If ony I were the judge..

The Pinoy Dream Academy has just closed its academic season with Laarni as the Grand Star Dreamer. Like most of the Filipinos here and abroad, I devoted an hour every night to watch the scholars making their way to becoming the grand winner. From checking on their websites and memorizing the songs they have performed, to checking out their friendster accounts, to debating with officemates as who would be the best and who would we want to go home, I was literally a fan!


I was disappointed with the results of this season, especially with regards to Miguel. Okay, he may have the looks but he definitely has to work hard on his vocals because he has such a limited range. It was obvious during their performance night that he was trying really hard to hit notes which were effortlessly done by his counterparts, Van and Bugoy. He was just lost. And to know that he came third beating Liezel and my personal favorite Van was frustrating for me. I don’t have anything against Laarni as the winner because she deserved it. Bugoy on the other hand can’t be the champion basically because of his looks. I know I am being mean and unfair. I just feel that if he would be the winner, he can’t give justice to the title. He would have issues like his sexuality which will really ruin him inside and would eventually lead to his collapse.

Miguel should have been eliminated earlier on the show. He was a consistent probationary scholar and if it were not for the money of his family, he would have gone like candle in the wind. His performances were absolutely substandard. I would rather stay longer on the line of the phone listening to the background music when the operator puts you on hold than watching him on stage performing like an old wedding singer. Liezel and Van are way more deserving.

Technically and based on what I have seen, this would have been the final results. Laarni as the winner, Bugoy, Van, Liezel, Cris and never mind.

(Photo credits:www.photobucket.com)

Missing Kuya Jojo...

On September 21, it will be the 10th death anniversary of my brother, Kuya Jojo. Time flies so swiftly indeed. It was not so long ago when tears flooded all over our house as we wept and mourned for his early departure. He was only twenty when he suffered a multiple organ failure that led to cardiac arrest which eventually took his life.

I was born 4 years after him. When we were young, we used to argue over a lot of things as siblings normally do. Sometimes, we would even fight as to who would fetch water or who would wash the dishes. But as a younger brother, my parents would always spare me and he would have to do everything. At night, he would challenge me to solve all his ridiculous riddles which I tried hard to the best of my ability to answer. Of course, I was not as wise as he was during that time so I had to ask my parents for the answer. And then I would proudly shout at him the answer as if it was I who actually solved it. Before going to bed, (I slept together with my parents and he was in the next room) he would continue to throw more complicated riddles and would sometimes intersperse it with loud and most of the time stinky release of his carbon dioxide. And then we would all burst into laughter.

But right after my elementary graduation, I moved to Cebu to study high school. For three years, we didn’t have the chance to see each other. During my yearly vacation, he was in Manila studying. Cellphones were still out of nowhere so basically we didn’t have much communication. It was only on my 3rd year vacation that he was home but I never realized it would be also be the last time to see him live. Awkwardly, few hours before I finally head back to Cebu, he was crying, sobbing as if he never wanted me to go. He said he would feel nostalgic of me. It was actually the first time that I saw him cry for reason at that time I could not understand. My parents would not even cry every time they send me off after vacation. Truly, it was bizarre for me.

Now, I think it was premonition. He must have felt that he’s not gonna see me anymore. He must have wanted me to stay so that we could spend the last of his days together. But who was I to know all of these?

Over a year later, (I already graduated in high school and was already working) my sister called in an obviously sad voice to tell me to go home because Kuya was getting worse. I didn’t know if I felt worried or sad that time, but I immediately filed for leave and went home right away. On board, I knew that something was really wrong. When I arrived the following morning, I came across with my cousin on her way to the school, and that sad look upon her face told it all. I knew then that Kuya died.

It was the most depressing and heartbreaking moment in my life that when I got home, embraces and forlorn cries welcomed me. I immediately felt the loss and broke down to tears. It was even more miserable to see your loved ones crying hard too. Losing Kuya is probably the lowest point of my life and my family.

After a decade, I am happy that we have all moved on from that gloomy time in our lives. My parents, who went to Manila with my sister for a year after the death, have now totally accepted the loss. We continued living our own lives and from time to time visit Kuya’s grave during special occasions like his birthday and of course death anniversary. He may have gone but the happy memories he had shared with me will never be forsaken. I miss calling him Kuya. I really do. ( Gosh, I can’t believe I am actually holding back my tears from falling as I finish this post.)

