A Wedding and My First Step on Leyte

If Kuya Rauy were there, it would have been perfect.

Last November 5, I together with four of my friends (we were officemates in a small audit firm we call BCH) have again squeezed our tight schedules to attend another friend’s (also from the same audit firm) wedding in her hometown Isabel, Leyte. Ef, short for Efemar Kristine is finally getting married after feeling desperate of finding her one true love. And before this desperation shatters her sanity, she found the man in the name of Rex, a classmate in gradeschool, who I believe is the perfect man for Ef’s rocker personality. I may not have known this guy personally but I think he has a good heart.

The wedding rites went on as usual except that I did not hear any Regine Velasquez songs played in the church which I think is one of the nicest I have ever been to. Well of course, it was Ef’s wedding not mine. The reception followed immediately after the ceremony. The food was great and the short program was fun. What was even funnier was when Cass and Dailou joined the rest of single ladies in the hall in a game where the winner will be partnered with the single guy who happened to be the winner as well of a previous game. (we all know how that goes in the wedding, right?) We wanted badly Cass to win so she can have this chance of meeting this guy. We almost rigged it so she can have him but unfortunately, she lost willingly to this sexy girl in a nice white dress.

Overall, I am very happy to see Ef and Rex, now husband and wife, and I wish them nothing but the best in life. And that God will continue to bless them with years of love, joy and togetherness and of course beautiful, intelligent and healthy children.

And since it was also my first time to step on Leyte, we did not waste time in visiting the must-sees of the province. We spent the first night strolling the streets of Ormoc City in the hope of finding a victim. The city is peaceful and very clean. Since I have been wanting to sing this Whitney Houston song All The Man That I Need wholeheartedly to Kuya Rauy, we ended up in a videoke bar called Vivo. And yes, I did sing the song but without the man that I need. (Lou, spare me some consolation, okay!) After some cup of melted sugar, I mean coffee mixed with a can of condensed milk, we walked towards their baywalk for some camwhoring and finally went back to hotel for the night’s rest.

The following day, a Sunday, we headed towards Tacloban City to see the Leyte Landing Monument, the exquisite Sto. Nino Shrine which was Imelda Marcos’ ancestral home and of course the infamous San Juanico Bridge. I was not really impressed on the Leyte Landing Monument primarily because it was noontime when we were there and it was scorching hot. What really amazed me was the Sto. Nino Shrine. For me it was a place of luxury and extravagance. The interiors of the house was simply stunning, not to mention very expensive. San Juanico Bridge on the hand may just be a normal bridge connecting Leyte and Samar for Maricel who happened to pass by it everyday during her college days, but for me it was historical. It was something some people only see in books and television. I also had my first step on Samar courtesy of that bridge. Time has flown so quickly that we need to get back to Ormoc to catch the ferry back to Cebu.

It was indeed fun. But like I said, it would have been more meaningful if Kuya were there. But there will always be next time. And next time, I will be singing You're Still My Man.

The adventure that was Camiguin...

While most people commemorate the sufferings Jesus went through to redeem us from our sins, I, together with my closest friends from high school, celebrate life and that little freedom from our busy careers as we invade the astonishing Camiguin on Black Saturday until Easter Sunday.

For me, this trip has been the most unplanned I ever had. Simply because with the tons of work to be done in the office, I do not actually have the luxury of time and resources to have a vacation. I planned to initially work during the holidays but my friends insisted that my absence from the trip would be unfavorable for them because as usual, I bring out most of the fun side.

Camiguin is a paradise. With seven active volcanoes, this tiny island province just few miles north of Cagayan de Oro City, boasts of its hot and cold springs, old churches, the infamous White Beach and many more. Two days is clearly not enough to see everything the island has to offer.

Here are the captured moments. I hope we did not annoy God in such holy time in any way.

But I have to thank Ricky, George, Noel, Cristy and Jornel for allowing me to join and for taking part on the expenses.

Next stop is Boracay!

God loves all...

The Catholic Church in the Philippines has finally opened its doors to people who are either blessed or cursed with this thing called homosexuality when Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines launched a book called Homosexuality and the Catholic Church by Fr. John Harvey, OSFS.

There were varied reactions from the public. And even the subject of the book itself, the homosexuals, have different views on the launch. Some saw it as a relief because for them it was recognition but not necessarily acceptance. Some view it contradictory because the book suggests that there is nothing wrong with being gay as long as no homosexual activities are involved. But how can you exactly separate sex from being homosexual?

