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.

Progressive House

"Sir JM sinugod sa ospital si Alex, na food poison." My agent sent in SMS. He was working remotely from the office. It was my rest day.

"Hala kamusta na siya?"

"Nasa ospital pa. Wala nga nagtetext e. Hindi ko pa alam." He promptly replied.



CJ Rhoze, as his twitter handle goes, is your stereotype effeminate gay guy. He lisps when he speaks, dyes his hair red, and often goes to work wearing a body-hugging striped shirt and micro-mini shorts. He has been with the company long before I was promoted to management, and for a long time, he was a colleague I never dared to cross. You can say that he can be a headache should you slight him in an unprofessional way. And his clout over everyone can easily sway others to turn against me.

And yet, despite my rather uncomfortable working relationship with Ms. Rhoze, we were able to deal amicably - and openly. For reasons that promote work transparency. He is privy to my sexual preference and life outside the workplace. His account is even linked to my Twitter, giving him access to all the trash talk and strange thoughts I spew in that micro-blogging platform.   

What makes him stand out is that he is in a steady relationship with a straight-acting guy. They've been together for eight years. They even live together - with his partner having a decent job to support the two of them. At times I was tempted to ask what makes their union enduring. Is it because of CJ's dominant personality; his occasional defiance to his partner's demands, or his willingness to stand his ground when it was necessary?

I prefer not to find the answer.

However, the blog entry does not dwell on the subject, so I would refrain from disclosing more details about Ms. Rhoze's love life. Instead, it is the poisoning incident and how he was accommodated that reveals how accepting the company has become to the LBGT community.

You see, the evening after Ms. Rhoze broke the news, I asked what happened to his boyfriend. He told me that he was discharged from the hospital that same afternoon. But he still required a battery of medical tests to make sure the poison is out of his system.

In relation to this, he asked if he could be absent at work the next day. He would have to personally see to it that his partner gets the medical attention he needed. I told Ms. Rhoze to put the request on letter so I can explain it to the boss. While the e-mail wasn't really necessary, I would like some form of documentation as the company would be making history.

It would be the first time the management will officially recognize such union.




The openness of the company towards gays and lesbians dates back to the time when my former superior and confidant, Mami Athena was the "second" in command. A liberal thinker like her allowed those in the closet to come out and feel welcome in the workplace. She was also the first person at the office to know about my sexuality. Because of her, the gays found a true champion. Among the team managers, she was the only one who saw gays not as objects of ridicule, but humans with feelings and disappointments.

Yet, despite the privilege, we were not as open before as we are today. Maybe, the lack of job order made company policies more relaxed and flexible. Perhaps, there were no same-sex bonds a few years ago worthy to be recognized (as we were more preoccupied with spotting cute guys than actually being serious in a relationship). Whatever the reason, time was unripe to recognize medical emergencies that involves same-gender partners, and when Ms. Rhoze placed the request when less hands mean more income for everyone, I let him go as long as he would state the real reason for his absence.

Sensing the awkwardness of the letter, my agent didn't comply to the instruction. His thoughts maybe preoccupied with his sick partner that he forgot to send an email, or he wasn't ready to be acknowledged as a couple - in company correspondence. Whatever the excuse for overlooking such order, I decided to furnish the email myself as it would be required when writing reports.



Circulation Dated September 19, 2013


Hi,

CJ Rhoze was absent last Thursday, September 19, 2013. He had to bring his partner to the hospital because of food poisoning. Buck Rogers and Maria Avila covered for his absence.

Thank you.

Regards,

JM

The Bridge

To dream that you are crossing a bridge signifies an important decision or a critical junction in your life. This decision will prove to be a positive change filled with prosperity and wealth in the horizon. Bridges represent a transitional period in your life where you will be moving on to a new stage. If the bridge is over water, then it suggests that your transition will be an emotional one.

Dream Moods

It was late afternoon, it seemed.

And yet, there were no people to be seen. Like everyone had disappeared, or had chosen to stay indoors. I remember walking alone. Like I was trying to find my way out of the maze of streets. Then on high ground somewhere within the empty city, I caught glimpse of a Gothic cathedral on the horizon. Its base was shrouded in fog, and only its towers and the upper half of the church's ornate facade could be gazed upon.   

I thought of walking towards the cathedral, for reasons I am now unsure of. All I knew was it would be a long stroll - judging its distance - and I have to cross a wide river to get there. So off I searched for the crossing, and at a bend was a sloped road marking the river bank.

As I reached the top of the ramp, I was surprised to find out that in place of the old stone bridge was a makeshift structure made of wood. I hesitated to cross to the opposite bank because the planks laid out on the deck was made of plywood. The bridge also had no barrier. If an unfortunate soul plunges into the river below, it would take a minute before his body slams against the water. 

