Palipad Hangin Sa Hinaharap

I've been alone long enough to know.

Just for a night, I don't want you to feel the same.

Hilom

Isang gabi ay tinanong ako ni Joozy kung sinusundan ko ba ang Twitter account ni ex. Ang sabi ko ay hindi. Nagtaka ang aking kaibigan, na dinaan na lang sa ngiti. Alam kong mahaba at kumplikado ang paliwanagan kaya't ang sinabi ko na lang ay "I don't want him to see me hurting." 

Hindi pa man ako natatapos magsalita ay nag flashback na ang nakaraan: Sa pagmamadaling itago ang mga bagay na nararamdaman, inalis ko ang kanyang footprints sa aking mga social media accounts. Nawala siya sa Instagram. Na-block sa Twitter. Ginawa ko rin private ang account. At ni minsan ay hindi ako nagbanggit ng pangalan sa tuwing siya ay reference sa blog. Bilang simbolo na naroon pa rin ang pinagsamahan, tanging ang ugnayan lang namin sa Facebook ang aking itinira. 

You may think it was an immature strategy. A bitter one for others who accept endings smoothly. But it was my means of coping. Masakit kung sa masakit ang nangyari. Maraming katanungan ang hanggang sa ngayon ay hindi pa nasasagot. Ang mga bagay na ito ay hindi na niya kailangan malaman pa.

But there is a thing called moving on, and snail-paced as it maybe, may mga bagay na natatanggap at pinagbubuksan ng pinto muli. He was taken out of the blocked list on Twitter before last year ended. Naging public muli ang microblog ko. At sa aming muling pag-uusap. kahit awkward man ito; kasama doon ang pagbabahagi ng means of expression na siya rin naman ang unang nag-introduce sa akin.

Kagaya ng Instagram.

Looking back, I cannot remember having said something to put him in a bad light or discredit his character. There were truths to be told, yes, but history - from my perspective - has always been kind to him. Minsan nga, naiisip ko na he was far better than the last one. Yung limang taong relasyon na hanggang ngayon ay tinuturing ko pa rin na gamitan. 

If there is one thing I can only admit now - all this time that I claimed having no contact with the ex - ang totoo, hindi man kami nagfo-follow ng Twitter accounts ng bawat isa, but I used to check the tags that included him. Everyday. At gaya noong kami pa, I knew more things than what common friends would tell, or me bothering to share. Information gatekeeper lang. And I guess the reason this disclosure now happens - kasama na ang kapansin-pansing pagdalang ng pagtingin sa mga tags na kabilang ang kanyang pangalan ay dahil siguro. 

Marahil.

Hindi na masakit ang nakaraan.

"Alam mo okay siya." Sabi ni Joozy habang naglalakad kami patungo sa pad ni Garppp. Si Jake na kasama namin ay nakikinig sa tabi.

"Marami kaming similarities."

"Aba siyempre, galing kayo sa parehong school. Pareho pa kayong logical mag-isip." Inayos ko ang pagsakbit ng back pack sa likuran ko habang patuloy na naglalakad. Ang regalong papasko ng lalaking aming tinutukoy.

"I should know."

"Ex ko yun."

The Architect

noun \ˈär-kə-ˌtekt\ a person who designs buildings and advises in their construction.

Wansapanataym, ang tawag nila sa akin ay Pulis aka. Sergeant-at-Arms. Ako daw kasi ang unang sumisita kapag sa inuman ay lantaran na ang landian. Sa mahabang panahon ay naging wholesome ang tagayan. Naiwasan ang kariran kahit house party ang ganap. Maliban sa ilang insidente na hindi na naulit muli, tingin ko naman ay nagampanan ko ang trabaho ng kaunti lamang ang pagkakamali. 

May mga tumiwalag subalit yun ang kanilang pinili.

Taon ang lumipas. Nadagdagan ang mga ka-table. Nawala ang distinction na Encanto, at sa halip, lahat ay welcome to join the inuman. Hindi nagtagal ay may mga nagkagustuhan; may mga nagdala ng ka-date, at may mga naganap na after-party "events" na ako mismo ay piping saksi. Tinamad na akong mag-pulis simula noon sapagkat lahat naman ay naghahanap ng kabiyak. Nagbago ang dynamics ng grupo at pati ako ay kailangang makibagay.

