testosterone boy

sad, beautiful, tragic.

Tag: life

And the sinking feeling starts.

You should have been here.

You should have shown up that weekend. I waited for you to message me and to pick up the phone when I called you up that Saturday afternoon, but hours passed and there was no response from you. I stayed in the entire evening, still waiting, as I comb back through my memory how you said you’d be here.

If you had showed up, it would have felt like all the stars in the sky had just aligned and I’m the luckiest guy in this world. But you never did.

On the next day, I spent most of the time in the shower in hopes that the cold water could at least numb me from the pain. There in the bathroom I let the water ran from the nozzle from my head down my body as tears streamed down my face, and I tried not to fall apart as I hopelessly cried, “He said he’d be here.”

Dad, you said you’d be here.
We were going to meet for the first time in forever. I was going to show you my favorite spots in Quezon City to hangout so you would get to know me more, and you were going to introduce me to my half siblings from your first family so I could feel to have a family again. And we would have spent the weekend as if it wasn’t going to end.

I honestly don’t know what happened. Everything seemed so perfect. What happened, dad?! Did I say something that put you off? Was I out of line? Was it because of the way I speak or the way I use punctuation marks in my text messages? Did I say something way too honest or too gay that made you run and hide? Because you said you’d be here. What changed your mind?!

Did you forget everything we had talked about? Did you forget how much I missed you? Did you miss the part when I said how immensely happy I am that we found each other? Didn’t you mean when you said you wanted to see me too? Didn’t you mean when you said you wanted to make up for the 24 years that you been gone? I thought you meant all those words. Now I’m not so sure.

I know people disappear and these things happen, but I remember how excited I was when you said we’re finally going to meet on the last weekend of April. Ten weeks now and I’m still reaching even though I know you’re not going to respond because I believed you when you said you’d be here.

You should have been here and I would have been so happy.

We are never ever getting back together.

In the beginning I was only curious to know you. There was that sense of urgency to try to give in to your hype and popularity. I knew I had to get my hands, my head, and my body on you. I was intrigued and fascinated and overwhelmed by how many people are so into you. You’re everyone’s cup of tea.

At first I thought it would be so cool to try something totally out of my comfort zone. Something different and wild and free.

I remember our first time like it was just yesterday. I was at a friend’s party, I had downed multiple shots of tequila, my head started to feel heavy and my vision blurry—that’s when we had gotten to start chatting. True enough, one thing led to another. It was fun! It was more than what I had expected it to be like.

We had several encounters since.

You have helped me in so many ways. I have learned to come into terms with my sexual desires because you introduced me to a lot of guys who wanted completely different things, whether it was in bed or in hanging out. You have allowed me to show the side of me that isn’t reserved or alienated to the kind of sex I only know how to do. I got to meet cool people through you, and those not-so cool ones too! You have helped me battle my fear of rejection because each time we had done it, it was effortlessly easy to get someone to like me without having to share my stories and without having to be vulnerable and open and careful. I was fearless. I was brave. I had everyone at the palm of my hands.

We have shared numerous exciting times! Like when you had me meet a gorgeous guy at Glorietta 3, only to have found out that he was neither gorgeous nor a guy lol. That was real shitty but funny at the same time!

I have known you for 4 years now and although you have greatly influenced my life on so many levels, parting time is here. We have to bid farewell to everything that we had shared in those years. Know that I will forever and always grateful to have found you, because life would have been more scary and dramatic had I not met you.

During those times when I didn’t have anyone to help me get through some shitty stuff, you were there to comfort me. When my room was getting too warm due to my excess body heat, you were always there to make it less stifling. You made me happy so effortlessly. I have always been alone; but with you by my side, I didn’t have to be lonely. You were the orange light at the end of my dark tunnel.

You have introduced me to different types of people I would have never met on this level in real life—

effeminate
discreet
twink
jock
top
bottom
versatile

IMG_1823,thank you.

As much as it is entertaining to keep you on my phone, the experiences we have shared veered me away from the reality I should have faced a long time ago—online dating is almost always never going to work or suffice to genuine happiness. At least not for me.

Today I am going to delete you from my device. I’m sure you will continue to service other gay guys throughout the globe, but it has gotten exhausting to me now. We are never ever getting back together.

