Unread Pt1

It's odd to not miss you as much as I did before. Missing you was such a big part of me these past few years that it feels weird not thinking about you every time I am not preoccupied. I am not certain if I have fully accepted that you are no longer a part of my life. They did say you never get over losing someone. You just learn to live without them. Maybe this is one of the better days where that ball of ache in my chest is as its smallest.

I am no longer angry. Well, mostly sad about how things ended between us. Anger, after all, is just sadness pretending to be tough. I wanted it to be quick and painful but I guess you wanted it to linger. And linger it did for some time. Every waking hour was hell having left me without even a goodbye. I had so many questions. Mostly questioning myself if I gave too much, or too little. If I was enough, if I have loved you enough. But I realized there is no point in asking because there is no one to answer but my demons, and they don't really give anything of use to me.

I hope all days are like today. Remembering you, but not missing you. It feels nice.

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Let Go Now

I don’t know what we had. I’m pretty sure it was something between too little and a lot of nothing. But it was something. 

I remember you begging. About three years ago. After breaking up a month before, I told you I needed to completely cut ties with you so I can properly mourn our mutual loss and move forward. But you begged me to stay. I was still in love with you so like a complete idiot, I agreed. It’d be hypocritical of me to say I didn’t hope that one day you’d realize I was worth the effort of upending your life, and running away with me. 

“Friends", we both said. Pitiful, to say the least. 

Fast-forward three years, look who’s left all alone. With the remains of something between too little and a lot of nothing. The child in me wants to throw a fit and demand I be given the same things I gave. Promises were made. Long ago. I can’t remember now. But people from the past who decided to stay in the past no longer owe us to keep their promises, do they? Just because you did and would do something for someone does not mean they would the same for you. I guess that’s what’s killing me. I led myself on and maybe part of it is my fault. But I am no child. I will not beg. If I didn’t beg then I surely won’t beg now. 

I will allow myself to accept my losses, grieve for a while and finally, let go. 

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A Different Kind of Heartbreak

A ping from an almost girlfriend.

"What is this time?", I muttered to myself.

"André, Ninoy's gone."

Ninoy was my best friend in high school.

"No. No." was all I could reply.

Dead on arrival. He suffered a massive heart attack he mistook for a heartburn earlier this morning. Meanwhile, I was happily railing a cute moreno twink stressed for his engineering board exam when he passed.

Ninoy is a good guy. Fuck. He was a good guy. Youngest in our batch and he sure acted like the bunso he was. Always ready with a corny joke, a hearty laugh and a dirty white good morning towel to wipe his sweaty-ass self with. He was part of our little all-male group addicted to playing chess. There was usually four of us, sometimes bigger but we always beat the crap out of everyone else playing chess so they would just watch. Out of the four, he was the most excitable and easiest to read because of his obvious tell. I remember the times he'd panic when he realized we saw through his strat and loudly complain as he eventually lost the game. We would play chess whenever we could. Breaks, lunchtime, before and after class. Heck, we were so into it that we would even play way past after school hours. Good times.

Ninoy was a smart guy. He was one of the four of us who passed UPCAT back then which was such a big deal for our humble public high school. He was actually the reason why I even went to college. He, together with these two volunteer teachers from UP Pahinungod, tracked me down (and I never took any high school friends home) and convinced me to enroll. See, we were broke as fuck then and I never had any hopes of going to college. He was the first and probably the last high school friend who got to visit our home.

He had a tough time in Baguio (I went to Diliman). Culture shock, I suppose. The sudden freedom one finds when he's away from home for the first time. He had a difficult time managing school, and booze, and weed, and love life. The almost girlfriend went to visit him once and suspected he was romantically-involved with a guy. He came out to me, one time I was visiting the almost girlfriend with him as my wingman. Her mom actually wanted Ninoy to date her. Tangina lang ni tita. Haha. 

I wish I was more vocal of my support. But my dumb younger self chose to just hear it and quietly accept it for fear of getting found that I, too, am gay. Courage has never been my strongest suit. Look at me now, still fretting over my planned coming out before the end of the year. But fuck, if Ninoy wasn't brave. He came out to the rest of our high school friends who would joke about how it made sense and how he would take advantage of hitching on this guy friend's motorcycle so he could "poke" him. I would always just sit there quiet, never defending him. I was a dick, I know. I think that's when we drifted apart. Can't really blame him. I wasn't a good friend to him.

