I woke up this morning with a great feeling. I dreamed of my special friend who owns a very significant part of my heart. Why am I dreaming about him again? Could he be thinking about me too? I could only wish! To savor that magical moment, I went through my memory bag, this is where I stored all the, as the name suggests, memorabilia. Here, I keep old pictures, birthday cards, letters, tags of the gifts my friends gave me on my birthdays, and many other things which hold special meaning to me. And I found this unsent letter, supposedly for this special friend I just dreamed about. I can’t help but smile at how I was so into him before as I read the letter. I think I wrote this sometime in May of 2002. I am sharing this letter here not hoping that he would actually be able to read this sometime but because I just want to. It has been more than half a decade and absolutely, the intensity has gone a little dreary. I did not send this before for fear of being ridiculed or worse, rejected. Now, I don’t care if he knows about how I felt for him during those times. Here it goes.
Dear J,
When I left Cebu for Surigao, I promised I am not going to write letters to the people I loved there. Nor I would know any information regarding their lives. All I know is that I am going to meet all of you after five years. Wouldn’t that be very surprising? But I realized how painful would that be for me when one day, I only wake up losing all of you. That is why in a moment, I feel like breaking that promise.
My batchmates (5th batch in SOM) have already graduated in college. I am left behind because of the two years I spent with my interest in earning money. But never had it crossed my mind to regret those two years because that was the most beautiful time that ever happened to my life. I learned to value work, conquer fear, possess self-confidence and most especially, I have learned to love. Somehow, I also felt I was loved and this always makes me long for Cebu just to be with all of you. I really, really missed the days we had fun together. I missed my work though monotonous and the laughter I had with Ate Rowena, Ate Jean and of course with you and Efren. Those ecstatic memories have always been registered in my mind and in my heart. I do really hope I can come again to attend the alumni homecoming because I really yearn to see the school and the people there.
May the best of luck be with you always as you pursue your ambition in life. I firmly believe in your capacity that you can surpass all the trials and you can survive that pursuit of attaining success. In your school, make the best that you can. Show to your mates that you are excellent because I believe you are. And don’t ever forget that you have someone who is always praying for your success and happiness. As they say, life is never easy. You have to be wrong to learn what is right; struggle to persevere, hurt to be stronger, fall to rise again, lose to try harder and to love to conquer them all.
June 2, 2002 is a very special day for you. This is the time when you will bid goodbye to the teenage years and say welcome to adulthood. In your 20th birthday, all I wish is good health and a happier life or should I say happier love life. You only have one more year to go to be called a full-fledged man. The future may seem unclear and indeterminable but one thing is for sure, this time and forever, you are always loved.
Until then! Reply me asap.
Always,
Vinx
Of course, there was no reply as this is in the first place unsent. J is just his initial. I still want to keep him anonymous here because I don’t want to stir other people’s lives he may have connected with now. The letter is so corny and gay, I know, but I don’t actually give a damn. Now, he remains to be a good friend and I am so happy and contented about that. Some things are not meant to be, maybe in another lifetime.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Breathing death...
The office has undergone some renovations to provide more space for keeping files which are now fast mounting like bubbles. The built-in desk at the back was removed and replaced by cabinets for more storage. I could have appreciated these improvements more than I could actually rant complaining about migraine-triggering odor brought about by the paint applied on the cabinets. But the office is a merely 20sqm, fully air-conditioned room and there is no other way the stinky odor could escape to but our noses, our lungs eventually. Right now, as I am writing this, I am actually having breathing difficulty and feeling a little sense of discomfort forming right in middle of my forehead and just between my eyes.
So what is the problem?
The problem is people, I mean the higher ones, don’t actually make a move on how we could get out of that place or at the least, think of something that would lessen the destructive aroma. I made suggestions that maybe we can transfer to the other room, the conference room just so we could focus on working. But it seems I was talking to old, deaf-since-birth people. I did not get any answers or reactions for that matter.
I may not be knowledgeable in the exact clinical or medical effects that chemicals of the paint bring about but I know, my common sense tells me, that if you breathe something in aside from oxygen is alarming enough not to mention the headaches and the difficulty in breathing that we have experienced.
The higher ones may have forgotten that they are not generous enough to provide us health benefits or insurances in case this might go to a higher level, which I hope, would not happen. In the exercise of prudence, I am just being health conscious because to get sick these times could surely make you fall even lower than the poverty threshold. And I don’t want that to happen to me. I think everybody doesn’t.
In another words, they should be sensitive enough. They have options. Like I said we have an extra room, or they could provide us with masks perhaps, or anything that can alleviate our suffering. Or to exaggerate, provide us with health benefits and insurances! The latter is absolutely remote in consideration.
