It was his birthday when I saw him last. I didn't know it at that time -- walking towards the MRT station on my way home from Cubao. I had my headphones on as per usual, oblivious to the world moving around, when this tall, well-dressed, familiar form walked past me. It seemed a blur when his face crossed my vision, but in that precise second I knew it was him. He smelled the same. I let a few more heartbeats pass before I decided to stop and look back. When I did, he was already looking at me. "Hey," he said. "Hey," I said. It was unmistakable. The smell of rain on hair, of crushed grass -- it was really him.
Walk, I willed my legs to do. "It's been a long time," he smiled as he reached for a handshake. I could see in his eyes he was trying to remember the last time we saw each other. To be quite honest I couldn't remember either. "Yeah," was all I could come up with. He seemed relieved at the fact we both couldn't remember.
He said he got off work early and was on his way home. I offered to walk him to the other station. "I got a better idea," he said. "Let's eat. It's on me." Of course I refused, but I did a poor job of protesting it was quite obvious I really wanted to be with him longer. He gave me his cut-the-crap smile and said, "Come on. It's my birthday." That shut me up. So me and my sheepish smile ended up going with him to the mall food court to eat.
We ended up at this Mongolian food stand ordering big rice bowls -- our usual fare when we used to see each other more often. "It's been a long time since I've eaten here," I said as I watched with childlike wonder the girl behind the counter mixing vegetables in a deep, crimson bowl.
"Me too," he said with the same quiet awe. "Come to think of it, the last time I ate here was when I was with you."
"Hmm. You're right." We stayed silent until our orders were cooked. My head was reeling with questions, I had to hold on to something solid to steady myself. I looked at him again. He had his usual deadpan expression on, neutral and unreadable. The scent of his hair lingering like smoke, which my mind remembers so well. He tapped my shoulder to wake me from my reverie; our orders were done.
When we were seated, we talked about the usual small things. Where he was working, where I was working, complaints about officemates, of cranky relatives and moving out. I told him I was thinking of getting a haircut.
"O, why not? It's time for a change, don't you think?"
"Maybe," I said, picking through the vegetables in my rice bowl.
It took us about an hour to wade through each others' lives. I asked him about the book he was planning on writing, but he said it was on the shelf for now. I told him I'd still help if he needed it. He gave me a sad smile. "I need to be heading home," he said finally.
We got up and started walking. Both of us were quiet, but the hands in my pocket were fidgeting and restless. "Listen," I said, crackling my fingers, "I know you're a little averse to the topic, and I didn't want to bring it up... but I have to ask..." He glanced at me without a change in his stride, eyes black, without light, and waiting. "... are you seeing someone?"
There was that sad smile again. "I am. It's been a while now..." And I was sure he said other things, but at that moment, my mind retreated to its dark little corner without sound and time, leaving my physical body to fend for itself. I was giving the appropriate responses, sure. Smiling at the right moments, saying "Really" or "I see" without causing a break in the conversation, but that was it. The strings stretched taut in my mind were snapping and my ships were slowly sinking.
A little window to reality opened when he grabbed my hand again and waved. "I'll see you soon, alright?"
"Sure," I waved back. "Happy birthday." Turning around, I ran my fingers through my then long hair. I think I'll be having that haircut.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Monday, March 19, 2007
Move On, Pare
Whenever life leaves you in a rut, get a haircut. Then look to the sky, give it a great, big, huge fuck you sign and then scream, "I'M STILL BREATHING, YOU IDIOT!"
Just look at the damned camera and SMILE, Podi.
Just look at the damned camera and SMILE, Podi.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Revisiting the Closet
Strange. Used to be I never had to deal with consciously making the people around me aware of my sexuality. It just slips into the conversation easily and smoothly, without my having to go through the usual rigors of coming out. This time however, hanging out with my straight male officemates has me going through some weird -- and oft times uncomfortable -- scenarios, and wondering if it would have been any different had they known about me in the first place.
•••
CASE #1: This afternoon, I was in Eastwood Cybermall with the guys from work for our pre-employment medical examination. They were checking out this girl seated opposite us in the waiting area, arguing which of them should approach her and ask for her name and number. It was amusing listening to their straight-guy banter, but not as amusing as the day's paper's crossword puzzle. Finally, one of them leaned towards me and whispered, "Pare, tanong mo naman dun sa babae kung anong pangalan nya saka number o. Kung tumanggi, ayos lang. Sabihin mo na lang hinihingi ng kaibigan mo."
I looked at the girl. She was reading something from her mobile phone, oblivious to the intense male hormonal activity going on at the other side of the room. "Pangit naman eh." I said.
"Pare, sige na. Hindi sya yung talagang natitipuhan ko pero parang gusto ko lang makilala. Nahihiya lang ako."
