simply

there are moments, rare as they are, when you just want to jump for joy. and tonight this is one of those moments. maybe it's the dopamine rush from all that exercise i got from playing badminton earlier with tune and che, but i don't know. maybe it's better not to know. i'm enjoying the feeling while it lasts and i just wanted to put it down into words just so when i feel like i'm in the dumps one of these days, i will have this to look back to and hopefully get me right back up on my feet again. i'm just glad. taht's all. even thoug there's a lot fosex going on in this world and i'm not getting any of it, i'm happy. even though hearts are finding their way to some destination wit each passing minute, and mine hasn't, i'm happy. even though people stress out over work, and i'm laging behind my schedules, i'm happy. even thoug i'm a spelling freak and this piece is littered with typos and i'm obsessing over my mis-cues, i'm happy. even though i have bills to pay and a tigt budget and i want to buy a new phone and i can't, i'm happy. my friends haven't turned into strangers. my home is still intact and my mom has just prepared a warm meal for me wen i get home, and work is challenging me to think more and more and learn more about the world i live in. i'm happy. it's so fucking rare taht i feel this way and i hope it lasts just another hour or so. in any case, i'm thankful. i'm not exactly in good terms with god, but i'm tankful for moments like this. it's so fucking rare. have you felt that way recently?

Stepping Out

People who have not seen me in a while have only one thing to say to me: "You've lost weight!"

And every time they say that, my reply has been equally standard: "Thanks. I really am trying to lose weight."

I can say that my greatest achievement in the past year has been the way I was able to lose all the flabs I used to have on my waist, my arms and my thighs. I wasn't that huge, but I was chubby. I had a waistline of 35!

I had been toying with the idea of going to the gym but always hinged my motivation on the availability of a gym buddy. For months I kept bugging Eileen to transfer her Powerflex membership from Morato to the one I had in mind. When she told me they wouldn't let her, I gave up on the idea.

But last year I was standing naked in front of the mirror, soaking wet. While wiping myself off before dressing up for work, I began to count back to the last time I actually had sex with someone. It had been a long time and I got depressed. I didn't find myself desirable enough because I was out of shape. I wasn't looking after myself, so how could anyone like me if I didn't like what I saw in the mirror?

A few weeks later I was watching a re-run of Will and Grace and saw the storyline involving Will and Karen's cousin Barry. Barry had just gotten a divorce with his wife, recently came out of the closet, was overweight, sported a scruffy beard, geeky eyeglasses and was socially inept.

When Karen set him up with Will, the latter was immediately taken aback, as if almost repulsed by the idea of going out with someone like Barry. (To Will's credit, though, Barry gave him a lousy gift, a rainbow-colored towel, on their first date.)

In many ways I feel like I'm an unraveling Barry myself. My outing had been gradual and selective, and I am yet to make a full disclosure with any member of my family.

Will and Jack took it upon themselves to help Barry with his process, even though at times he got so exasperated with Will and Jack's shallowness that he said "You guys have had fifteen years of a head start, but how come you're both alone?"

At that point I could relate to Barry even more. Just like him, I came out to people because I wanted to find love. To assert my feelings without a cloak of fear and secrecy obfuscating them. The only way I believed I could do that was by opening up. When I did, it became easier for me to deal with the feelings I used to have for a comrade. (If the Eyes Don't Have It).

When THAT didn't work out, I figured I should start with the basics, just like Barry, so I kicked myself in the butt, and signed up for gym classes, partner or no partner. No pecs, no sex, as Jack puts it.

It's a pretty shallow way of looking at things, I know. And I make no judgments on people who are on the heavy side. But I speak for myself, and I really felt like my weight was doing a lot of damage to my self-esteem, so I decided to take control of that problem.

So for months I rushed off from work, braved the traffic to get to the gym by 7 pm because they closed at 9:30. I stuck to a 2-hour, thrice a week regimen of excruciating crunches and exercise machines, until I sweat off all the calories and all the fats that have accumulated in body parts where they didn't belong.

After six months, my regimen began to show results. And after the May elections, I had little time to go to the gym so decided to adopt a regimen at home, minus the machines. At the same time I cut down on my carbo intake, gave up on sodas, chocolates and cakes.

By August this year, I noticed how all my pants, with waistlines all above 32 had become loose and how my belly seemed to thin until all the fats disappeared. And then people began to notice.

"You've shrinked!"
"Were you sick?"
"What happened to your love handles?"

