Of A Great Woman And A Loving Mom

When I was a young boy, there were three words that my mother said to me each morning, five days a week, nine months a year for 6 years....RISE AND SHINE, she would say. It meant we were to get up for another day of school.


If I had known then, what I know now, there would have been about five words I would have said to her each time.  My mother didn't have the benefit of a good, solid education. But, she was the smartest person I've ever known. She didn't have a diploma or degree from any school are university. But, she had a PhD in life and yet another, in love.

Many had said of her that she did too much for us, her children. It was said that perhaps she loved us too much. But, I ask of you, just how can you do too much for your children and even more, how can you love them too much? What people seemed to forget was the circumstances surrounding our life at home when we were coming up. She had to be both mother and father to us. Yes, we had a father there, in body. It was mama who did for us, it was mama who watched out for us, it was mama who calmed our fears.  It was mama who said that one day things would get better for us, that the light at the end of the tunnel wasn't an oncoming train. She was right.

What I remember most, was my mama sitting up all night in a hardback chair...quietly weeping, quietly praying for me throughout a miserable night after i had an operation. THIS...was my mother. I've often thought the highest praise you can give any woman is to say she is/was a good mother. This being the case, my mother was the very personification of a good mother.

She loved us unconditionally and her entire life was devoted to us, right to the very end. Sure, she had faults, just as we all do. But, she admitted hers, while so many others find themselves faultless. She's be the first to admit her faults...she was so very humble.  For the first time in the 24 years of my life, I'll face Christmas without my beloved mother. It will be difficult, to be sure.

She taught us how to laugh, how to love, how to give comfort, how to live our lives morally and there at the end...mama showed us how to die. I comfort myself in the knowledge that she is with Jesus, and her sister who was so tragically killed nine years ago...something she never was able to recover from.

She no longer suffers from crippling arthritis, diabetes, heart disease, high blood pressure, eye disease or other problems that I can't remember right now. But, despite it all, my mother's faith in God remained unshaken, she believed on the Lord with all her might.

Finally, someday I too must pass from this world, just as we all must.  Somehow, someway, I just know...I just know that I will hear that sweet, familiar voice say 'rise and shine' and I will turn to her and say...
Thanks mama, thanks for everything.

 I love you Ma.
___________________________________

*I will be on a hiatus for the time being. Let me grieve for awhile... See you soon.

Of Flaws And Imperfections

He doesn't have to feel like he has to be perfect
He doesn't always have to wear the perfect clothes or put on the perfect scent
Because in my eyes he would be the most beautiful man in the world
His so called "imperfections" are what entices me
When he says the wrong things or does something embarrassing
that is when I know he is real, he's not just another "one of those"
I accept him for everything he is, good or bad
His "flaws" do not make him look bad, they define who he is
They make him unique
Which I love
I love so much.

Of A Long Talk And Some First Impressions

You.
Yes, you.

You who make my knees jelly and hands sweaty.
You who unleash the herd of mammoths in my tummy.

You who blows my composure with a mere laugh.
You who inspires me to devise poetry in seconds.
You who ensnared me without a warning.

You.
Yes, you.

Just you.

Of Depression, Sickness And Morning Sex

There is just so much depression and bad luck that a person can take. For two nights last week, I literally tossed and turned in bed, making me lose sleep and grow these eyebags to humongously bloated sizes. Plus, I suffered from anxiety attacks wherein I almost felt like I was being haunted in broad daylight.

Fortunately, my luck has changed its course. (Whew.)

The start of the week, well, I thought I was doomed to another long and miserable workload wherein bitching and ranting will most probably reign and my "cussing" skill (can't get it out of my system), honed to it's best.

But sheer patience, determination, kapal-ng-mukha and a lot of prayers have made me cope with these problems. The top three need-to-do-badly's in my weekly task have now been struck out.

Sometimes life's good. Sometimes life's bad. And sometimes, I just don't know what it is.