He eventually transferred to a school in MNL, graduated, started working for this offshore company. We would just see each other when a close high school friend would celebrate a major life event but our friendship was never the same. My last attempt to connect was three years ago. Found out he was working as a collections specialist but wanting to get promoted. My last response to him was "Cool, cool" like a total douchebag instead of asking him to hang. Based on the Facebook posts from his work friends lamenting our collective loss, it seems he did get his well-earned promotion.

To say I feel terrible is an understatement. I feel like I was suckerpunched and forced to watch a significant part of my childhood collapse in front of me. But I see how I deserve this heartbreak. I didn't do what he would do for me. Had I come out to him, I'm pretty sure he would have celebrated it and we would not have outgrown our friendship. I was a silly man, limited by his fears and insecurities.

But I'm happy for you, Noy. You lived a good life free from hiding and hurting for not living your truth. You loved and you were loved back. Your life was a celebration of laughters and smiles and good food, and good friends who deserve your friendship. I guess I wont be able to tell you how you steered my life towards a better direction and how much our brotherhood means to me. I feel sorry for myself for having lost our friendship then, and now, for having lost the opportunity to rekindle it.

I love you, man. Magdadala ako ng chessboard pag nagkita ulit tayo. And we would play again. Just like the old times.

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Cockblocked By A Dog

I was supposed to fly to Steven's city later tonight so I can spend the weekend with him. Well, not the entire weekend, since he'll have to sneak out of his house to go to my hotel room in the evenings.

Yep, I'm dating another closeted guy but he's at least ten times deeper in the closet, if not more. I'd say he's a typical Chinese closeted guy but he's far from it and by far, I mean his situation is a lot worse. See, his mom prefers that they keep to themselves. He and all his siblings were academic achievers from really good schools in the country but at the expense of not having friends because his mom insisted that it was all that matters. So he doesn't have anyone but his family. He does everything with them - work with them, go out and eat with them, vacation with them. I recall him saying more than once that he's sick and tired of it. Anything done without them is bound to raise suspicions. Anything out of the norm will invite nagging questions. That means traveling often is not an option. Travel done without his family requires an elaborate excuse and he doesn't have much excuse until he decides to fuck it and run away with me.

We started talking in this dating site around December of last year. Been crushing on the guy for months before because holy cow! he's beautiful and plenty smart and seemed to have got things figured out. He's eloquent, too and has this genuine interest in people, in me. Hours pass by real fast when I talk to the guy and I'm obviously enamored. I know I told myself I'll get my shit together first before I even try to engage romantically again but he's just too good to pass up. We were together for six days when he flew to Manila in late January for a reunion (during which his mom would check on him at least twice a day). Even went to a church service for him (I shit you not my flesh burnt a tiny bit), because there was no other opportunity to meet. He snuck from his family to sit with me for a while until it ended then we parted ways. We have not seen each other since.

Anyway, his parents are out of the country for a two-week or so cruise somewhere in Europe and he's left here with two of his sisters to look after the company. Earlier this week he started floating this idea of me flying to him so we could spend time together. The caveat was he could only go to me after dark because his sisters will look for him. And I wasn't comfortable with the idea because it was all of a sudden and I don't have the funds what with the expenses of getting our house renovated, moving to another apartment here in Manila, plans of going back to school and all that adulting stuff. He generously offered to cover the cost which I appreciate but the proud part of me refused the offer because I'm a man and I should pay for myself. I also hate how situations like that highlight our socio-economic difference. We eventually settled into a compromise where he'd pay for half and I'd take care of the other half and that sounded reasonable.

So I asked him to book the ticket as I was busy at work. While he was doing that, he thought of putting his old dog buddy from college, JJ, in his sister's room to see if she will cry and look for him. Because if she does, his sister will, in turn, look for him to come pick her up. And what do you know? She did and she did which is mighty unfortunate. I asked him to ring the hotel if they were pet-friendly and, of course, they're not.

And that, my friends, is the story of a blind, old shih tzu cockblocking me.

