A Sunset On Your Face

Everything was clear and vivid except your face.

Like pirates, we looted the shore of priceless things – mostly my mom’s jewels, antique statues of saints, and even a piece of toy from my childhood years.

As we strolled along the dark mud-like sands which usually characterize my provincial house’s beachfront, we saw something glittering on the ground. Upon close inspection, and to my own surprise, it was my mom’s necklace!

In an instant, all her other jewels were everywhere. Her earrings, made of ruby stones, were constantly washed, yet unmoved, by the gentle waves. Her gold watch, which she lost when I was still in high school, was lying on the other side of the shore. While some were initially concealed by the mud-like sand, others were overtly glittering as if tempting us to pick them. And so we did with our bare feet jumping from one place to another.

The sands were gradually replaced by pebbles and rocks as we neared the end of the shore. Partially hidden among them, yet fully exposed by the retreating waves, were old statues of saints which used to adorn our old house, mostly my lola's altar. One of them was a wall statue of the Holy Family, a favorite artifact which used to calm me just by looking at it. With all these, our loot bag never seemed to fill up.

Unexpectedly, my strangely familiar companion saw a plastic camera toy and handed it to me. At first, I did not know what to make of it. I tried to operate it, and with each click came 3D pictures of dinosaurs and Star Trek characters - all inside the camera. It was my favorite toy way back in grade school, I suddenly remembered! From the bafflement of the previous finds, I was now thrilled!

With these valuable finds, we sat on the edge of a cliff facing the South China Sea. The smell of the sea breeze brought back indescribable feelings of my childhood when I was still an island boy. You, likewise, did not say a word. You indulged in my ecstasy as I let myself drown in the calmness of the wind.

After what seemed to be an eternity, I told you about my fears, those that were triggered by the extremely crisp details - the mud-like texture of the sand, the dazzling colors of the jewels, the forgiving look of the saints, the scent of the late afternoon sea breeze, and the list went on - and, in contrast, by the faceless stranger sitting beside me that was you, making me fear that everything might just turn out to be a dream.

Finally, you broke your silence. You assured me that it was not a dream, that the scent was real and the colors true. I believed you.

You stood, held my hand and asked me to come with you to the other side of the island. You wanted to show me the most beautiful sunset in the world, you said. I gladly heeded, knowing I would give up everything in the world just to finally see your face in its golden tone, and so we started to run towards that place.

Then I woke up. Alone, in my bed, on the 16th floor of one of the many high-rise residential buildings that continuously alter Manila's skyline.

You lied. It was just a dream.

And reality started to engulf me.

I longed to be with my family, to pass time with them on the beachfront where sands are black and mud-soft and the sea breeze brings ecstasy.

I cried for the memories brought by the gold, the saints and the toy. For they remind me of the uncertainties and opportunities in life. Of eventually growing old.

And in that dream, I despaired of either seeing your face or the sunset on it.

Fictional Reality

Dear Clay,

It’s been 2 months since the 7-hour struggle, pinning downs, intense sex, and calm talks. Still, I am left wondering whether you are a fallen angel or a mortal sinner. In the 2nd hour of the first night we were together, your confidence could not be matched by mine. The ideals of getting-to-know-each-other stage, the wholesomeness of the courtship, the commitment-before-sex drama – I completely gave them up in the 3rd hour. In the break of dawn, I was humbled with a sense of decay –for being just like you.

There are characters from my favorite novels whom I either love or despise, from mad people who desperately need saving to heroic ones who awaken every single hope in me. There are two that I keep on reading for countless times just to be with them. There’s Clay from the novel Less Than Zero who never fails to bring me to my lowest. A rich kid who only cared about drugs, sex and failed ambitions, he is such a melancholy read. On the other extreme, there is Howard Roark from the novel The Fountainhead. My ideal, my hero, my granite rock.

This year, I was brought face to face with these two. You, Clay, showed me how you can make the world go round with all your wit, looks and material possessions. Your only difference with Clay the character is that he was destined to fail, whereas you are destined to be somebody someday in this world. You showed me how success can go hand in hand with decay. This combination makes your force even harder to reckon with than the fictional Clay.

