Ghost in the Shadow

Foreword

I wrote this piece almost five years ago, so some time elements had to be changed. It was an unexpected but quite frankly long overdue encounter with someone from the past that triggered me to put my thoughts and feelings into words. It's amazing how one can write effortlessly when a fork in life's road makes you stop, think, look back, then move forward. This is the product of one of those moments.

Ghost In The Shadow

I don't use to believe in ghosts, at least not in the supernatural ones. But there was one that was to haunt me for years, a ghost in the flesh, the ghost of a friend with whom I severed ties more than a decade earlier.

My relationship with Dino was unexpected. He was everything I was not. Brimming with resentment at society for how it has treated me thus far, I was self-centered and wanted all the world to attend to me. He, on the other hand, was generous and gallant. He knew the simple art of listening, and in his silent way he taught me how the simple gesture can make a person feel important.

I was a friend to few, and it was no wonder that he was a friend to most. I was an advocate of clean-living. He had the vices. He was the one who oriented me to nicotine and booze. In the circle of boys at the brink of becoming men, those who had a "tough guy" stance seemed to be looked up to. I savored every puff and gulp despite its ill-effects.

Most of all, he's heterosexual, I'm gay. He was totally homophobic and I was absolutely in the closet. We crossed paths at a time I was struggling at coming to terms with my homosexuality.

Despite these differences and more, we found ourselves constantly in each other's company. Our conversations always struck a balance between the frivolity and gravity of the topic at hand. We'd listen to each other's plans for the future. We'd talk endlessly about the complexities and trivialities of life and love.

I recall vividly the first time Dino and I were to set foot inside a "massage parlor". It was an idea that came out of the blue while having late supper in a district that had an eclectic mixture of world-class cuisines and crass pursuits of the masses. We casted a last glance at each other as our respective ladies-in-waiting escorted us through the narrow, rouge-lit corridors and into the insignificant cubicles of arbitrary pleasure. Mixed feelings of excitement and anxiety filled us as we were on the threshold of becoming "men", at least how patriarchal society saw it.

They say a friend is someone whom you dare to be yourself. I never realized I looked up to Dino so much I almost forgot I was gay. After our "flesh" encounter, we headed for a cheap beer garden and laughed off our failed attempt at getting laid. Ironically, we were relieved to know none of us had taken the plunge.

But his homophobia disturbed me no end. I was also struggling within. If I tell, I could lose him. If I go on with my little show, things will stay as they are. Still selfish as I was, I chose the latter. And as if that mistake was not enough, I fell for my friend. My unwarranted affection was somehow oblivious to me until things blew right in my face. Dino and I parted ways in the most bitter of ways – silence.

It then dawned on me that by befriending him with a mask on my face I made a grave mistake one could commit in a friendship – betrayal. Full of self-blame I vowed to make amends and redeem myself in the process.

A year after Dino and I severed ties and with the accumulative baggage of years of self-denial, I decided to come out of the closet. It has not always been pleasant since then as society feared what it did not know and treated with contempt what it could not understand. But truth was my constant companion, truth to myself and truth to others as well.

Surprisingly, I managed to build meaningful friendships with men whose emotional orientation and sexual affiliation are strikingly different from mine. My homosexuality was never an issue with Gerard. I'd talk to him about the girls he's crazy about, he'd talk to me about the men I fancy, and we'd flippantly buoy up each other's frivolous ideas. If we were paid for going on movie marathon dates, we'd probably be filthy rich by now. His family welcomed me with open arms. I would attend social events with them. Sleeping together on the same bed was never a big deal.

Our relationship was borne out of the universal principle that friendship does not require similarities but rather differences to help each other grow; It's not how you influence one another but how you bring out each other's best. The difference in our object of attraction and affection became more a bridge than a hindrance.

Succeeding friendships with heterosexual men seemed to outdo the previous. It has never ceased to amaze me how I managed to live for almost a year with Michael who was absolutely gender-insensitive. We were practically at each other's necks and nerves. But he had his own issues of defiance against social conventions so to each other we provided not only help in paying the bills but also refuge in batlling society's rebuke of our idiosyncracies and individualities.

Our friendship defied the saying that familiarity breeds contempt. Rather, we were able to see the point of view from the other side of the fence and learned to acknowledge our individualities and rejoice in our differences along the way.

There were still other victories at male bonding that came before and after Gerard and Michael. And through it all, Dino was at the back of my mind. His ghost was lurking in the past, always there to haunt me, reminding me of a failed relationship and nudging me never to fail again.

It served me well. I learned that there is joy in truth no matter how unpleasant it may come across to others. Most of all, I learned that being true to yourself and liking yourself is the first step at having other people genuinely like you. Being a friend to oneself is most important in becoming a friend to others.

One evening, Dino and I unexpectedly crossed paths. With only streetlamps to illuminate the dark pavement, I thought I saw him from a distance and dismissed it as mere mirage. But my doubt deceived me when he finally cried out my name. It was for real. It was the first time in ten years that we saw each other again. I was suddenly thrown into a vortex of mixed emotions as the ghost of a dead friendship was coming towards me in the dark of night. Was I going to run out of fear, or face the wraith for my own salvation?

As I stood there before the friend I left behind, his very presence and the ghost that stayed with me suddenly became one. And as we spoke, all those years of haunting seemed to have reached its end. I simply could not believe my eyes and ears. The encounter was quick and tepid, and it did not seem a bit like nothing happened. We did not talk like we did in the past before we parted bitterly.

I wanted to hook up with him and laugh at the things that transpired between us but I was hesitant to make the initiative. I did not even dare ask for his number. And although I was looking at him and listening to him with utmost delight, he could not look at me straight in the eye. But it was alright not knowing whether he was still bitter at what happened or he simply remained homophobic. It was good enough that our paths serendipitously crossed. Our chance meeting provided an end, no matter how vague, to an issue we left hanging.

Somehow I reached the curtain call of my little show for there was closure. It all ended that night ten years after. The ghost had been silenced. And far had it been for me to realize, it was not just his ghost that I finally made peace with but my own ghost as well, the ghost of a faulty friend who made a mistake at one time but got back at life by coming to terms with the past, relishing its significance, and rearranging its elements to benefit the world around him. As we bid goodbye and went our separate ways through the night, there was an assurance that I was no longer walking in the shadows. I slept with a smile on my face. I was still beaming when I woke up to greet the next morning.

Afterword

There had not been an opportunity for me to have Dino read this. Chancing upon his profile in a social networking site, I sent him at least three friend requests in a span of two years. There has been no response.

'Tang-Init! 'Tang-Inis!

Lagpas 100 degrees Fahrenheit ang init sa Downtown L.A. nitong Labor Day weekend. Brutal, pare! Pinagpapawisan ka kahit wala kang ginagawa. Maging mga haligi at kagamitan sa bahay mainit. At ang kama ko parang ihawan; may init na nagmumula sa ilalim nito na para akong dahan-dahang nililitson habang natutulog.

Malas ko nga dahil suwak ang init sa oras ng pagtulog ko - mula umaga hanggang hapon kasi nga night shifter. Pero kahit sino 'di paututulugin ng init (lalo na kung walang erkon tulad ko), at lagi akong napapagising bandang ala una o alas dos ng hapon. Sa pangangailangang makatulog ng kahit anim na oras pumupunta ako sa kusina, binubuksan ko ang refrigirator at doo'y sumasandal at sinusubukang humimbing uli. Hindi naman ako makatulog kasi siyempre nakaupo ako. Hay, 'tang-init talaga!

Kaya ang sarap maligo nung mga araw na 'yon. Kung puwede lang magbabad sa bathtub na puno ng yelo, ginawa ko na. Kasi presko man ang pakiramdam mo matapos maligo, pawis ka naman na bago ka pa lumabas ng bahay. Hindi na nga ako nagtutuwalya no'n, eh. Air dry na lang - ambilis pa! Tapos maya-maya basa ka na uli dahil sa pawis. 'Tang-inis!

Naisipan ko ngang mag-hotel pero malayo sa kinaroroonan ko ang disenteng hotel at sobrang mahal daw ayon sa mga katrabaho ko. Pinayuhan ako bumilli ng portable aircon, yung nilalagyan ng tubig o yelo; kaya lang bukod sa wala akong sasakyan para pumunta ng appliance store, wala akong panahon mamili dahil duty nung tatlong gabing 'yon.