---

Truth be told it's tough. No kidding. We're both in the closet. He's family is super conservative it'll make your head spin. We're hundreds of miles from each other. He's rich and I'm barely middle-class. I could go on. But I'm in too deep now. So it's best to swim until I get to him.

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Not Coming Out (Yet)

One of the ex's major gripes about me is my being in the closet. I clearly recall how he broke down in front of me when he said he wished I didn't have to be so ashamed of him. And vividly I recall how I broke inside to see him breaking because of me. A part of me wanted to rebutt it was his fault for taking me in despite this glaring shortcoming. I mean, he knew full well I wasn't out when we started talking and going out and he willingly accepted that it was okay. Was he thinking that I'd suddenly change my mind and throw open these closet doors I've kept shut for decades now for him? Because if so, that is slimy, dodgy at best. Yet I bit my tongue and allowed myself to chew on this bitter pill I was served.

I understand how terribly selfish I had been for the most part of the relationship especially in terms of my openness of it towards people we care about. It makes sense, of course, given he's out and I'm not. I got to know and meet his family, nay, his entire clan, he didn't mine. Except of course when I would tell him about them, which gives one nowhere near the satisfaction of actually getting to meet the other's family in person. His friends and classmates knew of me, only two of mine did. There's more to enumerate, obviously, but you get the idea about the one-sidedness of it all. I constantly convinced myself it was only fair. There was an unwritten rule that he accepted it and there was nothing to talk about. But then I would be reminded of the issue when we would go out and we had to consciously avoid places too crowded, too near the places my friends and acquaintances frequent for fear of being seen together, be content with nods and subtle smiles to acknowledge each other in public.

Despite the open communication we had when we were together, my coming out was never fully and seriously discussed. I guess he knew I was adamant about it and he had to make peace with that major flaw as I made peace with some of his. Which was dumb of us, to be honest. Of me, especially. I really did not give it much thought until after the breakup. This whole time I was thinking I could get away with living in the shadows as someone walks alongside me in the light; sometimes he'd get in, sometimes I'd get out but never totally. Perhaps we didn't have that open communication I prided ourselves to have had after all.

But I think I'm making progress. I had the emotional bandwidth and time to make sense of my apprehension earlier this year and this is what I got:

I am terrified of coming out because I'm a coward (I only speak for myself, so chill).  I am no people-pleaser but it'd be false to say I don't fear the judgment of people I barely know, much less people I do not like. I hate that I will probably be disowned by my family after so many years of me trying to fix my relationship with them. I don't want to be alienated, no one does. I like being in the closet because I'm selfish. Because I like the preferential treatment I get for being thought of as straight. Girls dote on me, guys are comfortable with me, people generally like me and I like belonging, despite my constant need to be alone. I enjoy being in the closet because it's cozy here. I've been here all my life and stepping out will be plenty inconvenient. Because we live in a messed up world where everyone needs something shown to gain other people's respect and acceptance. And I'm fucking lazy and apathetic and tired to help upend this absurd normalcy. Of course, I knew all of these all along, I just wanted them to remain intangible for the longest time so I wouldn't have to deal with them (Yep, that's depressing).

Nope, I'm not coming out. At least, not yet.

The plan is to get the family to be financially independent of me. Perhaps in two or three years time. Sure, I can do that now but I feel like it'd be nothing short of blackmail to come out to them yet they'd still have to rely on me. That'd be extremely uncomfortable for all parties involved. At least, in three years, say they kick me out and write me off the family tree, I could just live somewhere far and they would have no need to contact me.

Maybe I'm getting old. Maybe I'm getting a lot less stupid. Maybe because love happened to me. Whatever it is, I want what the ex wanted for me. To be free and to be proud of the love he had for me. To be free and to be proud of me. And if I am to love again, I want to love the way he loved me.

In the meantime, I offer my deepest apologies, my good LGBT comrades for hampering the call for equality. I know how hateful it is of me to be thinking of just myself and I've no acceptable excuse. I swear I'll catch up and make up for all the years of dilly-dallying.

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Purposefully Yours

This ain't quarter-life crisis because I'm pretty sure I won't get past 60, much less get to 100. Nor is it mid-life crisis, because, well, this has been going on since I was 16. You could say I'm belaboring this confusion and I'm a whiny little bitch who should shut up. And you would be right. Like what I do with most things, I'm overthinking this. I know it, and I know I'm not doing myself any favor but truthfully, a part of me loves wild, stupefying incomprehension. Sure, I don't like it but damn, if I say I don't enjoy it.