Several weeks after, Clay, I bumped into Howard Roark one Thursday night. We found ourselves sitting beside each other at the bar area of my favorite drinking place. I was enjoying my beer and minding my own thoughts, and he appeared likewise. When we were finally introduced, I saw Howard the character in him. His chiseled face was how they described it in the book; his stories about lonely travels, like riding the first provincial bus that passes him on the street, would rival mine. His was a survivor's story. And so without agreeing, we kept on meeting in that same spot every Thursday night. We understand - we both long for exaltation.

Sometimes, I think about you, Clay and whether I was right to judge you. There are nights, too, that I think about Howard. I only wrote to you because Howard does not need to know my thoughts. As I have already mentioned, Howard and I understand each other.

You, Clay, and Howard merged fiction and reality for me. You let me experience a complete mix of emotions that only those two characters can provide - decay, madness, hope, exaltation.

In the end, I ran away from you both. The howling night just makes me remember, Clay, that we can never be more than strangers. Do not look for me in that special place, as I won’t for you or Howard. I’d rather keep you in fiction, and myself in reality.


With Great Affection,

J

Araw sa Gabi

Simple lang akong kiligin ngunit halos nalimutan ko na ang pakiramdam. Nandiyan ang biglang pag-upo sa harap ko habang nasa sa isang coffee shop o kaya ay sorpresang paglitaw sa bahay dala ang paborito kong pagkain. Sa halos tatlong taong walang seryosong relasyon, mas madaling ilista ang mga pangyayaring tulad nito kaysa alalahanin kung paano panandaliang huminto ang mundo dahil sa kilig.

Mas lalong hindi ko ito inasahan na mangagaling sa isang estranghero habang hawak ko ang ika-anim na bote ng Red Horse noong nakaraang gabi (o madaling araw). Pagkalabas namin ng Bed (sa Malate), dumaan kami sa O Bar bago umuwi. Wala pang ilang sandali, natagpuan kong magkausap kami ng isang estrangherong may kapangalang planeta - na ayon din sa isang mitolohiya ay nangangahulugang "araw sa gabi". At sa kalabit sa kanya ng isang tindero ng mga bulaklak, nakangiti nyang sinabing bibili siya kung tatangapin ko ito. Bilang lalaki, hindi ko naranasan o hinangap na makatanggap ng bulaklak, kahit pa mula sa mga dati kong nakarelasyon. Sa kalasingan (at sa kilig na rin, marahil) ay tinanggap ko ito habang ang pigil na ngiti ay namumuo sa aking labi.

Marahil ay nasa mapagbirong posisyon ang aking mga bituin noong mga oras na iyon. Kahit medyo pasikat na ang araw, at habang nakaupo kami ng mga kaibigan ko sa gilid ng Nakpil, ay may tinderang lumapit at nag-abot ng bulaklak sa akin. Tumanggi akong bilhin upang sabihin lamang niya na pinabibigay iyon ng mamang nakaputi sa aking likuran. Muli ay napangiti ako at sandali siyang kinausap bago umalis.

Parehong rosas, parehong pula, parehong nagpangiti ngunit di hamak na may kilig sa naunang estranghero. At kahit ngiti lamang niya ang naaalala ko, at kahit duda akong makikilala ko sya sa oras na magkasalubong kami, sapat nang naipadama nya sa akin kung paano mapangiti sa kilig.

At tulad ng lahat ng ngiti, napapagal at napapawi. Pagkagising ko kanina, nakita ko sa banyo ang dalawang rosas na magkapatong. Kung saan doon ang galing sa naunang estranghero ay imposible nang malaman. Ang tanging nasa isip ko ay kung paano siyang panandaliang naging "araw sa aking gabi", tulad ng sinasabi ng mitolohiya.

Joke's On Me

He passed me by while I was standing outside your door. He, a testament to my deepest lust for flesh. He, my accomplice in those one-night stands. And so, I dialed your number to ask who else was attending the dinner. That guy, you said. He, your cousin.

In an instant, I fled. "Walk, just walk," my mind said. It was a cold and windy walk along unfamiliar streets. I ignored your calls. But your text message made me stop and turn around. "My cousin told me about your past. It doesn't matter to me now. Please come back."

Over dinner, I could not fathom my presence among your relatives and friends. We had been together for a couple of months only and yet, I, stranger to everyone but you, was invited. I should have been elated to be with you (and your loved ones) on your birthday. I should be grateful to you for dismissing my past entanglement with your cousin.

Instead, I was furious. We both know that the joke was on me...and I bet it made you feel so damn good.