Now shows the Architect. Trabaho daw niya mag-inspect kung malalim ang pundasyon ng mga relasyong mabubuo. Kung match ba ang dalawang nag-iibigan at kung ang prospects ba ng samahan ay pangmatagalan. While the role is largely ceremonial (kasi naman, nagkagustuhan na bago ko pa malaman), naroon ang mga background checks at pagkukumpuni ng mga rough patches sakaling may humingi man ng aking serbisyo. Madalas man sablay pero ang leg work at counselling ay hawak ko pa rin. Sino ang makakalimot sa isang intimate na inuman, na habang bumabayo ang hangin sa labas ay pilit ko pinaglalapit ang mga pusong nanlalamig na.

Ang mga eksena ay mostly behind the scenes. Sa Viber ang sumbungan, lalo pa't hindi nagkaroon ng epekto ang match-making. Required ang face to face contact paminsan-minsan, lalo na kapag may liham na kailangan ipaabot (kagaya sa kaso ni "EJ Falcon" at "Rocco Nacino") o kaya naman mahalaga ang direct intervention lalo na kapag pusong sawi ang kailangan pakalmahin. 

There are risks to such venture. Hindi gaya sa pagpupulis na pagkatapos ng inuman ay tapos na. Naroon ang pagdudahan na may kinikilingan. Awayin dahil may pinapaboran. Pati minsan ang Architect ay napapalapit ng husto sa kanyang kliente dahil ang binitawan ng isa ay siya palang kursonada niya. It is all about learning the ropes, ang sabi nga at habang tumatagal; habang dumarami ang mga napapalagay ang loob dahil sa may kapiling na itong iba, I think the Architect is as effective as he could be.

There is no such thing as a harmonious group. Ang mga couples, minsan nagkakatampuhan or worse, nagbre-break. Ang mga nima-match-make, madalas wala palang real-life chemistry. But if there is such a role as needed in keeping the status quo; o kaya naman ay ma-control ang turn over ng mga taong darating at mawawala sa linggo-linggong tagayan, andun ang Architect to see to it na ang lahat ay nagsasaya.

Sapagkat ang mga hamon sa pagkakaibigan ay nasa tabi-tabi lamang.

The Kaiju Attack On Manila

In Del Toro's film Pacific Rim, parts of Manila was destroyed by a giant amphibious beast called Kaiju. It was the second appearance of a Kaiju on Earth after the Trespasser ruined much of San Francisco. Canon literature about the attack on Manila has yet to be written, so there is much room for speculation. 

Given this trickle of information (and that the Kaiju was apparently nuked), movie goers have raised some interesting questions as to how the beast got into in the city. 

Here are some geographical facts about Manila:

• Manila lies in the West Philippine Sea. To reach Manila Bay, a Kaiju has to swim around the northern tip of Luzon or pass through the waters off Bicol and Quezon. 
• The islands of Corregidor and Caballo cuts the entrance to the bay into two narrow channels. A Kaiju, because of its huge size and water displacement will be spotted when it emerges in these waters. 
• East of Manila is the Sierra Madre. The mountain range runs from north to south of Luzon, starting in Cagayan and ends in Quezon. Some peaks along the range reaches up to 6000 feet.  

Since the Breach is located beneath the Pacific Ocean, some observers on Twitter speculate that the Kaiju will most likely appear somewhere in the east, probably in Quezon Province and lumber all the way to Manila. In 2014, the Philippine Armed Forces don't have fighter planes, warships or even tanks to take down the beast. Its soldiers however, have weapons to delay the monster's advances. In such scenario, complete evacuation of the city might be possible and casualties are minimized. But evidence seen in the movie trailer suggests it didn't happen in the back story. 