It made me feel good, and I came to enjoy my newfound confidence. I'm far from the perfect six-pack I keep obsessing about, but I could safely see myself lying down in bed, naked next to another guy and not feel worried about how I look.

But a few nights ago, I realized something. I was at Seattle's Best with Nina and I was staring at a very, very, very cute guy at a nearby table. Nina is typing away on her laptop but I tell her every now and then how cute the guy really is, and she agrees.
The guy, a left-handed loner I decided to call Southpaw, was counting out loud and smiled when he realized I was looking at him. He was fair-skinned, had a geeky wide-eyed charm about him that just tickled me blue all night. I smiled back and that was just about it.

When Nina and I left SBC, he was right behind us. "Hurry, get a cab," I tell Nina and sent her off while I stood on the parking lot outside SBC, puffing my cig. He was walking around, not sure of where to go. Southpaw had a cig in hand and approached me and asked for a light. I obliged and handed him my lighter. He said his thanks, took a puff, and for a few seconds stood beside me. I didn't know what to say.

Actually I wanted to ask him what his name was, but I just couldn't. I couldn't tell if he was expressing interest of was really just out of light. Southpaw takes a few steps away, paces around, looks at me again before walking away.

I watched him go, hoping he'd turn around and look back at me. But if he did, I don't know if I would have followed him.

So there I was, ten, fifteen pounds lighter in a span of nine months, but still didn't feel comfortable enough in my own skin.

I realized I may have lost all those unwanted fats on me, but I was still carrying some unseen baggage around, this thing called 'inferiority complex', and was just as heavy as ever, although not literally.

Quite simply, I may be confident about my body, but I still had a lot cut out for me when it comes to reaching out.

I mean sex is sex, and for sure, feeling good about my body makes that easy, but I haven't lost sight of my overreaching goal, which is to find someone. And I guess that requires more than just a slim body. It requires screwing up the courage to talk to someone, open up and get to know them better, with no fear of being told off.

So the following night, I went back to SBC and treated myself to a cold serving of late-night Javanilla. I was hoping Southpaw would be there, but wasn't surprised when he wasn't. I was, as I've said before, "finding empowerment in my solitude".

Just like Barry when he said goodbye to Will, I told myself that I need to see for myself what might be out there for me. I want to put myself out there and see the world, untainted by the point of view of friends and loved ones.

Thus I resolved to take more time out by myself. Not necessarily to get laid, but just be able to hang out and enhance my capacity to relate and make myself more interesting.

I have to look for myself out there. One step at a time, steady but surely. Make some progress as a person who's not afraid to engage the world on his own terms. And that in itself is a goal more worthy of pursuit than a flat, six-pack abs.

Making a Right Turn

Don't dare me to count how many times I've lost, A. tells me one night during R.'s birthday party. I'm 38 and I'm still looking for happiness, she says. A. is clearly inebriated, a half-empty glass of brandy in her hand. But thankfully, she still makes perfect sense.

Then she tells me, If you feel lonely because you think there's this guy who doesn't like you, then forget it. It's not him. And besides do you really want to get involved with *bleep bleep*? He's a mess. You have to realize how smart you are. You're not aware of this but you are. You're good-looking, you're slim and fit, easy to get along with. Learn to love yourself.

A. had me thinking. I've said time and again that I'm not all that bad. Dare I say it, I'm the best man a man can have in his life. But I have a hard time believing the things I tell myself because I always seem to measure them against the actions of other people, especially guys who don't want me. Everytime it doesn't work out, I imagine myself walking down Heartache Avenue, and tell myself it's the only path I've known and maybe it's where I'm supposed to stay, just so I can make the rejections easier to accept.

I'm not relationship material, I tell myself.

So last Friday, on that most important night of the week when everyone is supposed to be with someone, I decided to go and watch a movie by myself instead. I figured I needed some time alone. That and because the blurb I read in my email about the Pillow Book says Ewan McGregor bares his thick, pinkish dick in it.

As I searched my way for an empty seat, Charlie, who used to write for the Collegian with me, calls me out just as the lights began to wane and die. Wanting to catch up, I sit beside him and his companions.

"Is that Sharon?!?" I ask him, pointing to the person seated next to him.

"That's Mark!" he points out.

"Oh my God, Mark! I couldn't see you. But hey, your hair looks nice and you've gotten rid of the eyeglasses, ha?" I say, laughing at myself for my faux pas. I've known Charlie for seven years and Mark for the last two, and know that they both work for the English Department at Ateneo.

