Guilty

I spend the whole of 25th playing Clues with my siblings. Instead of routinely going over relatives' houses, we contented ourselves with the nine rooms of the manor looking for the killer and the weapon used. Pretty much, that would hint our disposition over the holidays.

If the Grinch decided to have a family, we are always ready for adoption.

Bookworms and 5 books I wish I read when I was 13

The closest to gay literature I had as a teenager was Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray. One could even argue that the ambiguity blurs the inclusion of Wilde's classic in the LGBT genre. The Perks of Being a Wallflower, one of my favorite books, had a strong gay character, and some novels, like Dickens', had a few gay characters to support their plot.

I took refuge to literature as a kid, which then became my entire personality. My aunt even told me, in front of my parents, that I linger to much on make believe worlds that I forgot to go out and play with my noisy cousins. Reading was the easiest escape route. No running, no locks to be picked- just a book and a quite nook to stay and the world just shifts to an entirely different dimension.

Dodging havoc

Zoo animals are in cages for a practical reason- to avoid bloodbaths. Lions are separated from zebras; snakes away from rats. Take away the cage and expect a big mess. This is why it always baffles me when people asks why I divide my life into separate compartments; why I tend to disassociate one part from another.

Last night, I was out drinking with high school friends when the conversation went to catching up with the lives of our batchmates. Six were already producing children on purpose, which made most of my friends evaluate their relationship and commitment status. One questions her tendency to fall for guys who are already in a relationship. One laments over a past love who, according to her, set the standard for her future flings.

Dodging bullets on this type of conversation has been an almost perfected craft. Non-law friends who ask how's law school usually get contented with a simple "same;same" or "just fine" for an answer. When it comes to talks of love and life, I would limit my self to who am I conversing with. In the case of my high school barkada, only those trivial facts that they already knew- the girl I used to go out with in high school, the perversion of my make believe worlds; but I never go beyond those encounters I had with the other compartments of my life.

The night ended with my barkada not getting any raunchy details from me. There are used to it, as far as the oldest in the group believes.

It was a safety precaution, I must admit. Being closeted; all the drama and issues of my too complicated life- there is just a need for some security. Or else.

December Rain

I remembering telling Tim, a friend in college, that I could never be with someone who wasn't thrilled by rainstorms. After that, it simply became part of the test.

I even had this picture on my mind.

Browsing classic books in a bookstore, then reading together, probably in a cozy coffee shop or restaurant away from the busy life of the city. The rain would hit the dark pavements just right after we step out of the store and decide to go home. There will be no umbrella on sight. Instead, I would look at you, think of that conversation with Tim, and wait for your response while I let my senses engulf the sound of water trickling down, of thunder rumbling from afar.

I'll ask you, "so what do we do now?" You'll say "Run!" and grab my hand. We'll dash around the crowd of busy working men, splashing our way till our bodies are soaked. You'll take the lead, and I'll start to loose my sprint. But you'll look back; you'll stop and wait for me to catch up, for me to take your hand again; for two estranged lovers to continue to run under dark clouds, drenched and enchanted. And I'll take that as a sign.

But then, growing up is inevitable,for some part devastating. Movies turned out, not to be just a suspension of disbelief, but an extension of how frustrated a man can be with his own image. Life has crossed its road; love might have left behind;

but unexpected thunderstorm in the middle of a sunshiny day would never loose its charm.

Inevitable

I knew we were bound to cross paths that day along the academic oval. There were no slight gestures that can bail me out from that. I knew it would be devastating to look at memory straight at the eye. So I pretended to have seen enough and took out my phone and acted like I was texting someone as you drew near. We crossed paths without the slightest encounter.

My iPod played Adele, mind you.

So she'll know

This might just be your ex-girlfriend's must have song of the year.

In my barkada's case, the song of her love life. The horror.

Like old friends

Beneath all the pile of law school finals months stress and work-related dilemmas, there are always some things that are worth the breath of fresh air- like listening to good music, or reading a good book you spent two months searching for, or just watching reruns of Modern Family.

1) Florence + the Machine is the best band that has emerged recently. And this single from their upcoming album will attest= http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WbN0nX61rIs

2) The good thing with earning your own money is that your parents won't ask you questions on how you spent them. Or else, they'll find I have ordered online a number of books that are not yet available in the PH. And oh, that includes this well-reviewed gay teen novel, The Vast Fields of Ordinary.

3) Looking at my list, it turned out I have already watches 230 movies this year. Aim for 300! The Cannes line up just needs to torrent-able.

