Hanging About in Dreams (2)

Worn and tired to the bones, I arrived in Manila from an out of town trip a little late that evening and was set to miss one of those Friday drinking nights with friends. I was ensconced at my place while watching a late night program on the television when a call broke my sleepiness. It was Gerry.

“Hi Jay. Are you back in Manila? I’m somewhere in Makati. Let’s go to Government and unwind.” He said, with a little urgency in his voice.

“I just got back a few hours ago from Cagayan de Oro. You know what, I found this club there much like Government.” I said.

“Really? Too bad we never discovered it during our stay there last year. So, are you coming?” He asked.

“Sure. I’m a little tired but I think I need to unwind.”

“Hurry up so you can catch the free entrance before 1am. See you in a bit.”

While in the taxi, I tried to recall the last time we met. It was about a few weeks ago where we had a few bottle of beers and talked about everything under the sun except the “us” talk, which is usually the case. I guess that is the usual thing with ex-lovers, you never get past beyond the awkward stage of talking about your past. Gerry and I broke up around the summer of last year, but still managed to see each other once in a while for a drink or two, a kind of relationship which was generally a blurred area for me.

I made it a little past one, so I paid a few hundred bucks for the entrance. Gerry was already inside, and the entire floor was crowded with guys like us. The music was a little loud and despite the dimness, I easily spotted him. We found ourselves laughing and talking like we never had something going on before. A guy standing on his right side was trying to catch his attention, so I made a joke about giving that guy a chance. I went to the wash room, and this other guy who was staring at me ever since I arrived followed me. He was nice looking and seemed decent. After a while, it got awkward talking like that inside the wash room so I said I’d see him around. Gerry was looking for me and wanted to get rid of this persistent guy. I wanted to tease him more and told him I’d just say hi to my friend on the other side of the dance floor. He immediately followed me, and was a little angry at me for doing that. More beers, and we found ourselves standing with side by side all throughout. He was kidding me if I was getting jealous of that guy, and I replied yes with much exaggeration to which we both laughed.

Kenneth, Gerry’s friend and an acquaintance of mine, approached us. For some reason which I did not bother to ask, he knew our story. He was kidding us if we’re back together to which we both reacted surprised, and even showed some expressions of aghast.

“I think you’d be happier with each other. Why did you break up, in the first place? Why don’t you two stop wandering and get serious.” Kenneth said with a meaningful smile.

I didn’t know if he was kidding or not. We were caught unaware by that statement, but started kidding each other once again, after a while.

“Isn’t it obvious?”, I said to him. “We’re giving ourselves second chance.”

Gerry seconded and we further teased Kenneth, and even held hands in front of him. More jokes and teasing, and suddenly, I noticed that such exchanges were getting a little bit meaningful. I pretended not to mind it at all.

Gerry wakes up and breaks my reminiscing of the memories of the few hours before. “It is getting colder.” , he says, and complains about me sleeping like a log while he, on the other side, has to wake up every now and then. “It must be the alcohol. I gulped down around five bottles.” , I say. I turn my back towards him. I doze off listening to our shallow breaths, the only reminder that inside this room at this very moment, we are breathing each other’s breath, only invisible, only a little less insignificant fact.

Hanging About in Dreams (3)

It is mid-summer and we are spending the holy week in Marinduque. We are playing truth and dare game along the beach with his friends. Suddenly, we are on the hot seat. “So, are you two together?”, they ask us. “You know the answer guys. Jay’s a very special person for me.”, he says while looking at me. Then the attention shifted to me. “Same here. Gerry’s the most wonderful person I’ve ever met.” Then, cheers from his friends. Somehow, they dare us to kiss. We also seal the first “I love you’s” in front of them. Summer day instantly transforms into a cold, breezy night. We are two bodies becoming one, hugging while floating above the silent, placid, moonlit sea. The view of the full moon glorifying us from the sky is breathtaking. From nowhere, strong, giant waves come rushing toward us and takes me away. The waves bring me to its depth and back to the shore, and I find myself crashing with the sharp rocks.

It is the drowning feeling which awakens me, and later magnifies to a weird feeling I cannot even describe. I breathe heavily and check my luminous watch. It’s just around 5 a.m. Gerry seems restless with his occasional shifts beside me. I think of holding him but change my mind in an instant.

