Fast Car

There
are some things
that can only be
truly appreciated
after dark.

Commonwealth Avenue, Quezon City

---


You got a fast car
But is it fast enough so we can fly away
We gotta make a decision
We leave tonight or live and die this way

Tracy Chapman, Fast Car

Monthsary | Reset Button

Kung sana ang puso
ay hindi namimili ng iibigin,
marahil ngayon ay
may isang kabiyak ka nang tinatawag
at ang mga monthsary entries
na kagaya nito ay isang ala-ala
na lamang ng pitong buwang pag-iintay
sa panibagong nilalang na bubuo sa iyo.

---

With the Odinhood and Shuriken Pacts already dissolved, nothing could stop you from searching. But with trouble brewing at home, wonder if you would let someone take you away from the sunless kingdoms

and let others join you in your struggle.

Avenida: The Manila COD Interludes

After J. Dalisay Jr.

---

I think I was eight or nine years old when my mother and I would scour the entire stretch of Avenida in search for a great bargain. Sometimes, we would go there to buy some groceries or just do window shopping, especially when times were difficult and budget was tight.

She would pick me up at around 7 in the evening coming from her day-long teaching job at a state university. We would take a short jeep ride from our house in Santa Mesa to the fringes of Recto, and then ride another jeepney going towards the direction of Carriedo.

I remember, she would always sit beside the driver (and sometimes even asking the man in front to surrender his seat and ride at the back) for she can't lift her feet up the steps at the rear entry of the passenger vehicle. She's disabled since birth and her feet were limited to cover just a few blocks when used for walking.

The jeep would drop us off at Uniwide Sales Club just below the LRT Carriedo Station, where mom would buy a few items to fill our small provisions cabinet: Laundry soaps, toiletries like Pepsodent toothpaste and Tender Care Bath soap, and several canned goods (which include Maggie Chicken Noodles, 555 Tomato Sardines and Hunt's Pork and Beans). After roaming the aisles for a few hours, off we head to the cashier section to pay our goods. Mother would sometimes pay in cash, but often, use her gift cheques acquired from salary swapping in school.

We would leave the supermarket just in time for the closing. Since there's no use competing with other bystanders waiting to get a ride home, mom would limp her way back to Recto, clutching her bag of groceries on her left hand, while holding mine on another. When time was free. Goodwill Bookstore served as our pit stop and resting grounds before trudging again the barely lit sidewalks of Avenida.

When inside the bookstore, mom would set her eyes on the stack of books marked as SALE. She would pick one, browse its contents while letting me check out the coloring booklets and animal-themed domino sets not far from where she stood. We were just there for the window shopping, however, when we find ourselves in front of the already closed bookstore, we move on and rest our feet at the nearby Manila COD Department Store instead.

Manila COD sat next to Madison Department Store. Both stores sold clothes, shoes and household items at discounted prices. I could not recall if these thrift shops had any distinction that would set them apart, but both stores had a profound impact which still make ripples when it comes to my buying habits.

One night, a few minutes before closing time, mom and I entered Manila COD. She immediately went to the household items area while I ran towards the toys section to check for new die-cast miniature cars on display. It was never my habit to hold my mom hostage when I like something so much, but when I found one die-cast toy car impossible to resist, I resolved to hold my ground until mom gives in.

And so I made it a point to get noticed - not by crying like some brats do - but by pressing my head against the glass window and ignoring her calls for us to leave. I stayed in that position until mom, asked these few questions which still echoes whenever I find myself deadlocked when buying expensive stuffs nowadays.

"Kailangang kailangan mo ba yan anak?"

"Hindi ba puwedeng ipostpone yan?"

"Anong kapalit na gagawin mo kapag binili ko ito?"

One would get tempted to say that I was conditioned to consider everything first before acquiring toys at a young age. It maybe viewed as repression on my part but as I grew older, I learned to appreciate the lessons mother tried to teach me. In truth, we could not afford indulging ourselves with material gains, but rather than let my unprepared ears hear what she had to imply, mom applied psychology to let me see things her way.

With much prodding from the salesladies who surrounded us, (for the store was already closed and they were probably itching to go home) mom gave up and bought the Fuchsia Toyota Crown which I had set my eyes on since arriving there that evening. Because she spent the budget set for our dinner for my new toy car, she resisted the urge to stop at Stateside Burger for us to grab something to eat.

Our stomachs were empty when we arrived home at past midnight.

---

Avenida is dying. The old nooks of my childhood - the sundry movie houses showing the latest films; the thrift shops that lined the street; and even the Stateside Burger Joint at the corner of Recto and Avenida are now gone. Save for Madison's Department Store, whose passing is as imminent as its geriatric Tsinoy captain and its crew of aged salesladies, what is left of Avenida are rows and rows of Ukay-ukay stores, cellphone repair shops, a couple of motels and a handful of seedy beer houses which have already turned the strip into a derelict.

I do not know if an urban renewal plan could turn the place around, but as I passed by the same sidewalk this evening on my way home, I cannot help but trace back the steps which my mom and I used to tread during our bonding nights. Amidst the cigarette vendors, low - key prostitutes and vagrants of all lore, I was busy recollecting my thoughts to re-imagine the Avenida that was.

The Manila COD Diaries (First Part)

Notes written for on-the-job training documentation purposes. Original notebook still survives.

Wordings and tenses modified to improve the clarity of each entry.

---

Monday. November 24, 1997

"Today we went to Manila COD to attend the orientation. There were around 10 of us from my batch and the speaker talked endlessly about using the time card, the rules and regulations of the company, the allowance we will receive at the end of our duty and the control gate where we need to show up first and be frisked before reporting to our respective departments within the store premises..."

Sunday. November 30, 1997

"Tonight is the eve of my OJT. I want to spend my free time lounging and doing nothing at home because I will miss bumming for quite some time. I'm very tense of what will happen tomorrow because I don't know if I can survive the hardships of being a salesclerk...

...I know that later on, my life will go back to normal and this opportunity will be my key to the future...

I expect problems specially adjusting to my new environment because I don't have any experience working before. I expect troubles coming my way knowing how stupid and clumsy I could become sometimes."

Monday. December 1, 1997

"Today is the first day of work. I left PUP at around 1:40 pm and ate dinner shortly after arriving in Cubao believing that we will stay up until 9:00 pm. When we showed up at the control gate, the security personnel asked us to proceed to the HR department to claim our time card and ID. We went back to the CG after receiving final instructions, where we found our supervisors restlessly waiting...

I was assigned to the Boys Wear Department...

...I encountered different kinds of customers. At first, I asked them how I could be of assistance. Most of them only got annoyed and avoided my presence. Later on, I learned a new technique in handling customers. I would just stand beside them, like the mannequins around us, until they approach me and seek my assistance. That was how I was able to close 7 sales on my first day..."

Tuesday. December 2, 1997

"It's my second day at work and I am still adjusting to my new surroundings. I arrived at past 3 in the afternoon since we stayed first in my classmate's house near COD. There's nothing to worry about since they expect us to report later in the afternoon...

The supervisor was absent so there's no pressure in my department. I was introduced to the sales assistants, most of them have been with COD for decades, and the other 2 trainees from our school. These trainees were from college. Although I was not able to memorize their names, except for Sir Manny who was assigned to be my guide yesterday, I came up with nicknames to get acquainted with my new workmates.

... I had a customer, she's an old woman and from her looks, one would get an impression that she does not earn well. But I was touched because even if she looks poor, he bought 3 pairs of shorts and shirts which are on sale for her three kids.

... I was able to use the intercom to request for sizes and additional stocks for the first time. I was also able to hold and verify a credit card without any assistance from the other sales assistants. What a great achievement!