I come from a very strict Catholic high school for boys and any light sign of homosexuality is practically conspicuous for a very large all-male group. Most of these homosexuals including myself tried very hard to hide the signs and control every move we make so as not be sanctioned with termination. As for me, in order to gain respect and acceptance from others, I focused on my academics and I prayed a lot. But the sidekicks of Satan have always been in the works for people like me especially when I started feeling attractive to a very few of my mates. Extreme control of this feeling has to be in place but unfortunately for some of my friends, this sort of ordeal was too much. Looking at it now as somebody who has survived, I realized life is really unfair. And even at times, I think God is unfair.

The nuns who run our school share the same principle as Fr. John Harvey, OSFS. Homosexuality without sex is okay. But is there really such a thing? Yes, there are priests who are gay but are we sure they are happy about that? Are they really living life to the fullest by being that? The other question now is why do we have to suffer like this in the first place?

As for me, there is nothing wrong in loving someone. I think I have the fundamental right to love anybody I want. And if sucking and fucking could make the person I love, love me better, nobody can hold it against me.

Janver and Michael Wedding: A Reunion

“What God has joined, let no one separate it.”

I, together with some of my closest friends, have become living witnesses to that testament. Last March 19^th, Janver, portmanteau of her real name Janice Veriña finally tied the knot with her long-time boyfriend Michael in Dumaguete City Cathedral. It was a simple yet very heartwarming ceremony not just for couple’s family but also for us, her friends who took a break from work and came all the way from Cebu and Iligan. It sort of became a little reunion for all of us.

I first came to know Janver when we were assigned by the auditing firm we used to work for, in Victorias City, Negros Occidental. We did not initially click because she was very silent. But when I discovered that she was from St. Paul University Dumaguete (I was from St. Paul University Surigao), the closeness became imminent. Even if our assignment was short-lived, the friendship that was created has obviously lived on.

Here are proofs of that friendship that I think will last forever.

Clearly, the time and distance did not hinder us to catch up with each other. The wedding became an avenue to reminisce the past and laugh at moments of sheer stupidity and plan and dream for the future. I am happy that I found such company with these kind people because I know that no matter what happens, we would always be there for each other.

I would have wished Ef , Janice Banal and Aimee were there. It would have been more fun and exciting if the entire gang was complete. But there will always be another wedding to attend to. The question now is whose?

As for the new couple, I just wish them lifetime of joy and togetherness and of course healthy and beautiful kids. Congratulations Janice and Michael!!!

Living alone...

Almost a year ago, I had the opportunity of living alone when my officemates left permanently our Cebu staffhouse for an Agusan work assignment. Finally, I had all the freedom I so long desired because for most of my life, I have always been living with my family. Living arrangement like this would not surely make my adult life prosper. (You know exactly what I mean about that.) But that is not the only thing I was ecstatic about initially.

Living alone gives me all the time to watch my favorite cable channel because there is no one else trying to switch it. I don’t have to rush doing my thing in the bathroom because I know there is no one knocking on the door. When coming home late from gimmicks, I don’t have to worry anymore whether the main door is double-locked or not. Simply, I was very happy having all the freedom to do everything I want just because I am all alone.

But this happiness that freedom brought seemed to be so fleeting. Two months or so have passed, I started to feel empty. I missed the food that Yanyan and Mark prepared for every dinner and the funny conversations that ensued. I missed those times when we had to sleep all together in one room basically because it’s air-conditioned. I felt that the two-bedroom apartment became a creepy mansion that sometimes in the midnight silence, I could hear whispers. In other words, I was alone and was starting to feel lonely.

I am a naturally loquacious person that coming home from a day’s work without anyone to talk to drives me crazy. This leads me to a deep thinking about the lives of some people who remain single, either out of destiny or rather out of choice, as a consequence of a painful break-up, on how they seize their every day. Would it really matter if we have someone we can sleep with at night? Does it make any difference if we have someone to eat breakfast with the following morning?

Of course, for me, it does.

There is not a single day when I had not wished that maybe I would find that someone. Someone to hold, someone to lean on, someone to laugh with and someone who makes me feel alive. That I can just shrug off the depressing idea of growing old alone because I know someone’s gonna be here to stay by me. And that someone could just be anybody because after all, love is not about genders.

I am feeling it again!!

It's been long overdue. I think this is the right time, I mean the right year for me to revive and relive my blog-life.