Nagsimulang bumaba ang temperatura nung Lunes, simula ng day off ko; pero mainit pa rin na nakatatlong beses akong paligo. Buti na lang malamig na ang ihip ng hangin ngayon tuwing umaga at gabi. Naku, sinusumpa ko talaga ang summer heat dito sa L.A. Sa tanang buhay ko 'di pa ako nakaranas ng ganitong init, kahit sa 'Pinas. Kaya ngayon pa lang kinontrata ko na ang ilang kakilala (na may erkon) na baka makitulog ako about the same time next year sakaling umabot muli sa unbearable degree and init dito.

The Force is with John Williams

None in my new immediate circle of friends knew who John Williams is, so I set myself up for a "solitary" night of movies music with Hollywood's most accomplished and acclaimed film scorer. Having no car, I took the red line and alighted at Hollywood & Highland where a shuttle to Hollywood Bowl was waiting - plus a complimentary beverage of your choice from Starbucks.

It was my first time at the Bowl and no one better to raise the curtains for me but a film artist whose work I have tremendously admired and religiously followed since childhood, being oriented to his masterful works through his soaring and award-winning score for E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982). His many collaborations with filmmaker Steven Spielberg, an artist I hold in equal esteem, provided nourishment to my soul growing up in an environment where access to and expression through art was limited.

The mood was festive as the bus pulled up near the box office. Clusters of people camped on the lawns enjoying a little pre-concert picnic; some laid out blankets, others folded out collapsible chairs, and there were those who chose to commune with nature by ensconcing themselves on the gentle, green grass. Wine sampling booths added boost, or should I say booze, to the occassion.

The humungous ampitheatre was abuzz with activity as I entered. I was amazed at the sheer volume of people in attendance. I couldn't help but say to myself, "So this many people know who John Williams is? I must be hanging out with the wrong crowd."

Activity and its accompanying noise gradually dissipated as the lights faded out, the crowd waiting in anticipation for the appearance of the man of the show. The great John Williams received warm applause as he entered the stage. He started the show as soon as he stood on the pedestal.

Act One was an homage to film composers of Hollywood's Golden Age. He offered his own rendition to some of the finest compositions during the era which served as inspiration for his works: Miklos Rozsa's "Parade of the Charioteers" from Ben-Hur (1959), Erich Wolfgang Korngold's "March" from The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), Bernard Herman's "Scene d'Amour" from Vertigo (1958), themes from Gone With the Wind (1939) and Now, Voyager (1942) by Max Steiner, and Maurice Jarre's scores for director David Lean's Dr. Zhivago (1965) and Lawrence of Arabia (1962); the last two with excerpts from the movie.

Watching John Williams perform live was a dream within reach when I came to America, and I could not believe I was fulfilling that dream that night as the concert unfolded. I was wide-eyed amazed at the man whose work I have loved from such a long distance, relishing his work from a creaky audio cassette player and expressing admiration by telling people about his work as I listen to his music or while walking out of a theater after watching a movie he scored.

Act Two was dedicated to the man of the show, and his opening salvo was the iconic heroic "March" from director Richard Donner's Superman (1978). The crowd went wild as the orchestra blasted the first five notes of the piece. Goosebumps crawled up from my ankles to my nape. He followed it up with the accompanying "Love Theme", an instrumental version of the song "Can You Read My Mind?" which he also composed.

His underappreciated score for Catch Me If You Can (2002) is most distinctive and surprising for a Steven Spielberg film. I honestly did not retain the tune after watching it unlike most of his collaborations with Steven Spielberg. But listening to "Closing In," "Reflections," and "Joyride" with live alto saxophone, vibraphone and bass accompaniment provided me new opportunity for appraisal.

Three pieces from the Harry Potter movies followed, evidence of his successful reinvention that has allowed him to connect with the millennium generation. He began with the atmospherically eerie "Chamber of Secrets" from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (2002); segued to "Aunt Marge's Waltz" from Harry Portter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004) that brimmed with mischievous bouyancy; and concluded with a sumptous summation of fantasy and wonderment through "Harry's Wondrous World" from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (2001) .

As the orchestra began to blast with the triumpaht "Throne Room and Finale" from Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope (1977) the dark ampitheatre lit up with faux lightsabers. Fans of the man and the movie brandished the trademark weapon in the air throughout the whole piece. It was an exercise of unbridled fanaticism.

An encore was definitely in the offing as he waved the audience goodbye. The spotlight followed his exit and stayed right at the door. As he reentered the stage, the crowd gave a loud applause and took a while to sette. He delivered his encore with a bang starting off with the spellbinding main theme from Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back (1980). He followed it up with "Sayuri's Theme" from Memoirs of a Geisha (2005), a movie I have yet to see. The piece unfolded like a romantic rhapsody of melancholy and joy.

Everyone was up on their feet as he exited the stage again - only to come back to appease the people's clamor for his immediate return. To my delight his third encore piece was the main theme from "E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial". I roared out adulation in a heartbeat, and was a tad embarassed realizing it was the only cry of admiration heard throughout the huge ampitheatre. It seemed I was the only one who recognized the first few playful notes of the piece.

The audience's thirst for his music was unquenable that cheers crescendoed again as he walked off the pedestal and out of the stage for the third time. And the shouts of approval and encouragement persisted. The fans just wouldn't let him go. And to return his audience's appreciation, the artist returned to the stage. A fourth encore piece! Now that's a concert! He capped the night of musical adventure with a most befitting piece - the main theme from the Indiana Jones trilogy.

As the music faded out, applause was again fading in. John Williams, beaming with gratitude at the appraisal endowed him, stood still for a moment smiling at the populace before him. It has been almost three hours since the concert started. He put his palms together and rested his right cheek on them as he tilted his head to the side gesturing sleep. The crowd broke into laughter and clapped their hands firmly as if letting him go. And he exited. Stagelights dimmed and floodlights filled the ampitheatre.

Excitement brewed anew as the crowd marvelled about the concert while walking out - from the ramps, to the parking lot, and even to the train station. John Williams, along with the L.A. Philharmonic Orchestra, may have bowed out for the night, but the little evening of wonderful music will remain in the minds and hearts of the audience for a long time.

Ilusyong Nar$

Akala ng marami, madali ang pera kapag nars ka sa Amerika. Siguro totoo 'yon 'pag matagal ka nang nagtatrabaho at mainam ang patakbo ng ospital na pinapasukan mo. Pero sa isang nagsisimula pa lang tulad ko, maraming bayarin na kailangan tuparin bago maging financially stable.

Kapag bagong salta ka, halos mamulubi ka sa mga bayarin kaugnay sa pagproseso ng legalidad mo dito. Nariyan ang mga immigration fee para sa gobyerno at lawyer's fee. Puwede ring hindi ka kumuha ng abogado at ikaw na lang ang mag-ayos ng sarili mong papeles, pero mahirap sumabak ng gano'n lalo pa't nasa ibang bansa ka't hindi pamilyar sa mga batas nito. At kapag meron kang mga pending document tulad ng VisaScreen, may mga kaakibat na bayarin din iyon.

Bukod diyan kailangan mo rin magtabi para sa upa sa bahay, kuryente, tubig, telepono, pang-araw-araw na pagkain, at iba pang pangangailangan. Kung may sasakyan ka, na isang pangangailangan dito, may buwanang bayarin iyon. Hanggang ngayon pinag-iipunan ko pa hindi lamang ang pambili ng kotse kundi pati mga monthly payment na kaakibat nito. Buti na lang puwedeng lakarin mula bahay ang ospital na pinapasukan ko.

At hindi lahat ng ospital maganda ang pasahod. Kung matatag ang pundasyong pananalapi nito, maganda ang benepisyo at suweldo; kung palugi, tulad ng sa 'min, titipirin ka sa lahat ng paraang maari. Halimbawa na lang, anim na araw sa dalawang linggo ang tinuturing na regular work period. Kapag pumasok ka ng isa o dalawa pang araw, double time na 'yon at mas malaki ang bayad. Pero sa 'min, magsisimula lang ang double time sa ika-walong araw. At kakaunti ang gumagawa no'n kasi pagod ka na, eh.

Ba't kami nananatili? Inisponsor kami, eh. At kahit natanggap na ng ilan sa 'min ang pinakamimithing green card at bagamat wala namang kontrata, nagpasya kaming manatili para makapundar ng karanasan at kasanayan.

Matapos kong ikuwento na marami akong kailangan ayusin sa apartment ko, sabi ng isang dati kong katrabaho sa Maynila, "Buti ka pa nakabili ka na ng bahay. Makikitira kami kapag nagawi kami diyan, ha." Sa loob-loob ko lang, magdadalawang buwan pa lang akong nagtatrabaho, may sariling bahay na? Sana nga.