On his anniversary, I pray that he is now happy up there! I hope he had found peace in heaven. I hope he would pray for me and my family and watch us over always.

And since he would have been 31 years old this September 14, I also want to say “Happy Birthday!” Never said this before when he was still alive, but I love you, Kuya and I miss you.

(Photo credits: www.armyofmom.com)

This could be the start of something new...

I finally made it!

For the longest time that I had not been attending masses, I finally made it yesterday, September 8, 2008. I was dragged along by my officemate to go to Church wherein I was still having second thoughts whether to go or not. I was not prepared to go to that place as far as my faith is concerned. I know you have already an idea why. I don’t know what inspired me but I said yes.

Coincidentally, it was the birthday of Mary and the mass was solely dedicated to her being the mother of God and the mother of us all. I prayed that I would have that sense of focus to the celebration but the presiding priest seemed to block my mind from concentrating. He was rushing when he came in the altar and stopped the woman who was reading all the intentions for that mass. I don’t know if he was just suffering from extreme diarrhea or he was just too excited to watch Betty La Fea.

However in his homily, he made it up for me at least. He had a prepared speech as priests usually have. Although still chanting like an old politician making promises to his constituents in megaphone, his discourse was all meaty, in all fairness. He talked about motherhood in relation to Mary and he related his own experiences as a child about her mother. He stressed that our mothers are the source of love, inspiration, mercy and most of the times, comfort. He also pointed out something that really struck me and I quote “Man loves his woman the best. His wife the most. His mother the longest.”

As a Mama’s boy myself, I agree with him. She may not always be vocal about it, but her actions definitely say it all. She is my source of love, comfort, joy and inspiration. I feel that nothing and no one can harm me while she is around.

Anyway, that mass did make me realize a couple of things. First, I realized that I still feel at home inside the Church. By that I mean, I still feel the sense of belongingness. I still know the responses ( thank God!) and the songs as well. Second, it is not too hard to find time to visit the Church. It only takes an hour or so for the entire duration. And with all the time I have, it would only be so selfish of me not share an hour.

I hope this is it! I hope this is the start of a new life. I hope that the fire of desire for goodness which has long been extinguished by my sinfulness would now start to spark and light my way back to God. I made a promise that day and I fervently hope I would be able to accomplish it.

And as for the priest, he was not having diarrhea. He was just a die-hard Kapamilya who was, like the rest of us, too excited to be Bettyful!

The best Christmas song ever...

It's just September but it must be really true that we have the longest celebration of Christmas in the world. Filipinos think that when the month ending with “ber” starts, the celebration begins. The people are starting to decorate their homes and we can hear Christmas carols over the radio and everywhere.

When talking of songs, there is nothing I can think of than O Holy Night. For me, it is perfect. It says of the salvation that Christ brought to earth upon his birth. It signifies of a new hope to start a new life and sin no more. It implies an end to sadness and gives a way to happiness and joy.

I have heard many known artists who have their individual interpretation of this song but have to do curtsy to Mariah Carey’s rendition. I don’t know exactly when she recorded this but I heard it during a Christmas outreach program in college way back in 2000. I was immediately enthralled by the power of her voice. It was amazing! The piece was especially arranged for her voice and her range. Here, Regine Velasquez, Kyla, Jonalyn Viray and many others tried to do her version but totally failed, as far as my expectation is concerned.

Watch and listen to this and you’ll understand what I am talking about.

Who am I?

While my brain and my writing knack are still working for me, I might as well use this very rare opportunity to make posts as much as I can. I am afraid that in the next few hours I might lose the itch again. And for me, there is nothing more interesting than to write about me coming out in the open finally, without inhibition.

So let me start now.

From the very moment that I gain consciousness of the world around me, I always knew I was different. Alright, gay! I was closer to my mother and my sisters and all my female cousins. I played with them more. I went out with them more often. My father would not allow me to do manly things, those that require strength and physical power. Perhaps, he just loved me more because I am the youngest but he never tolerated any signs of homosexuality that my young self would sometimes manifests. If caught, he would scold me and threaten to drown me in the sea. Yes, the typical jokes about a masculine father threatening to drown his gay son were very true to me. It was frightening to me! Even in my innocent mind that time, I already felt the twinges of rejection. And worse because it’s coming from my family.