In no way would I take such risk. 

An adult approached from the other side, while someone from behind overtook me to cross ahead. So narrow the deck was that they could barely fit together. Meanwhile, I decided to check around for clues as to what happened to the old river crossing. Save for ruins where scaffolds now stood, there were no traces of the past bridge. Probably it was carried away when the river swelled during a storm. 

Returning to the ramp once again, I saw school children running towards my direction. They came from the other side of the bridge. The kids crossed effortlessly, like they seem to know how to balance themselves, even without the hand rails. There were also boys who did tightrope walking. I only noticed the high-tension cable next to the bridge when some kids did the wire act to outrun those who crossed on the wooden deck.

The kids were gone, and the sun was about to set. Still, I was halfway between making a decision to cross, and reach the other side and turning back - to wait for a new bridge to be constructed. I didn't know how long I stood near the approach. But just when I was about to make a single step forward - to make my first attempt to walk over the flimsy deck, 

I was stirred from sleep and was dragged out of the dream.

   

Legacies (Finale)

Ano ba ang proseso nung application na sinasabi ng Engkantadia? mejo nahihiwagaan (LOL) ako sa grupo nyo kung ano ba talaga yan kaya hindi pa ako makapagdesisyon. (pero di naman siguro ako kawalan kung mag-apply man ako or hindi hahaha!)

Boss Master Tsip, August 6, 2010

I will cherish everything that we've shared and remember all our memories. You will always be special to me no matter what. 

Unreplied Letter, September 22, 2012

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.

Hilom, July 31, 2013

The Pillow Talks

Daybreak is fast approaching. The drinking binge with friends is about to wrap up. But instead of staying for a post-alcohol snack, I hail the first cab I could find on the street. I need to get home not to nurse a hang-over, but to make a phone call to someone who is still awake, and perhaps waiting, for me to say "I'm in bed. Tulog na tayo."

-

Every night, JC and I talked before bedtime. It was a habit I grew accustomed to that at times he forgot to make a call, I was the one to speed dial his number.  

Just to hear him whimper and for me to say "sweetdreams."

You may find the arrangement rather odd, but given my nocturnal body clock, I prefer we go to sleep together at the time most convenient to him.

Before the Third came into my life, the nightly rituals with the previous exes were often limited to a few text messages to report that we were already home. The SMS read, "Gudnyt, Luv u." and that's all there was to say. Looking back, it was merely a ceremonial duty to make sure we didn't sleep at someone's place. The bonds we built lay on shallow ground, and for this reason, I have few memories of them.

But with JC, the "reporting" was a prelude to the pillow talks that would last for hours. Even when I was on night shift in the office, I would take breaks just to talk to my partner. His voice always made me feel at ease. And given his sunshiny personality, he had mastered the technique on how to crack and make me "talk."

For seldom would I speak my thoughts - even to a boyfriend.

JC let me into his world that I never got to see. He had weaved a tapestry of stories about his girl friends and college buddies, turning them into interesting characters that I was able to relate - and these are people I haven't met. There were nights he would share his dreams and frustrations. Aspirations like working in the Big Apple, returning to Europe for a grand vacation, or how he would have wanted to shift in a career, which he now belongs.

When we ran out of topics, he would ask me to listen and make a comment on his latest work - the covers he used to upload on his Soundcloud account. Sure there were times he would get miffed when all I did was to praise his performance. Seldom would I tell that he needed improvement because I really wanted him to sing 

- and because I cannot distinguish a musical note from another.

I never knew how he was as a singer before we met. Speculation is no longer of the essence for he had come a long way. What I hope is that in the time we were together - during the nights I pushed him to cover new songs - gave him the courage to perform with pride, now that he goes to KTV events I only get to know from common friends.

True to his legacy, there remains no denial of association: that the songs he used to sing still leaves me staring into blank spaces, or humming the lyrics in my head when I chance to hear them on the radio. So strong is the power of music, of how it conjures voices and scenes that a date once told me his favorite song and asked me to listen. Instead, I returned the earphones upon getting struck by the familiar tune. I didn't tell the reason for not playing the music from start to finish. 

Only after giving him a pained smile did he figure the answer.

Because of the nightly pillow talks, I began paying more attention to heartfelt conversations with souls I truly connect with. The bedside communion has also spared me from the messy random hook-ups I did at some point in my life. I maybe beset with troubles caused by premature attachments from time to time, but the peace afforded to me by JC and our union endures, a year after we walked our separate ways.

-

Rumination affords a ponderer to look back on the good days, and see with clarity, how the past shapes the present.