Ito naman ang akala ng isang dati kong kamag-aral: "Uy, balita ko nars ka na raw sa Amerika! You must be raking millions!" Ikaw kaya i-rake ko diyan. Tinatawa ko na lang ang konting inis na nararamdaman ko sa mga ganitong sitwasyon.

Nakakadismaya dahil hindi nagtutugma ang pag-aakala nila sa katotohanan. Nakakainis dahil hindi nila batid ang hirap ng paggiging nars sa Amerika. Marahil hindi ko sila masisi dahil ito ang pananaw ng marami, subalit isang matatawag na misguided assumption dahil hindi totoo para sa lahat ng nars.

Mas malala ang kuwento ng iba kong kasamahan tungkol sa mga tao sa paligid nila na nagpaparinig tungkol sa pera. Pinakamasaklap ang walang pakundangan at labis na paghingi ng pera na para bang inuutot mo lang ang dolyar, kung kailan at saan mo "feel" maglabas meron, puwede. Hindi yata nila batid na ang perang pinagpapawisan namin ay ginagamit dito din sa Amerika, alinsunod sa ekonomiya at daloy kalakaran ng bansa.

Nang umuwi si Rosie, niyaya siyang mamasyal sa mall ng mga kamag-anakan. Hindi na niya ikinagulat na siya ang taya tuwing kainan. Ang hindi niya ikinatuwa ay ang pag-udyok ng mga tiyahin niya sa kanilang mga anak: "Sige na, pumili ka ano'ng gusto mo't ibibili ka ni Ate Rosie!"

Gusto naman nang umuwi ng 'Pinas ni Perry para makapiling ang mga mahal sa buhay pero isang "kamahalan" ang gumimbal sa kanya nang makatanggap ng sulat na nagsabing: "Nagpapiyesta kami dito. Sumobrang gastos namin. Padala ka naman. Marami ka na naman 'atang ipon diyan, eh."

At si Marie, buwisit na buwisit tuwing nirereto sa mga lalaki: "Pare nars 'yan! OK yan!" sabay laki ng mga mata at muwestra ng hinlalaki na nagsasabing "aprub!"

Hindi ako tutol sa pagbigay tulong pinansiyal sa mga taong mahalaga sa atin. Maging ako'y nakapagbigay na ng pera sa nanay at mga kapatid nang bukal sa kalooban at walang hinihinging kapalit. At kung mangailangan sila'y hindi ako magdadalawang-isip na muling magpaunlak. Ang tinutukoy ko ay ang pananaw na nag-oobliga o nagdedemanda sa mga nars na maglabas o magbahagi ng pera komo't mas malaki ang kita nila.

Hindi madali ang trabahong nars. Kuwento ni Grace, nang minsang pag-uwi niya sa bahay matapos ang ikatlong araw na trabaho, bigla na lang daw siyang napaupo at napaiyak. Marahil umabot na raw sa sukdulan ang kapaguran niya. Gayundin ang kuwento ni Gerry habang papauwi at naghihintay ng "go" signal sa ilaw trapiko. Siya raw ay napakunot-noo, napatulala, at walang anu-ano'y napaluha.

Lalong hindi madali maging nars sa ibang bansa dahil hiwalay ka sa mga kinagisnang kaibigan, at lalo na kapag hindi mo kasama ang iyong pamilya. Kaya't kami-kami ang nagsisilbing pamilya ng isa't-isa. Sinisikap naming magkita-kita sa kabila ng magkakataliwas na skedyul para magkaroon ng kaunting kasiyahan, mistulang mga OFW sa ibang bansa na nagtitipon-tipon tuwing day off.

Sinulat ko ito para sa kalinawan ng mga may maling akala at sa kapakanan ng mga kapwa ko nars na nagsusumikap dito sa Amerika para maitaguyod ang buhay nila at ng kanilang mga mahal sa buhay.

Nocturnal Animal

I have always been a daylight person, sleeping between 8 to 9 PM, thus missing out on nighttime happenings and primetime TV, and waking up around 3 to 4 AM to go to the gym for a good start. But like most new employees I was delegated to the night shift. Most people shun this shift for good reason; Primarily because it disrupts your sleep-wake cycle, and then of course everything else along the way like eating habits, social connection, household chores schedule, and constant tasks like grocery-shopping and banking.

Most night shifters go back to their day pattern for a variety of reasons: a spouse or partner who has conventional waking hours, kids, again social connection, daytime-only activities, etc. It really takes a toll on one's overall health that's why those who work the shift receive differetial pay which, for me, just about evens out your income because you pay higher taxes anyway, unless you have a tax-shielded investment like a house, for example. It may also depend on company's policy on salary and differential pay.

But despite drawbacks, some people become well-adjusted and actually prefer to work nights. For one, the work atmosphere, although also busy albeit in a different light than day shift, is less chaotic, providing one a better grasp of the situation. For another, it does take care of the bills to a certain extent, specially if one has tax-shelter investments to pay off. The stress during day shift is simply not worth it. Most important, camaraderie and teamwork is more felt at night because there is more time to help each other out.

The idea of working nights has never appealed to me. I've been accustomed to morning pattern and a 180 degree turn in my waking and working hours is tantamount to a seismic shift in my physiological framework and functioning. At the end of the day I can imagine my body flopping flat from a different kind of exhaustion and hormonal stress readily manifesting as breakouts.

According to research, working nights diminishes one's lifespan by half a day each time the sleep-wake cycle is disrupted. But the situation is beyond my control so I exercised a shift in perspective and rolled out to turn myself into a bona fide nocturnal animal so as to have one sole definitive sleep-wake cycle. But at the back of my mind I wonder: Am I really doing my body more good or more harm with this strategy? Now that's a good subject for further research.

Going back to day pattern was out of the equation, even on my days off. My day has to start mid afternoon with breakfast between 4 to 5 PM, lunch between 12MN to 1AM and supper between 7 to 8 AM. Business and social transactions have to be accomplished from late afternoon to early evening. My friends wonder what in the world I do in the dead of night. Well, the past three months was dedicated to fixing up the apartment. It's not easy to do a one-man show, you know. Of late, it has been mostly reading and writing or talking on the phone with fellow night owls. Also, with home theater system installed, I get lost in sitcom reruns and old movies from my sister's treasure trove of VHS tapes (Hak! Hak! Hak!).

Nights out on the town have to take a backseat for now until I have my own car, so does getting lost in the world wide web until I have my own computer. Being a night owl is working fine for me, so far. The key is consistency.

Three Months Later

I shake my head in disbelief that I actually went through three months without blogging. My mind is ecstatic as I ruminate on suceeding letters and words to encode, my fingers clearly manifesting this as they happily tap-dance in frenzied symphony on the keyboard. Several things have happened in the last three months planting seeds of thought, time permitting them to germinate in my mind for ripe literary harvest.

Picking up from where I left off, I:

• have completed the academic and clinical requirements for my residency
• along with classmates, danced to one of the gayest tunes ever in celebration of Nurses' week
• received a truckload of hand-me-down furnitures and what's its
• attended the wedding of one my finest friends from the Philippine TV industry
• invaded outlet stores with newfound friends and together explored our newfound buying power
• got a tattoo while spending Memorial Day in Venice beach
• celebrated classmates' upcoming birthdays (including mine) in one collective gastronomical feast
• graduated and started on the graveyard shift
• did Vegas
• watched John Williams live in concert
• realized my childhood dream of seeing Optimus Prime on the silverscreen
• achieved permanent resident status
• finally got to do leisure reading after a very long hiatus
• and now relishing an apartment that feels more like a home than it did a couple months ago.

Time went by like swift wind as it always does. On another dimension, though, the hourglass seemed to be frozen as several situations remained status quo. I still:

• depend on public transporation and kind-hearted friends to go around and beyond the city
• rely on public and hospital libraries to access the internet, which is quite a bummer because time is limited in the former and filters are unbelievable in the latter
• am single and have yet to go out to date
• don't have cable TV having found more than enough gems and garbages in VHF and UHF channels
• do my routine exercises at home and haven't gone back to the gym.

But more or less I have further assimilated to the daily grinds of my relatively new work and social environment, transforming activities of daily living and working from strange and nerve-wracking to familiar and confidence-boosting. Having completed one pending task after another allowed my mind and body to gradually settle and finally focus on things that needed daily attention.