I am still busy as usual but I will try to at least write once a week.

I hope my readers, if there are, are still there waiting for my posts.

Good luck to me! :)

Some idle moments...

Since last night, I have been wanting to write something, anything, just for the sake of having something to post in this blog. I grabbed my laptop at around 11:00 in the evening and thought of something to write. So many things crossed my mind like my shaking faith, a movie review on Ma Vie En Rose, my latest hoop-up, my crush who is just a neighbor whose name I still have to know, and even the death of Cory. But nothing came into writing. I gave it a rest that night hoping that some ideas would pop out the following day.

Disappointed about last night’s mental block, today at exactly 3:00 in the afternoon, I stopped working for a moment. I sat comfortably and stared out at the window looking far ahead waiting that some magical creature would display “Write something about sex!” in the sky like fireworks. Although it could be a great idea to write about but it just didn’t work out. I am still clueless. I still don’t have that urge, that burning desire, that inspiration.

I continued staring out at the window but not looking far ahead. I looked down this time at people passing by the street which is just five meters away from the building I was in. People-watching has always been my favorite way of wasting time. It is best when you have a friend who can laugh with you every time you make crazy and hilarious descriptions of the people passing by. Sometimes, it makes me sad when I see a child crying helplessly, with one hand gripping firmly on his mother’s skirt and the other with a piece of bread. I turn dark green in envy whenever I see lovers, ‘gay lovers’ that is, holding hands openly without having to worry about what people might say. I open my eyes wide and cleanse my glasses striving to have a clearer view whenever I see some cute guys approaching. You see, people-watching is not really a waste of time at all. It is fun!

My music has stopped. All the songs in my playlist have been played already. Josh Groban, Mariah Carey, Martina MacBride and Nickelback might have sore throats by now but still nothing came up. Now the rain has made it worse. Its sounds are so like a mother’s lullaby that you can’t help but to feel sleepy making you write off the idea of trying to have something to write about. It’s 4:45. It’s time to go home already but still my brain isn’t working. It’s blank. It’s void. I will wait again for tomorrow and tomorrows after that until I have that itch again.

It’s funny though that I just made a post with this. 

My place...

I found this in a forum when I was searching for nice Youngblood articles in the web. This great piece of literature is about innocent love that metamorphosed into something deep. It's about friendship, hate, sorrow, and later on acceptance. As I was reading, I actually somehow felt the pains and frustrations that the author went through. And the way this was written was just perfect.

Please read on....

MY PLACE
By SC
September 13, 2001

TODAY, I will attend an execution: my own. I will watch it with both eyes open and I will not cry. I will not break down just because the man I have loved since forever will marry someone else. I will watch him promise himself to a woman who will never love him like I have. I will watch them bind themselves to a vow I should have taken.
I have loved Oliver almost all my life. I have known him since I saved his six-year-old hide from a bully named Ricardo who wanted to rid him of his two yellowed front teeth. I was five at the time, but having grown with five older brothers and a hellion of a sister, "Totoy Cardo" was a piece of cake. Oliver was so overcome with embarrassment at having a girl to protect his scrawny neck that from that time on he made it a point to be the rescuer, not the rescued. As time passed, muscles filled out this lanky frame and those two front teeth began to sparkle. He combs his hair, and he takes a bath daily now. In short, he has become a fine specimen of manhood.

The best part is, he lived up to his promise: he became my self-appointed guardian (well, I don't know if that's the best or the worst part). He was just always there, sticking to me like glue. It used to drive me nuts that he never let me out of his sight.

When I was 12, I ran from the infirmary on my way home. I had found out in the most humiliating way that I had become a woman: there was a big red stain on the back portion of my skirt. The jeers and the taunts followed me through the school corridors. Oliver dashed after me and offered to accompany me home. I declined, of course. He seemed to understand my discomfiture and promised to drop later with the things left in school. When I reached home I was told that I needed to jump three times on the stairs (which I did) and to wash my face with my blood (which I didn't do). Oliver dropped by in the afternoon, sporting a black eye and a bruise on his arm. When I asked him what happened, he said he had walked into a closed door. I believed him. But a few days later, minus the dysmennorhea, I found out that Oliver got into fisticuffs because some guy made a disgusting remark about me. Nobody had ever fought for me before that. And when you're 12 and discussing in class how King Arthur and fairest of them all, Lancelot, fought for Guinevere's love, you tend to get ideas. I loved Oliver then.