Downtown Manila

A convincing tale is that a Kaiju emerges in Manila Bay, sending a shocked metropolis into fits of frenzy. Images of a flattened San Francisco, with the US forces helpless to stop the beast is still fresh in their memory. The howls of the Trespasser, heard on television screens are stuff of nightmare driving people out of their beds. And now reappears the beast - a different and more sinister one - this time pummeling their city.

Thousands will die, not from being trampled by the Kaiju. But from stampedes caused by mobs trying to escape. Their panicked screams alone will leave the weak and weary frozen in their spot. The injured and the dying will have no place to go. Not even hospitals are spared from the Kaiju's unpredictable path. Traffic gridlock will render major roads useless, while trains would be forced to ease operations because of the tremors caused by the beast's heavy footsteps.

Remnants of the Beast

Seeing the hopelessness and suffering, the Philippine government has no choice but to beg military aid. The US being its strongest ally would hesitate sacrificing its battered forces. They fear another Kaiju attack anytime on the mainland. Regional powers would send a few squadrons, but these token fighters will be decimated without ever injuring the beast.

By now, doomsayers and some experts believe the Kaiju attacks will continue.

It will be each country for itself.

If not for a global call to save Manila, the world's most powerful nation would not act to kill the beast. The solution applied will be the same as the one they did in San Francisco a year earlier. An Ohio-class submarine deployed from Okinawa sails toward Bataan. In its payload is the most destructive weapon known to man. With no choice and with millions of displaced lives at stake (as no other means to kill the beast exist yet), the broken leaders of the Philippine government brook no opposition. The launch codes were given and entered into the computer. A lone ICBM lifts off from the hatchet and directed at the beast who seemed invisible to conventional attacks.

Life After the Attack

A flash of light, a thunderous clap and a mushroom cloud inside its belly, the Kaiju, at long last is dead.

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 Mousey Incident

In our ancestral home in Santa Mesa, there used to be a shallow, open canal separating our house from that of our neighbor. This murky passage holds memories, including kids falling into the pit, (and getting scabies as a result) to cats (pushed off the ledge upstream) jumping out of the pit, to complains of  floating feces flushed out from someone's toilet. 

One incident that got stuck in my head is that of a mouse, caught by one of the pre-teens being dropped into the canal. The poor rodent was supposed to drown, or get carried away by the current but since a yarn tied to its hind legs prevents the critter from running away, it gets dunked and dunked into the corrosive waters until it was too weak to wiggle.

Now the hell-spawned boys won't just leave the mouse alone. I don't recall how they were able to bait it to a passing cat, but the street-born feline just ate it. Whole. Now you think it was the end of the story but then, the canal-soaked rodent was too much for the cat's digestive track. After being regurgitated, the cat propelled the remains of the mouse from its stomach and into the neighbor's doorstep. The mouse's carcass resembled like freshly ground meat being sold in the market. The juvenile slayers were happy with the outcome and one by one they left - to spread the story. Meanwhile, I remained standing there to absorb what I just saw. The neighbor's house was unoccupied so imagine the maggots crawling out of the carcass a few days later.

This distasteful but comical account would be told on the table - like it was some traumatic episode I never knew it was - at a time when I was having a sumptuous meal of Lumpiang Shanghai. Not far from where I was sitting, mice squeaked under the cupboards. They got stuck on a fly paper laid out to break their trail. As the subject of mice went on, one of the maids confessed their method of taking the life out of the pest. They skewer them using a barbecue stick - sometimes right into their heads - before tossing the remains into the bin.

Looking at my half-eaten Spring Roll, I put liberal amounts of tomato ketchup over it before it was able to slid down my throat. I never leave leftovers on my plate. 

I don't know what just happened. But the next day, I would cringe at the sight of Pork Sinigang that the maid was about to serve as lunch. At work, I would pick vegetables over meat. It would be the beginnings of the Meatless Mondays campaign that still takes place every week. And when I am forced to grab a meal at a fast food, It's either fish or sometimes, a chicken fillet sandwich. 

Burgers, including pasta ceased to be a staple. 

Sometimes I would claim that the mice left a curse. For as they squeaked for dear life while their ashened furs lay on the adhesive, a revolt took place within my tummy. It would be the last time I would touch spring rolls - or any other pork or beef dishes. And if not for chicken, which I am forced to eat from time to time, 

I would have turned Vegan.    