For the time being, I am using the coat of Sherlie to cover my nose and inhale from time to time my favorite Betet. If Ef can read this, I hope she doesn’t slap me with that question again. "When are you all leaving?"
If only everything were alright, I would. I will.
So what is the problem?
The problem is people, I mean the higher ones, don’t actually make a move on how we could get out of that place or at the least, think of something that would lessen the destructive aroma. I made suggestions that maybe we can transfer to the other room, the conference room just so we could focus on working. But it seems I was talking to old, deaf-since-birth people. I did not get any answers or reactions for that matter.
I may not be knowledgeable in the exact clinical or medical effects that chemicals of the paint bring about but I know, my common sense tells me, that if you breathe something in aside from oxygen is alarming enough not to mention the headaches and the difficulty in breathing that we have experienced.
The higher ones may have forgotten that they are not generous enough to provide us health benefits or insurances in case this might go to a higher level, which I hope, would not happen. In the exercise of prudence, I am just being health conscious because to get sick these times could surely make you fall even lower than the poverty threshold. And I don’t want that to happen to me. I think everybody doesn’t.
In another words, they should be sensitive enough. They have options. Like I said we have an extra room, or they could provide us with masks perhaps, or anything that can alleviate our suffering. Or to exaggerate, provide us with health benefits and insurances! The latter is absolutely remote in consideration.
For the time being, I am using the coat of Sherlie to cover my nose and inhale from time to time my favorite Betet. If Ef can read this, I hope she doesn’t slap me with that question again. "When are you all leaving?"
If only everything were alright, I would. I will.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Celcius, Kelvin, Fahrenheit, whatever!
After almost four years, I was back in Manila for four short days during the Halloween vacation. Noel and I availed of the promo of Cebu Pacific where we only paid P120.00 for each of our plane ticket, back and forth. There are so many changes in the metro since my last visit. Buildings are sprouting everywhere. Even the airport where we landed was undeniably clean and the architecture was just amazing, not to mention controversial. The roads have become cleaner and wider, I guess. I think MMDA has to be credited for the positive changes the metro have undergone. (OA ra sa personal!) But the traffic condition is still the same. Or perhaps, that time was just the worst because it was a holiday and people were going in and out of Manila.
Anyway, although Noel and I have been talking about what we were going to do exactly in Manila so that we won’t be wasting time, the itinerary however depends upon our two friends, gay friends George and Jeafrey who were generous enough to sponsor for our accommodation. Since they are gay and so are we, I was expecting that we would be doing something of our interest. George, who knows the beautiful and the not so visit-worthy places in Manila more than anyone in the group led us to a place called Fahrenheit. Yes, you got it right. It is a unit of temperature and it depicts a lot of what the place is really about. Okay, the place is a bathhouse and the temperature was so much fine. It was the people inside who have made the entire place figuratively hot.
I am not a stranger to a bathhouse at all. I have seen the movie entitled the same and I already have an idea what is happening inside. But to experience it at hand is just breathtaking. It was about eight in the evening when we arrived after a difficult ordeal with the traffic. And as early as that, I can already see people lining up for the entrance like enthusiastic fans of Sam Milby, wrestling, and hurting themselves as to who gets first his autograph. But the novice Melvin was more nervous than excited. Primarily because I was aware that places like Fahrenheit are prone to police raids and I don’t want to see myself either on TV or in papers confidently defensive and who would just say “no comment” to the reporters or police when asked. That would be so embarrassing that the next day, you would already see me dead on my bed overdosed with sleeping pills.
But forward we went. As relentless as I am, I shook off my nervousness and proceeded to hell. Inside, I was like a college freshman enrolling for the BS Accountancy program because I have to present two valid IDs, sign up registration form and pay membership fee. George told me that it was a standard operating procedure. Once done and given the key to hell, we headed to a locker room where we had to leave all our valuables. You have to pass at least two frisking officers making sure you’re not going inside with money and pointed objects for security purposes. The frisking officer had to touch everything including that thing in the middle that keeps everything in place. In another words, even our birdies have to be touched for inspection. Now I want to be a frisking officer! How wonderful would that be! (Career shift eto!)
Anyway, the interior of the place was very relaxing. The walls were painted red and the entire place was dimly lit. Mellow music was continuously playing setting everyone in the mood for love and otherwise. We changed our clothes and just wrapped our bodies with towels. That is the only fashion style inside the bathhouse. But the bathhouse is not exclusively for showering or taking a bath alone. George served as a tour guide and I realized there was a gym, a sauna, a Jacuzzi, a wine bar and of course shower room. Upstairs, there were labyrinth-like rooms for people to fuck and get fucked. There was also a section called “dark room” where you can hear people moaning and wailing like crazy porn stars savoring every minute of man to man sexual actions. I admit, I got hard by just listening to them. Bigaon jud!