But let me impart a gold nugget of wisdom I have gotten from this learning experience: IT WOULDN'T KILL YOU TO TRY.

Remember that.

_________________________________

I've caught something. *Ah-chooo!*

Argh.

I hate having colds because of the stuffiness in my nose, making it hard to breathe through my nostrils and thus causing chapped lips because I have to breathe through my mouth or die from lack of oxygen (as if my brain hasn't suffered enough from oxygen depletion).

Having said that, it's also hard to eat because I can hardly chew, swallow and take in gulps of air all at the same time. Sigh, not being able to eat already makes me sad. 

_________________________________

I had sex for breakfast. Ang saya.

Nakamasid ako sa may bintana ng aking opisina na tanaw ang kahabaan ng Ayala Ave. habang nagdedeliryo sa laswa ng mga kaganapan.
Details?

I leave that to your imagination. =P

Of Closets And Correspondences

Some weeks back, I met this guy, Jeff, online (I've actually changed his name, obviously, because he's specifically requested I would not "out" him, and I'm feeling sympathetic). We exchanged messages for a while and then eventually agreed to meet up to see if things sparked.

He ended up being a pretty nice guy, a guy I wouldn't mind knowing socially, though there were many flashing red lights for me: He's a Mormon (and I haven't met an unmarried sexual Mormon who wasn't some sort of psychotic, and then there's the whole no alcohol or drugs or caffeine bit). He's a closeted Mormon (which makes sense, not being closeted would make him excommunicated, but still--closeted guys are tricky enough without the extra hang ups inherent with Mormonism). He's a rather conservative (which is pretty much my diametric opposite), and went on a lengthy rant about how he hates that homosexuals are fighting for "special" rights, like marriage, etc. when they don't need any "special" rights (I really shut so much of this particular conversation out, as I didn't feel like entering a large argument at the time). He hates the color orange (I've two orange shirts of which I'm quite fond. I'm still that shallow).

Anyway, we decided we'd meet again and continue getting to know each other better, blah, blah, blah...in an urban gay speak it usually meant quite the opposite, so I wasn't surprised that I never heard from him again.
Except he's just begun e-mailing me again, expressing how he'd lost my number (heh) and that he was also scared by my honesty about my sexuality. He's struggling with his identity as a gay man vs. his identity as a good Mormon and wants someone he can share his feelings with freely as he's confused about his life.
Typically, I encourage kids to stay closeted while they're minors if they live in a home environment that is more likely to condemn them than accept them. On the flip side, I'm not very fond or accepting of gay adults who are closeted. Personally, I think that an adult has the power to create their own safe space and they should take responsibility for being true to themselves. I can understand the fear of losing your family's love...but how can a person feel their family really loves them if their family doesn't really know them? This guy's thirty-two. He doesn't have to worry about his family beating him or kicking him out of their house. He does have to worry about a religion that is very harsh towards homosexuality (while purporting the opposite amongst themselves). That just opens a whole other can of worms for me. I don't get the religious types who still follow along dogmatically to a religion that condemns their very being.

I don't get it.

I want to be a good person, be there for this guy and help him become a person who is more capable of accepting himself for who he is. I don't know how I can do this without counselling him heavily to come out of the closet and let the change that brings come. I know the unknown is a big scary, but I'm of the opinion that bottling your identity up is far more harmful to yourself.

--------------------------------

I got back to him, very brief:

Jeff, 

You can trust that I won't reveal your sexuality to anyone. At the same time, if you were to be my friend, and ever spend time with me when I was with other friends, I'm not sure the same should apply. If we were to meet only with each other, that would be one thing. I'm very understanding of your personal quandary in trying to make a sensible balance of a life as a gay man in your background. I understand how hard it is to think of the possibility of family, church etc. finding out who you really are and rejecting you. But I don't think you'll ever feel truly comfortable in your own skin by leading a double life--I think you end up causing yourself more confusion and personal harm in the long run. And by no means will we be having sex? If you ask, I'm gone.