I try to remember how we got in this motel. We decided to call it a night after an hour of drinking and dancing in Government. Inside his car, we still went on with our jokes on how we missed each other. I was really drunk, having gulped down four bottles of beers and a glass of vodka. He was a little drank too, but sober enough to drive. It was obvious that neither of us wanted to go home then.

“So, where are we going?” I asked him with my eyes closed, feeling a little bit dizzy.

“Let’s go to this club in Malate, Jay. The night is still young.” He said.

We headed towards Manila and found ourselves approaching the strip of bars in Malate. He pulled to a stop, and asked me, for the second time, if I wanted to go there or spend time in a quiet place.

“Anywhere, Gerry. I just don’t want to go home yet.” The drunkenness was gone now.

“Then, let’s go to a motel.” I laughed at him for telling this. But I know there’s some seriousness in his tone.

After taking an unplanned u-turn away from Malate and crisscrossing what seemed to be hundreds of streets, we found ourselves in some motel. I, myself, was surprised by the sudden courage I had. I have gotten over the one-night stands typical of the gay lifestyle, and have sworn to stand up to my belief that relationships matter first rather than sex. But that night was a different night. It was nothing short of a grandiose plan, a forced culmination of all the time wasted and forgone opportunities.

I wouldn’t simply call it sex, it was a lovemaking that we did. Lying on our back and holding each other’s hand, for a few seconds, that tingling, old feeling resurfaces. Gently, I let my hand loose, afraid of the implications it may bring. I still remember the last time we spent the night together as lovers. I never thought it would happen again. Here I am, lying beside him in a strange room, but now maintaining a certain distance, and sending signs that are only sent by foolish people, afraid but wanting of the what if’s, wanting but afraid of the if… then…’s.

A melancholic, empty chair beside the window, barely recognizable from the dark, transports my thoughts to that last night which signaled the end of summer. It is like watching my own play, but now distantly seeing myself from his eyes, feeling the same hurt, the same betrayal. I was stealthily putting on my shoes while sitting on that chair facing the bed, all the while memorizing his body, for the last time, as he was sleeping. Suddenly he woke up, and wondered why I was dressed up and about to leave.

“Where are you going? What’s the problem?”

“Nothing. I just want to go.”

“Jay, this is not the time to make jokes. Have I done anything wrong?” Gerry leaned on the headboard, scratching his eyes, his grogginess now gone.

“I think this is the end, Gerry.” I said. “Please, don’t let me explain. Just let me leave.”

Hanging About in Dreams (4)

We wake up a little past midday and nobody tries to talk about what happened, even after checking out of the motel. I insist that he just drop me off on the next corner, and we say the usual goodbyes. Walking along the strip of commercial establishments filled with hurrying hordes of people only God knows where they are heading, and bored cigarette vendors waiting for the Sun God Ra to descent along the heavily-trafficked Roxas Boulevard, the Saturday afternoon heat becomes a little scorching. Occasional gushes of wind from the nearby Manila Bay blends with the dark, polluted smoke from the passing vehicles. Still, this makes the walk a little airy and bearable. The sun is blinding and a street vendor approaches me to sell fake Calvin Klein sunglasses for fifty bucks. I light a cigarette, and take a shade in the nearby Starbucks.

Taking refuge with my newly bought sunglasses, I take a seat in the corner. The pungent taste of coffee doesn’t take the dreaminess away, memories and daydreams still spinning inside my mind. Things just happened so unexpectedly last night, and I am still dazed by how feelings of the past can sprout from small cracks of the present, only to be swept away, then relived, in a totally different kind of way, still untenable, seemingly fleeting, and surprisingly, even lurking.

To Whom the Last Beer Falls

“Can I go in for a while?” Marco asked while I was getting off his car.

I checked my watch and invited him in. It was only 10 pm. Besides, it was raining like hell. The weather was a little showery when we left Tapsi, once our favorite drinking place around the UST area. There, we had a couple of beer and laughed about everything like we never parted ways.

“You haven’t changed.” He said as soon as he got a glimpse of my messy place. “I see. You got rid of the aquarium. Where are the fishes?” He added, referring to the missing, inconspicuous aquarium on the corner he gave last year as a birthday present.