... We left the store at 9:15. Bad Trip! I was left behind when all my classmates made sabit at the jeep. There was no space available and if I force myself to hitch at the side rails, there's a good chance of falling off the vehicle."


Sunday. December 7, 1997

"Busy day at work. There were a lot of customers at the store because of the sale yesterday. Unfortunately, there were many of us trainees as well so I wasn't approached very often. It's my worst day of the week because I came late for the first time. I also lost my company ID and school ID this evening. I wasn't able to find them."

---

Next door is COD Department Store, which is known for its animated Christmas tableaux. One of the biggest department stores in the country during the ’70s, COD is owned by the family of Ral del Rosario Jr. who was once a swimming champion in the Asian Games. People came in droves during the holidays just to see the COD display. All the shows are Christmas in theme, but the motif would change every year. One time it was a rustic celebration of Christmas; another time, it was Christmas in outer space, with Santa Claus emerging from a spaceship. For years, it was an event for many shoppers to drop by Cubao just to see the show.

Rikki Jimenez
Remembering the Araneta Center during Dekada ’70



I just found Sir Manny's Friendster after publishing this entry. Ah the joys of remembering. Hope he still remembers.




-tobecontinued-

Escape Velocity

When humans question the validity of their existence, they look up in the sky and dream of the stars.

Some civilizations even send their flying machines to outer space just to be reminded that some future awaits them among the company of heavens.

The Baikonur Cosmodrome (Kazakh: Байқоңыр ғарыш айлағы, Bayqoñır ğarısh aylağı; Russian: Космодром Байконур, Kosmodrom Baykonur), also called Tjuratam, is the first and largest operational space launch facility in the world. It is located in the desert steppes of Kazakhstan, about 200 kilometers east of the Aral Sea and north of the Syr Darya river, near Tjuratam railway station. The facility derives its name from a wider area known as Baikonur and is also traditionally linked with the town of Zhezqazghan. It is leased by the Kazakh government to Russia and is managed by the Russian Federal Space Agency. It was originally built by the Soviet Union in the late 1950s as the base of operations for its ambitious space program, but fell into decline in the years after the dissolution of the Soviet Union in December 1991.

Vostok 1, the first manned spacecraft in human history, was launched from one of Baikonur's launch pads, which is presently known as the Gagarin's Start.


The John F. Kennedy Space Center (KSC) is the NASA space vehicle launch facility and Launch Control Center (spaceport) on Merritt Island, Brevard County, Florida, United States. The site is near Cape Canaveral, midway between Miami and Jacksonville, Florida. It is 55 kilometers long and around 10 kilometers wide. A total of 13,500 people work at the site as of 2008. There is a visitor center and public tours; KSC is a major tourist destination for visitors to Florida. Because much of KSC is a restricted area and only nine percent of the land is developed, the site also serves as an important wildlife sanctuary; Mosquito Lagoon, Indian River, Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge and Canaveral National Seashore are also features of this area.

Operations are currently controlled from Launch Complex 39, the location of the Vehicle Assembly Building. The two launch pads are 3 miles (5 km) to the east of the assembly building. The KSC Industrial Area, where many of the Center's support facilities and the administrative Headquarters Building are located, are found 5 miles (8 km) south.

Kennedy Space Center's only launch operations are at Launch Complex 39. All other launch operations take place at the adjacent Cape Canaveral Air Force Station (CCAFS), which is operated by the US Air Force.


The Guiana Space Centre, or more commonly, Centre Spatial Guyanais (CSG) is a French spaceport near Kourou in French Guiana. Operational since 1968, it is particularly suitable as a location for a spaceport due to its proximity to the equator, and the fact that launches in the favourable direction are over water. The European Space Agency, the French space agency CNES, and the commercial Arianespace company conduct launches from Kourou.

The location was selected in 1964 to become the spaceport of France. When the European Space Agency (ESA) was founded in 1975, France offered to share Kourou with ESA. Commercial launches are bought also by non-European companies. ESA pays two thirds of the spaceport's annual budget, and has also financed the upgrades made during the development of the Ariane launchers.


Jiuquan Satellite Launch Center (JSLC) (simplified Chinese: 酒泉卫星发射中心; traditional Chinese: 酒泉衛星發射中心; pinyin: Jiǔquán Wèixīng Fāshè Zhōngxīn) is a People's Republic of China space vehicle launch facility (spaceport) in the Gobi desert, Inner Mongolia, located about 1,600 km from Beijing.

It was founded in 1958, making it PRC's first of three spaceports. More Chinese launches have occurred at Jiuquan than anywhere else. As with all Chinese launch facilities it is remote and generally closed to foreigners. It is named as such since Jiuquan is the nearest urban centre, although Jiuquan is in the nearby province of Gansu.

The Satellite Launch Center is a part of Dongfeng space city，also known as Base 10 or Dongfeng base, which also includes PLAAF test flight facilities, a space museum and a martyr's cemetery.

JSLC is usually used to launch vehicles into lower and medium orbits with large orbital inclination angles, as well as testing medium to long-range missiles. Its facilities are state of the art and provide support to every phase of a satellite launch campaign. The site includes the Technical Center, the Launch Complex, the Launch Control Center, the Mission Command and Control Center and various other logistical support systems.

The center covers a massive 2800 km and may have housing for as many as 20 000 people. The facilities and launch support equipment were likely modelled on Soviet counterparts and the Soviet Union, at least in the early 1960s, may have provided technical support to Jiuquan.

The launch center has been the focus of many of China's ventures into space, including their first satellite Dong Fang Hong 1 in 1970, and their first manned space mission Shenzhou 5 on October 15, 2003.

Shenzhou 6, the second human spaceflight of China, launched on 12 October 2005 on a Long March rocket from JSLC.



The Satish Dhawan Space Centre (SHAR) (सतीश धवन अंतरिक्ष केंद्र) is the launch centre for the Indian Space Research Organisation (ISRO). It is located in Sriharikota in Andhra Pradesh, India and is also referred to as Sriharikota. The centre is located 80 kilometres north of Chennai in South India. It was originally called Sriharikota Range, and was sometime known as Sriharikota Launching Range. The centre was renamed to its present name in 2002 after the death of ISRO's former chairman Satish Dhawan.

The centre became operational in October, 1971 when an RH-125 sounding rocket was launched. The first attempted launch of an orbital satellite, Rohini 1A aboard a Satellite Launch Vehicle, took place in 1979, but due to a failure in thrust vectoring of the rocket's second stage, the satellite's orbit decayed.

The SHAR facility now consists of two launch pads, with the second built recently. The second launch pad was used for launches beginning in 2005 and is a universal launch pad, accommodating all the launch vehicles used by ISRO. The two launch pads will allow multiple launches in a single year, which was not possible earlier.

India's lunar orbiter Chandrayaan 1 was launched from the centre last October 22, 2008.

---

Several centuries earlier -- legend says about 1500 AD, around the middle of the Ming Dynasty -- a Chinese stargazer named Wan Hu dreamed of going where no man had gone before and set out to turn that dream into space age reality.

According to the legend, Wan, a local government official, was obsessed by the stars and planned a rather harebrained scheme to get himself closer to them.

Wan tied 47 rockets filled with explosives to the chair in which he was sitting and ignited them. There was a large explosion, but when the smoke cleared Wan Hu was gone and never seen again.

Instaboylet

"Pare puwede ka ba makausap?"

The tone of his text message revealed a sense of urgency. Instead of responding with another text message, I immediately called his number to get into the heart of his distress call.

His name is Zoey, a straight tropa back from college. We may not see each other regularly but in times of trouble, I usually get the first SOS message. So I knew how to act and this time my hunches were correct.

"Na trouble ako dude, may kilala ka kayang nagpapa-room for rent?"