His response:

Caloy:
Thanks, that was a really sweet note. You still sound like a nice guy and we should hang out. Thanks for being so understanding. Sometimes I just want to be with someone I can feel safe with and trust and be able to talk and stuff. You seem like a nice guy. 



Yawn. I'm a nice guy? I fucking hate that. Yes, I can be nice, but I tell you now, if you think that's my driving personality trait, you should really try to know me better, because you're sans clue.

At any rate, I plan to keep our friendship and my status as understanding friend on a via e-mail and YM's only basis for the forseeable future. I think I'm just as capable of talking and dispensing understanding and advice thru writing as I am in person--and that will take away the risky possibility of my irresistable nature adversely affecting him.

Of Books And Love Affairs

It's supposed to be a nightstand, a small table beside my bed. Pero obviously mukha na syang bookshelf. Kawawa naman yung picture frames, wala nang silbi.

My love affair with books are like my (pseudo) past and future relationships. A totally blinding realization for me when I had the chance to sort my books last night. Like dealing with men, I’m not one of those people who can casually pick up a book and leave it anytime, not caring if they’ve finished reading it. Hey, I'm a financial analyst, I should have the patience of a proofreader.

It takes a lot of effort for me to find a book to read: cruising it at the bookstore, eyeing it on the shelf, walking nonchalantly, giving it a small smile as I pass by.

When I finally summon enough courage to approach it, I go tentatively, studying the cover, perusing the blurb, flirting with the first page. Sometimes I can get very daring and read an entire chapter. Scandalous! The clerk eyes me disapprovingly behind the counter.

When the plot clicks, I get this rush, this giddy feeling. I have to rush to pay so I can go home and get into bed with it. I spread its pages apart and dive in. I am enthralled, passionately reading all night.

In the morning I wake up and it is lying tenderly on my chest. Not just one for a nightstand.

When a book is really good, I keep it forever. It occupies a very special space in my bookshelf, in my life.

But once in a while, I get a book that starts out good but starts to turn bad. I have made a bad judge of cover.

I find it hard to abandon a book. I usually stick with it to the bitter end. I am co-dependent that way: even though I derive no more pleasure with it, I cannot untangle myself. I am bound to it.

I try to negotiate with it. Another few pages I say, maybe it will get better.

But it doesn’t.

I can get really violent. I will slam the book close in disgust, or throw it physically across the room. But in the cold light of the morning, I am ashamed when I see its cover bruised, battered, lying there forlorn.

A friend may see the book and ask me what happened. An accident, I say, the door...

But even though I carefully consider each book I encounter, most often, I get this feeling, like it wasn’t meant to be. You know the kind: you have fun while it lasts but when The End comes, you part ways amicably.

Just another by-the-book affair.

I try to remember why it didn't work out. But my memory of that particular story only comes in bits and pieces. I realize it doesn't matter, I've already turned the page...

Of A Caffeine Addiction And Some Realizations

I just realized that you'll never really learn to appreciate a nice hot mug of steaming coffee unless you've been out long in the cold. I used to think that the idea of a hot meal or a hot drink is so cliche. I mean, food of course, would be better if served hot, unless it's ice cream. Thing is, it all seemed the same to me before. Until that morning. And I am wondering why and how, in the face of the whole cornucopia of things urgent and pragmatic stirring my life around, would this stand out to claim my awareness, like some pathetic and dismal version of stopping to smell the flowers.

I've had coffee every morning for most of my adult life. I get a headache if I don't get my caffeine fix. Now I'm seeing coffee in a different light. It used to be something I had to have so I could function properly in a 24-hour period. Now suddenly, I realize it can be a source of comfort and in the exact second when I found myself freezing cold and despondent for it, it was all the world for me.

I wonder if there's the slightest chance this could be done with people... I mean, see them in a different light. Or maybe, just as it happened to me and my coffee, we are left at the mercy of a spontaneous, unguarded moment that gives way to profundity.

Well, unfortunately now is not the time to dwell on it. Yet again, this champ falls victim to the tyranny of the urgent.