But looking at JC from across the table - on the night a year after our separation, I cannot help but lament how we turned out to be: distant, awkward, and with a hint of coldness; like we never had a history to speak. I know it is my own doing. The overwhelming pride, and refusal to admit my fault; and my penchant for pad-locking my doors on the past. But maybe, because there are really no words to say. No memories to bring back and cherish because these are bound to remain buried - when it gets replaced by new experiences shared with my Fourth - and his Second. And secretly, as I drink my watered-down beer at the casa, it makes me weep knowing the fleetingness of our existence: 

That we have been reduced to mere acquaintances.

And should he gets to read these entries one day, when it is his time to remember what we were. May he find comfort that beyond the growing wordlessness, there remains a part of him that will always belong to me. He will always have a special place, fit for someone who took risks to take a journey with me and paint a story.  

So for the last time, let me cherish the littlest gestures that made Baabaa special. May this parting gift serves as a remembrance; that his legacies will live on - even when we find ourselves in the arms of another deserving of our love.

- The way he tells you to trim your nose hair and take a bath before going to bed.

- The Independent Film festivals he asked me to attend with him.

- Beyonce, Ed Sheeran and Kyla.

- The word "Akap," which I have not said to anyone until now.

- The manner how we always end our phone calls with "1... 2... 3... Mwah, mwah, mwah."

-end-

    

Legacies (Second Part)

Nangarap akong ma-treat sa isang restaurant. Yung tipo bang gigimik kami na hati sa gastos at hindi na lang laging ako ang taya. 

Ikalima, April 21, 2008

The Unwritten Dinner Dates

I just turned twenty nine.

And like it has always been, there is the blowing of the cake (while everyone in the house sings "Happy Birthday"); the obligatory blog entry to mark the occasion; and the solemn pilgrimage to the church to give thanks for another lease in life. These are the highlights of the day, and traditions have remained in place since the first time I put up a blog about my birthday.   

For the partner to remember it first (a simple phone call at the strike of midnight), already completes my day. This, JC has never forgotten no matter how busy he was at work. What I didn't expect were the surprises he was brewing. A simple stay at home bonding would do, but with him, he elevated the evenings into fancy dates not one of my other exes had done in the past.

I no longer remember the execution. Only the places we have been - and I would never set foot again. First was at Conti's in Bonifacio High Street, where I had my first bite of Mango Bravo. I remember, he thought of sending the cake at my workplace for reasons I never asked. Realizing the ice cream cake would melt before reaching its destination, he called off the plan and went on to date me instead.

On my 30th birthday, he made dinner reservations for two at the posh Heat restaurant at the Edsa Shang-ri La Hotel. To feel overwhelmed was an understatement. The surprise was beyond comprehension. For never in my grandest illusion would a partner treat me at such an expensive place. 

It was a buffet, I recall, an eat-all-you-can dinner where you can pick not only local cuisine to dump on your plate, but foreign dishes too. I remember the Japanese table where I had to expand my stomach capacity just to gobble as many pieces of Shrimp Tempura as I can. Humbled and deeply moved by his surprise, I thought of keeping the memory to myself. 

Until today.

Dinner dates aside, it made me realize why the Third was worth the wait. It didn't matter that I had to remain single for two years - moving from one failed date to another - because the one who would finally come gifted me the essence of companionship; of tangible stories you can remember every time you return to the places you have been together. And this doesn't only cover the special celebrations. From the movie dates we had, to the work-in-coffee shops he did - where I trailed behind to remind him to finish his tasks - there I found what I have been searching in a relationship. 

Never would discontent cross lines with my consciousness in the almost two years we've been together.

JC showed what he was as a boyfriend and for this reason, I was more than willing to show what a partner I could be. For his 24th birthday, I paid careful attention to his random musings. Saktong napadaan kami sa isa sa mga upscale restaurants sa Greenbelt 5 one time when he mumbled: "I wanted to dine in a fancy restaurant..." Not the exact words, of course, but the runaway thought was enough for me to roll a birthday celebration I have never done before.

A dinner date for two at Zuni's.

I knew the dates and hang-outs would just get even better the more I become accustomed to the tastes of the partner. And JC has fine tastes. Out of my sincerest desire to make him feel special, not only did I search into the sleeping high-breed in me. In many ways, I had to realign my attitude, to catch up and become worthy of being his other half.

Thus, on his 25th birthday, five months after his treat at Heat, I booked the classiest hotel in Tagaytay for our first out of town vacation. 

Never again would I attempt such feats - even when impressing others after our dissolution.    

-tobecontinued-

Legacies (First Part)

But you deserve that kind of love too. The one that would wake you up every morning, bring you food when you're hungry, fetch you at work, accompany you in your errands, takes care of you whenever, wherever.