It didn't take long for me to figure out his story. Apparently, his life is under threat from elements he has no idea. His hassles began after a series of affairs with women of acquaintance last week. Being a marketable bachelor, it wasn't hard for him to get the attention of the ladies he wanted.

I would have referred him to a friend who might know someone who offers his space for rent but the tone of his voice required a delicate maneuvering. We have been this way since college. When thing get beyond his control, it was me who often takes the burden away from him.

Realizing that he needed a company, I offered my place as a sanctuary. It would be like the old days again except this time,

He knows I am not straight.

---

Afternoon came and our updates became increasingly recurrent like how lovers send text messages to one another. Maybe I was exaggerating our digital exchanges for I was feeling a little mushy at that time. Who wouldn't be, I was blissfully having a stroll around the tree-lined roads of Diliman as tracks after tracks of Alternative Music played on my iPod. Sun rays peaked through the canopy of trees giving the surroundings a portrait of a perfect sunset. Sweaty joggers passed by but my mind was elsewhere. I was painting a scene of two male lovers exchanging vows of companionship under the clear blue sky.

The daydream would have went on if not for Zoey's request to pick him up in his office somewhere in Roxas Boulevard.

And so I left the serene landscape of my university to wade through the chaotic streets of Manila. An hour later, I found myself in Zoey's lobby waiting for him to leave his cubicle. He showed up 15 minutes later visibly distraught at how his charms backfired on him.

---

"Ikaw kasi eh, dami mong tsiks." I jested to the visibly annoyed casanova.

The journey going home was uneventful. There were no car chases or hooded men on bikes following our cab. My companion would call a family member or two to inform them of his whereabouts. He was visibly exhausted after days of sleeplessness. We proceeded directly to my room when we arrived home. There were no awkward introductions to housemates because I was assured that I brought home someone my mother knew way back from long ago.

It was like the old times again.

Zoey was the first guy I met in college. I remember our first introductions beside the stairs while waiting for our class to start. He was my platoon mate in ROTC so there were times he slept over at my place especially when we were needed to report in the field at 6 in the morning. There was even a time he was my Valentines Date after our dates ditched us that morning. We watched a movie together in Megamall and ate lunch in one of the restaurants at the ground floor. Despite the good times, our friendship was never an ideal one. We drifted apart sometime in our sophomore year after a brief confrontation about the reality of our friendship. He wasn't used to being looked after especially by a guy who is far taller than him. I had long suspected that our unbreakable bond fed the imagination of everyone and he was being pressured to push me away lest he might be seen as someone tripping over the homo line. I pulled back after that confrontation and found someone who appreciated my devotion as a tropa.

However it was us who drifted apart after third year and Zoey continued to linger on even beyond our university years.

He changed into his sleeping attire when we entered my room. There were no conversations after we lied on the bed for I already sounded the alarm as a precaution for a possible assault. We never had histories of being intimate but knowing how I respond to provocations, a slightest hint even from a long-time tropa like him will be met in kind. I cannot deny that he perfectly fits the profile of guys I flirt in Malate and what held me at bay was my no-first strike policy in any intimate matters with men.

Zoey fell asleep immediately after placing his head on one of my pillows.

---

The night was a fairy tale which allowed us to live a life like we had a decade ago.

I woke up Zoey at past ten thirty to have our dinner. In our younger days, we would eat at the same time after exhausting our senses playing Need For Speed or Worms Armageddon the whole evening. That night, the maid prepared Pork Adobo and Hard Boiled Eggs for our supper. Mom was watching her favorite telenovela in the sala so they were able to update each others lives while the table was being set for our hapunan. After dinner has ended, we went out to get some fresh air. The truth was, we just wanted to puff a stick of cigarette and have a little bonding time for ourselves. It didn't take long and we're back again in my room. He checked some emails and viewed the Friendster accounts of his ladies before returning to my bed.

Tired and exhausted from my bouts with insomnia the nights before, I only ensured his comfortable return to dreamland before I followed suit.

It's been six years since I outed myself during a drinking session with him. I was happily taken and I felt compelled spilling the beans when he told me his romantic endeavors with girls. He was the first straight guy to know my new-found life and the acceptance wasn't easy; it was a slow and cumbersome process.

Through the years of sticking together, he learned to see me the way he did back in college. I returned the favor by acting as straight as possible when he is around. However, recalling how he nearly provoked me the last time we were left alone in his place, letting him sleep beside me was a huge risk. I didn't even know if it was premeditated or he was ready for anything knowing how two single men of the same wavelength but opposite polarity almost always find themselves in the battlefield called bed.

But control prevailed that night. I have to or I may never be able to stand my ground again. The inconvenience wasn't easy. For someone who barely wears anything in his sleep, I had to put two boxers on and a white rugged sando to cover my muscular body. I even had to wrap myself in a blanket all night and put a veritable distance between us to ensure that no moment of hostility could ever exist as we slept. For the first time in many years, I was able to lie down beside another guy without any incident to ponder after waking up the following morning.

The exercise of control was liberating. It was like turning my back from all the years where lust held sway over my man-to-man affairs.

---

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing. Umaga na. Subalit anumang pilit ko bumalik sa pagtulog, sadyang pinigil ako ng insomnia para mahimbing muli.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing. Gising na parekoy. May pasok ka pa sa trabaho.

"Five minutes" ang mahina niyang sagot sa akin.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing. Pati ang alarm clock ng cellphone ko ay nakiisa na rin sa dalawa niyang alarm clock. Magulang ako, pati sarili kong body clock ay dinadaya ko upang mapahaba lang ang mga oras na gising ako. Nagdesisyon akong mag-gym ng alas-sais ng umaga.

Bumangon siya matapos ang sampung minuto upang maligo. Ako naman ay nag-ayos ng kama at nagbihis habang nag-iintay sa kanyang pagbabalik. Matapos maligo, ako naman ang bumaba upang magsipilyo at maghilamos. Umaga na nga... oras na para bumalik sa aming kanya-kanyang mundo.

Lumabas kami ng bahay na magkasabay. Siya ay naka-slacks at barong tagalog. Ako naman ay naka-fitted shirt at maluwag na pantalon. Ang layo ng ayos naming dalawa kahit na iisa lang kami ng pinanggalingan. Hinatid ko siya sa sakayan. Matapos ang ilang minuto ay nakapara ito ng taxi.

Papasikat na ang araw. Ang mga pupils mula sa isang elementary school malapit sa amin ay nagmamadali na makatawid ng kalsada. Sa mga oras na iyon ay naiwan akong nakatayo, mga mata'y sinusundan ang papalayo niyang sasakyan.

Hindi ko man lubusang aaminin ngunit ng mga oras na iyon - mula nang kami'y nagising sa iisang higaan hanggang sa pagsabay naming lumabas ng bahay at mag-abang ng masasakyan sa daan, isa lang ang naglalaro sa utak ko.

It's like all over again.

Para akong biglang nagkaroon ng kabiyak,

kahit ito'y isang pang- magdamagan lamang.

Ringworld | Putomaya

Imagination sets the stage for this blog to exist. I compare the journey to a colony ship sailing the space between stars to carry the seeds of expression to a distant world. The planet landing was my first entry. It may appear more like a writing exercise but the free-flow of thoughts was a liberating experience. The earliest blog entries spoke about friendship. It was the Odders. Though I may appear more of a wallflower in our little gatherings, I was their chronicler. Many years later, when everyone else in the group closed down their blogs, it was through me that our memories gained immortality. I began as a follower of a bandwagon. I ended up challenging time to scrutinize my work.