The four of us went our separate ways exploring the entire place and looking for prospects. I think I was the first to close a deal. We went inside one of the rooms and started talking. He said he was from Olongapo and is married already. We talked for a couple of minutes and then we started to do the deed. That’s how handful kikis are in Fahrenheit. After that, I showered and decided to just rest and relax in a viewing room where a porn movie is showing. I stroll around the place from time to time but the level of libido has gone down. I waited until George, Jeafrey and Noel came back. We went out at around 12 midnight, which was an hour extension already of our agreed time. Noel has to be blamed for this. He wanted to see light in the dark room, so we stayed an hour longer for him to find the light. And he did.
We left the place surely not empty-handed. For me it was the final and full testament of our being gay. You can’t be called a full-fledged gay until you experience Fahrenheit. Now, a week later, I honestly want to be there again. But that can’t be in the next two months. I still have to wait for the promo again and save some money again. But I will be back. In time, it would not only be Fahrenheit. Perhaps Celcius or Kelvin, if there are. Hahaha…
Anyway, although Noel and I have been talking about what we were going to do exactly in Manila so that we won’t be wasting time, the itinerary however depends upon our two friends, gay friends George and Jeafrey who were generous enough to sponsor for our accommodation. Since they are gay and so are we, I was expecting that we would be doing something of our interest. George, who knows the beautiful and the not so visit-worthy places in Manila more than anyone in the group led us to a place called Fahrenheit. Yes, you got it right. It is a unit of temperature and it depicts a lot of what the place is really about. Okay, the place is a bathhouse and the temperature was so much fine. It was the people inside who have made the entire place figuratively hot.
I am not a stranger to a bathhouse at all. I have seen the movie entitled the same and I already have an idea what is happening inside. But to experience it at hand is just breathtaking. It was about eight in the evening when we arrived after a difficult ordeal with the traffic. And as early as that, I can already see people lining up for the entrance like enthusiastic fans of Sam Milby, wrestling, and hurting themselves as to who gets first his autograph. But the novice Melvin was more nervous than excited. Primarily because I was aware that places like Fahrenheit are prone to police raids and I don’t want to see myself either on TV or in papers confidently defensive and who would just say “no comment” to the reporters or police when asked. That would be so embarrassing that the next day, you would already see me dead on my bed overdosed with sleeping pills.
But forward we went. As relentless as I am, I shook off my nervousness and proceeded to hell. Inside, I was like a college freshman enrolling for the BS Accountancy program because I have to present two valid IDs, sign up registration form and pay membership fee. George told me that it was a standard operating procedure. Once done and given the key to hell, we headed to a locker room where we had to leave all our valuables. You have to pass at least two frisking officers making sure you’re not going inside with money and pointed objects for security purposes. The frisking officer had to touch everything including that thing in the middle that keeps everything in place. In another words, even our birdies have to be touched for inspection. Now I want to be a frisking officer! How wonderful would that be! (Career shift eto!)
Anyway, the interior of the place was very relaxing. The walls were painted red and the entire place was dimly lit. Mellow music was continuously playing setting everyone in the mood for love and otherwise. We changed our clothes and just wrapped our bodies with towels. That is the only fashion style inside the bathhouse. But the bathhouse is not exclusively for showering or taking a bath alone. George served as a tour guide and I realized there was a gym, a sauna, a Jacuzzi, a wine bar and of course shower room. Upstairs, there were labyrinth-like rooms for people to fuck and get fucked. There was also a section called “dark room” where you can hear people moaning and wailing like crazy porn stars savoring every minute of man to man sexual actions. I admit, I got hard by just listening to them. Bigaon jud!
The four of us went our separate ways exploring the entire place and looking for prospects. I think I was the first to close a deal. We went inside one of the rooms and started talking. He said he was from Olongapo and is married already. We talked for a couple of minutes and then we started to do the deed. That’s how handful kikis are in Fahrenheit. After that, I showered and decided to just rest and relax in a viewing room where a porn movie is showing. I stroll around the place from time to time but the level of libido has gone down. I waited until George, Jeafrey and Noel came back. We went out at around 12 midnight, which was an hour extension already of our agreed time. Noel has to be blamed for this. He wanted to see light in the dark room, so we stayed an hour longer for him to find the light. And he did.
We left the place surely not empty-handed. For me it was the final and full testament of our being gay. You can’t be called a full-fledged gay until you experience Fahrenheit. Now, a week later, I honestly want to be there again. But that can’t be in the next two months. I still have to wait for the promo again and save some money again. But I will be back. In time, it would not only be Fahrenheit. Perhaps Celcius or Kelvin, if there are. Hahaha…
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