Unreplied Letter, September 22, 2012

(L-R Top-Bottom: J-Bear and Mugenbear, Kelly Heights Antipolo, Taal Vista Hotel, Tagaytay)

The countdown ends, three hundred and sixty five days later. When you know the relationship has been put to rest, and what lingers are the memories you have not spoken in ages. For some, a year can be measured in a lifetime. For others, it is just a passing day - with the past - overwritten with what the present is shaping. Unremembered, some unions never leave the realms of limbo, because there are words ex-lovers forgot to say. Perhaps, some thoughts on forgiveness and acceptance, or gratitude for a journey in a life seldom shared.

The ending has been told to friends, and to others who have witnessed how love found its way into these dreary pages. It was unexpected. Beautiful. A pleasant surprise, for a war-weary soul that I was. I will not speak of how the love withered, for it only defies what history has already judged. What is there to tell is how the union brought lovers to new heights; how the experience allowed me to nip perfection. For JC has left footprints, many of those are still visible today.

The Digital Revolution

As I write this blog entry, I am using Torrent to download a movie. Trivial as it sounds, but it was JC who introduced Isohunt to me. Without his influence, I would still remain stuck stacking pirated DVDs bought from Quiapo. Nothing will ever change, as I find joy getting lost at Hidalgo.

But it is not the gift of Torrent that JC will be remembered. For the fast internet connection would never reach home without the courage he had given first. It was a time when the old desktop computer was on the verge of breaking down. I had no plans of replacing it, as I am used to playing video games with hardware-replaceable machines.

Laptops were becoming the trend, and as a writer, it would be more convenient to write drafts wherever I want. To buy a portable device would be practical as the old desktop no longer can take any more upgrades. However, there are bad memories to face, as my first laptop went to someone else. It was a very difficult period, because I had to bleed cash for more than a year just to pay the machine in full. 

The laptop was never returned - even after the break-up. 

So imagine how symbolic it was when JC volunteered to accompany me to buy my second laptop. He knew what brands to select and the best place to find them. Between the haggling and comparison of specs - to moving from one store to the next, it felt like a past has been corrected. To see a boyfriend actually telling me things I barely know was a breath of fresh air. 

He was truly a partner.

And thus began the snowball effect. With the acquisition of the laptop, the dial-up connection was upgraded to broadband. Within a few months, fiber-optic cables gave way to WiFi as my sister got her hand-me-down Netbook. For the first time, Internet was shared at home.

A year would pass after the break-up and the laptop JC and I bought at Gilmore is still working. Approaching it's third year, it is bound to be replaced as its components are already showing the effects of obsolescence. Meanwhile, two other portable machines (one owned by the babysitter), a tablet and three smartphones use the WiFi. Never in our family's history would we be so wired, and in-touch with the rest of the planet.

-tobecontinued-

Aspiration/Reality

Pero mahirap rin. Madalas, bagot na bagot ako sa buhay ko na kelangan ko pang i-text si besprend Rocco para lang may makasamang gumimik o kainuman. Wala rin naman kasi ang buddy ko eh, isa pa, dalahin ko pa yun kapag namilit magpahatid sa apartment niya sa Valenzuela o kaya naman nagrereklamo na gutom at walang pera.

Ngunit sa kabila ng lahat ng yun, hindi ko talaga naramdaman ang ganitong kalungkutan dati. Simula noong nagsimula ang klase nila, makailang beses na rin akong naligaw sa mall na mag-isa lang at nag-iikot ng walang direksyon. Hindi ko rin naramdaman ang ganitong kalayaan na natatamasa ko lang nung wala pa akong buddy. Noong normal pa ang routine namin, hindi papasok sa isip ko ang mangarap at maging open sa idea na willing akong humanap ng panandaliang partner kapag naligaw ako sa BED.

Sa Muling Pag-Idlip Ni DarkStar/Ang Buhay Pag-Ibig... Ko
June 4, 2005

It was a Friday evening, I recall.

I found myself renting a computer in an Internet cafe along Recto. I could still recreate the scene in my head; of how dingy and cramped the place was. Save for the view screen and the faint LEDs of the desktop machines, the room was devoid of light. The somber atmosphere was more than enough to sway an insurrection. It will be the first time I would mount a rebellion.  

As usual, I was logged in to an instant messaging client known to my peers as the MIRc. For the past couple of weeks, it served as distraction. I chatted with strangers. Flirted with some of them - a little. At the back of my head, I was warding off a sinking feeling: The growing thought of being neglected.

You see, the partner had received a scholarship at a prestigious college in Taft Avenue. It was his dream, which that summer I was urging him not to pursue. I measured its effects on our relationship, on his ability to find a middle ground between work and school. I feared changes. It was a chapter in our lives I wasn't prepared to carry on. But I have to be there for him, so I threw my support.

