testosterone boy

sad, beautiful, tragic.

Tag: sad

The moment I knew.

It was a Thursday afternoon. The room was wonderfully bright and warm. On the corner night stand was a Bluetooth speaker playing “Your Song” by Rita Ora from his iPhone.

He was packing work clothes in his gym bag and other items in another bag for his trip to the beach that weekend.

“Did you eat your food already?” he asked.

I didn’t reply so he went towards me as I was finishing the buttons of my shirt. He was wearing a black tank top that had Les Mills printed on it and black gym shorts, all fitted his tight chest and body. Standing in front me still waiting for my response, I reached for his right hand and stood up. 

There’s no way I am going to back out again. I was going to tell him how much I admire his sweet smiles, the goofy faces and pickup lines he makes, his poi dancing, and most of all, I love the way he makes me fall for him in many effortless ways, even I know he doesn’t feel the same towards me. I knew I wasn’t going to lose the moment this time.

He smirked at me and stared, fixed his eyes on mine, as if he already knew what exactly I am into. His dark green eyes told me to remain on guard and stick to what I had to say that very moment when he was only a breath away. 

It felt like melting along with the continuous sound of music filling the entire room. I didn’t know where to begin. I’m scared of what might happen next. I’m afraid that he might reject me. Again. For once, those negative thoughts backfired on my head.

But I was too weak and shy to speak for those words. I thought it was not the right time until he put his arms around my waist and pulled me towards him, without hesitation, without any words, he opened his mouth and reached for my lips. 

All of a sudden, it felt like I was floating in the air with my both hands around his neck. If I was in the middle of a beautiful dream that moment, I wished not to wake up at all. But it was for real, I’m not in a mindless dreaming. It was the best two and a half breathless minutes of my life.

When our lips parted, we remained standing locked in each other’s arms; that was the moment I knew it was going to be our last kiss.

Advertisements

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.

Leave this blue neighborhood.

On Wednesday morning, I was finishing up on my graveyard shift when I started to feel itchiness in my throat. Shit! I knew it was not going to be a good day for sleeping.

True enough, the coughing and feverish feeling came forward later in the day when I got up to prepare for an evening commitment. My head was heavy and it felt as if gravity was ready to knock me down the bathroom floor.

I still fought the distress my body was all too susceptible to succumb into. I went to my Wednesday night thing.

That same day I was awoken by my ringing phone: it was my sister. To my joy, I straightened up and began asking about her and mom and our other siblings and her daughter! I was just ecstatic to have had to catch up with her! I didn’t let her speak in our first two minutes on the phone, until she stopped me with―

Kuya, kelangan ko ng pera. Padala ka naman.” Brother, I need money. Please send me.

Then the next couple of minutes I had her on the line circled to why/when/how much do you need? That was it. That was all. Of course.

You know, the thing about my sister is that she maintains her communication with me, which makes me happy. She never fails to reach out whenever they need something i.e. money, hand-me-down clothes or cellphones, money. She is very consistent at that. Even my mom. Which is also sad, because I don’t really feel they care about me. At all. Well maybe they’re confident that I can manage on my own.

But it sucks. Big time!

I always have to live with the fact that the very people I expect to express affection in me are the same people who show otherwise. Hence I had become hopeful-to-the-extent-of-clingy to the idea that other people outside my family tree should give me the care and love and attention and affection I try so hard to receive. This is very upsetting, tbh. And annoying, I should add.

Other people should not be obliged to show their interest or attention in me. But I tend to shove it down their throats often that it becomes sickeningly hard to swallow. I make them feel responsible to shower me with affection―

 

with understanding
with acceptance
with love

 
And I know it is not right. I am truly and utterly sorry for being this way. I just feel so alone and neglected and uncared for. I hate to be this person. I hate to have this behavior. I hate myself for acting this way. I just couldn’t help it sometimes.

I want to leave this blue neighborhood and never come back. I just couldn’t find it in my gut to know how.

😭

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.

He should’ve said no.

It is honestly sad and cruel when people take for granted what they have over petty lavish perks.

On Friday morning, Seb called me up to ask how I’ve been. He’s a friend I knew from another friend back at the university where I attended my Bachelor’s Degree in Journalism in ’09. They were boyfriends at the time until mid of this year.

We talked about work and life, which naturally led to digging into our current relationship statuses.

Seb is a very nice 30-year-old guy as a friend and as a lover. I was there when he and my friend started off their love story; only I wasn’t when things went rough.

I hadn’t been very concerned about how their relationship went over the years because I was busy with my own turf and I was confident they had it all figured out. Furthermore, it was their relationship for all I care.

“Dorian wanted space,” he said. I knew then where the crackling in Seb’s voice was heading to. It wasn’t just the “asking of space” that’s the issue here. There was more to it than the need for a time off. He got in touch with me not because he wanted help to get his boyfriend back, but because he needed someone who had firsthand experience in the matter to tell him what he already knew himself about.

Dorian asked for ultimate freedom. Not that Seb had been too restricting, but it’s the exploration of singlehood that came knocking at Dorian’s fantasies. I can’t blame my friend. He’s only 21 and he has lots of things he wants for himself, dreams and aspirations he badly need to achieve before time can take it all from him. I should know, we’re of the same age. However, our difference is that I don’t intend to leave the people who have been there all the while as I thrive. He met new folks and got the opportunity to live the life he’d always wanted for himself. It’s that overwhelming flow of satisfaction that got the best of him, which can ultimately cloud anyone’s better judgment.