  

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.

Gravity Well

Basta comfortable ka lang na nasa tabi siya. Kahit walang usap-usap. You just want him there; to feel the invisible connection, the vestiges of your memories. And for some reasons, you shun the world around you. 

Siya lang at ikaw. 

Wala ng iba. 

Almost but not quite.
— Mugen (@tripnautic) July 13, 2013

The Steward

A week would not pass without the matriarch instructing me to withdraw some cash. The money sourced from the bank is the lifeblood of the house. This is where the wages of the helpers come from. The food on the table, which we buy in Divisoria every week also trace their beginnings here.

Since last summer, my mom has started setting provisions for my nephews' needs as well. She would say, "dalawang pamilya ang binubuhay ko," every time we have an argument, to which I reply, "bakit kailangan ganun?"

She would just smile and change the topic.

I am privy to these spending - including the list of groceries I have to buy every month - because the task of finding a teller machine and making sure the money gets home fall under my shoulders. The responsibility has never been given to anyone - not even to my sister - since the lesbian driver went abroad. Once, my sister volunteered to withdraw the money for her after she could not rely on my commitment. My mom turned down the offer. I didn't bother to find the reason nor learn of my sibling's reaction. But I think the secrecy stems out of fear of disclosing how much money we have left.

Keeping the house in order, and making sure the funds are adequate have always been a mother and son venture. Experience in handling money comes into consideration, as I have my own savings and has been relying on my salary to stay afloat. Also, since I was taught how to open a bank account, never have I experienced running out of cash. These reasons alone should be enough for even relatives to course their checks to my bank accounts. But more than anything, since the funds fell under my stewardship, never have I failed to account my losses

This realization comes after my mother asked me to go to the bank this afternoon. Response leaned towards procrastination as my home-based work will start in an hour. However, orders have to be followed and I still have to send the remains of my salary to my savings account. It is when the ten pieces of 500 pesos bills came out of the machine, did it dawn to me the real value of my mother's trust:

That she has no one to count on except me.

Because for all the times she handed over her ATM cards to get cash; and for all the times I tracked the movement of the family funds, I could have - like some adults do - nip a "token" from the source in return for the "service." Nobody does the accounting so covering my tracks would be easy. 

But I am truly thankful that despite the sundry temptations to bend the rules and make the occasion a wind fall for me, such acts never took place. In her bouts of loneliness, my mother would apologize for her shortcomings in raising me. If she only knows the truth and see how I put great care in protecting her interests, may it be an assurance that this little gesture of honesty refutes the innermost doubts of her heart.

User-Friendly

At a burger joint somewhere in Santa Mesa:

"Mahaba-haba pa ang lalakbayin mo." I said, after he told me that he is still a college freshman - at 25.

"Oo nga eh, pag-aaralin mo pa ako." He smirked. I nervously smiled, feigning my annoyance.

"Tapos magtatayo ka ng sarili mong dorm para hindi na ako magbabayad sa inuupahan."

"Yayakapin kita buong gabi. Palagi mo pang hawak si jun-jun ko." He was referring to his dick.


I was feeling grateful after my salary didn't receive a pay cut, and decided to treat the guy for merienda. The gesture was partly done out of guilt - for telling him that I was out of work and lives with my wicked aunt, and for my desire to see him in the flesh. The boy lives a few blocks away. He was easy access should I decide one day to break my abstinence.

Lust aside, something within had softened when he told me that morning he needed assistance - for school - and the reason he was willing to whore himself is to finish college. No wonder he was generous in sending nude photos on Wechat the night before. I thought the only exchange for a good lay was a bottle of beer.


"May motel naman diyan na malapit." He suggested. "Puwede natin gawin dun."

I merely smiled to convey my disinterest in his proposal.

"Weh di nga?" Of course, I already know the corridors of Sogo at the age of 22. I merely answered, "Hindi ako nagpupunta sa ganoon."

"Edi paano, kapag wala na lang tao sa dorm?"