True enough, the partner grew distant. He had stepped foot into a new world, a realm I wasn't part of. He never bothered to include me, despite his promises of a better tomorrow. There's a growing sense that I have been abandoned. That I was in his life only to be discarded when I no longer have any use.

Less than a month after his classes started, our exchange of SMS suddenly dwindled. There were times I'd wake up in the morning not receiving a word from him. I would call him at work, only to speak to an irate boyfriend. Our nightly talks were limited to a few text exchanges. He would say, he's saving his load so he had to terminate the conversation. At times, he would drop call at the middle of our conversation. It was according to him that his classmates might eavesdrop, and speculate about his sexuality. And no longer we went on dates. For him it was a new life. He preferred the company of colleagues and new friends, when it used to be us spending time together. All these took place, when I was the one giving up my resources. He had little when he pursued his grand project. I had to compensate for his shortcomings.

The absence of remorse didn't escape the observation of friends. "Martir ka kasi," they cried every time I confessed my heartaches. "Iwanan mo na," some of them encouraged. "Saka na, kapag tapos na niya yung school niya." I would mount as defense. But I was losing more in the relationship. The scale tipped heavily towards the partner's favor. Upon my friends' tacit approval, I stepped back to account my lost. To reclaim my old life. I began meeting strangers behind his back - some of them - with dubious intentions. What kept me in check was the promise I won't sleep around.

That I won't repeat the same mistake like the retaliation I did with the First.



However that Friday, I was pushed too far. I no longer remember what triggered the fight, or my desire to get back, but I was bent on breaking up by cheating to break my vow. So many faceless strangers were searching for a lay that night. All I had to do was to pick someone and get the deed done.

But first, I needed to confess. On the eve of my misdeeds, I wished someone would knock some sense into my head, a confidant who would tell me to be a little more patient.

The person who got in touch was a colleague and surrogate mother at work. She knew my situation, and that night, she told me to "push the button." She emboldened me to cross the line instead of making a hasty retreat. "You deserve to be happy," she said as parting words during our chat. With the taste of freedom at the tip of my tongue, I sent my number to a guy who lived nearby. I didn't ask what he looked like or was he masculine or effeminate. I just wanted to get laid. After I logged out from the computer, I put my phone in mute, and walked towards my destination:



I longed to be in a monogamous relationship. This is because I take romantic commitments very seriously. I don't like the idea of the beloved becoming fond of another. I hate getting jealous. I'm not used to fighting for attention. 

Also, I fear getting sick. 

I put so much value to my stick-to-one belief, that the swiftest way for me to walk away from a relationship is when the boyfriend admits to infidelity. I wouldn't mind starting over. 

I deserve a better partner.

But there are times the attachment is too strong, that the only way to break bonds with the other, is to find another. To make myself feel, the other isn't a loss. The first time I cheated, I did, because I had suspicions with my first boyfriend. That he was doing something behind my back. A big fight between us and I ran towards the dancing lights. There, I found another. 

It took only two weeks for me and the First to break up. I was right, I needed that distraction. And now that I'd be doing it again -

- the first of the countless transgressions I did with the Second, I sometimes regret not being firm when the first act of independence gave me a choice to be free.

Because prolonging the relationship for another three years brought only destruction. I mourned for the lost time.

I longed to be in a monogamous relationship and the first and only time it happened was with the Third - the one - whose union would cease two days from now, a year ago. And as I recollect the Emancipation Act and the events that followed - after it had failed. I sometimes wonder,

Is it possible to realize my aspiration, or embrace what reality has been all along?


One jeep ride and 20 minutes later, at a street corner where no one would know me, I met face to face with my emancipator.

Insomnia Poem XII

12:30 AM

Because sometimes, we let passion takes us. And the risk, the cost, and the energy we give away don't matter. We do it for reasons, that need no words.

Broken Vows

The Manila International Book Fair has always been a family tradition.

For the past couple of years, I would set aside some time to bring my mom to the SMX Convention Center. It used to be our date; our maternal bonding. For I know that books are her passion. She gives them away as presents, especially to kids at Christmas. At times, she just wants to be in the presence of tomes - searching for academic references she could add to her personal library. 

I let her indulge. 

This year was different. 

I thought of bringing a guy date for a change. Someone, who reads books more than I do. The date confessed he hasn't been to a book fair before. The revelation spurred an idea. It was an invitation I dangled, but something I haven't spoken. He hasn't told me when he is free, and I was running out of time. In the end, I decided to go to the Book Fair alone. 

I'd rather not have company.