When we were in high school and I found out that the school's heartthrob and one of my most ardent suitors, Richard, was involved with a bustier girl, it was to Oliver that I ran. When I didn't graduate as valedictorian and I got so drunk, it was Oliver who took me home. He didn't even mind that I barfed all over his dad's car (which he borrowed without permission). When I decided to go to UP and he went to Ateneo, we celebrated by partying. When I lost my mom in a car accident, he took care of everything. When my dad followed my mom less than a year later after a heart attack, he was there again.

By this time he was an appendage of my life. He used to check out the guys I came to know. Nobody dared to get serious with me-not when Oliver had a black belt. I didn't know how to define our relationship. I didn't know what we were. We definitely were more than friends, better even than best friends. It was like we were a couple, but formally not one. We did all the things that couples did like hang out and neck but always stopped when things got too hot. Since we never defined what we meant to each other, we never said "I love you" or whatever serious couple told each other. As a result, I remained a chaste princess while my prince caroused and sowed wild oats, but still had the energy to monitor my movements.

I didn't mind. After all, I was so sure we'd end up together. I always thought that in the end, it would be us. I loved him. I managed to convince myself that he loved me (what else could it be?). Little did I know that love doesn't conquer all, it only conquers the weak. I didn't think he'd be so stupid as to get a girl pregnant on the same night they met at a party. I didn't think he'd be so stupid as to forget to use some form of contraception. After all, he had given me a lecture on safe sex. And I didn't think he'd be so stupid as to marry the girl.

But maybe I forgot that after all he was a man, and men have been known to be stupid about these things. Their brain is located in a region other than between the ears.
What could I do? Kicking him in the groin and punching him in the eye seemed like a good idea then. Don't blame me; he was the one who enrolled me in a self-defense course. But I did not feel better. Seeing him bent over in pain only made me angrier. I wasted my life for this lousy excuse of a man? I could not believe it!
I wanted nothing more than to run to him and beg him to wake me up from the stupid dream. I wanted him to take me some place where we didn't know anybody. No pain, no memory, no humiliation. I wanted to just forget it ever happened but since I flunked in the School for Martyrs, I couldn't, for the life of me pretend, it didn't happen. I couldn't pretend he didn't hurt me. I couldn't pretend everything was fine and dandy and exactly the way it was before.

We didn't talk for a month. For both of us who were practically inseparable, that was like an eternity. I ducked into corners whenever I would see him. I wouldn't take his calls. I wouldn't see him. And for some time hate was my reason for getting up in the morning, for breathing, for living. Hate and I became good friends. "God brings men into deep waters, not to drown them but to cleanse them," somebody once wrote. I didn't want to be cleansed. I just wanted to drown in pain and misery and utter desolation. I wanted to wallow in the dark and deep pit of despair. I know a thousand and one cliches that say this can be a blessing and that I should be thankful. But thankful is the last thing I'm feeling right now. I've always thought that there are three kinds of women: those who break, those who mend and those who are broken themselves. Before this hit me, I assumed that I belonged to the first or second category. Now I know I'm in the third-so hurt and broken up inside.

My grandmother used to say that there is nothing you can do about pain when it give you a silly grin except grin right back. All I could manage was a wry smile, a killer headache and the worst hangover the day before his wedding. Evidence of that is the disgusting sight of mashed potatoes and barbecue, thrown up not three meters away from where I was lying prostrate on the floor and the awful stench of cigarette on my hair.

Frankly I don't want to go. I want to wallow in misery in my messy room, crying, retching and stinking, surrounded with Michael Learns to Rock (whose songs are dedicated to the broken-hearted) CDs. But I have to go and attend the wedding. I have to bathe and prepare and put on that atrocious peach (it's not even my color!) gown. I'm not doing it for the groom, my one true friend and love, Oliver. Neither am I doing it for the bride, my younger sister, Sandra, who needs me. I'm doing it for my unborn niece who has the great fortune of having me as her aunt. Call me stupid, but I've always known my place. If it isn't beside the man I was destined to marry, if it isn't behind my sister, who will take his name, wear his ring and bear him a child, then it must be with my niece, cradled close to my heart so that she will know both of our love.
---------
SC, 22, teaches at a private school in Cagayan de Oro City while taking up postgraduate studies.

Did I spell it right?