The one task that was most daunting and took longest to finish was fixing up the apartment, specially with the huge amount of stuff I inherited from my sister; she had it trucked to my apartment after several years in storage. Anticipating dust, dirt and rubbish that will accumulate throughout the entire cleaning event, I covered the whole apartment with plastic drop cloth.

There were tons of boxes to rummage through and gazillion things to sort. The strategy I employed was categorize things among "keep," "give" and "throw." The second and third categories were most managable and easily rewarding. Things I chose to keep I had to clean, and being endowed with OCP (obsessive-compulsive power) I made sure every item had a "CLEAN" bill of condition. I'm still at it as of this writing as making the place spic and span is about 95% complete. And I suppose that 5% will always be there. (,")

Having checked off pending tasks and reaching this level of completion also afforded me time to write again.

It feels good to be back.

Post Pause

Increased clinical and academic workload have taken me away from journal writing for quite some time now that I may not be able to achieve my obsessive goal of three posts in a month for April.

There has been constant bombardment of information since February, and as our orientation program proceeds so do the required level of mental and physical energy increases. My classmates and I have started to feel burned out, and our brains seem to have reached saturation point.

Additional schoolwork has also taken me away from the gym. On days off, I usually get up around 04:30 and get to the gym by 05:30 to mingle with weight machines, treadmills, gliders and climbers; Wrap up comes at about 07:30 to give me enough time to shower and get myself ready for an 08:00 class. But with more chapters to crunch and digest, reading has taken priority over working out. I just manage with a little exercise routine at home.

A brain and brawn-gruelling class is set on last week of April. Based on the current schedule, this seems to be the last one, so hopefully by May I will have more time to write.

Return to "Easter"

Foreword

The following piece was written eight Easters ago. I wrote about a seemingly lifelong predicament and my perpetual struggle to overcome it. In the end, I discovered the key was not to defeat it but to embrace it.

Wanting to share the life lesson learned, I submitted my composition to a national daily. On June 12, 1999, “It Must Be Easter” saw the light of print on the Young Blood section of the Philippine Daily Inquirer. It was my very first foray into personal essay writing.

“It Must Be Easter”

I was dead for the first twenty-five years of my life. Yes, the demons were with me that long. I believed I was dead because I had lost hope that things would be better. Grief and uncertainty clouded my existence. But, I didn’t wear a dejected countenance. Like many others, I hid the bitterness with a smile, with a spirited camaraderie, and with a boisterous laughter that made my friends call me a “laughing hyena.”

That is quite an ironical metaphor. When I look back to the past, I see a boy struggling for emancipation from fate, from social sanctions, from gender marginalization. But these subjects are moot and academic. So I will write instead about my liberation from the past and how I reconciled with myself. Unless you exorcise the ghosts of the past, you can never function really well in the present and in the future. You always seem to make the same mistakes over and over.

There were a lot of things that my parents did and did not do that I still cannot forgive. I am one of those lost children who had a wicked and miserable childhood.

I knew my parents loved me. The problem was Mama and Papa hardly expressed their love. Perhaps they took our being their children for granted. Perhaps they thought it’s to be taken for granted that parents love their children and vice versa. Perhaps they didn’t realize that children need assurance of their parents’ love - children need to hear and feel it.

Whatever I was, however I responded to life, I blamed on my parents. They played a major role in molding the person that I had become. Even though I knew I had a big say on what my life should be, I did not want to embrace that truth because of the overwhelming accountability that came with it. Our relationships in the house (not home) was functional instead of meaningful.

They say it is the parents’ duty to provide their children food and shelter. They did not fail us. We had a place to stay and never went hungry.

They say parents should give their children good education. They were quite successful in that, too. All of us, their three children, went to prestigious schools.

My sisters and I were not deprived of finer things in life. We could eat at posh restaurants, buy trendy clothes, purchase things that catch our fancy, and travel frequently.

But Mama and Papa were too busy earning money, which was really understandable because where they came from they didn’t want their children to be. They didn’t want us to grow up and live poor.

It was in the emotional department that they were wanting. Our parents never talked to us. They would open their mouths to utter a thing or two, but never really spoke to us. They could hear us but never really listened. Papa and Mama were emotionally mute. When they used the power of speech the words that came out were usually full of spite, scorn or shame.

I never felt they were proud of me. One time we had a science fair in school, I decided to make a robot out of trash. I worked on the project for a week. I painstakingly put together empty boxes of medicines and imported cigarettes, ballpen caps, paper clips, and other thingamajigs to produce a visually appealing masterpiece. All throughout the week I didn’t hear a thing from them. They just passed by me as I busied myself with my creation. I wished they’d notice and offer me words of encouragement. Nothing.

The day of the fair came and I proudly set out with my creation. As I bade them goodbye, I hoped they would make some remark. Nothing. The strangers I rode with on the jeepney were the ones who told me, “Wow, that looks wonderful!” and “You’re so creative, boy!”

When I came home I kissed them on the cheeks as usual. I was still hoping they’d say something so I stayed awhile for some small talk. Still, nothing. I gave up. I retreated to my room upstairs and dumped the robot where it came from.

Luckily, I had friends to comfort and guide me. I knew I had to make an effort to understand my parents, to comprehend why they did the things they did and didn’t do the things they didn’t. Probably, no one taught them. Probably, they were emotionally bruised, too. So how could they teach us something they never learned? Indeed, how could they give us something they never had.

My mother came from a very big family of ten siblings. Since they belonged to the lower socio-economic stratum, the children never got much attention from their parents. My father was worse off. That’s why he never spoke to us about his past. He didn’t want to feel his deprivation again. He didn’t want to be vulnerable.

It came to a point that whenever they’d call, I’d be indifferent, resentful. But somehow I made my mother aware of my resentments in our phone conversations. And I wanted my father to know about them. I wanted to hear them say the three simple words of affection and the three simple words of regret. I wanted those words to come not merely from their lips but from their hearts. It was my only hope for redemption. If not, I would only continue to exist, but not live.

The turning point came during the Holy Week. In the wee hours after the Blackness of Saturday, Mama called. We chatted for a while. I unburdened myself of past grudges. Mama couldn’t keep up with what I was telling her. When I bluntly asked her if she had anything more to say she said there was none.

It was two in the morning when the phone rang again. Surprisingly, it was Papa calling me for the first time. I suppose his emotional and verbal reticence had been disturbed by my mother’s constant expression of concern over the growing distance between us. I could hardly believe my ears. Was this the man I used to call Popsicle? The man who wouldn’t melt no matter how much warmth you showered on him?

Finally, Papa was talking about his past. And he was crying. I figured it was his last-ditch effort to save me and to save himself in the process. All the things he couldn’t say came rushing out. “I love your Mother very much. I love all three of you very much. Whatever fault we committed in the past, forgive us. Sorry, we didn’t know.”

I told him it was very good to hear, and I was crying, too. My lament was that of a child who had been hurt deeply but had been redeemed. I felt so relieved. We forged an agreement not really to forget the past but to correct what went wrong then. After all, we needed to look back so that we can see where we were headed in the future.

My father asked if there was anything else I wanted to talk to him about. I asked him if he could continue talking after being on the phone for a long time; any moment Easter morning would be breaking in the horizon. “As long as it’s for my children, I will bear it,” he said.

I brought up something only he among our family didn’t know. With the lightness of being I was feeling after coming to terms with the past, I did not have any qualms telling Papa about my emotional orientation and sexual affiliation. But that’s another story. One thing’s certain, though: Relief provided by declaration, and gratification from self-affirmation, were out of this world.

It couldn’t have happened at a better time. On Easter morning when the Lord rose from the dead, I was resurrected from my deathly slumber.

Afterword

My parents realized a few other things upon reading my composition. Other opportunities of enlightenment for all of us came through quality communication that followed. Our family dynamics dramatically changed. It improved to a level I never though we could ever reach.

It was then I discovered the power of writing. How writing can heal the past, amend the present and guide the future. How writing can help us come to terms with ourselves, and the people most important to us. How it allows us to view the world from a different perspective, moves us to make life-altering decisions, and most importantly, gives us an opportunity to connect with our innermost selves.

I Remember Teacher

This past four weeks I had neither been very participative in class nor living up to the "funny guy" tag bestowed me. Three of my classmates noticed and told me about it. I wouldn't have realized my reticence had they not made their observation known.

Looking back, I did have some things to share: the first time a patient died on me, dealing with grieving significant others, ambubagging while transferring a critical patient, etc. But I kept mum. So, I wondered. For sure I was stressed but what was my stressor? I thought the rigours of academic and clinical activities but these have been constant since we started school and work February.