But admittedly, life has pretty been a dump recently. But hell, three months, and goodbye sucker 2011.

Sunday school

Growing up in a conventional protestant family requires a few things, one of which is extending your classroom thwart before going to the actual church service. There is singing, dancing and a lot of story-telling about talking donkeys and man turning into salt. But coloring images from the bible and playing with fake religious kids are tolerable compared to the stress that comes with your mother dragging you off the bed on a cold weekend morning, nagging to get the best shirt and polished shoes to stand-out in Sunday school.

A hundred miles away from my parent, living alone for six years now and already taking up a second degree, one would expect a peaceful Sunday morning, filled with hot chocolate and sappy romantic songs. Except that my mom has no other kids to bug. My youngest sister who still lives with my parents, unfortunately, does not allow my mom to dictate what she should do when she's busy in front of the computer. Left with no one to bother, she's stuck with the only child who listened to her a long time ago.

The problem with parents is they hold too much on something from the past. Tell them the 80s is golden age for music and they'll pop one whenever they have the chance. Fall down the stairs once while playing as a toddler and expect the parents to remind you to be careful of stairs, reminding you of that memory loudly while inside a crowded shopping mall. And there goes the problem.

A few years into adolescence have changed me a lot, and that involves my religious views. I don't even know who or what to credit for it. I often hear my friends blame the UP culture or that there is no church around my block. My mom actually thought it is my studying of law that may have influenced me, despite the fact that she was the one who pushed me to take post-graduate school. No, I am not agnostic or an atheist, as my mom accuses me of. I believe in a higher being that is more than the imposed morality of the church. But again, you never talk about religious views, so I'll stop here.

My dad is never the church-goer. I could count on my fingers the times he actually went to our church. He believes it's not the dressing up and singing songs every week that count. There is more to faith, he says. As a kid, I thought it was just an excuse for him to spend his Sunday morning watching sports. I seldom agree with my father. But it turned out the apple does not fall far from the tree.

So there goes my mom, on the other end of the line mumbling to herself, reminding me of how I used to love going to the church, singing with the pastor and reciting bible verses every once in a while. She tells me of those good old memories where she hinges her expectations of me on. I never doubted my mom's ability to care for me. Hell, I have even cried in front of her a lot of times. But I guess there is just some things, some moment, some idea, that need letting go.

Sunday morning, she calls to ask how I celebrated my birthday week. Turning 21, I guess, is a big deal for a lot of people. It is the opposite for me. It turns out the freedom at this age I expect is not yet to come.

I admire Sunday school teachers. Preparing for a weekend for a class of kids of different age and childishness is horrible, but my Sunday school teachers, as I remember them, have been very patient with us. I have no memory of them shouting when I broke one of the crayons or when another kid spilled her milk. But I do have a memory of my mom shouting for me to wake up immediately. And I become cognizant of the fact that there are things that needs enduring for the ones we love. Maybe there are thing that are better reserved until the right time comes. The bible tells that love is patient, anyway.

Move.

"Basta maghanap ka ng lalaking walang kasama diyan, tapos lapitan mo na lang. Huwag ka ng mag-inarte."

I looked so desperate at that moment. I know it's wrong, but it has been a while since I have seen one that the urge to commit was extremely high. Who can't resist a good time, anyway.

For a thousand bucks, I approached a guy wearing a yellow shirt. He said it's not quite unusual for me to spend that much for a three-hour experience. I said, it will be all worth it. And it was.

That sounds too x-rated.

Here's what happened in a straight line: Nikki, Kaye and I decided to watch the UAAP Cheerdance Competition. We have neither ticket nor the patience to wait in front of Araneta Coliseum for 15 hours. There was no other choice but to resort to *tundununun* scalpers.

It turned out my skills in scalper spotting was no different from my writing skills. So I have to resort to the internet, which I am so familiar with. In just a few minutes, I was chatting with a guy who has three tickets he is willing to sell for a thousand bucks. The seats are good, so there was no more thinking. An hour after, we were inside the venue shouting at the top of our lungs.

For three hours, we did not care about having no voice for recitation or money for coffee since it's already finals in a few weeks. It was one of those moments where all inhibitions are released and and pride and happiness just devoured your body. (Kidding. I was actually reading my Rules of Court while waiting for the program to start.)

Mabuhay! UP Pep Squad!

This hand are made for

I am typing this while trying to rest my tired and swollen right hand from doing that cursed thing everyone expects me to do so. It's past 12 midnight and the urge to continue just gets manic.