A couple of months ago, I happened to see the 2008 SCRIPPS National Spelling Bee on TV at a hotel where my friend was staying. This was when Sameer Mishra was hailed the national champion with the word “guerdon”.

As we were watching, Noel and I, spelling contestants in our high school (although I was just an alternative), could not contain how possibly these kids learn to spell, know the definition, the alternative pronunciations and even the languages of origin at such a young age? I was totally amazed at how they were able to spell out words I did not even know existed. The SCRIPPS format was different from ours. There, each word is intended for each contestant. And in our case, each word is intended for all the participants. Theirs is a bit tougher because once you cannot spell the word right, you will automatically be eliminated. (That’s what I know so far) Unlike ours, the scores are summed up at the end of each round, and that’s when the judges determine who will proceed to the next round. Unfortunately, we did not win in the contest.

Let’s play some games here. Test ten people you know, maybe in school or at the office to spell out the following words and see if they can pull off.

…demitasse, quadrat, diener, hyssop, macedoine, basenji, numnah, chorion, nacarat, sinicize, hyphaeresis, taleggio and esclandre. (For the correct pronunciations though, please refer to www.dictionary.com)

I’d be hoity-toity if I say I spelled at least one word from that list because I really did not. They were way too out-of-this-world for me. Maybe Noel did one or two.

Now, I am becoming crazy over the winning words for the past years of SCRIPPS and I am forcing my friend Johanna to spell them out. I tried to be the best pronouncer and like me, she also failed.

Here is a peek of the 2009 SCRIPPS National Spelling which I missed. This girl is amazing!

Not an apology

I was on self-exile from the blogworld for more than half a year now. I think I lost my interest in inscribing the remarkable circumstances that happened in my life in all those times. I think I was so preoccupied by the pressures and problems brought about by the nature of my work. I think I wasn’t wise enough to take advantage of my time in reading and writing but rather wasting it through streaming videos of insignificant people and events, and porn.

This is not actually the first entry after that long hiatus. I did make some post a week ago where I talked about my resignation from the company I used to work for and my sentiments from the not-so-good experiences and finally my decision to just move on. I must have been at the zenith of my emotion that time that I chose words, due to my imprudence, which have allured varied reactions from the readers and creating quite a trouble in the office of the man I talked about in that article.

I am not really sorry for what I have said in that article but I decided to take it out from here to protect some innocent people who, in a way, have been affected by my comments and more importantly to protect myself from further harm as I am not anymore sure if some people I know would still take the same path as I do. I think I have had my fill of resentments and disappointments already and to get involved in any way with them again is like sitting on air for twelve hours. Now, how excruciating can that be?

I’d rather look forward and focus on improving myself to be the best in manning the task at hand. I’d rather read a book on geology and learn some Czech words and expressions. I’d rather unclutter our house and look after dogs, Shane and Matt. I would rather make, as many as I can, articles that I can post in here.

And if there’s still time, I might even revert back to watching porn again.

Hehehe….

Unsent letter...

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.

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.

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…

The night that was Mr. Cebu 2008...

Patience is a virtue but time is gold. I couldn’t agree more to whoever said that to me or I heard it from.

Last night was a real testament to that statement. I, together with Gabby, Johanna, Philmar and Iris, with overwhelming excitement went to Waterfront Cebu City Hotel to behold what’s dubbed to be the first ever Mr. Cebu 2008 beauty for a cause pageant. The show would supposedly start at 7 p.m and so as men-in-trunks-hungry as we are, we took off to be the earliest birds. We waited for sometime to wait for somebody who had our tickets and then eventually settled in our seats.

I was surprised to see that the entire grand ballroom of the hotel where the pageant was held was not even half-filled considering it was already a quarter to seven. So I thought it must be a sentimental flop, if I may borrow Jobert Sucaldito’s word in his description to Sharon Cuneta-Richard Gomez movie whose title I could not remember. Almost an hour later, people were starting to come inside the hall but still not enough to be called a mob. As expected, gays from all walks of life, I mean that literally, converged to have a glimpse of the contestants’ bodies and their thing which must not be named. Some dressed up like debutantes and some with obviously overhauled noses, breasts and butts came up in very short dresses that displayed, I should say though, their stunning physical renovations courtesy of Thai surgery. I noticed also that the judges at the time were still not around. I asked one of the Bruhilda look-a-like gay staffs what exactly the time the show would start, and IT answered me with conviction that they were just waiting for the management’s go signal.