On second thought, I was having difficulty with one technical subject. The teacher's pace was too fast for me I could not catch up as well as the rest. Thursday was the crucial day when all that we have learned were put to a post-test. All my other classmates finished on time. I had to stay behind for an hour and a half more to finish the exam. I felt like the dumbest person in the world. It was a blow to my self-esteem. I felt sorry for myself I was almost in tears answering 10 more questions left in the midst of a cold room left empty except for the teacher and me.

When I got home I sat down and cried in frustration. As tears welled up my eyes, recollection of an elementary English teacher welled up from memory.

We were in the last leg of our finals. She summoned me to her room. Momentarily bespectacled and appropriately dressed, teacher was a respectable yet intimidating presence standing before her mentally impressionable and emotionally fragile young student sitting obediently at the corner of the empty room.

She did not beat about the bush. "You know, a student is not at fault. But a student should be honest and not tell a lie." Her opening line had me bewildered.

"How did you know the plural of spectrum is spectra and radium radia?" she asked, looking askance at me.

Dumbfounded, I replied with a reluctant voice, "Madam...I...just...did."

In the wink of an eye and without batting a lash she said, "You're so impossible. Many in the first section did not get it. How come you did?"

I sat frozen, lost at her suspicion, mouth half-open with nothing coming out but empty air. Before I can think of an answer she roll-called from the homogenous section of categorically brightest students and persisted to express her puzzlement at how they could have missed it and I did not.

"Where did you get the answers? These students did not even get it. How much more you, you're from the second section?"

To her dissatisfaction I reiterated that I simply just knew the answers because, honestly, I simply just did. Also, being at her mercy did not afford me to form a rebuttal according to her level. There were other items in the exam she cited and deemed insurmountable for my capacity, at least how she perceived it. And the interrogation went on in a dizzying circle. We were exchanging essentially the same lines over and over. Never a recalcitrant student, I just sat there and continued being redundant.

Mind you, teacher's demeanor was nothing like soapish kontrabidas who blatantly and outlandishly make life a living hell for their objects of oppression. On the contrary, teacher was composed, carried an air of conviction and only periodically showed her frustration by tightening her lips, heaving a sigh and sharpening her gaze - which made her all the more menacing.

"Did anyone in the faculty help you? You can tell me, I won't say you named names," she goaded. "And it's not your fault that you're not smart."

I knew no other way to answer but truthfully. Sadly, it wasn't the truth she was looking for. With annoyance and exasperation strewn across her face, she issued her last retort, "Alright. But I don't believe you did not get some form of help. How did you get the correct answers when even the brightest students did not." And she dismissed me.

In a daze, I walked out of the room, past the hallway and empty classrooms. "What was she so upset about?" I lingered. I passed her test in flying (spectral) colors. Shouldn't she have been pleased? Even if I was not from the first section, shouldn't she have been proud of her "not so bright" student and herself?

From then on, I became wary being deemed smart or intelligent; I remember teacher who, in her own special way, told me I was better off not being so. From then on, I palpitate whenever I feel the urge to recite, more often not having the guts to raise my hand and share what I know; I remember teacher who did not appreciate me being knowledgeable. From then on, my mind clams up whenever confronted with a challenging subject matter; I remember teacher who dictated my capacity to learn. It has been more than twenty years ago and I still remember her words vividly.

A little while after the interrogation, it came to me how I got the answers - I watch too much TV and read too much comic books. Spectra was the name of a cartoon series villain; his weapon of destruction a spectrum of radioactive material. Radium I recalled from an illustrated sci-fi serial. I could only surmise radia was correct because it simply just felt right.

Like most people, I have moved past that sad incident in my past and made my own achievements. Throughout High School, without conscious effort and not exactly to my liking, I belonged to the homogenous section (Good thing the school administration has dumped this student classification in our senior year and thereafter). I went to a reputable school in college and pursued further studies in the Philippines' premiere university.

Teacher's words had long sunk into oblivion. But sometimes, just sometimes, they resurface. Perhaps to encourage me to do better, to move me to improve my own lot, and to remind me that I am as good as I believe I am. And for these lessons from teacher, I am grateful.

The Word is Gay

A decade ago I wrote a piece about discriminatory terms used to refer to gay men which I vividly and collectively described as "having strongly, scornful semantic value." With the same title I revisit my opinion back then and see if it has changed ten years after.

Gay men had been referred to in many derogatory ways: "faggot," "queer," "pansy," "bent," "sissy." My own language is equally unapologetic: "bakla" (which I euphemistically refer to as "the B word"), "bading," "alanganin," "jokla," "badaf," etc. I cringe as I encode these words that nevertheless had to be laid out for lucidity. These references marginalize a component of society that has contributed mightily to cultural enrichment and nation building. The people who coined these must have had perverted thoughts. These words should know no place in the vocabulary of the gender-sensitive.

My enlightenment on gender sensitivity crystallized in the advent of my coming out at twenty thus I felt very strongly about it. Within our fervent youth lies a furnace of smouldering passion bursting out in open flames, and damned be those who dare to be on the way of its raging path. I was a tad too idealistic. I wrote to newspapers and radio and television programs that commit the verbal blunder. I sent potent letters to my professors who utter slighting terms in their lectures. I readily debated people, even those I do not know, who gleefully use offensive words in wanton abandon. It was about me and this community I belonged to, how people view and talk about us, and I felt I had to put up a seemingly solitary fight against age-old verbal conventions, fervently and foolishly appointing myself the lone bastion of gay political correctness.

I was mostly cantankerous, expressing my frustration and disappointment through incisive missives and cold shoulders, the latter being an ineffective and admittedly insipid way to get my message across. My principle was: "You don't respect what offends me, you don't respect me at all." Much to my chagrin, skirmishes turned acquaintances and even friends into enemies because of their gender insensitivity and political incorrectness, and of course my unbridled ire. But some people's beliefs had been challenged and changed. I only hope it was out of empathy, not fear. Fear might be a motivator but empathy is a far more virtuous stimulus for reform.

One interesting new angle is that some of the words I found disappointing have been neutralized by gay people themselves. Like a hood thing, some terms are slowly crossing the border to become terms of endearment within the gay community. Gay media powerhouses have used words like "fag" and "queer" mainstream possibly making the fangs and venom of prejudice less sharp and virulent. The gay undercurrent of the super heroes cartoon series and movies "X-Men" had been alluded to be an allegorical expression of rebellion against this society that is so hellbent on conformity in conventional coexistence, possibly rendering "x-man" an appreciable impression for some.

But these still remain a bone of contention for me. I still find "fag," "queer" and "bading" unpleasant to read, utter or hear. The idea of being billed "mutant" in the absence of any kick-ass superpower does not seem to be enticing. And "x-man" may be misconstrued as formerly male. Gay men are still men. We did not cease to be on our side of the gender pole. And while I'm on this thread, let me say that there is no third sex. Postulating there is a first and a second only begs to arouse the old flames of sexual discrimination.

I still stand my ground to this day, although admittedly I have become outwardly nonchalant to neutralized terms and unenlightened individuals who make the utterance for sheer reference. Mellowing comes with age, and we become more tolerant of idiosyncracies and points of view different from ours. I understand there are still people out there who are, for lack of a better word, ignorant of these inflammatory terms. They may not even see themselves unenlightened. That's fine as long as they make the utterance not in my presence nor within my hearing distance.

Personally and ultimately, back then and until now, I still believe there are only two words that can be used to refer to "gay" men that is gender sensitive and gay-friendly. The other one being "homosexual" which is rather clinical to the ear, and its derivative "homo" some gay people perceive to leave a phobic aftertaste. Nevertheless, these words have to be the only politically correct terms to refer to people of my kind as far as I am concerned. Perhaps in time my auditory faculty and gender consciousness will get used to previous nomenclature of ridicule that has been neutralized through amicable use. Perhaps.

A Home of My Own

My vagabond days were finally over. I officially moved to my own apartment February after many months of living with different people. The sense of solitude is emancipating. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. Most liberating, I can now walk around the house naked again. Yeehaw!

My current abode is as humble as humble can get. Most of the stuff I have are donations from friends and relatives. I have only started to work recently so it will take time to save-up and fill-up the house to make it homey.

I am exhilirated of my vintage television. Ever heard of the brand Zenith? It works on dial controls which I have to turn to change channels and pump up the volume. Yup, no clicking. How exciting is that? (,") It has a separate knob which, if cranked with the right amount of effort, captures UHF channels. Yes! I have UHF! Whoopee! (,") And the antenna has to be adjusted and the control knobs wound to get a clear reception. Considering it's a second-degree hand-me-down, I happen to get very decent transmission.