I told my boss that I was sick. That I was too weak to get out of bed. But the truth was far from my pronouncements. While my team was trying to earn a living, I was at the gym, doing push-ups and lunges. The work-out was so intense that I've only managed to get to the Mall of Asia after sundown. On my phone was a Word Document listing all the kids I needed to buy presents. 

With cash on hand, I was geared for some guiltless book hunting.

But the moment I stepped foot inside the exhibit hall, I immediately felt the pangs of emptiness. Washed away was the thrill, when it used to be me and my mother doing the rounds. I had no one to show my loot; the bargains I rummaged from going around the exhibit booths. I had no one to remind that someone is overspending; that we no longer have space at home to stack the booty.

Disconsolation had set it and I have yet to buy something. I had names, but I was unable to decide what presents to give. I wandered aimlessly. Blamed myself for the confusion. The exhibit hall appeared alien to me and the books seemed not to matter. It was only when I caught glimpse of the children's crafts and remembered Bentusi's children did I find my ground. 

And so I began shopping.

I think of the children every time I go book hunting. It is because books were my companions when I was growing up. And even though I wasn't able to nurture the affinity, and that I didn't like getting books on Christmas, I wish not to deny someone the same chances that I had. Literacy is a gift a kid deserves to receive. And these days, when everyone scrambles to buy everything save for that one thing that enriches the mind, I go the opposite direction, hailing letters as the savior of mankind.

Still, little has changed at how the book fair is being run. Articles of religion dominate the convention. The retailers occupy the biggest spaces, with local publishing houses forced in cramped corners. The assortment of books too, didn't get better. Inspirational and self-help genres outnumber the short stories, studies and poems written by Filipino authors. 

The best-sellers remain those published abroad. 

It was a soulless expedition that leads me to question, not only my misguided decision to go solo, but also the future of book publishing and book reading in the country. Will we let stateside writers overwhelm us with their works? When will support for local writers come? With so many self-help and inspirational readings available, why are people still lonely? What is truth and happiness when everyone has a take on it? 

I left the convention center with less loot than I used to bring home in the past. No mention of my visit came out of my mouth and the evidence, I left hidden inside my unused closet. Realizing also that the kids who used to receive books from me are growing up, and it might be more practical to give presents that they can actually use, maybe the next time I return to the Book Fair, I would merely hum the melodies of nostalgia, or simply get books for my enjoyment.

.

Prologue:

Before I left home that afternoon.

"Mama may pera ka?" I looked at her inquisitively. In my head, I would just tell her to give me some cash so I can buy her the books she would give as presents.

"Meron naman, bakit?"

"Book Fair ngayon." I said. I didn't look at her in the eye. "Hanggang Sunday na lang kaya pupunta na ako."

"Uy kelan tayo puwede? Taon taon tayo nagdadate dun ah!"

"Not sure, may work ako eh." I paused for a bit.

"Sunday siguro, kung available ka." I said at last.

"Sige Sunday. Punta tayo."

Throw Away

The Baywalk, Million People March

When time comes I find no use anymore, cast me into the sea so I can drift away where memories can never reclaim me.

Postscripts To A Fiesta

Revelers we were. 

We have gathered at the Luneta to be seen and heard; to show our numbers, and with one voice howl to the heavens how our hard-earned cash in the form of taxes go to waste. Our hearts were full of angst; our eyes, with disgust. Yet, that overcast Monday morning we were in awe. Nobody thought the Million People March would have real people - in large numbers - sashaying in the streets.

I went there not to raise my fist and shake it in the air. Instead, I would like to look around and spot celebrities who would be coming to the event. There was Gang Badoy, whose group perched a First Aid tent beside the Museo Pambata. Dong Abay of Yano showed up to pay a visit to the Rock Ed educator. At the muddy grounds where humanity converged, I shook hands with the Inquirer columnist Randy David. I would have searched for other luminaries like Conrado De Quiros and Juana Change, but they were nowhere to be found.

Not within my vicinity.

There was no dominant voice at the Grandstand. The Left marched in, gave a thousand and one litanies about the sins of the government, and left to storm the Malacanang. Not a single moderate soul was swayed by the fiery speeches. Meanwhile, the moneyed ones held picnics and outdoor breakfasts; the kids took selfies and posted them on Instagram; and the rest came and left like curiousers queuing to see sideshows. The social progressives and religious had their separate activities. One was doing a signature drive to scrap Pork Barrel. The other was praying the rosary. Another group was shedding off fats by doing Zumba, while Rizalistas occupied a patch of soft earth and exhorted the national hero's undying virtues.