Then I turned back to Charlie and talked him up a bit as the trailers rolled, and I teasingly asked him, "So, are you seeing anybody right now?"

Charlie answered "Him!" pointing to Mark, and I am pleasantly suprised.

But it also got me thinking: if love is indeed all around, then why are there still so many of us walking down Heartache Avenue?

My blessed singleness never seemed more so pronounced than when I realized I was seated next to a couple. But for the first time in a while, it didn't matter. I was actually enjoying my alone time, and the sight of Ewan McGregor's wonder down under.

That night, I drew something really positive from the otherwise morbid and perverse Pillow Book. Nagiko draws a list of things that make her heart beat faster on her 28th birthday, when the story ends. The last item was "writing of love, and finding it" even though her affair with Jerome ended so tragically. Are the best affairs really the ones we never had, because we have the freedom to recreate them in our minds? Or are the best loves the ones with the most dramatic endings because we're bound to never forget them?

In the end I decided it was futile to try and make sense of it. Enteng tells me I'm too logical and that it's not the way the heart works. If he's right, then maybe I shouldn't wonder. I should just get moving along on this road called life.

So after the movie I bid goodbye to Charlie and Mark and made my way on foot to the jeepney station. As I was walking along the Academic Oval, I realized my "me" time was actually working.

I was able to clear my mind of some emotional cobwebs that were bothering me. I could smoke all I want while I was walking alone, than if I had a non-smoker lover, for instance. And the best thing was, while I was walking I could break wind without feeling embarassed because I wasn't with anyone I was trying to impress.

I'm single because things couldn't work out with the guys I've really, really liked before. But I shouldn't let my mistakes set the tone for my future. I refuse to go down with my miscalculations. My life doesn't have to drag just because of a guy who can't appreciate me, as A. pointed out a few nights back.

In my mind, I'm still walking down Heartache Avenue, to be sure. But if it's a grey and dreary highway as I imagine it to be, then I hope my newfound positive thoughts can inspire a light inside and let it shine so my journey doesn't have to make me feel petrified as if I didn't know where I was going.

As I thought about all this, I came along the road between the Law School and the Computer Center. I decided to abandon the straight path I was walking and take that road instead. Because that's how people living with scars should be. When they're walking down one way and begin to feel like they are lost, they shouldn't be afraid to make a right turn.

wag na wag mong sasabihin

there are some moments when you can't find the words to say, and the next best thing is someone else's lyrics...in this particular instance, kitchie nadal wrote the exact words i would have wanted to say. ironically she declares: wag na wag mong sasabihin. i thought i'd just share what she had to say:

wag na wag mong sasabihin
by kitchie nadal

may gusto ka bang sabihin
ba't di mapakali ni hindi makatingin
sana'y wag mo na itong palipasin
at subukang lutasin
sana nga'y sinabi mo na..

iba'ng nararapat sa akin
na tunay ko'ng mamahalin oh...

wag na wag mong sasabihin
na hindi mo nadama
itong pag-ibig kong handang ibigay
kahit pa kalayaan mo

ano man ang inaakala
na ako'y isang bituin
na walang sasambahin
di ko man ito ipakita
abot-langit ang daing
sana nga'y sinabi mo na..

iba'ng nararapat sa akin
na tunay ko'ng mamahalin

oh...wag na wag mong sasabihin
na hindi mo nadama
itong pag-ibig kong handang ibigay
kahit pa kalayaan mo

at sa gabi sino'ng duduyan sa 'yo
at sa umaga ang hangin ang hahaplos sa 'yo

oh, oh, oh

wag na wag mong sasabihin
na hindi mo nadama
itong pag-ibig kong handang ibigay
kahit pa kalayaan mo ...

Great Expectations

"How much wasted time will you survive?"
-Duncan Sheik

People tell me my problem is that I fall too fast, with all the attendant expectations that come from the excitement. Excitment over the prospect of holding hands, kissing someone else's lips and the intimacy involved in love relationships. I've often been accused by the likes of Enteng of being too conservative, and that I have too many rules in life to ever be really happy.

I guess wihtout being aware of it, I do have a lot of rules. Maybe I am too linear in my thinking. But why is my attitude towards relationships like this? Like everyone else, I have to go back to where I came from and see what kind of an upbringing I had and see what subconscious drives are at work in order to figure out why I am so fucking inhibited when it comes to love.

The reason, is perfectly clear now. I come from a family where commitment seemed like a word that belonged in the trash bin. My dad, dead for twenty-five years, used to cheat on my mom a lot. She would always find out of course, and he would always be sorry, and she would always forgive him. The fact is, when I was born, my mom and dad had called it quits.