I looked at the girl again. Fine, hindi naman sya pangit. I looked back at the crossword puzzle. What's a four-letter word for 'tweeted'? S-A-N-G, I wrote with a pen. I stood up, walked towards the relatively nice-looking girl, and asked for her name and number. Something I haven't done since my highschool interaction days with Miriam and Colegio de Sta. Rosa.
CASE #2: Yesterday, I accompanied a guy officemate in Tutuban Center to look for a cheap electric fan for this room he was renting. While walking around the mall, we approached this perfume stand and my friend asked the pretty salesgirl if they had this or that scent available. After checking out several items (I was never interested in perfumes), he said thanks to the girl and we looked at the other things for sale. The girl said, "Wala kayong nagustuhan, sir?"
"Wala eh. Ikaw sana, kaya lang baka hindi pwede." I looked at my friend.
"Pwedeng pwede, sir!" And then I looked at the girl.
Oh, the primal charm of male bluntness.
CASE #3: Lunch hour, Friday last week. My guy officemates said they'll be ordering take-out and have lunch at one of our friend's place near the office. I told them I just needed to talk with someone and I'll follow as soon as I can. After dealing with a rather bitchy person from HR, I bought food from the mall beside our building and started towards our friend's place. I got there after a ten-minute walk, hungry and with nothing else in my mind but food when, after knocking and opening the door, I saw all three of them eating and talking and wearing nothing but their boxers.
"Uy pare, iwan mo na lang bukas yung pintuan. Ang init eh," one of them said while shoveling I think it was raw meat fresh from the hunting fields into his mouth. There might have been ketchup, or it might have been blood.
"OK," I managed to squeak. "Buksan ko TV ah." And I, as casually and as unaffected as I can manage, walked towards where the TV was, sat on the floor, and began to pick through my Palabok Fiesta, feeling shameful for wearing clothes and using a fork.
•••
I realize I shouldn't be making a big deal out of it. I've only known them for over a week, and they seem like good people regardless. I've always counted on friendship in itself as a connection, a bridge to close the gap between people's differences. But oh lordy, I never fully grasped the extent of the effect each person's uniqueness had on other people, and how much each of us has to deal with compromising to accommodate those differences just to get along with others.
CASE #1: This afternoon, I was in Eastwood Cybermall with the guys from work for our pre-employment medical examination. They were checking out this girl seated opposite us in the waiting area, arguing which of them should approach her and ask for her name and number. It was amusing listening to their straight-guy banter, but not as amusing as the day's paper's crossword puzzle. Finally, one of them leaned towards me and whispered, "Pare, tanong mo naman dun sa babae kung anong pangalan nya saka number o. Kung tumanggi, ayos lang. Sabihin mo na lang hinihingi ng kaibigan mo."
I looked at the girl. She was reading something from her mobile phone, oblivious to the intense male hormonal activity going on at the other side of the room. "Pangit naman eh." I said.
"Pare, sige na. Hindi sya yung talagang natitipuhan ko pero parang gusto ko lang makilala. Nahihiya lang ako."
I looked at the girl again. Fine, hindi naman sya pangit. I looked back at the crossword puzzle. What's a four-letter word for 'tweeted'? S-A-N-G, I wrote with a pen. I stood up, walked towards the relatively nice-looking girl, and asked for her name and number. Something I haven't done since my highschool interaction days with Miriam and Colegio de Sta. Rosa.
CASE #2: Yesterday, I accompanied a guy officemate in Tutuban Center to look for a cheap electric fan for this room he was renting. While walking around the mall, we approached this perfume stand and my friend asked the pretty salesgirl if they had this or that scent available. After checking out several items (I was never interested in perfumes), he said thanks to the girl and we looked at the other things for sale. The girl said, "Wala kayong nagustuhan, sir?"
"Wala eh. Ikaw sana, kaya lang baka hindi pwede." I looked at my friend.
"Pwedeng pwede, sir!" And then I looked at the girl.
Oh, the primal charm of male bluntness.
CASE #3: Lunch hour, Friday last week. My guy officemates said they'll be ordering take-out and have lunch at one of our friend's place near the office. I told them I just needed to talk with someone and I'll follow as soon as I can. After dealing with a rather bitchy person from HR, I bought food from the mall beside our building and started towards our friend's place. I got there after a ten-minute walk, hungry and with nothing else in my mind but food when, after knocking and opening the door, I saw all three of them eating and talking and wearing nothing but their boxers.
"Uy pare, iwan mo na lang bukas yung pintuan. Ang init eh," one of them said while shoveling I think it was raw meat fresh from the hunting fields into his mouth. There might have been ketchup, or it might have been blood.