"Puwede naman siguro..."

By then, my eyes were already getting distracted by firetrucks passing by.

"Sino may order ng cheeseburger?" At last, the break I was waiting had arrived. "Sa iyo rin ba itong cheese foot long?" My companion nodded.

"Pinabili ng kasama ko..."

"Pakabusog ka ha?" I said. "Walang kapalit yan."


Many days had passed and still I ask if things would have ended differently if he were a hotter guy. Would I give in, and deliberately let myself get stuck in his web? Would I show a warmer reception, learn his life, and help him in small ways, like I originally planned?

But with sex hogging our conversation, and the material exchange piling up even when our ties have no foundation, the brief encounter was a massive disappointment.

We parted ways with him inviting me for a stroll that night, and me telling him I had to leave for my job interview - at 5 in the afternoon.

The next time he would talk to me on the social app, I could not even find the heart to engage a conversation.

Workhorse

Unflattering Imitation

Summer was in her prime when my old black sneakers began showing signs of wear and tear. 

The pair was a pasalubong from relatives. It was hauled out of a Balikbayan Box laden with chocolates and biscuits. Mine was one of a kind: an envy of cousins who were given bars of Milky Way and Krackel chocolates as appeasement. 

This is why I let months pass before I showed up wearing my new shoes. The foot wear was so valued that I used to have second thoughts of taking it out of its box. And when I did, the sneakers only accessorized my get-up during few occasions. Usually when vanity strikes, or when my mother attends reunions with old, rich friends.

It will take a year before I would wear the shoes to work.



The problem is that I have very little regard when it comes to foot wear. Never would I run out of shoes, as the rest remain unused under my bed. But once I become comfortable with one, I would wear the pair every day; every time I go out, until the outsoles thin and the mid soles get torn from the saddle.

Such fate awaited the black sneakers, and it had to be replaced one afternoon for it has exceeded its usefulness. Not only did the air cushions got busted, a hole big enough to expose my underfoot cut through the outsole. A brief downpour would mean going to my destination with soaked socks and pruned foot.

So I went to Cartimar, an obscure spot in Pasay known for imitation shoes and pet supplies. Seldom would I look at foot wear when I am in a mall, but out there, my eyes feasted on different collections. Among my favorites were those with slender curves and symmetric lines. Shoes with earth tone colors also grabbed my attention.

But I was searching for the cheapest pair. Something that is within my half-a-thousand peso budget. After making rounds and checking dozens of stalls, it was overruled by my cheapskate-self that I get the low top with the shade of Artichoke. It was a compromise between the shoes' hip vibe and subdued function at a price lower than what I usually spend when clubbing.

"The workmanship is not that bad." I thought. "Hoping the pair lasts until the end of the year."



The acquisition of a new sneakers was my second in a decade, as I am used to receiving hand-me-downs and presents from relatives. I never thought of buying my own unless there is urgency, and choosing between a pricey original and an imitation at half the cost, my spending behavior at Cartimar spoke well of my habit.

It took days and miles of walking for my feet to adjust to the new pair. Apparently, a size 12 still doesn't snug around my feet. But the compliments were universal. On the day I slipped into my new footwear, people around me were saying they like my shoes and asking where I bought them.

"Diyan lang sa Cartimar."

And so the shoes became my intimate companion. I would walk from Luneta to Quirino Avenue, once a week for my cardio; step on pebbles and stroll over unpaved roads during my trekking; skid my feet on slippery surfaces; bounce on dance floors with my forefoot every time the beat keeps my eardrums pumping.

The pair does not only serve as my gimik footwear.

It is my working shoes as well.



I would take great pride in my shoes, and brush aside the fact that it is, but a mere imitation. Assured that it would never tear despite the abuses it gets from my feet, I would continue wearing the sneakers to the point of being overused. The result was a foreseen disappointment. In less than a month after my purchase, stress marks were already showing. I could no longer walk under the rain without getting my socks wet. A gravel trail leaves my feet sore and just a few days ago, the outsole directly above my instep had punctured revealing how wafer-thin the soles were.

Still, I would continue wearing the shoes.