Three years they’d been together, Seb always being there for him, both eyes and hands open to support him, all flushed away. Everything they’d gone through and everyone they’d been with including myself, all left behind. Just like that. Without even looking back. Even disappointing that my friend turned his back on the very person who only didn’t become his boyfriend but even more as his family, all for the sake of fortune and fame that were laid in front of him, thanks to Seb.

Sad.

He’s my friend, but I just wish before he had decided to went all Marilyn Monroe, he should’ve thought of the people he was prepared to leave behind in pursuit of some saloon meat or whatever it is he calls “space.” It’s his life so he calls the shot, but temporary happiness is just a lame excuse for immaturity and lack of better judgment.

I don’t know about him, but he should’ve thought twice before he let it all go. He should’ve said no.

Stephen.

Friday, Yabu—

The Japanese restaurant, within a mile distance from the ABS-CBN network studios where our friend Astrid works, must be used to a bevy of foodies who come for its buffet treats and special booths, but I have chosen a table at the far back, where the lights are dimmer and the noise of the Friday night crowd is more muted. I know this evening has a lot of talking in store for me and my friends especially Stephen, who had just broken up with his boyfriend.

Concentrating on his dinner (he’s supposed to be on a low-calorie diet because his body is growing bigger and bigger), Stephen seems unaffected by the breakup. He checks out what the waiter brings—a platter of beef teriyaki and rice—and spears a piece of fork.

“Hindi na muna ako magpapaka-strict with my diet,” he giggles with explanation. He giddily tries almost everything on the restaurant menu: salmon, buffalo wings, pork tonkatsu, chicken karaage, plus rack of ribs. He also ditches water and asks for a pineapple fruitshake. Although we’ve already told him he needs to watch his body, he’s breaking some rules. He needs sustenance—the recent heartbreak nearly offered him.

My friend is never one to succumb into the pitfalls of breaking up with guys, not that he doesn’t feel sad about it—because he does—but he prefers to bottle it up and not show the world how much he’s hurting. That probably is one of things which differs me from him. He doesn’t like to tell stories especially this kind of stuff even to us. Unlike me, as you may know, I tend to share. Sometimes almost about everything.

Stephen smiles, picking at the last piece of chicken, “21 na ako, ngayon pa lang mag-start ang buhay ko. One breakup shouldn’t bother me.”

“That’s right,” I break in. “Maybe hindi pa siya para sa’yo. You just have to wait till the right one comes.”

“No, I don’t want to wait. Unlike you, waiting is never an option for me. If he likes me and I like him, go na! Otherwise bahala siya. Ikaw lang naman ‘tong sanay nang naghihintay e. You always wait. You keep on waiting for someone who will never love you back.”

OUCH.

I know he will go on more about it but Astrid stopped him. She probably saw the dumbfounded look on my face as I listen to Stephen rub on the things I already know myself.

True enough, reality bites.

Miss Jackson.

We’re somewhere in Cambodia. Although I wasn’t sure where exactly.

Jacob, Jay, and I settled in at our hotel room uptown. It was a high-rise hotel with a dancing fountain facing the main entrance. By the looks of it, I assumed we were inside a classy infrastructure with Grecian ceiling at the lobby, gold and silver interior, and elephants and tigers sat in every point of sight.

I was in complete awe. How was I able to afford this kind of accommodation?! Did one of these guys pay it for me? If yes, that was so cool. The idea made me feel very special.

As we began strollling the apparent busy sidewalks of the city, Jacob embraced me from my behind and whispered, “I’ll just go check some stores. See you at the hot–” He didn’t even finish his sentence and allowed me to respond when he rushed his way through the crowd. Somehow disappointed, I watched him disappear and shifted my attention to Jay, who was taking pictures of the park across the avenue.

He was right there, all neat and beautiful, holding his camera on both hands. He looked as if he was a plain backpacker not welcome for a company.

I moved to his pace and watched him flash a smile to every successful shot he’d taken–kids playing and running, locals selling snacks, tourists taking pictures, couples holding hands. Jay was enjoying it, and that made me happy.

“You know, this is a lot like Singapore,” he told me.

Pulling his camera out of his neck, “I bet maraming masarap na kainan dito.”And then he handed it to me. “Ikaw muna mag-take ng pictures. Balikan kita once I find a place to eat.”

Without even looking back, he hurried across the avenue, leaving me all by myself in a town where people barely speak English, and I was all alone with just a camera on my hand that I didn’t even know how to use, to start with. He could have asked me to come with him, and I should’ve insisted.

For a moment, I felt rather defeated.

6:37PM. They had gone for almost an hour now. Not knowing where to find them, I rallied across every street hoping to find at least one of the guys. My head was already throbbing, feet aching, and my stomach was battling to come out because of hunger. If I wouldn’t find them in the next couple of minutes, I was decided to go back to the hotel.

I was taking snapshots of the restaurants I’d come across on my way back to the hotel when I stumbled upon an old-fashioned diner. Thought for a moment dyslexia had hit me because the name was not making any sense to me. What did was the two guys lounging inside facing one another, glee on their faces. It was as if they’d been there the whole time.

They left me feeling like a lemon reserving their seats for them.

A clap of thunder hit me and a cloud of thunderstorm washed away all the remaining patience and pain I was trying to keep at bay the moment they left me all alone.

My hands were shaking, my knees were trembling, and I literally felt an electric charge was crawling from the ends of my fingertips up to my brain and back.

Slow.

Rapid.

Fast.

The alarm on my Blackberry went off. When I opened my eyes, I was crying. I got up, and realized I slept through the entire “Too Weird to
Live, Too Rare to Die!” album of Panic! At The Disco, and “Miss Jackson” was playing when I was awaken to my senses.

Good morning.