"OK," I managed to squeak. "Buksan ko TV ah." And I, as casually and as unaffected as I can manage, walked towards where the TV was, sat on the floor, and began to pick through my Palabok Fiesta, feeling shameful for wearing clothes and using a fork.
I realize I shouldn't be making a big deal out of it. I've only known them for over a week, and they seem like good people regardless. I've always counted on friendship in itself as a connection, a bridge to close the gap between people's differences. But oh lordy, I never fully grasped the extent of the effect each person's uniqueness had on other people, and how much each of us has to deal with compromising to accommodate those differences just to get along with others.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Late Night Letter
by: Sasha Soldatow
from: Private - Do Not Open
My dear you. Hi and all that.
I am writing you fleetingly after having seen you strangely for a moment. And probably it's all too foolish, but what the hell. So I hesitate to write, yet I feel like doing so. I've wanted to write for a couple of days. I sat down one afternoon and composed a partial letter. And oh how nice and gentle and wise I wished to appear. How much I wanted to set down words that would move you. Of course I ended up feeling sorry for myself. And then feeling stupid in the morning. Like a lost shark.
I wrote, 'I don't know whether I'm going to see you again, which makes it safe to write this letter to say some of the things I want to, and it's hard...' Of course I never got past that line. Then I saw you again tonight.
You! This is a bit of a dither and a mumble. And there is a danger that I will lie back and write this out in my head, never to send it.
What am I saying? Superficial things. Like, I like you and I don't quite know why or how it came about. But I do. And then everything gets confused with sex and friendship and love and sleeping together. It's uncertainty. Yet there's the feeling of warmth somewhere in there.
You know, there are many feelings I can put words to. Like, I want to feel important to people. People I like. Flattered by their attention. Of course I hide this. Then there's the protective me who announces, 'I have survived, so I know how to be good for others.' You've seen through this. Everyone knows this strength and this kind of survival. Then there's the sex game. I protect myself here also when it comes too close, preferring the hidden comfort of my own fantasies with someone I don't care for at all. You know that too. And then there are all those things of friendship that seem to involve so many years of time, which is too long. Because I want to go through it all so instantly. I once wrote, 'I want lovers like a family. I want friends like I once had god.' I think that's still true, though I wonder if I understand what I meant.
You! Relationships are accidental. That I know. But I've been too hung up on these accidents.
Hey, it's late, and I have a heavy day tomorrow. And I feel as if I haven't said all that much. And then, I don't know what more there is to say. Except everything. Which may be nothing specific. Maybe just hi. Talking slower. Feeling more comfortable. Not pretending. Not being heavy either. Not demanding -- something. I don't know. But there is also you. And I think about you. Which is saying what I want to say.
from: Private - Do Not Open
My dear you. Hi and all that.
I am writing you fleetingly after having seen you strangely for a moment. And probably it's all too foolish, but what the hell. So I hesitate to write, yet I feel like doing so. I've wanted to write for a couple of days. I sat down one afternoon and composed a partial letter. And oh how nice and gentle and wise I wished to appear. How much I wanted to set down words that would move you. Of course I ended up feeling sorry for myself. And then feeling stupid in the morning. Like a lost shark.
I wrote, 'I don't know whether I'm going to see you again, which makes it safe to write this letter to say some of the things I want to, and it's hard...' Of course I never got past that line. Then I saw you again tonight.
You! This is a bit of a dither and a mumble. And there is a danger that I will lie back and write this out in my head, never to send it.
What am I saying? Superficial things. Like, I like you and I don't quite know why or how it came about. But I do. And then everything gets confused with sex and friendship and love and sleeping together. It's uncertainty. Yet there's the feeling of warmth somewhere in there.
You know, there are many feelings I can put words to. Like, I want to feel important to people. People I like. Flattered by their attention. Of course I hide this. Then there's the protective me who announces, 'I have survived, so I know how to be good for others.' You've seen through this. Everyone knows this strength and this kind of survival. Then there's the sex game. I protect myself here also when it comes too close, preferring the hidden comfort of my own fantasies with someone I don't care for at all. You know that too. And then there are all those things of friendship that seem to involve so many years of time, which is too long. Because I want to go through it all so instantly. I once wrote, 'I want lovers like a family. I want friends like I once had god.' I think that's still true, though I wonder if I understand what I meant.
You! Relationships are accidental. That I know. But I've been too hung up on these accidents.
Hey, it's late, and I have a heavy day tomorrow. And I feel as if I haven't said all that much. And then, I don't know what more there is to say. Except everything. Which may be nothing specific. Maybe just hi. Talking slower. Feeling more comfortable. Not pretending. Not being heavy either. Not demanding -- something. I don't know. But there is also you. And I think about you. Which is saying what I want to say.