Many would ask why I do I write. What happiness do I gain in keeping histories even if it takes two to four hours to weave a story. Answers reveal ambiguity. There is no true reason for writing. I just enjoy it. The blog owes it existence to the constant downplay of my potentials. I look down on my words and styles so that I may be challenged to change it. I break down walls to see a bigger life beyond my sexuality. I took great pains to evolve and pretend that nobody ever reads me. I even turn down my stirrings of publishing a book, so that the blog itself would continue to live on because of my struggles.

And so the blog thrives six years after its stellar glimmer first caught attention in this part of space.

As some bloggers contemplate on closing down their online realms, (for one reason or another) while others turn them into a money-generating machine (with their contents becoming less and less engaging) I continue to adhere to expression and creativity. It must be the reason why I gain followers even if I don't usually leave my presence when reading other blogs. It's been a long journey I tell you. Even my words have changed after years and years of persistent writing.

But I guess there is no stopping. So long as there is a story worth sharing and so long as there is someone out there who longs to write their stories - to express themselves in wind whispers, - then I will continue to serve and become a motivator for these people to write.

For the goal of writing is not really to impress, or gain monetary rewards or being read by people. Such rewards come with time, humility and maturity. Writing is an artistic creation worthy of permanence. It is a method of expression that liberates the soul. It doesn't matter if words are flawed or other writers seem so mighty, that one feels they should never take their place. I've been to gatherings where rubbing elbows with prominent bloggers is unavoidable. I exchange pleasantries with dot.com masters and online demi-gods with a sense of insecurity and awkwardness at the back of my head.

Funny how I see myself as someone small even if the blog reveals having 76 followers (which I religiously follow and read in between my writing breaks)

It's because no matter where I find myself and no matter how many recognitions and complements I receive because of Mugenblog, I always look back at the first entry and remember how such simple act of posting juvenile thoughts online would actually lead to planet -wide reverberations.

Thank you for reading.

"This is the first time I'll be posting in my blog. Phew, it was a very long time since I did this journal thing. Maybe its time to move on... everybody's doing it so why can't I?

I can't remember who said it but when a friend posted at the Yahoo Groups that my friends would get bored posting their thoughts at the online message board, a sudden bite of reality caught me. Everybody's migrating already and I guess it's also time for me to go. No matter what assurance I get from them, I think that the exodus bound to happen. I dunno but the migration thing really got me.

I was quite shocked with what happened to Henry lately. I never thought his buddy would play tricks behind his back. Sabagay, in this kind of life, those things are most likely to happen. The thing is, no matter how I deny it, there's something in me that's kinda worried with what his bud has done to him. Parang naiisip ko what if my bud did those things to me. Shempre, I would become helpless. Kahit ilang beses ko sabihin na I will move on and return to being a fucker mode, it would definitely destroy everything that I've built for the past 10 months. Sana totoo ngang seryoso ang bud ko sa akin. I'm already looking forward in sharing a future with him and I hope he'll never fuck the chance to enjoy a life with me.

Anyway that's all for now. I have to prepare for the contingent this evening. Maybe I'll post back again proximus. It's nice to see you back."

Colony Ship Landed
February 24, 2004

Glint Of Starlight

May Viagra na pala sa Davao City mga suki.

Ayon sa ating mga sources, P80 bawat piraso ang halaga ng nasabing sex pill.

Para sa mga Pinoy na may problema sa kanilang ibong adorno, chicken feed lamang ang nasabing presyo.

Iyon nga lamang, duda tayo kung kakagatin ng mga Pinoy ang nasabing produkto.

Alam ninyo naman ang ating lahi, mas problema natin kung papaano magpapalambot kaysa sa pagpapatigas.

o0o

Tama lamang sa kano ang produktong Viagra.

Kalahati sa kanilang male population ay baklain at ang natitirang kalahati palambutin.

Sabi nga ng isa nating babaeng kaibigan na sukat na pumatol sa kano, para raw matandang uugod-ugod ang sa kano.

Kailangan umanong hawakan at akayin upang matumbok ang daan na ibig tahakin.

Hindi katulad anya ng sa Pinoy; kahit na patay ang ilaw, basta't butas, pasak!

Suwak!

o0o

Bakit klik ang Viagra?

Susme, parang hindi na kayo nasanay sa ating male population.

Pumasok kayo sa loob ng simbahan, karamihan sa mga nakaupo at nagdarasal ay mga bata at mga kababaihan.

Ang mga kalalakihan? Nasa pinto ng simbahan. Naninigarilyo. Seryosong may pinaguusapan.

Pupusta tayo, ang topic ng kanilang usapan kung hindi pulitika ay kalibugan at agham.

At kung may kelot na nagdarasal sa loob ng simbahan, ang kaniyang dasal ay hindi ang pag-ulan ng kuwarta.

Iyon ay ang pag-ulan ng mga Osang Roces, Ara Mina, Piel Morena, Izza Ignacio, Aya Papaya, Rita Pukersiya etc.

o0o

Noong ating kapanahunan, madalas nating itanong sa ating sarili kung tayo ay sex maniac.

Kase ba naman, binubuliglig tayo suki ng mga ala-ala nina Eva Marie, Scarlett Revilla, Rizza at kung sinu-sino pa. Dose oras na sila lamang ang laman ng ating utak.

Nagtanong tayo sa ating mga kaibigan. Napailing sila. Naawa sa atin.

Abnoy daw tayo.

Sila kasi ay twenty four hours na pinagpapantasyahan ang mga chicks na ito.

o0o

Ngayong tayo ay magkaroon ng anak na lalaki ay madalas nating itanong sa ating sarili kung ano kaya ang kanyang iniisip.

Sabi nga ng commercial; what's on your mind?

Kamakailan ay natuklasan natin ang kanyang pinapangarap. Nagsalita siya habang nanaginip.

Marahil ay ito rin ang laman ng utak ng mga kabataan sa ngayon.

Ano iyon?

Pentium 2 300 (MHz),
32 MB-RAM
1.44 MB FDD
2.0 GB HDD
2 MB Video Card
SVGA Colored Monitor,
with server

Ayon sa kanya, kung ibig niyang makipag-usap sa kanyang kapwa kabataan ay mayroon silang chatline, kung ibig niyang sumulat ay may E-mail, at may strategy games siyang pinaglalaruan na "laro umano ng may utak."

Siya umano ay naka-on line

Tang'na, weirdo na talaga ang mga kabataan!

Nawala na ang mga curacha sa kanilang isipan.

o0o

Remate Tonight
May 30, 1998
Columm Title: Viagra 2

---

It was the dawn of a new age. Internet has just arrived in the country. To ride with the changing times, I wrote a letter to my dad requesting him to upgrade my desktop computer.

The letter was written in a juvenile and haphazard fashion. I just graduated from a state-funded high school and the prospects of competing in an upscale university made me a little insecure with my resources. I do not remember the contents of my letter, but I emphasized the need for an upgrade so I could catch up and be at the forefront of the information age.

He didn't respond to my letter. I thought that my plea was rejected.

In truth, I sought to have a computer upgrade so I could play all the strategy games that has become my addiction during those days: Civilization 2, Master of Orion: Battle At Antares, Transport Tycoon, Warcraft 2, etc. I needed a computer with faster processing abilities so I can out-guy every computer geek I would meet in school. He didn't find out my ulterior motives, but nevertheless, he took no interest to my appeal.

Until I found out weeks later that he made reference to my letter in his daily columns.

My dad was a writer - a prolific and respected one during his lifetime. Many political personalities sought his opinion on how to reach out to the masses - the maralita who understood his every word. My dad and I never saw each other eye to eye, but now I understand that despite his imperfections and shortcomings, he did his best to ensure that we will have a future that is better than his broken and sad childhood.