My microwave oven and rice cooker are also a second-degree hand-me-downs. Just a little spic and span and - voila! - almost as good as new. As long as it works and serves the purpose, right? Good thing the apartment came with a refrigirator and a conventional stove-oven, as well as a study table, drawers and a lamp sans shade.

Everything in my cupboard - mugs, plates, bowls, cups, saucers, cutlery - they were all given. A chopping board, frying pan and dish rack were thrown in, too. My first meal - breakfast - which I cooked right after stepping out of the shower, was a modest tuna omelette which I enjoyed with a pair of whole wheat toast and not-from-concentrate orange juice.

Since there's no bedside table I place my evening essentials on a small floormat beside my bed. As for the bed, it's a single layer airbed from my sister.

All my five pairs of shoes don't have a shoerack yet so they all manage on a makeshift docking area of clear plastic lining stretched flat out on the carpet.

My kitchen trash bin is part of relief goods. Since I don't have a wastebasket in the bathroom, I make use of a strong paper bag into which I fit a plastic bag as trash receptacle.

I always put my delicates in an enclosed container. Being an advocate of recycling, I have my undergarments hygienically stored in a rectangular, clear, spring salad mix plastic container. Can it get any fresher than that? (,")

And that's all there is. No sofa, no dining table, and just one single wooden folding chair to sit on. I don't have a phoneline yet, whether mobile or landline. No personal computer as well. How do I manage my blog, you wonder. Public library. That for now is my only communication line to the world beyond my turf. I did take pictures of the things I mentioned for this post but uploading will have to wait til I get my own PC.

It will take time to transform my dwelling into a fully-functional home, but it's alright. If I have to be philosophical about it, a seed doesn't bloom at once or a butterfly doesn't take on its wings overnight. Patience can be very much a virtue, specially when it comes to delaying gratification for rational/practical reasons.
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Photos in this post are author's property.

Postscript to Poems

It's been a little more than five years since "Idealistic Musings..." was completed. Things are pretty much the same with regard to my romantic life; no major changes.

For one, although I confess to now carrying an air of skepticism, which I believe is necessary to keep my feet on the ground and my head way below the clouds, I remain a hopeful romantic at the core. For another, I'm still single - yet to be involved, yet to be committed, which makes getting into a relationship all the more daunting.

On the flip side, the idea of not knowing what to expect brews excitement. If I can wear it on my shirt it would read: "Going there. Will be doing that!" Well, there's always a first time for everything and I can't hardly wait. I've been waiting for the last thirty years! Who am I kidding? (,")

Sometimes frustration and impatience set in, but in a snap I figure I will be with someone because I want to be and not because I have to be. We all want our lives to be enhanced with the addition of a special person and I want to make a wise decision as to who and when. Ultimately, I hope I will not ever become desperate and get into a relationship just for the sake of having one.

As for my singlehood, it remains a quandary to my friends. But they've always been encouraging. My equally single childhood girl friend said when I was to leave for the U.S.: "That's great! You'll have better chances for a lovelife over there. I'm sure I would!"

A good transsexual friend from college with whom I recently rekindled ties promised, "Honey, you're in America now! Here, there's every market for every product!"

A surprising email from a former colleague read: "Do whatever it is that makes you happy, dear friend. Just remember - practice safe sex." Which reminds me I have to get back to her on that.

And a friend's fiancee couldn't help pitching in and with religious undertone: "God is a good and loving God. He made us meant for one special person."

Now, is my singlehood a puzzlement to me? Yes and no. And I plan to expound on that on a future post. At the moment, things are neither looking up nor down. Everything is status quo. It's a big ocean out there and I'll start with brooks and streams.

I'm going to close this post with a Brokeback Mountain music video made by a fan, Stargazer. Although I have yet to "know how the river feels" and have yet to "reach the sea," the first few lines of the song vividly express my fervent hope.

Karimlan

Ideyalistikong Pagninilay-nilay ng Isang Homo Romantiko 5 ng 5

KARIMLAN

para sa aking sarili

Sumuko na ang araw
Nalusaw sa dulo ng karagatan
Gumapang na ang dilim
Nilamon aking katauhan

Umasa ako sa buwan
Subalit wala ito upang magsilbing tanglaw

Lumingon ako sa mga tala
Ngunit matamlay kanilang kinang

Nakabibinging katahimikan
Pumupunit sa karimlan

Nakabubulag na kadiliman
Bumibilanggo sa 'king katawan

Sumasagad hanggang buto

Malamig na ihip ng hangin

Eto na naman ako

Binubuwang ng sariling damdamin

Marahil ito na'ng sukdulan

Pagpapa-alipin sa 'king emosyon
Mapait palang katotohanan

Inasahan kong ilusyon

Lakas ko nito'y hinihigop

Lupasay ako sa panghihina
Kalul'wa ko nito'y dinudurog
Ulirat ko'y nangungulila

Patuloy ang pagkapit

Sa madilim na pangitain

Patuloy ang pagbulusok
Sa walang hanggang bangin

Lumalalim na ang gabi
Lumulutang sa kawalan

Nawawala sa sarili

Nilulunod ng karimlan

Nobyembre 2001

Hindi Na Muli

Ideyalistikong Pagninilay-nilay ng Isang Homo Romantiko 4 ng 5

HINDI NA MULI

para kay DJ

Naging gabay ko na sa pagtahak ng buhay
Yakapin ang anumang pag-asang dumalaw
Wari ko’y sayang kung hindi haharapin
Ng buong sigla ang walang kasiguruhang araw

Minsan nang naligaw ang diwa ng pagmamahal
Damdamin at ulirat aking isinugal
Minsan nang nagtiwala sa bulag na pangako
Di ko akalain hangarin palang hangal

Subalit anila sayang kung palalagpasin
Ang anumang dumaan na pagkakataon
Mas mainam na raw na sumubok at magpunyagi
Ano man ang kalabasan pagdating ng panahon

At nangahas nga akong lumusong muli sa tubig
Naglakas loob akong magtiwala sa damdamin
Binuksan ang mata sa sinag na nakasisilaw
Naglapat ng bakas sa mainit na buhangin

At hindi nga ako nagkamali sa aking hinala
Bakit nga ba hindi ako magkandatuto?
Ang pangakong inialay ng mistulang pag-irog
Anino lang pala ng isang malabangungot na multo

Ayoko na, ayoko na, hindi na muli aasa
Nalumpo na ako sa paghabol sa sikat ng araw
Nanamlay na ako sa pagyakap sa bawat sandali
Sa gubat ng kapalaran titigil ang sayaw

Bahala nang dumating ang sinumang sira-ulo
Na sa ‘king mga kamay ang pusong nakahimlay
Ikukubli sa baul na pagdadaanan ng panahon
Buong pugay itatapon sa dagat ng walang malay

Mata ko’y nakapiring sa daraang kagandahan
Magbibingi-bingihan sa awiting maririnig
Karaniwang pananim sa gubat ng mga kaluluwa
Saka na tatamasahin ang tamis ng bagong dilig

Pero upang masilayan ang nagmamadaling mundo
Ang aking kaluluwa'y may dungawang bintana
Hahayaang lumipas ang lahat sapagkat
Ang kaisang-dibdib ay nasa dulo ng tadhana

Disyembre 2000

Muli

Ideyalistikong Pagninilay-nilay ng Isang Homo Romantiko 3 ng 5

MULI

para kay Vince

Muli nagbabanta ang tadhana na nariyan siya sa tabi-tabi
Tinitibok ng puso kahit hindi nasisilayan ng hubad na mata
Subalit minsan na akong nilinlang ng tadhanang mapanukso
Kailan ba darating ang tunay na sinag ng papalayong umaga?

Takot akong harapin ang pagkamaaari ng kanyang pagparito
Sa landas kong tinahak ng mag-isa noon unang panahon pa
Ang paglalakbay ng kanyang anino ay isang mistulang halimuyak
Hinihimok akong magtiwala muli sa tadhanang walang bahala

Noon pa’y nagpunyagi na akong magpahayag ng aking paghanga
Sa isang nilalang na inakala ko ay yaon nang nilikha para sa ‘kin
At sa pagkakataon ngang yao’y kabiguan ang aking hinarap
Ang inakalang katuwang sa buhay’y sumabay sa dumaang hangin

Pansamantala ko nang inilibing ang pag-asa sa sinumang dumating
Tiwala akong ang pagtatagpo nami’y hindi pa napapanahon
Pasya ko’y anu’t-anupa ma’y paparito rin ang pusong itinakda
Hindi ako bibiguin ng tadhana pagdating ng dapithapon

Pero bakit muling nagbabadya ang pagkahumaling ng aking puso
Sa isang kaluluwang hindi kilala subalit nakahahalina?
Sadyang maikli ang panahong nagdaan upang pag-asa’y dumalaw
Maaga pa upang muling lumihis ng daan. Sana’y huwag muna.