To be there felt like going to a funfair, where bizarre and amusing attractions compete for attention. Artists sang, walked around in their porcine costumes, did poetry reading beside colorful effigies. Ambulant vendors sold food and souvenirs, while park attendants roamed to pick garbage, which on that march did not even touch the ground. Hare Krishna devotees wandered while chanting prayers, a group of slender, Muslim women held placards condemning the misuse of the PDAF, and away from the crowd, law enforcers sat by the curb. Some policemen huddled at the middle of the boulevard while eager passersby stopped and posed for pictures with them.

I would like to believe that the Million People March was a spontaneous gathering, snowballed into a national event that was recognized and respected even by the highest leaders of the government. It wasn't meant to topple order, alter the social fabric or bring down the administration, but to push for reform, and remind those in power of their accountability to the public. It was also a testament to the power of social media, and that netizens don't only retweet or share memes, people actually are capable of going out in the streets - to demand change. For this reason, I went home assured that I did the nation a favor, and the scandal, despite being buried under heaps of other issues would still be in the headlines a month after the Heroes' Day protest took place.

And now that another rally is in the works - dubbed "Edsa Tayo" by its conveners - I don't think it will have the same sparkle of the Luneta march. Gone are the diversity and creativity seen at the Grandstand, and so are the social advocate leaders who urged the public to join. Those behind "Edsa" simply don't have the appeal and the goodwill, and with their dubious intentions persistently questioned even by those who lead the Left, I am most certain only few will show up.

Not even me would come.

Night Of The Fallen

Credit

To demonstrate the warp capabilities of the newly installed Deimon Gravimetric Engines, the Dreamwalkers have decided to activate the warp drive of the Planetship. It would move the massive vessel out of the planet's orbit and into regions of space never before mapped by the ship's stellar cartographers. A press of a button, and a pull of a lever had given way to a loud whirring sound. Within minutes, the proto-organic shell jerked backwards putting all its inhabitants (who were already ordered beforehand to stay inside their quarters) in a mild state of panic. However expected and inevitable the jump engine test is, the result went beyond the expectations of the Magisterium. When the Planetship dropped out of hyperspace, not only did the navigators learn the vast distance they covered within days, they found themselves face to face with the Blue Planet they dreaded so long ago.

"I guess we have to stay orbit for a while." sighed Chief Magistrate Aenepada confiding to an aide. "We still have to re-calibrate that wretched Deimon Drives before we can leave."

Looking at the window to gaze at the storm-patched oceanic world, deep within, he knew the planet below is the only shelter they have - from all the heartbreaks of their interstellar journey - for now.

Calderon Cocina Tapas Y' Bebidas

Construction work has begun in the apartment unit next to ours. The incessant pounding and steel bar cutting, digging of the ground to make way for a new foundation, and dropping of construction materials in the driveway have forced me to find a quiet place to pursue my writing assignments. It's my rest day and going to the office to use my desktop to do some task unrelated to my job is an abuse. Truth is, the idea of working elsewhere turns me off. Not only do I find the venture expensive, bringing the laptop in public entails a lot of risks.

I would rather stay entrenched inside my room.

But there is a deadline to beat and I have already scouted a cafe that has WiFi connection. However when I got there, the attendants apologized and said their broadband Internet is not working. So much for my plans to write in-style in a place overlooking the glitzy stretch of Shaw Boulevard. I have no choice but to seek alternatives, which at that moment isn't present.

Wilson street is just ten minutes walk away from Liberty Square. And I always knew I'd find a hole-in-the-wall corner where I can write my articles in peace. As I brisk walk to my unsure destination, I was telling Buchok how underrated the area is. Wilson, like Banaue street in Quezon City is a modern twist of Binondo. Food entrepreneurs hatch their ideas somewhere in these streets before expanding mainstream. 

Gloria Maris, Alex III and even North Park have their foothold in Wilson. They have patrons who are the Filipino-Chinese living in Greenhills and Little Baguio. I followed the food trail to Jose Abad Santos and in one of the obscure streets intersecting this drive, I found rows of fancy restaurants. Small and incubating, one of these culinary establishments will make it big inside the mall.

I have one restaurant to pick, and I chose a place a bit closer to memory. Before I left the tree-lined avenues of Diliman for my indefinite leave of absence, I took up Spanish class. Passing the language exam was supposed to be the last hurdle before I could pen my thesis in the Master's degree. Our Spanish instructor was too kind to let us have a taste of Spain. And in another hole-in-the-wall cafe in Teacher's Village, I had my first bite of Churros con Chocolate.

So I walked inside the Spanish-themed restaurant in San Juan to relish some memories.

Chocolate (P80)

Calderon Cocina Tapas y' Bebidas is a forgettable name, unless you keep it short by reminding yourself of the street where the snack bar opens its doors. It is one of the few places in the city serving Spanish cuisine. From my rudimentary Espanol, Tapas 'y Bebidas mean snacks and beer. True to its name, Calderon has stocks of alcoholic drinks fermented from breweries in Spain.