"They landed on the frying pan when my budget ran short." I jokingly said. He was used to me not giving the direct answer.

I cleared the sofa of books and and loose papers. He attempted to help me out but suddenly decided to just stand on one corner. I remembered the time when he used to fix the mess himself and, all the time, nagging about my need to organize things, more so my thoughts. A cell phone suddenly rang and brought me back to present.

“It’s yours.” Marco handed my phone from the table.

It was Ian whom I was with earlier that day. Ian is a very nice person, and if ever somebody asks me about it, it’s one of those rare moments when I’d say “I don’t know.” I mean, I just don’t see anything coming, though I certainly enjoy every moment with him. Maybe, we are just friends; Maybe, we’re just both playing it safe. Again, I don’t know.

“Dude, what’s up?” I asked after turning on the television. I walked towards the bathroom for some privacy.

“Bored. I was thinking if you’d like to have a few beers. That is, if you’re not doing something right now.” Ian’s place is just a 20-minute ride from mine.

“I’m a little drank, dude. You should have told me earlier.” I almost said. Instead, “I could still have a few bottles of beer. Let’s meet in Timog after an hour? Same place. I hope the rain stops by then.”

“Ok 11 p.m. then. See you.” He hanged up.

Back on the sofa, Marco was restlessly surfing the cable. I sat beside him and asked him to just stick to one channel. “Can’t Hardly Wait” was being played on HBO. After a while, I felt his hand reach for my back. I felt my pulse quicken but pretended to be amused with the movie as it shows fate playing around the lives of the characters. A supposedly funny sex scene in the movie caught my attention and made me laugh. He laughed, too, as he awkwardly held my hand with his. I broke from the grip and reached for the remote, commenting that I could not hear a thing the characters were saying.

“You’re already drunk.”, he said.

“No. It’s the rain.” I nonchalantly replied.

I got us more beers from the fridge beside the window. Although the rain had already stopped, faint drizzles still blurred the windowpane. I opened the windows and absorbed the fresh air. From the 4th floor, I got a whiff of the wet alleys from the neigbourhood - the kind that tells you a rain had just passed. Indeed, a damp night like this could be a revelation.

The wall clock said it was thirty minutes past ten.

“One for the road?” I turned around and handed him a can of beer.

Blink

Non-chalantly looking from a distance,

I found your eyes among the great and busy crowd
and wonder how I can think of happy endings
when we already lost the ending from the start.


I kept lingering on your eyes for a moment,

but they are like withered embers of the past gone
where we feign ignorance because we failed each other
and random, fleeting glances are all we can share.


And so the wind blows,

                           and my eyes blink to new directions.

Strangers to Ourselves

“Wither thoust go, stranger, in thy shiny car in the middle of the night?”

This is a slightly modified line from Jack Kerouac’s On the Road. Strangers and midnight, they complement each other. I still vividly recall Julia Kristeva’s piece on ‘strangers’ in her piece “Strangers to Ourselves”. In that writing, the bottomline of hatred and discrimination starts with being strangers. She is talking about race, of course.

I have a different version to tell, though, and I’ll stick to that midnight allusion. Of late, nothing could have been more intense and triggering than the events and realizations surrounding this musing. This is where strangers proved to be some kind of magnet that offers possible adventures, of heartless union, of mystical escape. A flickering moment, as one song goes.

It could have been in the most perfect setting. You’d certainly catch the stare that “knows” along that deserted hotel lobby in a strange city in the middle of the night. An instant attraction, a lonely room for either of you, and the need for a strange company. That’s all it takes.

You talk as if you know each other very well. You try to withhold as much information from him despite your perception of the other party as being “trusthworthy”. You’d never go out with an indecent person, you tell yourself, but that’s enough. You are all perceiving, but all cautioning on the other side. After coffee, you’d walk back to the hotel, to either of your room, and, again, in one flickering moment, two souls become one.

The hotel phone rings back at your room. It’s from the other room which you just left. The tone is sweeter now, you notice. There’s the temptation of being more familiar with each other now. But you try to shrug it off and believe that nothing special happened. It’s a strange, but still, an ordinary night, and you have your flight early in the morning. No nothing.