Realizing that is a very painful and very personal thing I refuse to concede so easily. I gues I am growing when I say that it's true.

So forgive me if I expect a lot from my relationships. I had the worst possible template to base my own convictions from.

Then again it could just be the alcohol fucking with my system and my typing (with all the typos I have to go back to). But it's true. My dad cheated on my mom. And I know how difficult it is for one partner to carry on a relationship not knowing where it's heading.

So everytime I fall, I have this set of preconceived notions as to how each person in a relationship should conduct himself, I have these rules that tell me whether it's working or not. The problem is taht sometimes the smallest of gestures can set me off.

"Tell him to go to hell. He doesn't have a shred of decency in his bones," I tell Kit in a message last night as I vented my anger over a jealousy I still believe is not without basis. the object of my ire was not rocketman, but a common friend who was, in my opinion, making some moves on him, despite the fact he knew the things I was going through.

And it's so fucking wrong for me to even feel this way, since I have no claim to him or to what he wants to do with his life. I have no control as to who he wants to take to his bed with him. And taht makes me angry.

It's all wasted time. He doesn't feel anything for me. All I'm good for is a one-night stand, which he himself has admitted as much. Maybe I should take up the offer, but I'm willing to bet taht it would just add to my baggage.

It would help a lot for him to just say no to me. It would be a slap in teh face, but it woudl help a lot. And it';s not just because I'm getting tipsy again. It's just the way things should be. I am fucking desperate for a resolution. the sooner I get it, the sooner I can move on.

These are my rules. This is how I look at my relationships, or rather, my lack of them in my life. I'm not going to make apologies for it. I can't change my past, my parents, or maybe even how they influenced the way I look at relationships. But despite the fact that my dad cheated a lot, and I don't want the same thing to happen to me in my relationships, I still believe in the capacity inherent in all of us to give as much love as possible for the one person taht would want to have it.

As Maroon 5 said, 'my heart is full and my door's always open, you can come anytime you want'. It's true. What he gets in return will be worth it. And I don't even have to be drunk, as I am now, to know that. All those fools who thought I wasn't good enough for them can just stick that belief up their ass and go to hell. I will be loved. Maybe not now, not by who I know or want, but it's out there. And when I find it, it will be worth it, and I'll be the greatest event of his life, and it will last, and it will work, not becuase it will be perfect but just because. Just simply because.

eating my words

The thing I hate most about writing is when you find that sooner or later you will come face-to-face with your text again and realize: "I can't believe I wrote this!"

Forever couldn't come soon enough. I look at my blog and realize I either spoke too soon, or this is just the part of me that's kicking and screaming its way out of this place called 'rocketman's'.

It's a freaking pattern, I'm telling you. I'm too lazy to look for greener pastures and thus settle for my own backyard. Then I make a mess out of myself, clam up and refuse to reach out even as just a friend. Subconsciously, I alienate the guy until words get in the way and I find myself with nothing to say, when all I really want to say is "I really, really like you."

Instead it's easier for me to say "You're dishonest" or "I'd rather not be with you." But I'm an awful liar and it shows. And that's bad, because I'm supposed to be working, but I'm too spaced out to dig my heels in and get some results done.

It's a fucking drag, when you're stuck in a moment and realize you're just a footnote to someone else's narrative. I'm thinking of the right words to say when the fact is, I just want him to put his arms around me, or for me to run my fingers through his hair.

(I should have been a marine biologist instead. I can swim all day and not have to hear the mad cacophony of the earth above. I can swim all day, If I was any good at it. I think it's only the waves, unforgiving in their categorical might which can match the tempest I feel inside of me. It's a stirring in my heart that pulls and breaks every piece of me as if I were some brittle piece of deadwood floating near the shore.)

It's nobody's fault things are like this, I guess. As Amelia Warren said in The Terminal "We're all waiting for something." He is waiting for someone else. Maybe he knows who it is, maybe he doesn't. Me, I'd like to wait for him to realize it's me. But if its really not me then maybe it's just someone else's way of saying I'm really supposed to wait for that flight instead. (see Joyride)

But for now, I guess I should go by the words of Gus, that son of a bitch that read out my blog to him and their friends -- go with an attitude that's something like "I like you and it's none of your business."

Why the fuck am I being so down when I should be glad I can feel good about someone? I like him and maybe, just maybe, that's enough.