By that time, I was already quite annoyed waiting for the show to start. I sacrificed dinner just to be there early. And I hate the organizers for that. How can they make people who paid for those high-priced tickets wait for two hours? Thirty minutes is forgivable but two hours is another story. It is something we should learn to change.

Again, patience is a virtue but time is gold.

Good thing, I saw Ian there. For those of you who don’t know him, well he is somebody I think I am destined to be with. OA ra sa personal. Give me a break here, it is my birthday! Anyway, at least his mere presence lightened up everything for me. I was totally caught by surprise when I looked in his eyes and then I saw me. It was a Kodak moment!

And now that I am talking about him, I seem to forget the lines to say about the pageant already. Achuz… Okay, the show finally started at 9 p.m. with Angel Aquino as host. There were 16 contestants vying for the crown, aw the title, (of course, they’re not gonna be crowned. That would be so gay.) to be the first Mr. Cebu. The pageant scoring is divided into four parts; the casual wear, the swim wear, the formal wear and the dreadful question-and-answer. Yes, some did catch my attention and get me excited but the worms in my stomach were also excited to have some food to eat. I was really starving. My head was starting to numb and if I stayed longer, I would have gone crazy. I went home disappointed not being able to see the full show. But I could not trade my sanity for lame, I don’t know if they are level-headed, individuals whose abs I envy the most. For more information about the results and the contestants, click here.








As for me, I have already a Mr. Cebu. And that would be Ian.

OA ra sa personal. Hehehehe…


Photos were screencapped in the official Mr. Cebu 2008 website.

Rollicking...

Someone bid goodbye today.

It is coincidence that while I am making this post, I am actually listening to Van’s Another Goodbye Song. Fitting enough for one of my officemates resigned and today is her last day.

Rolls, as she is shortly called by most of her friends decided to leave us behind and pursue another rewarding career outside the seemingly gloomy shadows of the office she was in and where I am right now. I don’t mean to be mean about my employer but that’s just the right way to say it, at least for me. So, is it sheer stupidity that I am still here? I hope not. I have credible reasons why I am still prolonging the agony and I am not disclosing them here.

I may not understand fully the real reason why she is leaving us all, but I think I know a little bit and I understand her totally because of that. It is a mutual feeling. Tired. Like the rest of the people here, everyone seems to get tired by the way our career paths are paved here. I don’t know if there is really even a path they are paving for us because I feel we are somehow lost. And tolerating this would not be a smart thing to do. Again, I have justification for not going.

And for everything, here is an open letter which I hope she would like despite being public.

Dear Scarlett,

That is not your real name, I know. Aimee gave me that name when I asked her what we should call you. It is the name of the character played by Angelica Panganiban in a teleserye. She chose her not because you look like Angelica, (this is NOT REALLY the case) but because she feels, you and the character seem to have a common personality. According to her, you are like Scarlett who will get what she wants no matter what it may take.

When I first met you in Victorias, I thought you were one of those maarte girls who carry the latest models of cellphones and wear a nice 2-inches black boots to office. But you are truly an exemption to the common saying that first impression lasts. As time passed by, I realized the lowliness of your spirit in the way you interact with people and that can be attested by the rest of us who have been with you.

Your open-mindedness and happy personality made it more comfortable for me to talk to you just about anything. I am also happy that you shared some of your stories with me. You were such a good companion to fun events in Mango. You served as my bait to guys so I can catch some. Your generosity sometimes surprised me. When you asked me if I liked colored contact lenses, you brought me a pair on the someday you asked me. When my funds run out and I would not be able to meet financial obligations to you, you would just simply say “Okay ra na dai oi!”. That really meant a lot to me.

And now that you are leaving, I would surely miss a lot of things. I would miss that Vanessa del Bianco’ singing style of yours. Like I said, it is an advantage! When you would be in a chorale group, you do not need to make an effort to blend because your voice is already a nice third voice.(Peace dai!)

I will miss you bringing food to the office. You always have something to eat in your bag and I would always be the one who benefits. I would miss that Remedy song of Jason Mraz that you continually play in my laptop as you sang along. I will miss your being a mirror freak. Narcissist you are because you always have a mirror in front of you at your desk. Actually for me, there is nothing wrong with that. I will miss that single-color fashion of yours. When I told you that it was an abnormal psychological condition, I was not really sure about that. I researched it over the internet but failed to get the answers. Like me, you are also a cry-baby. I will miss that too.