Now, the problem with overthinking is one gets too involved in spaced-out, keep-everyone-out, private conversations with one's self. And when I say too involved, I mean, it pretty much takes all the time one has leaving very little to do anything else. Yeap, it's that simple and straightforward. Thinking a lot but not doing enough.

I can't say for certain why.

I did say a part of me loves the pain of overthinking. Of the options I have and the possibilities they bring. Maybe I like the Schrödinger's aspect of just thinking and leaving things as they are but doing squat about it. Because I could be anything I want until I act on it breaking this pitiful illusion-delusion I have. Perhaps because I like being stymied and getting stuck in this limbo, creating an appearance of insurmountable roadblocks that justify my inaction.

It could also be that I'm afraid of confirming I don't have it in me to do great. Like I've always believed myself to be capable of. I wanna blame the family and the environment I grew up in for having very low expectations from everyone that when I did decent with half-assed efforts, I was relegated to being that-guy-we-expect-more-from. Isn't that messed up? (Whoa, that is a good argument but that's a different conversation altogether.) Point is, they made me feel like I could do things, things that would make a real, tangible change. At one point, I wanted to be a lawyer, a forest ranger, a political scientist, a librarian, a community developer, an economist, a teacher. And I ended up being someone my 16-year old self would barely recognize. But I could only put the blame on someone else for too long.

Fuck if I don't say I'm not terrified of knowing there's not much else for me but to live life like this: wake up tired, get bored at work, go out with equally-bored people, buy stuff, wish for the year to be over as I cry myself to sleep, rinse and repeat. I want Santa to be real so bad to tell me "Yeap, you're bound to be just like that, a cynical jerk angry at himself and everyone else". That way, I don't have to burn through the supposed best years of my life with nothing to show for it.

My pining heart says I don't know what I want because I don't have you but hell, no. I don't have you because I don't know what I want and I don't want to drag you in this shitstorm. And shitstorms are bad. I remember saying to myself I'd die happy and content if I get to build a life with you. How romantic and sappy and awfully naive was that. And I'm tired of being a child.

Then there's my laziness. I swear it fucks me up more than anything else I said above.

---

Though if I'm being real honest, I'd say I've made some progress. I have a more concrete plan for the future. Y'know, adult vanilla stuff like get my own space in the city in two years instead of paying rent. Go back to school in the same year. Start traveling next year. Engage in community work. Get a house in the suburbs in another 5 years. Buy a small orchard and be a kickass farmer-husband. So it's not all bad.

I understand that life goals can be fluid - shifting as one goes along and experience what life has to offer, morphing as one's perspectives and character change. I guess I'm dissatisfied with the way my brain is wired. That I can't make peace with all these realizations I already recognize as truths. That I didn't get the chance to be purposeful as others were. I know it's wrong to measure yourself against others' progress because we all have different battles but my small brain is having a tough time letting go.

But at the end of it all, it is what it is and there's not much I can do about it. And if you can't do anything about it, don't overthink. Just make peace and move along. Take it from me, I wasted years and years and look where it got me.

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Moving On, Kind Of

After some initial success post-breakup with J, I've been reduced to a moping broken-hearted sucker for the past couple of weeks now. What's worse is I'm enjoying the comfort it gives me. It's fun to write about anguish and pain and heartache because people can relate and fuck if I don't admit liking the thought that I'm not alone in this miserable shithole I dug for myself.

I dunno. I was doing great for a while because I was busy. I listed the things I wanted and aimed to do. Learn a new language, work out, tick off MNL museums of my travel list, reconnect with friends, get better at my job. But lately, I'm losing motivation and focus. The only things I'm consistent with are learning Spanish (though I'm struggling learning it without regular practice) and getting better at my job (hey, I got promoted!). The rest just seems like work. The lazy guy in me just won't budge most days. And without things to preoccupy me, my mind wanders. A lot.