Payo ko sa ‘king sarili’y humimlay muna sa kaguluran ng puso
Sa isang pook malayo sa paningin at pansin ng sanlikha
Sinupamang bumisita’t kumatok sa damdaming nagpapahinga
Hindi pagbubuksan ng pintuan ano man ang kulay ng mukha

Subalit maigting ang tinig ng mga dambana sa kanyang pagdaan
Tinatawag ang aking diwa na makinig sa pag-aalay ng pag-ibig
Mahirap talikuran ang awitin ng pag-irog sa’n man nagmumula
Lalo na yaong likas sa puso, pati sa kaluluwa’y nakatitig

O, siya. Bahala na. Kung sadya ngang mangyayari ito
Kung hindi man kaming dalawa’y itinadhana pa rin aming pagtatagpo
Hinahagis ko na ang anumang pangamba sa hanging bumabagtas
Sa buhay sa mundong ibabaw ng pangkaraniwang tao

Magiging matatag ako. Karamay ko ang aking manlilikha
Halina sa piling ko kaluluwang malayo ang pinaggalingan
Ikaw ma’y tulad kong may dahilan ang pagkaluwal sa mundong ito
Sabay nating tahakin at harapin ang anumang hamon ng kinabukasan

Hulyo 2000

Ikaw Na Nga Ba?

Ideyalistikong Pagninilay-nilay ng Isang Homo Romantiko 2 ng 5

IKAW NA NGA BA?

para kay Mark

Parang kahapon lamang nang ako’y maghintay
Ang aking nasisilaya’y ikaw na nga ba, mahal ko?
Parang panaginip, guni-guni, malikmata
Sarili ko, huwag linlangin ang sarili mo

Di yata’t kay bilis ng tugon ng bahaghari
Anu’t ano pa man ibig kong sundan, tahakin
Parang kay lapit mo, ngunit kay layo din
Huwag sana simbilis din maglalaho sa hangin

Iglap ng isang sulyap, aruga ng isang pangako
Ikaw na nga ba ang nilalang na pinakahihintay ko?
Sarili ko mag-ingat, maghunus-dili, mag-isip
Ngunit hanggang sa dulo ng buwan, sige, sundan ang bahaghari

Ano’ng anyo ng ‘yong mukha, kulay ng iyong kalul’wa?
At samu’t-sari pang mga tanong ng puso kong galak
Ano ang naghihintay sa dulo ng paghihintay?
Alamin, tuklasin ang lihim ng langit

Nangangamba ako, nag-aalala, totoo
Ikaw na nga ba ang tugon sa maalab kong panalangin?
Pait man o tamis ng tadhana nanamnamin
Upang mabatid, itong daan ang tatahakin

Pasasalamat ko ibubulong sa mga ulap
Sakaling ikaw na nga ang ipinagkaloob sa akin
Buong tapang at galak, haharapin ang bagong umaga
Sa wakas paghihintay ay may kabuluhan din

Subalit malayo pa ang pagsabog ng liwanag
Ikaw na nga ba ang tanglaw sa madilim kong langit?
Nagtitiwala akong naghihintay ka rin
Tulad ng pangakong isinumpa sa hangin

Buong-buo ang pagkatao, nandirito ako
Kailanman ‘di ko ikapapagod ang paghihintay sa ‘yo
Diwa ng lahat ng ito ano nga ba talaga?
Mahal ko’y ikaw na ba? Sana nga, ikaw na.

Oktubre 1999

Hintay, Mahal

Ideyalistikong Pagninilay-nilay ng Isang Homo Romantiko 1 ng 5

HINTAY, MAHAL

para kay John

Maghintay ka sa ‘kin, o kalul'wang ipinagkaloob
Huwag mabahalang 'di pa ‘ko nasisilayan
Darating ako, pangako ng puso ko
Magtiwalang ang biyaya ng tadhana’y nasa atin

Maraming naliligaw sa maling akala
Padalus-dalos na kilos at pagwawalang-bahala
Lakasan mo’ng iyong loob alang-alang sa ‘ting dal’wa
Ako ma’y maghihintay rin sa halik ng umaga

Kung sabihin kong mahal kita maniniwala ka ba
Gayong ‘di ko pa nasisilayan ang iyong kaluluwa?

Maghintay ka sa akin, o kaluluwang ipinagkaloob
Ang lahat ng bagay ay nasa panahon
May kadahilanan ang bawat sandali
Ang bawat hampas ng alon, bawat pagaspas ng dahon

Ang kapangyarihan ng ating pagmamahalan
Anumang unos ang dumating lahat hahamakin
Tulad ng apoy ng araw at tubig ng dagat
Pagdating ng takip-silim sa wakas magtatagpo rin

Matulog ka ng mahimbing, kaluluwang katuwang
Parang panaginip lamang itong pagkahimbing
At sa sandaling humalik na ang bukang liwayway
Ako’y nasa tabi mo, hinihintay ang iyong paggising

Ano man ang maging takbo ng ating buhay sa mundong ito
Umasa kang ikaw lamang ang aking sisintahin
Sino ka pa, ano ka pa, saan at kailan ka pa
Walang kikilalaning hadlang ang aking damdamin

At kung sa dapit-hapon ng buhay na tayo magtatagpo
Babagyuhin ko ang langit ng aking pasasalamat
Hindi ako babaling ng lingon kahit kanino pa man
Katawan ko, puso ko, kaluluwa ko, akin at iyo lamang

Marso 1999

Prelude to Poems

Ahhh, February. Love is in the air. Another one of those annual events when pop culture and the forces of consumerism bombard us with every imaginable commodity. As for me, I have nothing to offer nor purchase. I have not yet been in love and had been single since birth so there are no love stories to tell at this point.

But I have experienced the childlike wonder of infatuation, when everything else is a blur except your object of affection, when shmaltzy daydreams reach avian heights and persist until moonrise, and when the possiblity of losing yourself and your head seems like an intoxicating drug that is tremendously irresistible.

Several years ago, I made an anthology of poems written in Filipino. It's different when you write in your first language when the heart speaks honestly and flutters effortlessly to transform emotions into words. I was thinking of translating it but was afraid it might lose essence or impact so I forwent the idea. If you know someone who knows Filipino, that person will come in handy.

"Ideyalistikong Pagninilay-nilay ng Isang Homo-Romantiko" (Idealistic Musings of a Romantic Homosexual), is a collection of five love poems that spanned three years to complete. Looking back now, it is an interesting look at how my notion about romance and true love metamorphosed from fully hopeful to somewhat cynical.

Behind the Smiles

Being on a Disney Cruise was like living a dream. If the company's parks and resorts are dubbed "the happiest places on earth," the Disney ship could very well be touted "the happiest place on the seven seas." All crew members, from the captain who steers the ship to the maintenance man who wipes the windows, are in an eternally jovial mood.

We held our breaths as we set foot on the humongous vessel and entered the grand lobby atrium of the Disney Magic. The P.A. system enthusiastically announced our arrival. "From Orlando, Florida, let us all welcome now...the Jadie Family!" It was like being transported to another world where guests are treated like royalties, pampered with radiant smiles and lavish attention. Food and drinks were abundant and overflowing, and were available 24/7. Service was exceptionally personal. The world practically revolved around us.

As the ship steered on to its next destination, we got to know better some of the crew. We couldn't help but think how exciting it must be for them to be working on a cruise ship - and Disney at that! You get to see different places and meet a lot of people with diverse backgrounds. Imagine, working and having fun at the same time! It will not be like going to work at all, would it? But soon we discovered our misconception and saw certain hard truths behind the seemingly incessant smiles.

Winda is our stateroom host. He makes up our bed and replenishes our supply of toiletries and other stuff. Whenever the ship docks, he goes ashore not to go sight-seeing but to call his wife and kids. In the middle of the cruise, he suffered a toothache due to wisdom tooth eruption. With a sigh, he said he has to finish his contract of 3 more months before he can seek full dental service. Asked if he plans to take his family on a Disney cruise, he said yes but only in his dreams because the cost will be staggering.