I want to thank you also for listening to all my stories. Thank you for reading my blog when I tell you to. Thanks for the comments and compliments. Thanks for the generosity you have bestowed on me especially during those times when I have practically nothing. Thank you for the company and for the friendship.

I wish you all the best in life, gurl! I pray that God will grant everything that your heart desires. I hope that you will finally find the person who deserves your love and someone who can give you perennial joy and happiness. I hope you won’t forget us all.


Sincerely yours,

Ang Takda

P. S. I am posting some of the happy moments we captured in pictures here.




P.P.S Do you really like Chiboy?? Hahaha...

I broke my glasses today!

I broke my glasses today.

I was sad but happy at the same time. I was sad, actually worried, because I have a client visit this afternoon and having a blurry vision (I have a +425grade for both eyes) is for sure a difficult situation to be in. It would be my first time to visit such client and not being able to clearly see their faces and examine their documents well would be an added burden on me as I continue on to work. Happy because finally it’s gonna be replaced. I have been complaining about my glasses because it has been almost three years. It was that long that it basically went out of fashion and it has depreciated so much not just in value but in its physical appearance too.

And today, while I carelessly took out my headphone from my head, that arm of the glasses (I don’t know if that’s the term for that part that holds the glasses in our ears) was pulled out with the wire. It bent out and an only almost microscopic part of the metal arm of the glasses kept if from being torn apart. Our HR tried to repair it with a mightier-than-a-Mighty-Bond glue that she has, but when she positioned it for gluing, it broke. And here it is!

Three years is not bad at all. According to them, we need to replace our glasses at least once a year. And in my case, it has served its term I guess. For three years, it has helped me see the world clearly. It has helped me read good books and watch movies without discomfort. It has helped me find cute guys and hook up. (This is not necessary though!) And for that, I want to thank it for everything.

I will be wearing my contacts tomorrow. But there is really a big difference between glasses and contacts. It’s not perfectly clear if you wear contacts. In my experience, it only covers for a limited distance. Farther, it becomes fuzzy and your eyes seem to be cloudy. It sometimes irritates your eyes especially if you won’t put solution from time to time causing your cornea to lacerate, and consequently making your eyes red. Well, in some cases though, it is advantageous. Of course I would not want to wear glasses if I go to disco. That would be so uncomfortable. The only complaint I can think about glasses is the discomfort it brings. I don’t know but I just don’t like to have something hanging in my face. It makes me look older!

Yet now, I don’t have choice. Maybe I would just carry with me a gallon of solution and drop a glass of it to my eyes from time to time.

I am actually wearing still these handicapped glasses of mine making this post as I can’t see the words I am typing without them. Pathetic, I am! When can I have that laser treatment? Hahay…

Bohol: Conquered!

I came. I saw. I conquered!

Yes, last August 31, 2008, I, together with Noel and 8 others conquered Bohol , the home of tarsiers and the world renowned Loboc Children’s Choir. Ever since, I have always been fascinated by the province’s beauty and its rich culture and history. When I was there, I could not almost believe that what I read and just saw in books and pictures about the province were simply flashing right before my very eyes.

Traveling on a tight budget, we just rode a boat to Tagbilaran, the capital city for 4 hours or so. The boat was not big enough for people to roam around so it literally bored us. Since most of the group just came off from a night shift duty, they took the opportunity to sleep and rest and I, who went undertime from office, finished a book called Number the Stars by Lois Lowry.

When we arrived, I was amazed by the overall cleanliness of the city, at least for those we have passed by. I think the government of Bohol should be given credit for exerting effort in tidying up the place but still needs though to redesign their tricycles to something more comfortable for its passengers. I was nearly having a stiff neck because of its odd shape and size.

Anyway, we capped the first night with something we do best, disco! We then proceeded to Bohol Tropics where Lazer , dubbed as Bohol ’s high-end disco bar is located to check out cute guys and perhaps grab one or two for fun. They are right. The place is great. If there is an award for the cleanest restroom among all the disco houses, then Lazer would have been a grad slam winner. Their restroom is so so clean that you can even sleep on the floor. But that night was a bit unlucky night for both Noel and me. There were a number of cute guys, overly cute that is, but we never had the courage to run after them, maybe because it was not our place. Had it been in Cebu , then we would have both fled in seconds to satisfy our bodily desires. (I am not really serious about this.)