The wise men of the ancients said to honor thy parents' name even after they have long past, for in their noble memory one finds peace and contentment in life. It took me two years and a dream encounter to finally settle the scores that kept us cold and distant in the twilight days of his life.

Four years and an online journal that could stand up to his tabloid writings, I give honor to my father by letting his voice resonate throughout the endless corners of cyberspace.

Sana ang kanyang kaisa-isang naiwang column sa akin ay magpapatunay na kahit magkaiba man ang naging direksyon ng aming buhay, hindi kailanman nawala ang pag-ibig namin sa wika.

Mabuhay ka dad. In a few years time, ang naging boses mo ay magiging boses ko na rin.

Reconnaissance

Slow is the breeze caressing my cheeks, in this moonless night I remember. Crumpled sheets sprawled on my weary bed, as pale blue light from the TV screen illuminate the walls of this silent room. Empty thoughts become a distraction, turning my gaze away from a dreaded sunrise. Another day, another cycle, it sometimes makes me wonder how long before this suspended animation ends. A muffled breathe, a stare into the blank ceiling, a tapping of the fingers on the plastic ebony keyboard while letters appear on my computer. Words have the power to both heal and inflict pain. When words leave no meaning; when sentences print only artificial thoughts, then perhaps there is no use transmitting this message at all:

I am a satellite drifting the space between worlds and in those millions of stars and trillions of planets, perhaps it is not yet meant to find my orbit around a new homeworld.

Ridge Racer

Parked precariously beside a ridge somewhere along Sumulong Highway, the Red Mazda 3 bears witness to a promise. Seated in the front seat, I was just steps away from a steep drop below. Despite the seemingly precarious state I found myself in, the risk was well worth it.

In front of me was a panoramic view of Manila - sleeping yet sparkling under the sheets of a cold night. Rows upon rows of houses were twinkling below, while beyond, were glittering concrete skyscrapers silhouetted in the dark. Looking at the patterns of light - of roads and highways lit by lamp posts; of homes illuminated by tiny light bulbs perched on garages and front doors, one would see a web of interconnection. The lights reveal that everything under the same night sky fears being mislead by the darkness.

My heart was racing when I first set my gaze into the horizon . The person who accompanied me there may not have noticed it, but for a few seconds I had some difficulty catching my breath. "I've waited nine years for this," I sighed while fixing my gaze towards the direction of Ortigas. Suddenly, I felt the slow but continuous trickling of memories filling my head. At first, all I could remember were random images - blurry and difficult to recall. However, as I look farther into the city while listening to the humming of the wind and the chorus of insects gathered near the trees, everything became clearer to me.

The quiet recollection was interrupted by passing dump trucks moving at a crawling but roaring pace. They are heading to the quarries behind the hills. Occasionally, Patok jeepneys bound for Simbahan scurried behind us. They carried a handful of passengers, drunk and weary from the toils of work. Back in high school, the Patoks were stuff of legends. They were a perfect conversation piece whose notoriety in zigzagging along narrow stretches of Aurora Boulevard bore a stamp of experience. For us juveniles, to hitch a ride outside the jeep and endure the dizzying trip from Santa Mesa to Cogeo without clutching on the estribo was a rite of passage before gaining manhood.

I entered college still basking at the borders of my teenage existence.

A few sojourners on motorcycles made a brief stop-over near where the Mazda was parked. For fifteen minutes or so, they stood there enjoying the grand view of the city below. However, their loud and careless chatter interrupted my moment of nostalgia. I cannot remember what they spoke but as they begin to mount their bikes and continue their joyride, a flashback occurred to me.

Their voices echoed the slurry sounds I heard the first time I went to that place.

It was past midnight on a Saturday night. After a very lengthy party meeting at the university, we found ourselves in a convoy of vehicles heading toward the direction of Antipolo. I was in the company of students - scheming, political, and yet despite their manipulative inclinations within the party, they were leaders willing to serve for the good of the studentry. In those days, we were torn by inner strife between two rival philosophies. One was more transparent and democratic, and the other was close to being Orwellian. Searching for ways to unite the party, we found ourselves gazing towards the city lights while the same serene darkness surrounded us. Daybreak came but we never found the glow that would make us whole again. Yet, despite our bitter division, we were the office holders of the college student council for the next two years.

For some reasons, the same ridge became a testament to my dreams. I attempted to conquer my fears of driving just to be in that place with the one I will invite to keep me company. The thought of embracing the chilly silence, with only the same distant shimmering lights to bear witness to our moment of connection was the ultimate Emo moment I could imagine.

Nine years and I am still searching for that sense of connectivity.

And I still need to earn my driver's license.

But last night, it felt like the connection was almost there.

The brief respite took only an hour before reality sets in. Mom was insisting that I return home. My companion has work the following morning, and I, must detach myself from gazing too much at the distant skyscrapers because the longer I set my eyes on them, the more I am being reminded of how far the lights are,

and that some lights can never be mine.

"Tara, lets go home."

The key was turned on and the engine starts to rev. As the Mazda makes a U-turn to head back to the valley, I refused to turn my head and look back at the ridge we just left.

"There will always be a next time to dream and remember," I told myself. "What matters is that I never forget."

I arrived home safe, and slightly more hopeful of the future.

---

Photocredits:
Project Manila

The Hip Hugger

Just maybe, at a very young age, mother taught us to be very touchy with those who mean to us. We grew up learning that assurances come from a tight hug or a snuggle from those we love. An ex once lamented on an SMS message that he enjoyed sleeping beside me because he felt secured whenever my arm was on his waist. He was right, for when I sleep at night, the same arms which are elusive to body contact during the day would be clutching something or I may never find the rest my body desires.

It would be another night - cuddle-less, restless, and longing for some warm soft body I would wrap my arms around as I fall into deep slumber. The pillow could offer a temporary relief, but who finds sincere pleasure in something that can never return the affection you are willing to give?

Hook-ups abound and I could trade a chance to get laid for one precious hug. But really, would it fill my desire knowing that it was born out of lust?

Maybe I'm just drunk so these thoughts run amok inside my head.

When I return to the gym later, I will make sure to seek the best exercise possible to firm my arms. The body can do on it's own with the seemingly endless deadlifts, benchpresses military presses and squats to sculpt it according to its specifications. However, the goal now is to pack-up as much bulk to that body part that expresses my affection towards someone.

Because the next time my arms cuddle the person it truly feels; the next time I'd get to invite a living being to sleep over and lie beside me in bed, I will make sure it's not just intimacy or lust it will show.

My arms will subtly reveal that it can lay down every part of its muscle; every firmness that it has

To the one, who might have already snatched my heart.

---

Mom told me this morning that Phanks showed up late last night. He gave away company give-aways for my mom and my sister to use.

Good thing I wasn't around. Good thing, I'm always out of the house.

For it would upset me more to see him, knowing we're both trying to pull ourselves out of the rut.

The Salt Doll

There was a salt doll who lived in the mountains. She was a curious little doll and loved to travel and explore. One day, she decided to embark on a long journey. She wandered through the dales, seeing new places and having all kinds of adventures. Then, she came to a place she had never seen before. It was the edge of the sea. She was fascinated by the surging mass of water.

“What are you?” she asked.

“Touch me, and you will find out,” the sea replied.

So the little salt doll dipped her toe into the sea. It felt so good! But when she withdrew her toe, it was no longer there!

“What have you done to me?” she cried.

“You have given something of yourself in order to know,” answered the sea.

The little doll remembered the lovely feeling and was curious to know the sea a bit better, so she dipped her foot. It felt so good! When she withdrew her foot, however, it was no longer there. In some inexplicable way, she felt very good about it. So she continued going further and further into the sea, losing more and more of herself, all the while understanding the sea more deeply.

