Postwar

I remember how it was before.  The weights  I lift made me feel good.  In a perpetual state of war, I leveled the playing field by working on my body.  It has become an instrument of attraction in a world where acceptance depends on one's masculinity or even physical looks. It was difficult not to be corrupted by the trade. I  too was part of the system and in many times I lived with it, my humanity disappeared.

I remember the countless rejections and my desire to fight back. I tried befriending people, only to be denied when I fell below their aesthetic expectations. It took some time before I have accepted the terms of exchange. Outgrowing it,  I played the game and turned the tide against those who crossed the line.

Those who knew my dark past: the Malate Nights, the cynic searching in online dating sites, the almost longing desire for peace, tampered by the truth that it was hard to find a connection.  I have given up many times, and embraced my solitude as a testament of my freedom. In all those years I sailed the sea of emptiness, what made me tough was the fact that I'm market driven.  What I want - even temporarily - eventually belonged to me.

But in these days of peace, the principles of war lose its value.  First to go were the clubbing nights - the sole vice that reminds me of homosexuality. The dance floor was my arena - not for hook-ups but to see how much I fared in the game of tease. Close calls always happen, but at the end of the night, people go their separate ways.

The gym, which had served as my vanity temple for many years was slowly being disabled.   Without the need for valuation, seeking new pursuits became a possibility. In the stillness of my lover's arms, I contemplated about my final disarmament. After all, the body was my instrument of attraction, but there's no reason to show-off anymore.

So I  faded away quietly as my small clothes became tighter.  The threat of a wardrobe overhaul readied me for binge spending. At the gym, where heavy plated Olympic bars require five repetitions and fourteen sets of bench presses, the certain muscle pain turned me away before my first try.

But the partner supports the endeavor, even when he had to give up his own project.  Now that my new  work shift has changed my fitness routine, the partner waits at home even when I  had to extend past midnight just to keep my accomplishments.  At 174. I am overweight by ten pounds.  The gym instructors tell that it was muscles but the whiner in me could never be appeased.

Until last weekend, when Baabaa took my photo against a crepuscular backdrop.

broad shoulders, big arms, flat tummy, a vision of a thousand days still within reach

I always tell my other half  that I dedicate my work-outs for him.  Not to make him feel unease, but as a reinforcement that not only did he find a man with caliber.

I know, I have a very long way to go. Sometimes, I even think that I would never reach my goal in this  weight training project since there are times, I do not know what my objectives are anymore. Besides, whenever I think how long it would take and how many sacrifices I have to give just to turn myself around and become a 160 - pounder once again, the challenge I have to take simply demoralizes me. 

Bunny Interludes Two

Fullmetal Dreams

March 01, 2006

When  he accomplishes a goal he had set when he was still at war, that man he had found teetering on the brink of extinction will always be faithful, always be at one

with him.