Wednesday, December 20, 2006


I do not want to sound hypocritical and untruthful but I guess, I have said enough. I finally decided to make a major shift in my life. I have a new job, in a new company and in a brand new world so different from what I've been used to . . . . I have rummaged around for love but I failed. But what can I do . . . that is life. I could be the most beautiful man in the world but if these things are really bound to happen, I guess that even the mighty Cher couldn't help it.

And as much as I wanted to continue this blog the way I kept it for the past year or so, I could no longer summon the energy and inspiration that I used to have. I know that if not all, most of you would be disappointed. So, bear with me. I’ll write this way as of the moment, until I can find the "badinggerzie" in me, again.

But life goes on . . . . . and my stories are still bound to be told . . . .

Picking up from my last confrontation with love and my "very well said" failure being dumped and all . . . I can say that the hairsplitting days were over and the moments of self-pity were already thrown in the train to the city of "forget-all-about-him". I could only grieve so much and if I'll let myself down for long, I would be a walking cadaver by now.

So, I let it all slip my mind and go through with my gay life.

And what is the best way to get over a very tormenting emotional pain but to replace it with a very excruciating and yet pleasurable physical exercise? And is there any other more convenient place to find it aside from the web?

I opened my G4M account after an era of disbelief because honestly, I'm not much of a fan of the well-chiseled abs, perfect smile and Adobe-Photoshopped pictures of guys in there but I told myself, "What the hell . . . . ."

And the search began . . . . .

I am a practicing homosexual since God knows when, I've been through both ends of the homosexual spectrum, I've seen all shapes and sizes . . . . and so I thought. As I browse through G4M, I can't help but wonder where in the f*cking world did these guys come from. I mean, don't get me wrong . . . . these are not just guys . . . . . that you see in your everyday life . . . . some of them didn't even cross my wet imaginations. I couldn't help but just clench my teeth because I know that that is the most I could do.

I want to be realistic . . . . so I just passed through their pages, really not thinking of hooking up with them, you know, because I don't want another anthology of heartache.

My own capacity for devotion is hypothetically focused on certain guys I saw walking the streets: strong-looking men who didn't aspire to conventional fame or happiness, who cleaved the air with definitive thoughtlessness. I looked as unobtrusively as possible at naive-looking guys who don't seem to exist, sullen college guys, and tough, cute boys who appear to be just in their post-puberty age but already thinking that they know everything.

I knew my interests were probably unhealthy. But they remained - they were the geography of my desire. A particular boy I saw sometime at the MRT with unkempt hair and an irritated expression could make me tingle by brushing my elbow with his sleeve.

And so . . . from one personal page to another . . . . I continued the search based from my "unhealthy" interests.

A couple of guys stood out.

One is a college student, studying somewhere in U-Belt, 19 years old and quite troubled and disturbed.

Another one looks boyish but he's already in his mid-twenties, working as a finance analyst, geeky as he may appear but based from his profile . . . I sensed depth and sincerity.

The third one is tough-looking, with the tattoo and a goatee going on, in a black sando with this "astig-ako" look plastered on his face. He looks dangerous but I guess still worth the try . . . . . anyway, I do not have any intentions of marrying him.

The fourth one is somewhat ordinary. 20+, lives with his folks, looking for a job, loner, loves music and reading books . . . . he'd prefer mind over matter.

And there were like a dozen more that I sent private messages to.

A part of me felt icky from what I just did but the majority said, there's really no harm in trying . . .

I wanted to surprise myself . . . . so I waited for like three days or so before I opened my account and saw a couple of messages. Most of which didn't make sense at all . . . and there were only two who made favorable responses: the ordinary, 20+ mind-over-matter guy and the geeky-finance-analyst.

Messages were exchanged to and fro until we came to the texting period, as what the usual routine would most probably dictate . . . . until a decision would be made to finally meet.

It was the 20+ mind-over-matter guy who first decided to meet me.


To be continued . . . . .

Friday, December 01, 2006


I just wanted to be happy . . . . to be genuinely happy. I couldn't ask for more. How hard could that be? Juggling more than one thing at a time has its drawbacks. But what could I do? I'm just one person . . . . I am taking care of a lot of responsibilities aside from myself. And there you go . . . my life has become a toilet duck being flushed down the drain.

I used to believe in the word love. The overrated, sugar-coated, backstabbing bitch called love. Not only once, not only twice, I've been a victim of it . . . countless of times, I end up staring at a ceiling ready to crack my skull open. Until the time came when I became sick and tired of it. I've became immune to its ridiculousness and its deceptive way to draw somebody into a pit full of double edged swords.

But then, once in a while, there's this imperceptible desire in me that I so wanted to ignore most of the times, but for as long as I don't pay attention to it, the more stronger it becomes. Maybe, it's human nature and there's nothing to do about it but to take action and God knows what will happen next.

I thought that I could find somebody that would complete me. I wanted somebody that could relate to me, somebody who has sense and could speak his mind. My past involvements with other guys consist of a patchwork of unwanted and wanted qualities that lead to nothing but a second-hand emotion. And then, somebody would step into my life . . . somebody that I could visualize as a person that would eventually accept and love me from dusk till dawn. But my charred optimism would only last to some extent until I realize that I’m dreaming wide awake because I wouldn’t stand a chance.

As of the moment, I'm writing this because I'm sadder than a stray kitten.

Some people would be afraid to admit this kind of things, but since that I have been totally honest in this blog, I might as well share my excruciating grief that I so painstakingly try not to feel.


For the past few weeks, I tried to figure out what did I do the last time that we saw each other. Because the communication just died abruptly as if I never existed. I thought that maybe perhaps, he's just busy and all since his schedule in his work changed every now and then. I tried texting him a couple of times but all I got are cold and unfeeling replies. I figured I must have done something. But I couldn't think of any.

And then, earlier this afternoon, due to the depressing post-storm atmosphere and the fact that I spent the whole day just lying in bed, I decided to get in touch with him.

"Why do I have this feeling that you are deliberately isolating yourself from me?" I asked.

"I dunno rin. Maybe we became busy. And I read ur latest post and ure with Ronald na so I didn't bother 2 bug u na," he replied.

I paused for a while, thinking of my previous post in this godforsaken blog.

Then I replied, "Hus Ronald? U let urself be botherd by that post? Im not with anybody naman. Im still hoping that ud give me a chance. Bt I dnt knw if ur rily willing."

After a couple of minutes, the bomb finally landed in Hiroshima, "I got a BF na. Sa totoo lang, I got dismayed by your last post, go figure y."

At a moment, I could've wished that the earth would just open up and eat me alive.

But what else could I do?

I'm in no position to force myself into someone, who maybe, just forced himself to entertain me, in the first place.

And so I said, "That's all what I needed to hear. Thanks for the time."

The butterflies in my stomach turned into grey and coarse moths drilling their way into my innards. The happy thoughts turned to nightmares like sandcastles meticulously built in hours and just washed away by a monstrous wave in a blink of an eye. Thunderclouds overcast their dark shadows on my rainbow of hopefulness.

The spoonful of sugar turned into a bitter concoction that made me want to throw-up.