As the wave broke over the last bit of her, the salt doll was able to cry out, “Now I know what the sea is.

It is I!”

---

For Mami Athena
Happy Birthday!

The Comeback

Just maybe,
the reason why
I still insist on my
alone time
and travel across the
sleeping city
to that spot
at the corner of
Nakpil and Orosa
is to find someone
I could lean my head into.

Still it feels good
knowing you can bare your
weakness to someone

a stranger,
who appears

stronger than you.

A Perfect Circle

Threw you the obvious
And you flew with it on your back
A name in your recollection
Down among a million same

It was the closing of September when your eyes first met. At the corner of Orosa and Nakpil in Malate, he entered the bar brokenhearted and yearning to free himself from an attachment which is nearing its end. Across the dance floor, guzzling your Red Horse Beer, he saw you amongst the beautiful men who made passes at him. It was your small, smiling eyes that captivated him. It was your goatie that caught his attention.

You noticed his glances and acknowledged it with a faint smile. Like a shard of metal slowly getting drawn to a magnet, he moved closer wishing that the attraction was the same. Barely five minutes after he arrived, both of you were already in the corner biting each others lips and feeling each other's tongue unmindful of the guests who were probably disgusted by your shameless display of affection .

Difficult not to feel a little bit
Disappointed and passed over
When I look right through,
See you naked but oblivious

Your make out ended in a motel somewhere near Quirino. It was a one-night stand he would never forget. He can still feel your slim body rubbing against his chest and your thick facial hair still brushes his back whenever he imagines of you. You were a hard kisser. His lips were left swollen for days after your intimacy happened. You were a pinner in bed. Had he surrendered to your aggression, he would have received a hard impalement from you that morning.

You were a good cuddler. In your lean arms he felt safe. Between the orgasms, you shared your dreams to his thirsty ears. You made him see new worlds he yearns to find himself in. Believing that your encounter would just last a night, it was a tell-all revelation: That you were a student of law; that you were a high government official at the tender age of 27; that you were someone who made a name and will always be proud to tell it even to those you will cross in bed. Bruised from pincer attacks he received that day, he lowered his defenses for you to peek into his soul. He thought that there was a connection even when your affection was meant to last for just one encounter.

A hug, a last kiss and it was all goodbye. You parted ways without looking at each other's eyes. In two days you will be returning to your home in Bacolod. He resigned to the fact that you will never see each other again.

But I threw you the obvious
Just to see if there's more behind the
Eyes of a fallen angel,
Eyes of a tragedy

Eve of the New Year, restless and seeking for temporal affection, he returned to the same bar only to find you again. Standing next to the ledge, your eyes met. Pleasantries were exchanged and your smiling eyes once again drew him next to you. Unfortunately, things were different this time. Emancipated from all romantic involvements, he stuck with you hoping to resurrect a long dead past.

Revelers passed, admirers checked out. But despite the choices he could pick, he chose to remain with you.

Here I am expecting just a little bit
Too much from the wounded
But I see, see through it all
See through, see you

Hands clasped, he thought you still remember your connection. In his desperation to seek assurance, it was your presence that made him seek no more. "Why would I search for another and let them barge into my locked doors," He told himself. "You are already here and you have seen everything that I keep within."

As the night wore on while God played his music, he noticed that your eyes surveyed all directions. You were looking for someone and he felt your slow disconnection. "Maybe you are with another person," he hesitantly admits to himself. "Perhaps your lover is here and I am just a spare tire you want keep until your company shows up to reclaim you before the dance is over."

'Cause I threw you the obvious
To see what occurs behind the
Eyes of a fallen angel,
Eyes of a tragedy

Past four in the morning, you thought he already left. He bid farewell when he felt the icy chill occupying the space between you. But behind the veil of smoke; of the spectacular laser lights that pointed on everyone's sweaty body; and the booming bass sound from the huge speakers that made the packed club bounce to Rihanna's music, he secretly stayed behind to pick up what is left after dropping him for another. As he looked for a replacement - of someone he could show just to tell in your face that you're not a loss, it was still your image that occupied his thoughts.

Had you told him earlier you were already with someone, it would be easier to accept things as they were.

You brushed each other's elbow for the last time in the near-empty dance floor just as when he was about to exit the club. Around you were couples making out and a handful of revelers pushing each other to the ones they want to get introduced.

"Happy.New.Year.dude." He said in a slurry voice

"We will see each other again. Goodbye." Your eyes, which once captured his lonely gazes on a fiery September night was now pointing at the other direction.

- towards the friends you introduced, which he deliberately ignored just to stake his claim over you.

"It was truly over," he insisted to himself.

You found somebody else.

You don't, you don't
You don't see me

You don't see me

You don't, you don't
You don't see me at all

---

- Three Libras, A Perfect Circle

Brotherhood

---

IN AND OUT

"...the people you are after are the people you depend on. We cook your meals, we drive your ambulances. We connect your calls, we guard you while you sleep. Do not... fück with us." - Fight Club

strangers in a strange land. we live in a society whose idea of sexual norm is far within our reach. our likes have been discriminated against or mocked at. we have been unjustly portrayed by the media. they called us names that make even our own stomachs heave just as we fancy a life that doesn't closely resemble this hellish condition. they made us outsiders just because we are not like them. they took part in making us what we are right now. and let us be whoever we are.

others might view us as just another closeted or coward gays. undecided faggots because we are masculine. we don't look gay enough to curl your hair or fancy a catwalk in some branded get-up.

we are men. men is what we are.

... and we prefer the masculine psyche. and body. and essence. we are strong and we are fantabulous. narcissistic, yet true.

we don't want to seek refuge under a single label. being labeled a gay/bisexual doesn't make you one. there is more to a word.

and so we are out here.

i beckon people to challenge themselves. you know who you are.


***


there are only two questions to ask oneself in order to assess if you are an ODDer.

1) Do i fancy/love/like the same sex in ways that would be enough to question my sexuality?

2) Do i measure up to the masculinity of the unmistakably straight guys? am i butch enough that no one would ever believe that i'm not straight?

(in a nutshell, don't you just think Reichen and Chip and their kind are so cool?)


welcome aboard, guys.

- Originally posted by Dodong: The Outsiders Thread, Pinoyexchange.
September 17, 2003

---

For six years, it never came to a point that I would ditch an age-old tradition for another activity last night. Centurion's group had their grand eyeball/reunion inuman somewhere in Tandang Sora, (where it was reported that a PLU who looks like Piolo Pascual from the new recruits showed up); a straight friend sent an invitation for a one-on-one drinking spree at his pad in Taft; and Tannis was asking for another meet-up, (and a possible... moment... at his apartment in Pasig).

The ditching was triggered when Dodong confided that he cannot go because of personal reasons. Meanwhile, Roy was still in the south, haggardly looking after the empire of Henry Sy. Their absence meant that I would be forced to go without the closest of my BrOdders around me.

And it left me worried sick, that I would become an outsider to the guys who have been there for most of my PLU life.

An hour before my shift is over, Dodong was persuaded by the organizer to show up. After receiving his confirmation, I immediately decided to follow. They are the oldest ties I have and since they were the first who sent the invitation, might as well show up and have a fabulous party with them.

There were less than 20 attendees when I arrived at the VIP Room. It was a far cry from our former glory where such activity was attended by 40 gay men. This year's Christmas Party was different from the rest for three specific reasons: It was hastily organized by a handful of people, no one bothered to bring a "friend" along, and there were no parlor games and awards given to the attendees. Despite these setbacks, it was the most intimate get-together we had. Only the core was present and the party atmosphere reminded everyone of the good old days when most of us were still in our early twenties and just starting to rise up from our respective careers.