The usual recourse is to blame my mom. Back in fourth grade, my elementary school offered a special class for penmanship. Now, whenever she criticizes my handwriting, I tell my mom that her insistence that the program was nothing but a capitalistic plot of my school is a ghost of the past that follows me everywhere. She just laughs. Maybe because I have better handwriting than my two younger sisters.

Which lead me to this childhood stereotype my aunts and uncles tried to impose on me.

"You have bad strokes. Be a doctor."

Well, I seldom listen to anyone. I always thought my hands are special (well, I discovered later on its real heavenly specialty). And to determine your future based on how your pen moves with your hand is ridiculous.

"Hey, you're daughter's pretty, she better be a prostitute when she grows up."

Instead, I chose a profession who boasts of its good handwriting and neat papers. Well, I still haven't received any comments from my professors from my blue books. But I admit, I am excited to see one. Then maybe, I'll consider taking medicine.

PS. I am just actually handwriting cases and laws which our professors required us to do. I am starting to feel frustrated by how my perception that my handwriting is not bad decreases as the hours pass by.

PPS.If its not mandatory, I would be doing something different with my hands now.

Limbo

"It's not about boredom anymore. You're looking for variety," she said.

It's been almost a year since I last saw D. The moment she left law school, I know my life would be doomed.

We were the perfect law school partners- we never studied, got drunk after class, texted inside the room with no worries whatsoever of bad recitation. We talked about movies, music and TV shows all night when we were supposed to be studying for our Consti exam. We were both eager to leave law school and join the advertising world (or in her part, return). She left, I stayed.

"Then what am I supposed to do? I am stuck", I said.

We both agreed we both were in limbo on our worlds. I was left with geeky classmates whose life is just law school, and those who talk about TV and movies delve into Gossip Girl and 90210. She was forced to work for a team whose creative juices are that of an annoying orange.

But the night was young and spending the night asking stupid question is a no-no. We had some nice chat at Mozu, then had some catching moment with other law school barkada in Barcino. We talked about Midnight in Paris and how we love Woody Allen. We were carefree, just like the old days.

I don't know the point of this entry. It was just nice being with people you get along with, especially now when the world's treating me like an outcast. It's like waking up from a bad dream from a bad dream.

Edging

It came out- well, almost.

It started with that Lady Gaga song. Rainy Thursday night, traffic along Quezon Avenue and endless happy songs on the FM radio. The three of us were not supposed to go out since we spent some fortune for good food last week and an out of the country trip for October was planned. But nevertheless, we met without any plan in mind.

So there we were, Nikki, Joy and I, stuck in our seats when the repetitive Gaga song played. We went crazy. While typhoon Kabayan was busy hitting Luzon, we were hitting wrong notes and misplaced lyrics.

Only after all the hype of singing out loud has faded and the rain has slowly waltzed its way out did we realize the common denominator that connected us that night. Within our inner circle, we were the only ones without romantic commitments.

But then who cares, we thought. There's Lady Gaga to sing with, Papa Jack to listen to late at night to release our inner jologs, and there's the time and money to spend without any restraint from someone not your parent.

"At least mine's a personal choice," I said.

The thing is, coming out is not as glorified for me like how other people treats it. I perceive the darkness inside the closet as incomparable to the darkness waiting for me outside. Most close people have the ideas and hints, but that's it. No confirmation.

We did not delve into our personal cynicism and angst anymore. It was a good night to be wasted. So Lady Gaga was back on track.

It was not until the clock reached 12, with our bellies full of Chinese food and tea, did we decide to fill up some blanks left that night. We just dropped off Joy in Katipunan. Nikki was to drop me somewhere in Quezon City.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the annoying callers asking for pesky love advice on the radio. Or maybe it was just the spur of the moment. But I actually thought of coming out.

Maybe because we started talking about serious stuffs. The idea of leaving the country. The idealism of actually making a difference in this world. Commitments dilemmas we always had. It was unclear. It was one of those few moment when you actually think of doing something you have always feared.

The red lights along Quezon Avenue were fading so fast. The jeepneys and buses were busy making noise in the middle of the highway.

Inside, there was a green light blinking, actually encouraging me to go and say those words I've always dreaded. It was too loud for me not to notice.

But before I knew it, I was almost thrown out of my seat. The car in front of us collided with a motorcycle while beating the red light.

Hello, are you still there?

I didn't even have the slightest idea if there's someone on the other end of the line. I just kept on talking and talking and talking till the urge to lick my lips and pause arose. Only when I decided to stop and listen to the silence did I begin to question if there is any presence on the other line at all.

