Dreams are renewable. No matter what our age or condition, there are still untapped possibilities within us and new beauty waiting to be born.

-Dale Turner-

Tuesday, August 31, 2010


The spotlight was on September, a poreless-skinned hunky law student. The celebration was very calculated. I was forewarned of the level of sensitivity of the reason why we were gathering that night. September was both happy and sad that he was finally out with his mom who caught him with another man in his room. 

They were having sex, alright.  

September said he was not ready yet, not to have sex with men, but to be caught by his mom. Who is? 

But, really,  can that be possibly planned? Like--okay, at 2 p.m. today, I will have sex with this guy I am going to pick up from the mall and I am going to make it sure that mom catches us sucking each other's dick. And to do that, to make sure that mom will be there, I will have to text her--Mom, I need your support. I'm having sex this afternoon. You must be there.

Of couse, he meant he wasn't ready to go out of that see-through cabinet yet. Not to his mom.

Looking at September that drizzly night--in that bar beside that bar called Boystown--I could sense the overflowing gayness in him. And he was happy more than sad. 

He sang Christina Aguilera's Reflection. And he loved it when I did Helen Reddy's I Don't Know How To Love Him. And he adored I Know Him So Well. Another friend sang You Must Love me. We felt so musical that night. Broadway, it was.


January just recently arrived from NZ for the first time since he left the country when he was only 11 years old. He is 24 now. Days after his homecoming, he met February, my friend. Quickly, they became lovers. And because they're lovers, January often found himself spending the night with us. And overnights at February's.

January's mom began to wonder and asked too many questions about his friends. About us. And about February whom she already met. Feeling the pressure, one day, January decided to tell all.

"I walked with her her. I was really scared but prepared to go all the way that no amount of fear could possibly stop me from telling her the truth. The problem was I had no idea how to break it to her except to say that 'mom, di ko na kayo mabibigyan ng apo," said January.

And his spiel was followed. And the mom said--Bakit? Baog ka ba?


In one of our private conversations, May, whom I never thought of being a lesbian, sent me this--Sa sitwasyon ko, parang walang gustong mag-move on. Char! Basta, komplikado! Patunay yan na ang pagiging bakla ay pamumuhay sa panahon ng pakikidigma.


As for me, I have never been out. Not to anyone. And will never come out. I will always be IN. Forever. Char!

Monday, August 30, 2010

Writings On The Wall

I beg of you, Mister Gaisano, to leave the walls of those shit-for-P10-toilets in your mall in Bajada alone or the writings on the wall will be desecrated and shitting would be as boring as a bored shit. 

Scratch the walls of those boxes or no more of these:

Bayot kaayo ko. 

Muchupa og guard. 

Mr. Clay. 


Oi, nalibang xa. 

I love your wife. 

Sa CR diay ka gatulog? 

Bayot ka!!! 



Shit kaayo! 


Life is full of challenges, once you're down just stand up and continue. 

Got tissues?

 Butotz is here. 

I nid bf. 


Bayot=Salot. Bayot-mamatay. 




So, please...leave those toilets alone!!!

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Manong Joel

That his cab reeked of dried-up sweat and dust, the seat covers the color of scab, was good enough reason that I wanted to get out of it the moment I settled inside. But there was no turning back or I will miss my flight back to Davao City. It was not the best time for pag-iinarte.

Ang ganda naman ng hotel ninyo, sir. He told me as the cab--that emitted some crackling sound from down under--was welcomed by the busy street.  He asked if I will be mag-a-abrod and sounded pleased when I told him I am returning to Davao.

Bisaya ka pala, sir. Taga-Bohol po ako, pero dugay na ko diri sa Manila. It was, for me, a good sign that this travel to the airport will be just fine, despite the smell and the thought that the vehicle was painfully gnashing its innards.

Pila imong ihatag papuntang airport sir? He asked. There it is, I told myself. I told him that I will pay based on the meter. He was apparently displeased, sadness in his eyes reflected by the rear-view mirror. Before this, he said: payb handred kasi ang ginapangayo namo papuntang airport, sir. But I insisted.

Cabbies in Manila make saints of their counterparts in Davao. They are one of the reasons why the thought of going to Manila is always dreadful, especially when no one is picking me at the airport. They always make me feel like I am a willing victim--a conscious participant--to a crime they are so good at committing every day, so good that one can very well consider them experts in the art of ripping off.

Manong Joel was one of them. Or, maybe, he is not really.

Sir, pwede dagdagan na lang nimo og singkwenta? I agreed.

And from there was an overflow of stories about a man and his family whose lives are trapped inside a shanty in Antipolo--their fate imprisoned in Metro Manila. This is a man who tries to rip off his passengers, particularly those who are probinsyano like himself, just so he will be able to bring food to his wife and children after driving the cab for 24 hours. This is a man who skips meals--makes himself full by drinking bottles and bottles of water after eating boiled bananas, just for his kids to be able to go to school.

He says:

Ang hirap talaga ng buhay dito. Wala rin kasing trabaho ang asawa ko. Hindi na rin sya nakakapaglaba. May mga washing machine na kasi ang mga tao. Hindi naman ako tinatanggap sa mga inaaplayan ko kasi matanda na ako.

Mabuti na lang skolar ang mga anak ko sa PUP. Dalawa sila. Ang panganay ko kumukuha ng kompyuter endyiniring. Mahuman na sya sunod tuig. Baka pwede na siyang makatulong sa amin. Mabait naman kasi sila. 

Pa-eksamin ko sana sa UP ang aking panganay, si Joelboie. Pero hindi sya naka-eksam sir ba kasi gipangitaan man siya og inkam taks retorn. Wala man koy ana uy! Maong sa PUP sya nakaabot. Gikaluy-an pud sa Ginoo, sir.


Silang duha, sir, mahiya kumain sa kantin. Kasi wala silang pambili ng ulam. Ang ulam nila, isang itlog lang. Sabay sila kakain magkapatid. Hahatiin nila ang itlog. Mabuti na lang hindi na namin iniisip ang kanilang twisyon. Pero mahal pa rin ang mga libro. Grabe lagi gyud ka-lisud sir uy!

Pero ok pa rin kay taas man din ang mga grade nila, sir.


Minsan, sa bahay, bili kami ng isang pakiti ng noodols na manok ang pleybor. Lagyan namin yan ng malunggay. At maraming sabaw. Mura pud mi og nag-sud-an og manok. 

Kataw-anan nga makaguol sir. Kung wala kang lakas ng loob dito sir, kung basta-basta ka lang, mabubuwang ka. O magpapakamatay.

Pero may-awa man Ginoo. Kaluy-an lang gihapon tayo ani, sir.

Made me think, while the plane back to Davao was confronted by turbulence, that dying in a plane crash while your are inside the lavatory because of diarrhea, is more dignifying than living like Manong Joel.

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Bad News Is Such A Beautiful Bitch

It stirs you, kicks you in the groin 
so bad 
the blow could make you cry

leaving a twisting moment
of tension between acceptance
and denial
but beautiful it is

like the poetry hiding
behind those frightened touches
under the lines
of songs long unheard of

it awakens you

revolting happiness
delusions washed away.