Now what we have are outsourcing managers, university and high school academicians, IT geniuses, tobacco and beer chemists, and yes... even bill-gatesque benefactors. We have come so far that in the words of Roy sometime this year:

"It would be impossible to break us apart."

This entry is for all the years we have struggled to stay together despite the signs of outgrowing each other. This entry is for all the PLU groups, clans and barkadas that exist, and are surviving despite the rifts, scandals and controversies that threatens to cut their bonds of brotherhood.

Finally, this entry vindicates my earlier sentiments about the foreseeable ending of the group.

"Parang kelangan ko ata talagang ilabas ito at mabasa para sakali mang dumating ang panahon na tapos na ang lahat, wala akong itinago. Ipinahayag ko ang aking concern at ibinahagi ko ang aking kalungkutan. Ayokong magising na lang isang gabi na iba na pala ang mga kasama ko, at ang mas nakakalungkot dun ay mas nag-eenjoy na akong kasama sila...

...habang unti unting natutuyo sa puso ko ang dalawang taong mga masasarap na alaala at pinagsamahan sa mundo ng..."

For the seven years and to the many more that will follow. In the non-straight culture, romantic relationships may fail, but it is often the brotherhoods that endure a lifetime.

---

For Waps Omeng and those who are still out there.
We look forward to seeing you guys again.

Photo borrowed from the Archangel

Heart Of The Matter

Happy B-day po sayo! May you have many more birthdays to come. Pasensya na po medyo na-late na ako sa pagbati. Pero binati na po kita kahapon sa yahoo messenger. Sana po ay tanggapin mo itong mga munting regalo ko sa iyo. Sana'y ito po ang simula na magkaayos po tayo. Pasensya napo sa lahat-lahat. Alam ko na sobrang sakal ka na sa akin pero tulad ng pinangako ko sa iyo na kahit saan man ako mapunta at kahit ano ang mangyari sa akin, hinding hindi kita makakalimutan. Ikaw at ang family mo. You have contributed so much to my life and I am so thankful for that. Nawa'y pagdating ng tamang panahon na ako'y handang humarap sa iyo, andiyan ka pa rin at di mo ako pagtataguan o pagtatabuyan. I still believe I deserve a second chance. Tao lang ako at may hangganan. Sana'y bago ako makarating sa dulo ng buhay ko mapapatawad mo ako. Wala po akong regrets na makilala at makasama ka pati family mo for more than five years. Alam ko po ang laki ng kasalanan ko pero lahat pinagsisihan ko na yon. Nawa'y you're still open to talk with me anytime. Just remember po, after all my struggles, babalikan ko po kayo at sana that time po may capacity na ako na ikaw naman, kayo, ang tulungan ko. Pangako po yan! I'll always pray to God na swertehin ako sa buhay at kasama kayo lahat sa pangarap kong iyon. Mahal na mahal kita bilang buddy, bilang best friend, bilang kapatid. Wala na siguro ako masasabi pa kay God when the time na namit kita.

Nawa'y magkausap tayo, magkabati at sana'y matanggap mo ako muli.

---

Half-naked,
I slowly walked out of the house
and stepped into the coldness of the street.
Leaning my back against the
the Tamaraw Van's icy hide,
I read his letter word for word,
searching his soul embedded
deep within what he wrote.

I wanted to shed tears, but I cannot.
I wanted to remember, and yet
I am dying to forget.
I tried to suspend my humanity
and put more fuel to the rage

And yet in the end,
after all the eluding and snubbing
and all the whining and resenting;
in the cover of darkness,
I look up in the sky
and began to mumble these words;

may he find solace and comfort
in the loneliest of the night.

Time Space Warp

If there is one wish I have tonight, it is to fall asleep and soon open my eyes standing in front of you. The first thing that will greet my arrival is your big smile. Perhaps, despite our strangeness, you will sense the common beat of our hearts. The blood which passes through your tiny veins, is the same blood that sprouts from my finger when I prick it with a needle. You will never feel any animosity towards my presence, for deep down you know we have always been one.

Of course, your maid will be alarmed. She will grab you by the arm and put you behind her back. Your dad, who took shot of your picture will immediately confront me. I maybe years older than him, but I will never match his fierceness. He was a thug before you were born. Whoever is in the house - your mom, aunts, or even grandparents will surround me. They will ask who I am and where I came from. No matter what excuses I tell, they will never buy it. My fear is that the more they get agitated, the more I will get the attention of neighbors. I might be in for a gang-up, which often happen in our neighborhood before.

As I write this entry, I wonder if you will really sense our connection. Will you cry and call your mommy the moment I attempt to carry you? Will you wiggle your body and kick your feet in the air when I hug you by the waist? Will you know that it is me who showed up one afternoon whose sole intention is to take you out and make you feel like a privileged child for a change?

I am willing to show all my identification cards to your parents - but they will never believe me. Who would buy the idea of a mid-twenties guy going back in time to borrow their two-year old firstborn and take out for a stroll. It's totally absurd - even for a fiction story. They will never listen to my plea, especially your mom who still checks me out whenever I go out at night.

However, if I do get their permission; if they entrust you to my care

I swear to God, I'd make you the happiest toddler in the world.

Given that I only have an afternoon to spend with you - just the two of us - what will I do?

Will I bring you to Santa Clara to give thanks to our patron? Would you want us to eat at McDonalds, Jollibee or in that Magnolia Ice Cream Parlor along Aurora Boulevard? Can you finish your own Spaghetti, French Fries and Cheeseburger all by yourself or should we share it together? The truth is, I do not know how to take care of a two year old.

I never had one.

But just for you kid, I'd be the best guardian I could ever be in this life.

I do not know if there is any Shoemart in your time, but I heard that the Rustan's Department Store is already built out there in the flatlands of Ayala Avenue. If you want, I'd put you on my back and walk around Luneta all afternoon. We would go watch the sunset at the bay together and buy you all the balloons that you want to be tied around your wrist. I'd buy you all the clothes that you need at Good Earth Emporium and Manila COD in Avenida. The toys that your small hands would grab will be all yours with just a smile on your face.

I'd spoil your whims and desires. I'd be the big brother that you wish you ever had. Had I known how to drive, I wouldn't mind renting an Isuzu Gemini and do a joyride around the city where the word traffic still doesn't appear on newspaper bulletins. I'd leave marks of our encounter, which I know, you will figure out as you age in life.

Alas, our time is short and like the brief glimmer of a late-afternoon sun that is about to hide behind the clouds. I would have to return you home to your mom and dad who are waiting for our arrival. They would be worried of course, but with all the toys and clothes that I bought for you - and the pasalubong for them, it is my hope that they would feel relieved and thankful for my presence.

I will exit your timeline with lasting memories of our stroll. When I return to my own time, I will long for the smoothness and softness of your skin. I will miss carrying you around in my arms and on my back. I will miss hugging you. Many empty nights will pass and your voice still echoes in my ears. Your giggles, your cries and your laughter will be the song that will feed my soul. As the thoughts of you keep flooding in, perhaps my desire to have a kid would grow too strong that I'd turn my back from who I am before I went to see you.

As you grow old and become a man like me, it is my wish that you will never suffer an adult life worse than mine. I hope that when you reach the expressways that I missed, you will never miss the ramps that lead to those many-laned roads.

I would be happy to know that my presence made a big impact, but at a tender age like yours,

I doubt if you will ever remember me.

You may not recall our dream-like encounter nor the treat I gave you. The toys we bought at the department stores will be all broken when you reach the age I suddenly thought of getting your photo from my baby album and began writing about you. Yet, in the quietness of space and the restlessness of time; when you look up at the sky at night, or stare at sunsets whenever you take a break from work, maybe,

just maybe you will remember my voice echoing inside your head.