Gian is one of the ship's professional photographers. He tells us it's hard work. It's not unusual for them to have to skip lunch and miss their meal ration. They then have to get by with instant noodles and bread. Sometimes, they are asked to do photo shoots after their shift and at ungodly hours. They were very thankful to see us Filipino guests which happens only once in a blue moon on a Disney cruise because it somehow eases their homesickness. "A breath of fresh air," was how he described us in contrast to other guests of different skin color who treat them shabbily.

Day in or day out, at sea or ashore, men in yellow jumpsuits are ubiquitous around the ship wiping windows, sweeping floors and painting railings. Refurbishments are done endlessly to keep the ship looking good as new and sparkling clean. They are the maintenance team and Anto is one of them. With beads of sweat forming at his forehead, he was still able to manage a smile when we exchanged pleasantries. He says he longs to go back home and be with his family permanently. He has already missed some of his children's youth and is afraid they do not know him anymore. He suffered an injured back because of work and was given the chance to go home to recuperate. But his family time was cut short as he decided to go back to work so his son can graduate. He dreams of putting up his own business so he can be with his family and never be geographically and emotionally alienated from them.

Despite these hardships, they still go on and work with a happy face. "Just whistle while you work." as Snow White had sung. They know their priorites. They are adaptable and can endure tough times making them tough people; the latter, as we know, are the ones that last. They are still able to smile despite their personal obstacles, health setbacks and financial constraints.

I know we were on vacation and ought to have a good time and not think about this stuff, but I couldn't help seeing these people under the light of truth. I know we were supposed to have fun and they were supposed to be working; but having grown up and practically co-managing a family business had given me the opportunity to look at employees not as lowly mortals to whom we owe a certain amount of money at payday, but as people who have their own unique situations, needs and aspirations in life.

Magical Adventure

The Disney Cruise Line building in Port Canaveral was all abuzz around early afternoon on December 30 as thousands of passengers made their way through pre-board proceedings. All guests were aboard and on decks 9 and 10 around 5:00pm to bid the port goodbye. The ship's stack blew out steam as the horn played the seven notes of "When You Wish Upon A Star," and off was the Disney Magic for its 7-night Western Caribbean cruise that will meet the New Year out in the open seas.

The last morning of 2006 beamed with festive glory as the Magic docked on Key West. The streets were bustling with different activities. Tour coaches and trolleys full of visitors were going to and fro various points of interest. As for us, we went for a home industry ice cream and, of course, Key Lime Pie. Incidentally, the Key Lime Pie Factory has been featured in The Food Network. As for the product, the merengue was soft, fluffy and had just the right sweetness to balance the soury tanginess of the key lime filling. We got a good kick out of it. We also visited the Southenmost Point of the country.

All were aboard by 5:00pm when again the ship's horn played "When You Wish Upon A Star" to signal the ship's port departure. At 6:00pm all four of us in semi-formal mode made our way to Palo, Disney Magic's premiere restaurant, where we had made reservations for a New Year's Eve supper. Most especially, it was our Mother's 60th birthday meal. We give the restaurant an E for excellent, and that goes for service and food. But the highlight was undoubtedly and uncontestedly - dessert. Palo's Chocolate Souffle, made by a Filipino chef aptly named Tagumpay (Success), was a rhapsody in texture and flavor as it reached the pinnalce of cocoa richness and silkiness. It was simply to die for, and in our case it was a double murder because each of us asked for a second helping. According to our server their record number of order of the souffle per person is six, and no one has yet been able to beat it.

New Year revelers started to fill the lobby atrium at 11:00pm. Champagnes were passed. Hats for gents, crowns for ladies and toy trumpets for evveryone were distributed. The joyous mood was intoxicating. Guests joined Disney Magic entertainers in dancing and singing the night away. 15 minutes before countdown, Disney characters one by one joined the crowd. Countdown started at 10 seconds. The chants grew louder as the numbers went down. Winecorks flew up in the air and balloons swooped down from the ceiling as everyone sounded their trumpets and shouted "Happy New Year!" With encouragement, guests bursted balloons for noisy fun. There was New Year's Eve buffet in all the ship's three restaurants.

We kissed the New Year morning by indulging in some fun splashes in the pool and jacuzzi. There are a lot of activities on board the ship so guests can busy themselves on days at sea. As a matter of fact, you can stay on the ship even if there's a port of call and not get bored. Walt Disney Theatre stages musicals every day starting at midafternoon. Buena Vista Theater features various Disney movies. There's also a TV in each stateroom for the couch potato. The sports deck offers different ball games, and there's a gym and spa for fitness and beauty buffs. Deck 4 serves as runners' or joggers' path. Shopaholic? Go to the ship's mall and see what might catch your fancy at Treasure Ketch and Mickey's Mates. And if dining is your guilty pleasure, there's a fastfood joint, a beverage bar and an ice cream stall that are all open 24 hours. What's great about the cruise activities, though, is that these are categorized for specific age groups so no one is left out.

There are many water and land activities to enjoy at Grand Cayman Island, a British territory, but we decided to just hang out and walk its streets. Being a touristy place, tour rates are quite skyrocket-high you'd think you're being offered a blast off at Kennedy Space Center. (,") For remembrance, we just took several photos. By this time, I have made SOP getting a fun and colorful refrigirator magnet from each port of call.

Isla Cozumel in Mexico is another touristy place. Barkers hollering tourist activities and services greet visitors as they make their way to the city center. As usual, we took obligatory photos along its seabord and some points of interest.

There was no better way to culminate the cruise than to spend a day at Castaway Cay, Disney's exclusive island resort in the Bahamas. It was a fitting finale. We were greeted by Captain Jack Sparrow, with the ghostly Flying Dutchman anchored in the cay lagoon not far behind us. The white sand beach and crystal clear seawater is a wonder to behold. Fishes swim freely alongside us. We even had a close encounter with a skate. And food was again overflowing. We had never been so fed in our entire lives that there almost came a point that we were...fed up. Hehehe. Our servers kept to their word that they will not leave us hungry at any time during the whole cruise.

Cruising is a fun and wonderful way to visit other places. Having been on a Disney, we would expect nothing less next time we fancy another voyage in the sea.

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Photos in this post are author's property.

New Year Vision

Wow, it's 2007! Time truly sweeps past fast! (,") It is a common sentiment, really, right? It always feels like time went by without us noticing. Most possibly like the previous new year, we'll still make the mistake of writing "2006" or "06" as current year.

For some people, the turn of the year usually comes with New Year's resolutions. We used to make this composition in High School, if I'm not mistaken. I have made a few back in my teens but it never became a habit. I prefer to look at it as a work in progress so it is viewed in a fresh perspective. My resolutions are scattered throughout the year, not just highlighted at the first light of the new year and then forgotten to gather dust in a dark corner somewhere for the rest of the 365 1/2 days.

Let me share a piece of guidance on how to make this year better than last year. I actually got this thru email in New Year 2004, but the idea is timeless instead of time-bound so it will be applicable for this year and every new year to come. It's a feel-good read that we just might need to perk up our souls and psyches for the challenges up ahead.

Happy New Year!

7 Ways to Make Your Happiest Year Possible
Written by Kathy Gates, Professional Life Coach

1. Starve a bad habit; feed a good habit. Things that you nurture and support and give energy and time to WILL grow in your life. In contrast, things can't exist if you don't support them. If you have something in your life that you don't want there, identify how you are supporting it.

2. Give up all hope of ever having a better past. You can't change it. But you CAN create a better future. If you get up every morning unhappy about what happened 20 years ago, or even yesterday, you give it power over you. Decide that the past will not rule your present.

3. Do it anyway. You don't have to feel like doing it (exercise, cutting spending, asking for help, saying no) to do it. Make a plan, then do what needs to be done.

4. Ask for what you want. Nobody ever gets more than they asks for. If you ask for very little love, support, opportunity, courage, interest, etc, that's exactly what you'll get. Decide what's important to you and be willing to ask, try, work and experiment until you get it.

5. Take small steps. It's easy to get overwhelmed and do nothing. Instead of focusing on the ultimate goal, focus on what you can do "just for today" to move in a new direction. For example, if financial stability is your goal, decide that "just for today" you won't create any new debt.

6. Do something different. If you keep doing what you've always done, you'll get what you've always gotten. Change your routine, add a good habit. Start small, then build on it. Just add an apple a day to your diet for 1 month, then include a v-8 juice the next month you get the idea.

7. Learn something new. Expand your horizons. If you're not willing to learn something new, you'll stay stuck where you are. It's very hard to ask for something when you don't even know it's available. Surprise yourself.