Like ever.

Long handwritten note deep in my pocket.

People would almost always going to ask how my day went at work, or how am doing in general to start a conversation. My answer is always I am good/fine. Or at least I think I am because it’s what normal and sane people would say.

Work was fine. I had a client sat in my class to watch me play an irrelevant video using a terrible speaker. I knew I had to change it but 1. it was already playing and 2. I got too ashamed to stop and replace the video, so 3. I sucked it up and went on with it. It was awful. I. Was. Awful.

Also, I think all the shit everybody’s going through at the office will soon be just yesterday’s news. Eventually, things will pan out okay and people will be just fine, whether it be with the problems they face or practically the decisions they’ve made and battles they keep fighting for.

But you know, it is true that no matter how much you tell yourself ‘everything is gonna be okay’ and you tell everyone you are fine, the moment you lay on your bed is the time it’s gonna tell you otherwise. It all settles in. The disappointment that your father you had hope to see for the first time went AWOL, the sadness over people saying that you’re a bitch and they can’t live with that, the fake smiles you put to mask the pain, the reality of it all. All these cruel things you keep at bay suddenly crashes on the surface. You couldn’t control it.

However you try to pretend every day there is something to be happy about, deep inside you know something is not right. Nothing has ever been. Even the sincerest of laughs simply could not hide the fact that although you are okay outside, you are not fine at all inside.

When good things happen, you try so hard to hold on to it. And you do that, too, when certain people make you feel happy. You don’t want to lose that moment. You become determined not to let them go. Everything becomes like an amazing Christmas vacation that passes fleetingly. It makes you less sad and a little more alive than you ever were. You need it.

I need it.

Now if you ask me how am I doing? Ask me again tomorrow.

1989.

On Saturday, me and few of my pals from work went to an 80’s-themed pub to celebrate our boss’s birthday. She just turned forty two days before that. Or is she 40 now? I’m not quite sure, to be honest. Anyway…

Boss Moira had the corner side of the pub reserved for us where we lounged comfortably in an L-shaped sofa. The place was not crowded for a disco night-out. They call it “disco” in the 80’s or the decades before the Y2K, so I was told. There were only a few groups of people, mostly in their late to early 30’s, judging by the Pilsen they were chugging. Their music was upbeat and loud but not too loud to make it inconveniently hard to converse with one another. Food was great, too! I enjoyed the pizza and the chicken lollipops and the fried chicken skin. Especially the chicken skin. Amazing flavor, I swear. 

I was the only 90’s kid in the group so you can tell I was the laughing stock of the gang. Seriously, most of the songs they were playing I only heard of from my granddad and mom during karaoke Sundays back when I was a kid. 
I tried to blend in. But of course, it didn’t take long until my ears completely surrendered to the hits of Madonna, Michael Jackson, and other popular bands and names during that era. I was gonna mention more particular names but I didn’t do my homework. So pardon me on this. It took me to a period when every song has an equivalent choreographed moves. As much as I wanted to give in to the beat, my brain can only digest as much. 

It’s only when they started playing early 90’s songs that I can finally relate to. If I danced, I think I did just a little Taylor Swift moves here and there haha.

The evening panned out really well, although I felt sort of alienated at the most part, but seeing how much enjoyment it brought to my friends made everything else fine. I realized it is not every day you get to rekindle with memories of the past through music and how awesome it feels when you share them with equally awesome group of people. Even as I am saying this, I’m still not a fan of Michael Jackson.  Rest in peace, MJ. 

I (always) almost do.

“Letting go doesn’t mean that you don’t care about someone anymore. It’s just realizing that the only person you really have control over is yourself.”  —Deborah Reber, Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul

You always have that one ex you simply could not seem to forget. I think that’s normal. You had a great time with them before fate stepped in and made the relationship quite a mess, so I see no reason to hate. That’s totally fine.

I, for one, still feel something for this particular boyfriend I was with two years ago. This isn’t the same kind of feeling, though.  What I feel for him now is far less than I had before the breakup took its toll on us. I loved him in the most special sense of it, but I no longer feel for him that way now. It’s the memories we’d shared that I couldn’t just leave behind for good: the laughter, the sex, the morning kisses, the mushy exchange of promises, the disagreements, the jealousy, the cheating, the fighting, and all the reasons we stayed and left.