Along your routinary way, you meet such strangers. Even in the most unexpected places, you’ll find yourself exchanging those knowing looks. A few talks, and suddenly, the stranger is no longer a stranger. But you know that after that flickering moment, the stranger will have to remain a stranger. You’ve learned not to cross the line.

One thing even amusing is how persons whom you have had connections with can instantly become strangers. You look straight into their eyes and all you see is a stranger. Or, they can be the ones to see the strangeness in your own eyes. Or maybe both. Unexpectedly, there’s the relief in finding it. It’s back to being strangers, once again.

Too soon, “new” strangers will cross your paths to offer countless possibilities. But then again, you can always find yourself facing the most perceiving question, neither uttered nor answerable, because you realize that you are also a stranger to yourself.

“Where do you go, stranger, in the middle of the night?”

Itch Just a Little

10 PM, Skypark Hotel, Zamboanga City

I have just finished preparing my stuff for tomorrow's trip to Tawi-Tawi. I should be sleeping by now but the chaos, or lack of it, inside makes my hand itch to write. Anything, it says. However, all I get is an empty mind and an empty screen.

Perhaps, these are signs of good things to come. Of stability, one might suggest. Or it could be that I have reached the limits. Of what, another might ask.

On the other hand, this can actually turn out to be a bad thing. The fact that it does not really worry me is not good. 

Things are a-changin', as Bob Dylan would sing. The fact that I am into this new state is a proof to that. I, myself, do not care whether this is just a temporary stop or not.

What the heck am I talking about? More words, and this just keeps getting longer without actually getting to my point.

Let me say it straight, then.

When you live like others do, it's hard to make your feelings itch, even just a little.

Life on the Road

To a life which is both blissed and melancholied. To a mind, twisted by the best and the worst. To countless possibilities that bring death and rebirth, only to yearn for more.

There's always the desire to drive away... to leave momentarily...to live as if there is no tomorrow. Life on the road is not an escape. Rather, it is what has been aching to get free. Every second, every day, it consumes me. It shouts at my most fragile nerves, it resurfaces at every triggering moment.

I do not know what defines me anymore and how much more this hollow will fuel the drive. What is striking is to realize that I am no longer the person I thought I am, or was. I am a total stranger to myself. I despise and glorify what I see inside. But, then, do I really see inside?

I begin to wonder if this is the life on the road. It is supposed to keep me going, to go free-spirited, unattached and unbroken, yet still lured by that drive which defines this wandering. It should make me a lot more wiser. At the end of the trip, I only see a boy who never learns the tricks of the road.

"To more crazy venture beneath the skies", as my favorite author, Jack Kerouac, puts it. To the way of the Beats, and the passion that burns. But first, I have to be on the road once again, and, as the car heads nowhere along that moonlit, deserted road, I can only wish for the cold winds to take the withered soul away.

Random, Fleeting Moment

Random By J. A. Redoble

I don't have a name,
At least not one you should know.
Spare me the small talk,
Pretense is lost here tonight.
Just savor this moment
In the flickering light.

I don't have a story,
At least not one I can share.
Don't get to know me,
Just give me what I need.
Sate yourself, take your fill,
Consume my greed.

In a random, fleeting moment,
Your body will fill mine,
Your touch will sate me.
And in that one fleeting moment,
Perhaps the emptiness will cave in on its own.

I don't have a reason,
At least not one to be told.
I'm here because in the furnace,
I still am cold.
This is a fleeting tangle
In a meaningless fold.

I don't have regrets,
At least not one you can see.
A simple indulgence
Of this hunger in me.
You are random,
a release for the moment.
One last kiss, leave me now,
End this torment.

One of the songs by Hastang that struck me that night. You can listen to this at http://www.myspace.com/hastang

A Night Spent Undergound

Cebu-based Hastang rocks! That's the reason why we went underground that night at 6 Underground in Makati City.

It was a well-spent reunion of some sorts. I found myself in ecstasy just listening to the music of Hastang band, especially their "Random, Fleeting Moment" song. We danced the night away, laughed with old-buddies, and emerged over ground with a promise of tequila sunrise waiting for us.

Cul De Sac

Sometimes I feel this need... this must.
I wanna drive on the road
to get away from the city,
from this mistake-making fool.

Mom

For the first time, my mom confronted me about it.