But it ends now. Much as I like to coop myself in my room, pine away like Echo holing herself in a cave after Narcissus' rejection and hoping to be the voice that answers back in the desert of all this emptiness, I can't. Well, I won't. There's not much point in grieving now. I had a good six months going seven down the drain doing just that. God knows I've wasted enough time agonizing and lamenting about this stinky, putrid corpse that is what I had with him. Heck, I decided to be done with it so why should I be mewling like a little bitch now?

I was told I should start going out so I can take my mind off of him. I'd gone out a couple of times. Talked to some guys who seem great. Some friends are even trying to set me up. But I'm just not romantically-inclined atm. And I don't want to get cozy with someone for a rebound fuck. My brain and penis just don't work that way.

This is another rant, really. I know what to do but I can't bring myself to do it. How in the world do I find that elusive drive? I know a lot of things and I'm well-equipped to anticipate ahead but I'm at a loss as to why I'm stuck again. I can only get stuck for so long though. So here's hoping I think of something soon enough before I start sinking.

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Of Losing and Finding

It has been half year since I got myself a half-wanted freedom. That sounded childish and bitter now, didn't it. But it is what is. I knew I wanted to get out of the relationship but I also foresaw what life without someone to romantically dote on and look after would be like - emptier than usual. Which is not bad since the less things one is preoccupied with, the more he can cram in his life to unempty it (nope, unempty is not a word).

And so unempty it I have been doing. With most fizzling before I could get to my third time such as going on solitary walks on weekends, visiting museums within the metro, working out and so on. This is mostly because I feel like just sleeping it off. I have some little successes here and there though. I think I'm getting better at Spanish (hurray for Latino porn!). I'm also getting more social that is I go out with friends I forgot going out with when I was still with J. I have been devouring a fuck ton of sitcoms, too; because I am not willing to commit to two-hour long flicks and the TV episodes make me feel like I'm not wasting as much time because they're chopped into 20-minutes runs. In moments of sudden clarity and motivation, I try to read at least a chapter or two of the books I've been trying to finish since the middle of last year (six books, at least). In my defense, they're all classics so they can get really tedious to plod on. Then there are TED videos and the courses I enrolled in Udemy.

I guess I'm still trying to find my groove back. It's a process I never had to go through before so I feel a little lost. Things used to fall into their rightful places quite easily and smoothly for me but somehow they won't anymore. I'm sure they eventually will but I still can't help losing sleep over it at times.

---

Then there's the issue of solitude. I'm pretty introverted bordering perturbingly-antisocial. And I don't mind being labeled and treated as one. I revel in my aloneness. But it can be lonesome when you find someone you can sincerely enjoy your solitude with and that someone is suddenly taken out of the picture. I know I asked for it and I totally deserve what I am feeling right now. To be perfectly frank, I've been actively looking around to find someone similar to J. Not in a romantic capacity, mind. And I lucked out in finding some people willing to put up with my neurotic tendencies. Thing is they often want to be more than what I'm currently in need of and can provide for. Which sucks donkey balls. They would offer to be friends, sure, but I feel like I'll be stringing them along and I really dislike the idea. I am no longer 24 after all to afford such silly games.

---

I know how sucky I am as a person. I used to think that I wasn't that bad. Heck, I would proudly claim before that I was a good catch. I'm smarter than most people. I don't look half-bad. I have the height and the shoe size (And you know what they say about men with big shoes. They have big feet, dummy!). I'm hella funny and I'm good in bed. Kidding. I wanna say I'm not sure anymore but I am certain that I'm nowhere near the guy I swore I was. This is not self-deprecation by any means but an honest opinion of myself. I know I could be better. I am meant for better things if only I can rekindle the the fire in that torch I used to carry around.

The flame must have died from too much running. So slow down I should. Maybe find a matchstick, some friction, then perhaps, a spark.

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When FO Also Means Fuck Off

Meeting and unmeeting people online is easy when things are not as tangible as it were offline. God knows I’ve had my share of people I got real close with that some even showed their affection by sending me stuff or even inviting me to their wedding halfway across the globe. Neither am I a stranger when it comes to flirting just because I can; knowing all too well that I will prolly break someone’s heart. Well, I know now because I have and it can be such an awful, awful feeling post-facto. It’s pretty much the same for me in real life. At my age, I learned that people don’t stay just because you want them to. They stay because they choose to and that is a decision they make every single day. I know I don’t  and won’t even if you cry and beg and steal and cheat for it. I outgrew people as often as they did me, possibly more. And that’s the natural cycle of social connections so we’ve not much choice but to accept lest we be clingy, psycho fucks.

