March 18, 2018

My youngest sister is in my room right now, crying her heart out over an ended relationship. She's 17 and considering that this is her first foray into the inexplicable genre of first love, I let down my sarcastic self and took the shoes of a responsible older brother.

She talked to our mother, who is probably my last bastion or resort for advice. It was quite weird hearing my mother, put on loudspeaker by my eavesdropping other sister, talking words of wisdom and whatnots to my youngest sister.

I never had that conversation, never dialed her number when the guy I was dating three years ago decided to hug it out in the stairs of one building in UP. To be fair, I am still in the closet. But as any gay guy would tell you on the street, your mother always knows, probably even before you knew yourself. Funny how I use that as an excuse now whenever the topic of coming out is laid down in the table. I'm 27 now and the inquiries of when I will tie the know have substantially diminished over the years.

It's weird hearing her advise. There's no jealousy or whatsoever. I am fine with my sister being able to open her life out to my mother, an opportunity I never actually had. Even if I were out, my mother would probably be the last person I'll ask an advice from. But it was nice hearing her talk to my sister- the idea that she is engaged and concerned with our personal lives; the possibility that some time in the future, her life and my personal life will also meet and we will, even if I probably won't, laugh at failed relationships and cursed hook-up.s

"You look happy when you talk about films," she told me, despite knowing that I work as a lawyer, a profession one cannot associate with the arts. She, herself, is taking up chemical engineering although her real passion is creating virtual reality. Her parents want her to be an engineer. But her eyes glistens as well when she talks about art. I guess you can find yourself in others even milea away from home; and you leave that self behind as well.

Six days here and so far, less pleasant than I have expected. The weather isn't suited for my backpacking lifestyle (or the other way around because I was stupid to think that I can brave the winter with only a few sweaters on). I can't seem to take my eyes off my phone, constantly bombarded by the stupidity of the land I will come back to the day after tomorrow. I am frustrated. Things have been going out of my way recently. I can't seem to shake the bad things away. I can't seem to run away from it. Here I am, thousand of kilometers away from my bed, and the anxiety and melancholia still creep in, much more in the middle of the night where the room is cold from its emptiness. 

I am headed to Seoul today. I lost track of time and was unaware that it is Saturdal. All of the trains are fullybooked. I got a standing ticket instead. This sucks. An hour in, I was squatting on the floor, in the middle of train 15 and 16, with no view of the passing trees and mountains, and a heavy backpack to mind. 

Out of nowhere, an old lady gave us, the crowd inside the standing carriage, caramel candies. It was the simplest of gesture. It might even be natural for the old lady. But it is the highest point of my trip. Cramped among locals and exhausted with no sense of comfort in sight, I think I finally found meaning in this trip. 

Nov. 27, 2017

The temperature is below zero here, and I am stuck in the middle of a town where bus signs are in a language I used to know a decade ago. I just saw a guy order an iced coffee. The idea of putting something cold in between my lips terrifies me now more than ever. The warmth, I need some warmth.

To (all of) you

Devour my lips, but don’t trust the words that come from it. I am good with words. Like a spider, intricately spinning its web, with no other purpose but to catch a prey.

(Just because I’ve been on several dates lately. And I’m still afraid of what I’m capable/incapable of. *cue Robyn’s Hang With Me*)