She saw and read a book that I misplaced beneath a pile of other books on my shelf. This book is about the kind of lifestyle that I belong to. She was very emotional. She let our her worries and concerns. I did not speak the whole time. At times, I saw her smiling. Then she assured me that everything is gonna be alright.

There is only one like her. Great Wisdom. Great Love.

I love you mom.

Graphic World

Lately, I have been hard-pressed preparing reports and presentations involving graphs and numbers to our partners and funding counterparts. Graphs are supposed to make whole thing look a lot simpler.One look, and the audience begins to see the message in an instant. Numbers do not lie, after all.

That is why, I find myself in ecstasy whenever a sympathetic audience asks for the story behind the numbers. It makes me feel human.

Firefly Magic

1 am, day 3, Marawi City

I woke up with an excruciating pain. The sudden muscle contraction on my right leg was unbearable. It left me shouting for help while twisting in agony. I was all alone in the cottage and all the nearby ones were unoccupied. After what seemed to be forever, the pain gradually subsided and I was able to walk my way to the veranda.

After lighting a cigarette, I checked my phone and saw a text message from Gerry. I told him about the  pain and the spookiness of the night. Then, he called and told me it was probably a muscle cramps. I should also keep away from swimming alone, he added. Before hanging up, we agreed to meet upon my return to Manila. After which, melancholy stroke so deep. Despite the distance and the fact that we were no longer together, Gerry always manages to stir up old, unresolved feelings.

The sound of crickets coming from the towering tress around the Resort helped fill the void in my emotions. His voice, though, kept lingering on my mind. It was sweet and painful at the same time. As millions of fireflies swirled around an old Balete tree just a few feet away, I uttered a simple wish.

Same nights, new nights. Perhaps, tonight, fireflies can do magic.

Lingering Scent

It was 3 o'clock in the morning. I was jolted from a deep slumber only to realize that my heart was beating too fast. I initially panicked but after a few seconds of trying to calm myself down, I recalled having a dream just before waking up. In the dream, I was taking a stroll with someone along a moonlit and deserted street. The stranger's scent, to my amazement, kept lingering on my pillows even as I was awake. This made my heart palpitate even faster.

The fresh, minty smell mildly resembled a favorite perfume* and instantly reminded me of someone whom I last walked with under an August night sky.  That actual stroll was months ago, but the one in dream brought me a kind of odoriferous ecstasy. The scent gave a kind of frosty air in the room and a breezy feeling even under the sheets. It enveloped me in a haunting embrace.

Half-awake, and still flushed with racing heartbeats, I silently wondered how a fragment of one's dream could so easily slip into the neighboring reality. Yet the scent was all the proof there was. As I slowly breathed you in, the lingering perfume brought in a calming feeling. The scent started lulling me back into dreamland where, hopefully, it would lead me to another stroll with you.

*Davidoff's Game, CK's Eternity or Bulgari's Soir

Rooted on My Mind

After my Tawi-Tawi trip, I was able to enjoy a week-long stay in Manila. Afterwards, it was off to Marawi City. At first, we planned on staying longer as we expected a lot of work. However, due to the forthcoming Ramadan, we decided on a one-week stay only. 

Adjusting to the Maranao culture, compared to Tausug, seemed to be more challenging for me. However, with the help of our coordinator, we had won the trust of the key leaders by the end of our stay and got to understand the context. After the immersion, we made plans to go back for a series of trainings.

We stayed in this beautiful, tribal-inspired Ayala Resort near the Mindanao State University which overlooks the great Lanao Lake. The cold weather in Marawi was made even frostier by the presence of big, ancient tress that towered over the resort's cottages. I was given an amazing T'boli cottage during my whole stay. A few feet away from the veranda was a century-old Balete tree. At night, I would invite my companions for coffee on the porch while watching the fireflies turn my Balete into one giant Christmas tree.

(No, this story does not end with just a magical description of Belete trees and fireflies. Not yet.)

After one week in Marawi City, my colleague and I found ourselves heading back to Cagayan De Oro (CDO) City, from where we would be taking our flights to Manila the following day.

(Now, this is where the story gets more exciting.)