You might say I have not yet completely moved on, but it’s far from it. I totally am. This is why I don’t hate him nor want to forget about him. You move on because you want to move forward with your life or so you can jump onto the next guy without it appearing to be just a rebound. You move on because you have accepted that the magic’s not there no more, and nothing you could do to stop the pain except to forgive. More importantly, you seek to move on from certain people because you know it is the best thing for you, if you want to be happy again. You don’t hate them nor you forget all the reasons you were together in the first place. You don’t constantly rekindle the bad things they’d done to you. You don’t plan for a revenge. You don’t play the same damn things you were so quick to believe. Moving on is never about being bitter towards the person or whatever the hell happened between you.

He has hurt me more than anyone else has. Truth be told, I almost wanted to get back at him. I wished I could do the same exact things he did to hurt me, perhaps even worse. But there was also a part of me that longed for reconciliation. I know it was never all that bad and I’m not one to just turn my back from something (or someone) that made me genuinely happy within the numbered days.

Don’t get me wrong though, I’m moved on and all but I still can’t have a fairly good conversation with him. If you deem it as hypocrite, I couldn’t care less. Maybe I’ve forgiven that he has hurt me, he was bad for me, or it’s over now, but I am not comfortable yet to get close to him even as friends. Sometimes I still wonder about him, and sometimes he tries to reach out to me but I never answer. I don’t know why. I just think better of it—

 

but I almost do it.

(S)he looks so perfect.

I ordered our snacks, and as the service crew set up our food on the tray, I observed Stephen sitting alone. He looked as out on a limb as I was beginning to feel. But it meant I’m glad we got on so well.

He is a very good friend.

As a Marketing Officer in a bank, a lot of time he is chained to his laptop and paperworks, so he likes me telling him about my experiences whether on gay department or just about random stuff. It’s a window into a pretty alternative world to his.

For me, it isn’t just that Stephen’s doing a great job as an employee and a friend. Such a fantastic job, in fact, that he is practically my boyfriend these days minus the sex. I know I’d be nowhere in my complicated life if it hadn’t been for him, Millard, and Astrid helping me to live a more, away from my independent life in the city.

He never seemed fazed either by tales of my previous hookups and my current relationship status with Jacob. Which proves a fvcking good thing when I need to offload stuff. I don’t know how long you could keep going in this kind of game without sharing details with someone who’s good at playing it haha.

Or, conversely, being able to have a friendly conversation without having to mention what I’d really been doing with my life.

I paid for our BigMac and french fries and picked them up and made my way to our table. I couldn’t help wondering if Stephen (and Millard and Astrid, too) even realized how much he was helping me out, on so many levels.

When love is not an answer.

I’ve always held this notion that I am not an important part of anyone’s life. That I am just a second best, and that no one thinks about me when they sit down and consider the important things going on in their life.

Thought that I had finally found a counterexample to this theory, but my supposed counterexample only confirmed it—I am okay with being on the sidelines. I am okay with the fact that I don’t actively occupy anyone’s thoughts.

It’s alright.

Life taught me that I don’t [always] have to please others. If they want me in their lives, sure they’ll stay. Otherwise, I just have to accept that everybody leaves and life goes on. More so, life forced me to mature. At 20, I never really get to enjoy the pa-cute problems and all I rant about is, “Why mum hasn’t given me my allowance?” or “How come you didn’t text?” to my date. I don’t have the leeway for my mistakes and stupidity because nobody’s there to scold or lead me. I was forced to grow up sooner and take everything seriously. Although I must also admit, I still have my share of Lindsay Lohan minus the rehab.

Living alone had me fully understand that one’s happiness doesn’t depend on the people that we care about, or the ones that we laugh and/or cry with at this very moment—people come and go. Maybe it’s what they think is for the best. Maybe they’ll come back. Someday, somehow.

Just like the seasons.

Just like candles.

Like rainstorm.

My father.

Mother.

Et al.

So, there. Thank you for reading! I will always be okay, as long as I have myself and Coke and a cigarette fix.