Some other time then... some other place...

Of Missing Shoes And Some Parental Orgies

I am having really weird dreams as of late.

Last night there was a woman with a major facial hair problem. No, it wasn't that she was a man masquerading as a woman...she really was a woman.

Then there was the dream where I was caught by my mother having sex with a guy and decides that everyone else is going to sleep in that room with me. Why? I have no clue.

Then there was the dream where I couldn't find my shoes. That was the entire dream. I can't find my shoes.

Weird.

So, what do these dreams mean? Beats me...

Of A Random Flirt With A Fasfood Stranger

1 in the morning.

was too sleepy but feeling hungry. hauled myself to nearby fastfood.

got my food and sat across a fairly cute guy.

caught him looking at me. he smiled.

i picked up my food. sat next to him.

me: i don’t know if you’re one of those guys who need an excuse to sit with strangers but if you are, let’s agree on the medical fact that eating alone is bad for your stomach. or liver. or spleen. i really don’t know. but one of them should be right.

he turned beet-red and laughed self-consciously.

me: you don’t have to worry about me asking you for your number or where you live. i don’t have any intention of invading your life. i just want to sit next to somebody here and now. nothing more.

after a while we were talking animatedly. when he offered his number, i said no. it was more fun that way.

and i remember wondering why someone told me sometime ago that i come on too strong…

Of Whining And Self-analysis

After working for a good two-thirds of a fockin fortnight, I find myself completely out of whack. My laundry has gone up to a near unmanageable pile. The fridge is near empty while the pantry is full of trash masquerading as food. Almost all of our provisions are in the fockin red. And if not for my dear bestfriend, there will be no decently cooked food in the house. Heck, we probably won't even have water! Gah.

I have to schedule my clients' appointments all within a week's time cause each one of them is overdue. I am once again unable to keep up with my inbox. Bills and receipts, notices and return stubs are waiting to be filed soon as they come out of their individual envelopes. Ironing clothes has become a thing of the past. My car is a moving dustbin. And if not for online banking, I will probably be late paying each and every one of my bills each and every month.

How one can I live like this, I have no idea. I can't. I can't sleep very well with all these nagging me at the back of my mind. And could I be any more deprived? Hello... I work 13 fockin hours per day, for Pete's sake! I am inadvertently in limbo until I have all these fixed and in place so technically, I am not even getting anywhere or having anything accomplished. And you know what the funny thing is? I'm in this rut because I believe I've been working! Catch 22? You tell me.

I know, I know. It's a tough life and the way things are going, I should be thankful that I have a job and of course I am. How can I not be? It's just that I also wish we could always eat the right stuff, you know. That there aren't days when we have to settle for what we can throw together in a jiffy because that is all that we can manage. Or else we can always opt for the default... eat out, which is easy but not nifty. 2 weeks ago, I had some time to cook for my closest friends, which was a weekly task before I have this current job. I will not forget the look on their faces... the look of satisfaction on their faces until the final desert... made more outstanding in my mind because I know I haven't cooked for them in quite a while.

I long for mornings past when I'd wake up but I didn't really need to get up... I had time to reacquaint with myself. I had time to plan the day without finding myself finally getting caught up on the 24th hour. I had time to get on my dogs' nerves... and then laugh afterwards. In a nutshell, I had time to feel something... something else... besides being exhausted. That was just last week. I fockin miss that.

I am trying to remember if in my recent past I have wished for this, or at least for the part of it that was obviously appealing. We never do see the bigger picture, do we? We're never smart enough for that. We always seem to miss seeing the part where it says 'difficult' and I take my hats off to that part in the human spirit that will keep refusing to see that it has indeed become 'difficult.' I keep forgetting that our smallest decisions become vast by implication. They will always encompass our whole lives.

And yet tomorrow, we are going to Binondo ... something I have never done for the past 5 years or so to gratify my tummy's longing for chinese food.. Ah life... you ole bugger!