knows.

And for all these longings; for this need to keep the distractions away from my desired end, I began embracing a life of abstinence. So that should I ever be found; should I decide once more to give up the solo flight for a life in behalf of the other, I will begin my journey by not looking back with regret.

Eaten by the Black Hole

I will love again knowing my heart is at peace before it was given to another.

The Tables Have Been Turned

Tagaytay, 2013

Letting my guard down, just a little.
Just enough time to turn the tables against me.

The Heirophant

And you... Just let your thoughts run freely into that vast space of nothingness. Think of me as your seer as I wander in your thoughts.



At present, you are determined to go your way, driven to finally get what you want on your own. Whatever it takes. But someone close to you is somewhat getting in your way of going where you want to go.

And you value that closeness that you yield your own plans.

There is something you truly want, but it seems to be already there, waiting for you to grab it. But still you can get hold of it.

An opportunity awaits.

Your family is what influences you the most. What drives you perhaps.

At a nearby past, there is a burning desire of passion. That influenced where you are right now.

In the near future, there is an approaching material stability.

Your inner talent.

You have the ability to let go and liberate yourself from the old and start anew in whatever way.

How other sees you: wise. An old soul.

You deny yourself.

Outcome of all these: You will have something to celebrate about.


Thank you for the card reading.

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.

Resistance

A Wechat Message


"Good morning."

It was the first message I got from him.

"Insert smiley face here"

"Hug ko."

He asked.

"Hug."

"Kiss p."

"Sa lips, mwah! Laplapan."

Boners often wake me up in the morning.

"Sarap nmn."

"Gawa mu?"

I knew where it was heading, so better ask what he wants before I pay attention with someone else.

"Nkdpa lng. Tigas ni curvey ko."

He answered.

How story arcs take a life of its own, with the central character unaware of the events unfolding is still a subject of rumination. 

It baffles me, as the fog of war hinders my ability to foresee my direction. 

Who would have thought the narrative that started with a resounding "no" to a one night stand at the beginning of the month returns with foes stoking flames that are supposed to trigger bed wars. The last one was a guy I met last month. The absence of chemistry makes the meet-up a failure. But his determination - to at least spend some time with me at some private corner - went on until he realized that I was taking him for a ride.

So he quietly retreated. He stopped sending sweet nothings and hollow words of concern knowing his moves will get him nowhere.

But I didn't stop with him. Knowing that abstinence requires creative forms of orgasmic fulfillment, I downloaded apps for my smartphone to flirt-talk with my growing number of playmates. Some of them also happen to be acquaintances in a popular social media website. 

Incognito elsewhere, I have become my slutty self. A reincarnation unlike the one I've been on the Blue planet. Instead of seeing people and deciding to hop in bed with them or not, I send digital images that are supposed to stay private. I get praises for things some of my friends would only speculate. And to toy around with someone's basic instincts was my game. Once a stranger's intent becomes pronounced, there is no way a meet-up will ever happen.

Unless a person spots a chink in my armor.

I have learned not so long ago that playthings aren't supposed to cross the realms of real life. For they blur the lines of attachment, and often shakes inner peace. So I move on, biting provocations from random sexually appealing strangers. Copulating with the use of a hand-held device - with my other hand pumping my gear stick. Becoming the person I once laugh at, for being so mechanical to attain self-pleasure.

It is when strangers ask for meet ups - to do it humanely that I fall back - unable to seal the deal that will potentially unlock my passage.

For I have grown a little weary of eyeballs that end in bed. 

And it's consequences.

Jaded, perhaps. Prude, not entirely. Maybe, the resistance to all forms of real, instinctive sex has grown defiant believing that when a liberator does come, he will find me intact and unbroken. The union we would forge will be untainted with smudgy histories; and that the bonds we nurture in its infancy will be bereft with doubt and infidelity. 

But time is no longer my companion. And one of these horny days, I would really give in to that need; to that urge and suspend my penchant for artificiality. I just hope that when it happens. Sana. I end up with the right person. Someone, who instead of taking a chunk of my humanity, will at long last, put me back together and make me 

whole again.      

"Patingin"

"Bwal muna."

"Tgnan mo n lanh pg ng-meet tyo."

"Malaki siguro si curvey."

"Kaw bhala kng immeet mo aq."

End of conversation.

The Wilting Of The Flesh

Overwatered

You threw caution to the wind, and followed your stubborn heart. "I will give my all." You said, while rivulets of water are forced out of the spray bottle. At daybreak, artificial rain falls down your window soaking the Basils and Mints - the herbs you fear would wilt after basking under the late morning sun. The evening before, they too had their soil moist. You watered them after coming home from work.

The tell-tale sign was showing, but you thought it would be wise to ignore it. New leaf growth dried quicker than the old ones; even the healthy foliage began to wilt. The twice-a-day hydration went on for days until you came home this afternoon to find the plants stripped off their leaves. Birds were singing in the distance, you know it was their doing.

The absence of leaves expose the rotten stems. Entire stalks are decaying, the herbs are slowly dying. Realizing your fault, you left the parched soil baking.

Better to postpone the water giving the next day.

"So much for love," your empty stares failed to hide your resignation. It is as if something within crumbled into dust.

Bird Assault

"Too much and they die."