The following day is the tour proper. The itinerary of the tour package was just perfect enough for us to experience the best Bohol can offer. We kicked off at the Sandugo Shrine. This is where the Spanish explorer Miguel Lopez de Legazpi and Bohol-native Datu Sikatuna performed blood compact as a sign of friendship between two different countries. Then we headed to Baclayon Church , one of the country’s oldest churches. This magnificent work of architecture was believed to have been built as early as 1717. We were just unfortunate because their museum was closed at the time we were there. We would have learned more about the church and the history of Baclayon as a whole. After that, we went on to see the infamous python of Bohol . I don’t really know why this was even included. For ophidiophobics like me, this is not a good site to see. The tarsier on the other hand was the same as I expected it. Small, big eyes and with a disgusting smell. It is not pleasant. It is only famous because it’s extremely rare.




We had our lunch at Loboc’s Floating Restaurant. We were eating while we were sailing. For me, it was the best part of the trip. Again, we were staggered by the cleanliness of the vicinity. The terminal was clean. There were no signs of garbage floating on the river. Noel and I were amusingly looking for flaws and finally found one when we saw a single coconut floating on the river. But alas, one terminal crew started to ignite his boat engine and drove all the way to get that single coconut out of the river. For someone to make an effort to drive a small boat just to get one piece of trash is something saintly. It is something laudable. At that sight, Noel and I were even more astonished. While we were sailing, and eating, we were entertained by a young lady who sang folk songs and did famous pop songs too. Perhaps, this is their way of resembling gondolas in Venice.







After Loboc, we went on to the man-made forest. There was a sudden change in the humidity of the place as we were approaching the forest. It was cooler. It was serene. It was refreshing. The shade from the trees made the overall cool breeze in the area. Again, to the people of Bohol who have thought of this brilliant idea, kudos! They have not only attracted tourists but preserved nature as well.

I was always lost for words to describe how I was really struck by the beauty of Bohol. I was even more at awe when we started to see small mountains scattered at both sides of the van we were in. We immediately realized that those were already part of the wondrous Chocolate Hills. When we arrived at the viewing site, which is at the zenith of one of the hills, we were even more amazed. I thought that Bohol must have been a spit away when God showered natural abundance and beauty. Truly, this is a blessing that should be treasured and should be well taken cared of. I wish Surigao, my home province were also blessed with natural wonders like that of Chocolate Hills.






The final site we went to was Sagbayan Peak. Also part of the Chocolate Hills but it was more developed. They built rooms for guests who are willing to stay overnight. They have also a hall which can actually hold conferences and corporate meetings. They have also made the entire site very colorful to attract children. They were currently building a playground for kids with real little houses and gardens.

One day is not enough to unearth all of the province’s treasure. There are still beaches and caves to discover. There are still other historical sites on the other side of the island which I believe are worth visiting too. Next time, I think we should have a higher budget so we can savor everything about Bohol. And maybe next time, I can grab one cute guy too.

Sleeping in transit...

Not once. Not twice but for so many times already that I went beyond my stop point to my way home. What a stupidity! And today, I did it again! Usually, I would ride a v-hire from Ayala Center to Bagongdaan that is about 30 kilometers in distance or on the average an hour of travel. The little comfort that the air-conditioned van offered must have worsened my sleepiness, thus making me slumber. Adding to that is the soothing music of Gary Valenciano and Leona Lewis continuously playing in my ears. And today, I must have really slept because I didn’t notice the van stopped. And when I opened my eyes and saw unfamiliar buildings, I knew I missed it again. This has always been the case.

I am not happy about this at all. In fact, I was a bit embarrassed with the rest of the people in the van. I wasn’t quick enough to pretend that I actually halted at the point where I should halt. I am still lucky I wasn’t robbed or hurt. I was a little scared as well because I know in the news and in the movies that people who sleep in transit would most probably be the victims of robbery and worst, rape. Well, the latter may not be the case for me but precaution is the keyword here.

I think I have learned the lesson. Never sleep while traveling especially if it’s just short distance. For people like me who fall asleep easily, an attempt is not even an option. I know that the moment you start to close those eyes, you can’t stop but lose energy to open them again. And chances are, you might not just miss your stop point, you might also suffer the worst.

For me, I think I should do something to keep me up while traveling. Maybe I should have a candy or a chewing gum. Text some friends but look out the window from time to time. Or maybe tell the driver in advance of the place I want him to pullover. Or any other way that I would not be in Basilan instead of just being in Davao. That would be so horrifying!

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)