I’m not trying to tell a sob story about me getting cozy with someone who strung me along and left me broken-hearted. A month ago, a good friend at work suddenly went MIA. We used to work together in another department, he got promoted and so did I but we remained friends - we would go to the cafeteria together with former teammates, burn two hours or so watching old seasons of Law & Order and Family Guy (at work, lol), eat out and all those good stuff. We were friends for three years and some months. We did everything to try to check on him: multiple text, instant messages and phone calls on different days. All left unanswered. Another friend tried to invite him to play DOTA when he saw him online in Steam but to no avail. I even dared messaging his girlfriend to ask what was going on, and I think he gave her a bullshit reason which she then told me. She asked me to let her know once the friend gets in touch. But nada to this day. We had the idea to hunt him down and drop by his place but we figured he doesn’t want us to be in his life anymore. I, for one, am not the type to force myself where I am not wanted.

But boy, does it feel sucky. I think it hits me hard because I’m usually the one leaving and I get to have control over the separation. Or maybe, I dislike losing someone more than I’d like to admit.

I guess it’s a sob story after all, no? Give me back my three years, dammit!

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Afterthoughts

I am a smart man. People love me for that. I know it, I use it to my advantage so much, so frequent that it works against me sometimes. Not because I fail to consider some aspects but because I consider too many that it prolongs the agony of indecision and uncertainty.

J and I are no more. We were two months short of two years, the longest steady romantic relations I ever had. We separated as friends and promised to keep in touch. Even joked about being fubus (I am half-serious). Neither of us cheated. Would have been a lot simpler had it been the case. He's in law school and it stands to reason that it is consuming his entirety while I, dear reader, am on my merry way to moderate-to-extreme depressive streak. Fantastic, isn't it? Of course, both of us need all the support we can get and we got em alright, only not from each other. And because we love ourselves enough and each other so much, we thought it best to stop hindering ourselves from caving in to the madness the recent months have brought.

So here we are, here I am again. Talking to myself, to an empty wall. I swear I thought it through. Calculated the risks, carefully weighed the upside to it, the little bits and pieces of the puzzle but why in the world do I suddenly feel emptier than I was. I was happier than sad, I kept telling myself. I felt relieved it was over. I no longer have to beg for attention. I don't have to feel like I'm always left out and he won't feel guilty about it. It was for the best, for our sanity, for the love we wish to freeze for now and hopefully reignite once the powers that be allow us.

I dunno.

Maybe because I know he's made himself available for others to go out with (it's not that it's unfair because I am free to date again too). Maybe because I should have stuck with him like a real man should, when he needs me the most. Because law school is ruthless and his professors don't give a flying fuck about learning because their own professors never did. And even without that, it is taxing not only mentally but physically and emotionally. I saw J's weight drop, listened to him rant until he sobs, stress himself out for a single recitation. I should be understanding, a firm hand to steady him, a source of inspiration but I can't. Oh, what I wouldn't do to be all that but I can't. Heck, I can't even understand nor inspire myself to move against this metaphorical catatonia. I just know that I'm in such an emotional and mental cluster fuck at the moment that it doesn't feel right to burden someone who's already suffering with issues I should have sorted out myself prior to this commitment.

I broke up with J a week ago. It felt right then but for some reason it doesn't feel right now.

I'm just fucking overthinking this.

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McDo Dates

The last time the boyfriend and I dated was I dunno-when-exactly two weeks ago. That was a quickie meal at McDo too and I realized their friend chicken really leaves a lot to be desired for. We've been struggling to find a suitable schedule for a regular rendezvous ever since he started law school in June and I had to go back to the graveyard shift.

I was initially apprehensive that I couldn't have enough time in his company. Sure, messages over text and phone calls are there but they really can't replace the good ole look-me-in-the-eye conversations over cold pasta and bland iced tea. You get what I mean. I'm certain he felt the same way if not more (lol, assuming). I still get these messages from him that I'd get tired with the lack of his physical presence and I'd feel like I'm set aside as a second priority to his educational pursuit. The selfish guy in me would say "Of course, I would be! We should be visiting places, making out til our lungs run out of air, talking til our mouths are dry, having mad sex, creating memories together not just daydreaming for them to happen like the single folks out there. I am entitled to it for chrissakes!" But then the sane part of my brain would think how he must be feeling the same way or prolly worse. I'm sure it's difficult to be in his shoes to have to plod through the hell fire of law school and still have to worry about how we stand in our relationship. I realize that other couples may have worse issues to wrestle with but our dilemma is as real as theirs and I would hate to take it lightly just to end up miserable later.