For when you reach the age of 27, you would wish you have given more love to yourself instead of giving it away to others. You would wish you have a son to look after like how I am willing to spend an afternoon looking after you.

You would wish you have been tougher, wiser and more engaging with the things around you.

When you reach the age I will be turning today and never really felt how to have a life for yourself, it is my longing that our brief imaginary encounter will always ring a sweet tune to your heart.



In the silence of Mugenspace.


Thank you God for a year well spent


Happy Birthday... Joms

Emo Two

I'm looking at you through the glass
Don't know how much time has passed
Oh god it feels like forever
But no one ever tells you that forever
Feels like home sitting all alone inside your head

How do you feel? That is the question
But i forget.. you don't expect and easy answer
When something like a soul becomes
Initialized and folded up like paper dolls and little notes
You cant expect a bit of hope
And while you're outside looking in
Describing what you see
Remember what you're staring at is me.

- Stone Sour, Through the Glass

The Not So Naughty Me

Pasado hatinggabi kanina, nagkamali ako ng sinakyan na jeep galing sa gym. Sa halip na ibaba ako ng aking sinasakyan sa mismong kanto patungo sa aming bahay, sumakay ako ng JRU na ang biyahe lamang ay hanggang Kalentong. Ang lugar na ito ay lubhang napakalayo pa sa bahay at isang napakalaking kahangalan kung susubukin ko man ang maglakad pauwi.

Habang nag-aabang ng jeep patungong Quiapo ay nakaramdam ako ng gutom. Naubos ko na nga pala ang reserba ko sa pagbubuhat at ang kumain ay dinidikta na ng aking sikmura. Naglakad ako hanggang maabot ang panulukan ng Shaw at Kalentong. Dito kasi ay may Banco De Oro na siya namang bangko ng ATM ko.

Akmang magwi-withdraw na sana ako nang makita ko ang isang karatula na nagsasabing offline ang bangko. Asar. Tatawid na naman ako upang magwithdraw sa isang ATM na nalampasan ko na sa aking paglalakad. Ayaw ko nang lumayo. Either magtitiis ako ng gutom magdamag o kaya naman ay iintaying mag-online ang BDO. Bahala na.

Lumapit ako sa ATM upang kilatisin ito. Ang karatula ay nakatakip sa screen subalit patuloy pa rin ang paglabas ng ads ng bangko dito. Mukhang may pasaway na nakaiwan ng karatula samantalang ang ATM naman ay online na.

Tiiiiiiinggg!!! Bigla akong nakaisip ng ideya.

Nakapaglabas ako ng P200 galing sa ATM. Nabusog ang aking tiyan matapos lumamon sa Bestfriends malapit sa aking tinitirhan. At bilang souvenir ng aking pagiging delinkwente, at reward sa pagiging loyal account holder ng Banco De Oro,

umuwi akong may pasalubong sa aking kuwarto.


---

Postcript: This post is not actually about my delinquent tendencies. The entry is for a friend who left the country yesterday to find his calling abroad. It might take years before his return, and his departure left a gaping hole, that, no matter how I try to fill will remain spaced out.

If he never found this blog two years ago, I wouldn't be able to introduce him to a new tripper friend who related to what he had written. From there, the friendship bloomed. New people joined our little alliance and despite not being able to see each other regularly, I know that our bond is strong.

The alliance reconvened two nights ago in Cubao to express our wishes before his flight. As a souvenir, I asked for his lighter.

I will keep it until he returns.

This is how we will remember Macoy

- club bath
- dial 911
- shishi-kitsune accords
- surprise visit at the enterprise para magyosi
- red mitsubshi lancer
- bisita iglesia
- enchanted kingdom
- inuman sa quatro with roy, centurion, dn and dodong.

Proximus

How do you keep a memory from being forgotten? The answer may be as myriad as the dry leaves falling from a tree. They scatter on the ground, with each leaf representing a moment in one's life. We are the tree, whose memory is as old as time itself. Choosing what to remember is like swaying our branches for the wind to pass over. Old leaves might be blown away, but it is the tree rings inside our trunk that keep our moments remembered.

Remembering comes in different shades and colors. While others do portraits of scenes, a photo snapshot of a moment may preserve an event for all eternity. Memories might be kept inside one's head, but its reliability might fall into question. For people like us, whose love affair with letters is as eternal as one's lifetime, we weave words in hopes that stories left written elsewhere will make us remember what was, was.

A few days ago, I stumbled on an old, online depository of memory which people from Pinoyexchange call the Wireless Journal. The WJ is a mobile service where one's thoughts can be expressed in a form of a text message. Once sent, it travels at a speed of light where it is stored and arranged in one thread, whose owner can read every time he wishes to reminisce.

My Wireless Journal represents an epoch of my life. Its avatar Proximus, was an angst-ridden kid who seeks meaning out of a life suspended in mid-air. Being the waiting successor to a business empire built on sex, news and sensationalism, he spent his days exploring his new-found sexuality while confessing a romantic feeling he could not express to his bestfriend. He whines about his erratic and often 12-hour work schedule and savors long-distance travels around Luzon. He finds solace in journeys only to get bored with destinations.

What's interesting about Proximus is the life he once had. His frustrations at work remind everyone that he is just a kid forced to assist his father run their family business. His love-hate relationship with his father reveals that despite their animosity, which Pulsar had written later in the blog, they had a bond which he could always look back and treasure. He wrote of people he met along his journey. While most of them had already exited his life, three stayed on to become a part of his present. His sexual repressions and hopeless romanticism might have echoed a very different person, (he only got de-virginized on page 37, and had his first taste of m2m relationship only on page 46) Proximus clearly shows the connection why it takes Mugen, Darkstar and Pulsar to serve as balance when romantic emotions or lust assault my heart.

Reading through Proximus, I realize how bored and restless I was in those days.

The Wireless Journal spans from the third month I crossed preference. It saw my ups (falling madly in-love with PK) and downs (the family business being stripped of its assets after the government forcibly stopped its operations). It witnessed my attempts to reach out to people like me, and my first introduction to the gay club scene alone. What is fascinating about the entries posted is that they were spontaneously thought. There were no rules involved and pure honesty is the only requirement. Unfortunately, Pinoyexchange discontinued the service less than a year after I subscribed to it. Had WJ remained online a little longer, Proximus would have also witnessed the first time I became emancipated from a gay relationship.

The rest was history.

A year later, the Pulsar blog began and it wrote mostly about my relationship with Phanks. It evolved and spawned animated alter-egos which represent the author's innermost thoughts in the face of emotional deadlocks. The evolution did not stop there. While technology offers more innovations on how to leave one's mark in history, the hunger for remembrance remains wanting. Five years after Proximus left its trace in the Wireless Journal, its reincarnation Hakken began leaving its traces in Twitter.

The pursuit of immortality indeed is a lifelong passion.

In leaving my footprints scattered all over the internet, the effort of many years of writing roller coaster emotions that seem so incoherent in those days now make sense. Proximus was a 20-year old bisexual kid when he wrote of my existence many years ago, Looking back, now that I am reading the countless entries I sent in the Wireless Journal - all those dreams, heartaches and sudden bouts of repressed lust of my youth - it seems like everything happened just yesterday.

It's like rediscovering a nearly-forgotten life and savoring its essence, knowing those moments will never happen again.

---

it all started wid words, which end n sentences, overdosed wid emotions, born wid tears that may never be cried. every meetings are partings, every places we go become witness to our story. memories are forever with u, dreams are eternity when u are close to me. i am a poem that is written in ur pages

while you, PK is the sweetest lyrics that make up my song.

- Proximus, August 18, 2002

PK is Roy aka Jollieboie.