But for all my beliefs that a cheap imitation can serve as my workhorse; relieving the more expensive ones the ferocity of my feet, the truth was too obvious for omission.

No wonder, I was able to bargain the pair for P450.

Bakod

A Direct Message



Papa Joms, honestly, type mo si [insert name of guy here]? Nakita ko na picture niya. Pinakita sa akin. Ganun ang mga tipo mo.

Ay di ko siya bet. Tropa lang tingin ko sa kanya.

Crush ka niya. Tinanong ko eh. Parang mas bagay kayo. Mag-gigive way ako. Magkaibigan tayo dapat nagbibigayan.

Five years ago, a blogger had smitten me. The infatuation was so intense that he could order me to get up and leave the house at past midnight. He was drunk one night and was a bit wasted. I remember dropping him off outside his condo before telling the cab driver to take me home.

The feeling however was unrequited. I was so into him while he was open to being courted by someone else. He even sweet talked with strangers even when I was around.

One of the rivals hailed from another circle. He was a prolific writer who was good in poetry. On the day he was introduced to my love interest, the poet suddenly found his muse. The rival didn't know that someone had already staked his claim over him; that I was already well-entrenched. He also found no error in his move as the blogger and I were not a pair. What he didn't realize was he challenged my ego. Being the butch, I found him an unworthy opponent.

Romance didn't bloom between me and the blogger. As he was not ready. He just came from a painful break-up. And yet, I never spoke to the rival again. He saw the error of his ways. He even apologized for it. But the damage has been done. Learning how vengeful I am when my heart is stepped on, it has become a habit to disengage when rivals are present.

Thus, I see myself as the wimpy kid. The first to give up, when I feel others seem to be winning. But there are other accounts of how I was when someone tried to win over my partner. Once, on the dance floor, I used force to block someone's advances. I stuck with this guy who was being eyed by a much older patron. Instead of retreating, he had a taste of how it feels to be pushed around by someone half his age.

Now I understand where my buddy is coming. Given his past clashes with a another friend - a shy guy who didn't communicate his secret affection - he flirted with a boy who is already being eyed on. The boy had his hots for my buddy. The shy guy thought all along his dates with the boy would lead to romantic persuasion. The result was catastrophic. The losing guy turned on social media to vent his gripes before stepping away from our social circle. 

The fall out showed how shaky our bonds were.

In my situation, the buddy was assured that he wasn't crossing me. He has my full support despite the guy admitting his admiration - and me considering getting serious with him. But it will never prosper. And had it been a different case; of me and the unmentioned one going out, and my buddy coming into the picture, I would have the decency to tell that me and the guy are getting to know each other.

A true friend will cease advancing and would merely observe from a distance.

Because a love that is meant to be should never be fought over. It has to grow without rivals and must not be tempered by distractions. For when a blossoming romance entertains another bee, it shows his unreadiness to commit. Worse, it will expose his past replete with breaches of infidelity.

This has been my revelation to Papa Tagay over buckets of beer last weekend. That last summer, I dated someone who had secret hots for him. Had the attraction grew roots and stems, and the charming boy got my friend's attention, I would thank Papa Tagay for bailing me. It would have been a heartbreaking relationship had I pursued.

I would never wish to be toyed around.



This is my creed for sometime now. Buddies over my heart: Give way when there's no certainty of affection.

Tomorrow's love can wait a little longer. 

Friends and their budding love lives have to come first.

Siya lang may crush, hindi ako. Jusme dapat binakuran ko na nung umamin ka. Go lang. Iba ang gusto ko.

Nagdadalawang isip tuloy ako.

Huwag mo akong isipin. Olats ang one-way attraction.

Punta

Previously on Souljacker:


Astral Travel
Suenos de Manila

The head waters making its way to the bay slithers around this tadpole-shaped peninsula, embracing its outer banks like a jealous lover. For in its western edge, next to the isthmus, bends the murky San Juan. The riverine passage, whose frequent inundation take the residents' attention away from the Pasig river. 