Prior to leaving Marawi, Gerry and I had been exchanging texts. I learned that he was in Davao at that time and also had plans to drop by at CDO for a business meeting. So, we agreed to meet that night upon our individual arrival in CDO. After dinner, we went club-hopping and conversed like good old friends.

Upon calling it a night, I offered to drop him off at his hotel. While inside the cab, I found myself wondering at the irony of things. Our paths (as ex-partners) had converged once again, this time in a strange city (and a lonely night, at that). At times, the apparent convenience of things seemed too tempting, but I was also appalled and suspicious of its nature.

Gerry mentioned something about coffee as we were approaching his place. If I head back to my hotel, I said to myself, I might as well be ready to face a sleepless night. Right now, fate was offering some kind of a playful irony. Indeed, it sometimes grants wishes and can even personify a towering Balete tree straight from the backyard of one's mind.

The suspicious side of me, however, said otherwise. Despite Gerry's permanence in myself, it  always wanted to end any story in reality.

Magsukul Tawi-Tawi!

I just got back from Tawi-Tawi a few days ago. Too many adventures and stories to tell. I stayed there for a month and went to far-flung islands, areas that I never thought I would set foot in. Aside from winning new friends and devouring the delicious cuisine, I came out with a Tawi-Tawi tan.
Also, I cannot wait to share with my colleagues the insights and realizations I had from this trip.

Magsukul* to that wonderful experience!

---
*Tausug word for thanks.

Luck and Lack of It

The last time I wrote something about a movie (in my old blog that no longer exists) was upon seeing Half Light. The characters of that movie really struck me. Now, this new musing is triggered by the movie Just My Luck starring Lindsay Lohan which we saw last Monday.

This is not really about that movie. Rather, it is more about the idea of LUCK just hanging around the corner. I will not go into details, but I'd say it was one of those lucky moments of bumping into someone the second time around for two days in a row. It was just amazing.

I've never been reminded that I could see much from another person's eyes. They really told a lot. More so, I'd never expected I'd be caught one day in a complicated situation such as this. But that's life. You got your so-called luck, and then you have to eventually face the reality. There's really truth to that situation where a person "runs out of luck". But luck wouldn't be luck if it were always there. There's luck because it only comes once in a while.

For one week that we were together, this person has already been special to me. But I don't know where this is going. I want to just hold on to my feelings, to just seize the moment, and never really care about the consequences. Luck is out of the question. It's something deeper than that. But one thing I've realized, luck is neither luck nor lack of it. It's the decisions we make and the roads we take that define our luck.

I'm still confused. This is because this person already means a lot to me.

Sulu: Part 2

After spending days in Jolo and Indanan municipalities in mailand Sulu via a Seair flight from Zamboanga City, our site coordinators and I were off to the small island municipality of Siasi. The island is accessible only by a 6-hour ride via an old, wooden and crowded ship. No list of passengers was made, only ticket stubs were required to enter the ship. As such, I held on tightly to a plastic bag containing my life jacket which had bright neon colors and reflectors all over it (as I brilliantly planned during my previous entry). The chaos inside the ship amid the repeated showing of an old FPJ movie made the trip more interesting. Outside, the long strips of white sand was a feast to the eyes. I was in awe. Boracay beach would pale in comparison.

Siasi is an old island town with grey wooden houses reminiscent of old Philippines. One would surely catch a nostalgic feeling and feel that time stood still. Because there were no lodging inns in the area, we were accommodated at the Mayor's residence. From my room, there was a great view of an old mosque. Wherever I look - people, houses, mosques - all have a sense of antiquity.

Sulu: Part 1

Not

Nothing beats an early morning flight over a brewing storm.

Last week, I set foot in Mindanao for the first time. What made it more meaningful was the fact that I got to spend a week in Sulu, one of the most isolated, conflict-prone and poorest areas in the country. Part of my work requires me to travel to some of our project sites in the ARMM. 

The trip was a learning experience for me as much as it was fun. Not only did I get to appreciate my work even more, the trip also opened my eyes to the beauty and richness of the Muslim culture, especially the Tausug's. Beneath the dark environment of Sulu and the air of conflict, it has a lot to offer. The deserted beaches made of pure white sand, the rich taste of its cuisine, the nostalgic rituals, and the smiles on children's faces - this is the other side of Sulu.