Admittedly, we haven't had much success in our goal to meet in a regular basis. Our dates are more like the spontaneous kind in the most unromantic fashion imaginable (see McDo date above). I ain't complaining though I sound like I am. Haha. Our setup made me realize the value of our time together. (Not that I didn't before.) He insists that he has a role as a boyfriend and will try his best to make time for me but I too insist that as his partner, I should be understanding of his plight. After all, it's just some five years of limited physical encounters and I can have him all to myself afterwards granted he doesn't work too much. :)

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Eyecandies

"Eyecandy, no?" J asked.

"Uh, huh." I stammered in hesitant agreement. I didn't know I was that obvious as I ogled at this guy who just entered the pastry house J and I love frequenting.

I braced myself for an onslaught of violent denunciation or a deafening, your balls-will-shrink silence. You know, typical partner reaction to the other half mooning over someone else. But praise be to the Lord of heavens, I got neither. Instead, J gave me a hearty laugh.

I tried to explain myself to purge my guilt but I couldn't speak loud enough for J to hear me as the subject of our discussion was just a table away. He handed me a pen and the receipt.

I wrote "I was looking at his butt more than his face". An incriminating evidence, I agree, but hell, I was caught in the act so I found it unnecessary (and dumb) to deny it.

Yep, I like butts. Male butts that is. And the guy in question has a pretty nice one. But I need a face to justify it with hence my curiosity.

I was sure J would get pissed at me. Any sane boyfriend would. Most prefer to look at other people as discreet as possible (that is how you use 'discreet', people!) to avoid confrontation either from the object of attraction or the partner, or worse, both. Almost all would rather ignore that their partner is sniffing around and a lot would like to pretend it's not happening.

Well, it happens. A lot more than we care to think.

People are people. We get attracted many times a day. Sometimes the object of our attraction gets attracted to us but it matters not. Our testosterone levels (estrogen for our sisters gifted with ovaries, let's not be sexists here) don't get depleted when we enter into a mutually-exclusive relationship. It's plain stupidity to assume otherwise. The clincher is whether one would act on it or not.

We get attracted, yes, but thatt doesn't mean we are any less attracted to the person we are with. If anything, it is a testimony about one's sincerity in his/her relationship - we see a lot of people out there worthy of our side glances but there's only one we could look at, directly, without shame or indecision. Just don't ogle too much. It's tacky.

I gotta work on my sneakiness.

[Image credit: http://twenty-firstcenturyboy.blogspot.com/]

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Hello Again

I would say I cleaned up this space out of impulse but I'd be lying. No, I didn't delete my old posts because I like basking in nostalgia once in a while, I just reverted them to drafts. Not all because I inadvertently deleted some which is unfortunate since Blogger doesn't keep things in a trash folder, it just trashes things straightaway.

Why the cleanup you ask? Well, I'm a just being a little anal retentive and I felt like the blog has gone a tad too disorganized for my taste.

I hope to write more like I used to but heck, it's kinda hard when life's too good outside this virtual space. But I do wanna write more and read more of people who write more than I do.

So hello, we meet again.

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In and Out

I'd like to think that the partner and I are a lot similar than we are different. We were born a year and three days apart, he the 23rd of the 7th month and I, the 26th. I'm not much of a fan of astrology but for the sake of this entry, the partner and I are Leos; and believers would argue that Leos are warm, proud to the point of being arrogant, wildly passionate and hardheaded pricks which our personalities would have a hard time refuting. We're both introverts and a little too rational most of the time (the partner is an ISTJ while yours truly is an INTP) that people usually assume we're snobs (which we are). We have low tolerance for people who are intentionally stupid and proud of it. And we both love putting them in their rightful place.We do not like a lot of things but we share a passion for reading and visiting places most couples nowadays typically don't frequent (for example, graveyards and obscure galleries). We both think that the Philippines is worth staying in and it's people, worth staying with, despite the terrible state our country is in. I can write about the things we mutually like and the traits we mutually share as a proof that the cosmic powers brought us together (lol) but I could go for days on end and I'm absolute you'd retch.