Little is known about this outpost of Santa Ana - a historic district already steeped in legends only few bother to learn. Punta, whose tales have been carried away by the confluence of two rivers is a tabula rasa even for same-city dwellers like me. The great families who lived there may no longer see this place home, and the hundreds moving in seem to have cocooned themselves from the outside world, that it's hard to know the secrets that lie within.

I maybe wrong.

But there is a part of me whose passion is to get lost in places said only through word of mouth. Like this strange protrusion from Mandaluyong. The earliest accounts were from high school buddies living in the suburb. Also were the public transport passing near my place plying the route. "Where is Punta?" I mused. As I grow older, revelations begin to unfold. There is the two-lane passage, often blocked by jeeps going to the midland. Also, there was a time when I took a ferry going to Guadalupe and the side opposite Santa Ana was cleared of structures, save for several derelicts that appeared to be factories.

Curiosity grows as sliver of scenes interrupt my train of thoughts until one Tuesday afternoon, many years after a house help in her disbelief argued with another when she said, she is going to Punta, did I decide to set foot in the place nurtured by footnotes of my growing-up years.

The Hanging Bridge of Punta

With the aid of Google Map, I made landfall a short distance away from a hanging foot bridge. It crosses the San Juan River and connects the suburb with Bacood, another suburb in another district. There was not much to see, except the decaying wood planks that are in need of replacement. Also noticeable was the change of scenery. Bacood is home to the more affluent residents of Santa Mesa. In contrast to where I came from, the streets were narrow, the small houses jutted out into the alleys, and the people stayed outdoors to eat and talk to neighbors instead of enjoying resting moments in their private quarters.

Walking away from the foot bridge, a short stroll towards the interior revealed some interesting landmarks of the place. There was Phimco, makers of mosquito coils and safety matches. The old trees in front of the main office suggest of being one of the first industries in Punta. There was also a gated community named in honor of Manila's former Archbishop, whose pink, medium-rise apartments stand opposite to the Brutalist-designed tenements nearby. 

The road ends at the gates of an abandoned steel mill. Looking at satellite photos, it appears to occupy a third of the peninsula. Its name was Marcelo Steel Mill, and the now empty property serves as a stark reminder of what Punta was: Santa Ana's industrial powerhouse. While most of the factories and oil depots have relocated elsewhere, the wage earners who used to work in the assembly lines, and their descendants stayed behind. Their homes make up the vast swathes of corrugated rooftops dominating the residential skyline.

Marcelo Steel Grounds

The empty lot of Marcelo Steel Mill would have been my last destination, after a strange dream last year foretold my arrival. During my brief stop, I looked around for any mid-rise buildings where I sighted the trees in my sleep. Instead, there were hovels as far as the eyes could see. 

I was about to ride a jeep going home when I recall Google Map markers showing a river crossing. I remember this ferry service from the time I took a boat trip from Escolta going upstream. Asking a local for instructions, he pointed to a side street leading to a very busy neighborhood. I followed some commuters ahead (the ones carrying bags and implements of travel) and after going through a short straight path, I emerged at the banks of Pasig River, with fast-moving colorful boats waiting for passengers at the pier.

Punta - Santa Ana River Crossing

The last leg of the urban stroll brought my feet past the sleepy Santa Ana Market and into the Poblacion (old commercial center) of the district. A meal at McDonalds replenished my strength, but to gobble a large serving of potato fries and soft drinks meant doing some more exercise. 

So walk I did.

I ended the tour at the foot of a newly-opened bridge. The winding archway connects Bacood and Boni Avenue, easing the traffic at the busy intersection at Shaw Boulevard. Many commuters walked on foot. Some paused at the top of the bridge. They seem to enjoy the cityscape as the weary sun hides behind the clouds. And as I looked at the river below, watching a lone boat ferry a single passenger to the opposite bank, I knew my journey has ended; the mystery of my childhood at long last revealed; and I am not returning.

Many places still need to be explored on foot, and be written.

Bacood Approaching

"The thing with journeys is that some destinations are mere transit points." I posted on Twitter. Crossing the bridge satisfied with my expedition, I added the words "Keep walking." before alighting the jeep that would take me home.