The gay manifestations became more obvious when I started school. I met Juanito and Jeafrey whose names before were still John Michael and Jeffrey, respectively. We clicked initially. We had the same interests. We loved the arts. We were always the favorite dancers of our teachers. But despite of this ego-lifting appreciation of our teachers, we still suffered from the harsh teasing of our classmates and schoolmates. Every gay person in the world has surely experience this. It was disturbing. It would always break my day. At the same time, it was in elementary when I completely affirmed my being gay because I had crush on the younger brother of my classmate. His name was Carvin. Seeing him going inside our classroom to get or ask something from his kuya was euphoric. On the sad note though, he never knew I had liked him.

Anyway, high school came with so much more stirring experiences. Destiny may have played its game well because I studied in an exclusive school for boys, The Sisters of Mary Boystown School. It’s an environment where being gay would either be a jackpot or kalabasa. The sisters of course were strict in its most superlative form. There were some cruel guys but it was in this place where I had my fair share of being loved and to love. Noel has squealed about this in his blog. Here, being branded as gay was less painful for me. Maybe because I had my special someone and it didn’t matter whether I was gay because somebody loved me exactly for being that.

The most challenging and the most painful stage of being gay was when I stepped out high school and was living in the real world where people are more tactless and less prudent. This time I tried to change somehow. I tried to act the way a man should. I tried not to show colors of the rainbow in whatever I do. But some still managed to notice and would confront me at face. Deny was all I can do. When I was in college, I acted straight even more. When my parents and relatives would ask me if I have a girlfriend, the only excuse I used was I was still studying. Having one would only hinder my dream to graduate with honors. My classmates of course knew about me but would never confront me. I think it was respect that withheld them from doing so and I love them for that. It was during in these times where I was having doubts, insecurities and even disbelief in God for giving such an enormous burden in my life. My actions were limited and I could not express what is really in my mind and in my heart for fear of being laughed at and rejected. I tried to be the most proper and composed as I can be. It was painful because I felt that I was killing a part, a significant part that is, in myself. To get away, I focused on my studies and accumulated friends whom I believe would accept me as I am, eventually.

And in that auspicious night, (O how I regret not to remember the date) over a silly game of truth and consequence, I opened up to Nikki, Philmar and Johanna about my sexuality. It is not that they don’t have any idea at all, but it is something that should be coming from me. They listened to every details of my story and accepted me even more after that. I must admit I was a bit shy after I told them. It took a while to finally free myself, come what may. It was a total emancipation from my spirit’s vexation. Now, I can freely talk anything to them, to my officemates but not necessarily to my family. I don’t have to act. I just have to be myself. I laugh whenever I want to. I yell at anything that excites me. I flirt around cute guys in the vicinity. I can now freely, not always though, make lust whenever I want to and when my financial power permits me to.

Gay life is not easy at all, most especially here in the Philippines. You can just be discriminated from time to time. Be always prepared to hear criticisms and demeaning insults. You may not also be very lucky in your love life, which I think is always the case. And again, friends are the best creation of God. With them, life is easier, lighter and funnier. One big boisterous can shake all the tribulations off.

Yes, I am gay! I am not totally proud of it but I don’t abhor being one. If that’s my destiny, so be it. I have embraced the fact that I could not like girls no matter how goddess-like their beauties are. I have also accepted the painful reality that straight guys are meant for girls. If Philmar can’t stand the mayas even at a distance, well I am different. I can swallow them.

Personally, I think being gay is not a punishment. It is a way of life. I think there are really some men who just want to be with men. They feel more comfortable with them. They can express more with them. They can even excel in everything with them. They feel more love with them. Everybody’s journey is individual. If you fall in love with a boy, you fall in love with a boy. I think it is our right to love and choose who to love.

I hope I would not be like Leonard Matlovich who said and I quote, “In military, they gave me medals for killing two men and discharge me for loving one.”

Ouch! Life can really be harsh, sometimes.


(Photo credits: www.istockphoto.com)