Things have been better since my last post here, which is a distant six months past. Law school is still a pain in the ass and the unending social dilemmas of people around me still pester me. I also managed to squeeze a part time work courtesy of a college professor. But things have been working out on its own.

Too busy to actually study or work, I started to read my previous entries. The feeling was unexplained. Thinking of those entries made me grin.

It was then that I realize its not about having someone on the other line to talk to, it is the feel of comfort in expressing yourself free, the possibility of storing delusional memories and living a world without restraint that made me talk.

So there, I trace the unscathed memories and picked up the dial.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.

Whether you'll be spending next Monday with someone special or not, try to read Danton Remoto's article that came out last week. He quotes Yeats and Neruda so please take time.

http://www.abs-cbnnews.com/insights/02/04/11/love-actually

My cinema OC-ness clarifies though that Il Postino is nominated in 1995 and not 1997:) Plus, he referred to Andy Garcia reading Neruda's classic poem. I did some search and found this:

Enjoy the mall sales everyone!:D

Someday this pain will be useful

Here's to that kid who tried his hardest to be good enough for everyone; who spent hours watching movies and reading books to look for that perfect quote; who listened to the same song dozen of times because the lyrics meant a lot; whose wish every 11:11pm was wasted on someone who will never care.

Positions

The condition I had with myself and my mom was to try law school for a year and do whatever afterwards. A compromise since last year I was too eager to work, and my parents too, uhm, motivated to have a lawyer in the family. So I decided to take a full-time job next year while taking law school at night. Social suicide it is.

CubaoX/College friends

In line with guiding me daw, we evaluated our batchmates who are currently earning more than my friends are. We talked about Poveda girl who earns 6 digits in SG,a friend who gives Kitkat every time we see each other and those people in the yearbook with the most-likely-to-succeed tag.

Friend1: How about (he-who-must-not-be-named)?

Friend2: Diba executive na siya sa (research firm)?

To be clear, despite being in the same college and same circle of friends, nobody knew about the thing I shared with he-who-must-not-be-named.

Friend3: Dude, your a god with research and writing! Try mo kaya.

Friend2: Mahirap daw pasukin yung sa kanya eh.

Me: Ah. (In my mind- I know how it feels. Asshole.)

New Year/ High School friends

Since we were literally dispersed across the country, some with better school and degrees, bragging and comparing was always part of equation. Well, for me, I learned to keep my mouth shut unless I want to get the basta-UP-mayabang stare. So while talking about jobs, they went to discuss climbing the corporate ladder:

Friend1: Okay namang magsimula sa baba. At least experience.

Friend2: Syempre mas okay kung nasa taas na agad.

Friend3: Ok na ako sa middle ground mag start.

Friend1: No, basta ako I believe its better to be in the bottom.

Me: No! Mas okay kayang maging top!

I was laughing my ass off they have no idea why.

So if you know someone who can offer me a job in QC which can finance my daily coffee craving and my book and movie fascination, do tell me. I don't bite.

Alumni homecoming .1

O Kung Bakit hindi na Nabigyan ng sequel ang TGIS at Gimik

Cast:
Odessa- seksing seksing nanay ng grupo, may kakaibang taste sa mga lalaking hanggang kili kili niya lang, ampon, laking palengke
Ray- malibog, nagtatago sa mama's boy image since grade 1, ex ni Arah
Anne- bestfriend ni Greg, matampuhin, moody, naghi-high socks na parang madre
Greg- pasensyoso, corny, nakipagbreak sa ex nung 3rd monthsary para patunayang more than friends sila ni Anne
Nan- babaeng natrap sa machong katawan ng lalaki, never naaasar, mahaba ang kamay, gusto ng mga mahahabang bagay
Yuna- boyish, mahilig sa musika, madaming lihim, nanununtok
Ako- genius ng barkada, Dr. Love

Recurring Cast:
Arah- best friend ko, crush ng bayan, ex ni Ray, may 5PM na curfew sa 1800's parents
Ian- ang lalaking pinagnanasahan ni Nan, Felix Bakat
Nelly- ka MU ni Ian, conservative, spoiled brat, nangabilang probinsiya para bumili lang ng prom dress
Baby- madaming pimples, walang tigil ang bunganga, nagmamaganda sabi ni Nan
Miko- may lahing hapon kaya tinitilian ng mga kababaihan pero jologs at kumakanta ng Cueshe at Hale, niligawan si Arah
at kung sino sino pa