A culinary adventure was never my intention. For when I walked in, the first question I asked is if the restaurant has WiFi. When the waitstaff answered in the affirmative, I requested for the menu and scanned the offerings - I have to buy something to complement my stay. The main courses are priced around P500 while the entrees begin at P150.

A bit pricey if you ask me.

So I asked for a cup of chocolate as I set up my writing space. The scene, reminiscent of a past reminds me of how times have changed. With the laptop switched on, and the Word Document ready to input the first words for my article, I could just imagine glancing the Other working across the table. It was him who introduced me to coffee shops. Now two autumns later, I find myself in a near empty cafe, being served with a warm drink in a tangerine ceramic cup.

"Not bad," a sip, and a whiff of almond complements the taste of real cocoa.

In one of the hardwood tables that can sit four people, I did my freelancing work. Guitar strung Spanish ballads played in the background, whose lyrics were being twisted by uninstructed attendants. The quaint furniture reminded you of some countryside pub somewhere in Catalunya. The dim lighting was in contrast with sprightly dining sets. It was the perfect ambiance for a European dining experience.

I was there from sundown to late dinner, and apart from the huddled guests in another table behind me, no one arrived for an evening meal. Another cup of hot chocolate and my stay is over. I asked for my bill: A measly P200 if I add my tip.

Indulgence didn't happen that night given my need to keep my resources in check, and with my solitary and unannounced presence, a feast may not be appropriate. Perhaps, another visit would be an opportune time to savor the dishes - the Paellas and Pollos Ibericos. And as I pay homage to a memory - of that someone who dreams of seeing the world and writing programming codes in a quiet cafe, I glanced at the empty chair across my table - believing that soon, a new experience will come along and I would go back for an intimate dinner, replete with life-changing conversations

- this time with another.

The Churros can wait and so are the Bebidas. Much still is to be written.


  

Throwback Tuesday

Previously: Trusteeship 

The first week of the month is a boon to the family.

You see, sometime last year, the new owner of my dad's newspaper business held a meeting with my mother. It was to formalize his position after he took over the entire operations from my dad's ex business partner (read: mistress). The plan was to tap us as witness in case the ex business partner brings the issue to court. We are the heirs after all. The new lord even promised that we will have a share on whatever income the tabloid generates. We were elated. We would learn later on that the ex-business partner had already erased my father's name in every document she submitted to the government. 

Nevertheless, the informal agreement was already sealed and so we continue to receive a monthly paycheck.

What makes my last visit different is that as I signed the receipt receiving the royalty, a chinky-eyed guy emerged from the publisher's office. He was slightly taller than me and twice as massive. He wore faded jeans, a green shirt and held an Apple gadget. One look, and I knew he was no ordinary kid. He would never be mistaken as a mere employee as his gait hinted his place in the hierarchy. 

I overheard him asking for ten thousand pesos to the staff's surprise. Her eyebrows creased as she was explaining earlier to an old shoddy guy beside me that they were having difficulties getting payments from dealers. The publisher suddenly showed up. His presence made everyone feel awkward outside his quarters. 

To hurriedly leave would be impolite as the big boss is now standing before me. Much as I wish not to be noticed, I was a few steps away from his office. I was the first person he saw when he scanned the room. There was no place to hide. Not even the corner where I pretended to read old issues of our newspaper. As he gave instructions to his staff, his voice roared like thunder in an open field. We never spoke a word. Just a quick nod to acknowledge my presence.

And as I watch the events unfold before me - with the new lord standing there, and with the boy and his girl companion giving a peck on his cheek before walking away, there was a familiar resonance that stirred a dormant memory.

This scene has happened before.

"Ah si Sir Jake?" The staff said after the party left the room. Jake is not the real name of the boy I was observing. "Anak nga siya ni sir. Siya ang boss namin dito." She pursed her lips to point at the desk where the kid drops his work stuff. It was adjacent to the quarters where the new owner holds office.

"I'm sure he lingers longer inside his dad's room." I thought. "I remember someone who had the same habit before."

Parallel lives seen in a moment's time lapse. As I wobbled down the stairs - befuddled as the boy's image once reflected mine, my head spins with flashbacks of my own narrative. 

For once, a long long time ago, I used to have that strange gait when I walk towards the publisher's office. I used to have a desk in the room where the circulation and accounting department do business, and I used to kiss my dad on his cheek in full view of our employees - even when the mistress is around. In a workplace where family and professional ties blur the relationship, affirmation is revealed to assert how blood is thicker than business.

Thinking of the chinky-eyed boy and his rugged looks as I put ourselves in perspective, may his fate shine a little brighter, than what our diminished fortunes ebbed our lives.