See, the beauty about human relationships is no matter how compatible you and other people think you guys are and no matter how similar the two of you are that you're starting to mirror each other, the dissimilarities can be glaring they tend to occupy the larger part of the comparison pie chart not because of numerability but because of the threats they pose and all the ugly possibilities they offer. They could all be in my head but won't you humor me?

The partner is out, I'm not. This means no pda, at least not really obvious ones (I for one love under-the-table contacts like hands holding and footsies), no dating in places where people I know may be hanging out, no meet the friends and family, no uber-cheesy social media affirmation of undying love for each other (this I don't mind) and so many things that our moderately homophobic society will squirm at the sight of. Sure, we're not in Uganda where gay folks are thrown in jail just because but our country's collective consciousness certainly has thousands of leagues to go in terms of acceptance of the LGBT group. My parents would literally damn my soul in hell and disown me if I come out. I'm pretty sure I'd get of the house physically unharmed but this dim prospect is something I'd rather not go through for the sake of my sanity and my parents'.

We never really talked about how we're supposed to handle our relationship in this regard. Unspoken ground rules just magically appeared out of nowhere for both of us to follow. I'm kidding. There's no magic, he's just sensible and sensitive enough to accommodate my being in the closet. Nevertheless, we still encounter times where I feel bad because I can't give him the world like another guy could. I mean, I can't even go with him to Trinoma for chrissakes. I can't even go public that I'm with someone. People would hound me and the world as I know it would collapse to an unrecognizable mess. He constantly reaffirms me that he doesn't mind but I'm paranoid about all these little things piling up that one day they'd be enough of a reason for him (or anyone, for that matter) to leave me. People are not known to tolerate something that makes them uncomfortable and I'm sure this does not make him comfortable at all. He would have the world by now had I been another guy.

Then I'm sobered up by the realization that we are too similar to succumb to this. We're both young and smart and hopeful that we would get as far as our understanding of differences could get us. And that could span long enough to conquer this lifetime.

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How Not to Start Your Year

As an act of civility and an effort to bridge the distance I have placed between myself and the past, I sent an ex a new year greeting earlier today. Being the extra-stupid guy that I am, I missent the message to the partner. No, their contact entries in my phone are very much far apart - the ex is 'd' while the partner is a 'j'. It's just that my fingers reflexively type the partner's name whenever I would send an sms. My fingers are not known to have functioning cerebral powers, you see, and so am I.

And boy, did it get ugly. The partner was infuriated, extremely disappointed, seething like Mt. Vesuvius about to submerge Pompeii in its molten anger. I stood my ground. I didn't do anything wrong, I told myself and him. Just because I want to open communication with an ex or another guy doesn't mean I'm cheating. Sound reasoning, yes? Wrong. So we fought. Like mad cats. But then, I realized I wasn't right to not have given him fair warning about it. I'm pretty sure I would be mighty pissed too had I found out he is keeping tabs on another guy, especially an ex-flame. And that I could be blind to other people's feelings, even the ones I care about, when I think I'm right. Which isn't really the best way to handle relationships.

Am I being under the saya? I dunno. I couldn't care less, really. I just know that there are things not worth having an argument over. Like this one.

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A Comfortable Silence

I am comfortable in silence. Very much so that people get weirded out with how I jive with their mouths shut. I can get really talkative that you'd wish you didn't get me started but silence, by and large, appeals to me. Maybe because I realize how things to talk about would run out, how the city noise will eventually die to be mourned by the night and why words won't mean anything without the quiet.

We easily get excited when we find people we can stay all night with talking endlessly about the infinity of blankness and the steady supply of nothing we breathe and chew on everyday. We revel in the idea that there are people out there who understand us; people who think, talk, act like we do. Which isn't a bad thing, really. It's great and all but won't you admit that it will all get old soon? When you sort things out and realize that the moments in between words and laughter and bodies colliding are much, much smaller than the silence in between.

Then you find that someone who understands all this and doesn't mind.

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