Okay, fine, so maybe I'm not shooting stars... or any heavenly body for that matter. But how about the Philippine Star? Hmmm, why not?
So Yoga for Life has once again made the pages of a national broadsheet, the Philippine Star specifically. And I sort of got quoted. Not mentioned, but quoted. Considering my last mention was in Abante, I'll take this one.
Yoga for Life, and Living for Yoga
by Audrey N. Carpio
On the first day back from the holidays, my yoga class was expectedly full with new people and their steely resolve to get on the fitness track. As we stretched out our creaky bones, saturated with Christmas fat, and sweated out the hangovers, I once again thought about what it was about yoga that has made me keep coming back to it throughout the years. I was always a nerd, unathletic and gawky, and in high school I would skip PE classes by managing to always have my period. The competitiveness of team sports didn’t appeal to me, and running like a hamster in the gym was boring and tedious. Discovering yoga was somewhat of a breakthrough in my physical routine, mainly because it wasn’t all about the physical. There was a mind-body connection that appealed to my intellectual and spiritual side while also creating a stronger, more toned body. After the last minutes of savasana I would always feel centered and peaceful, free of toxins both physical and emotional. So I wasn’t surprised when I came across yoga for people living with HIV. As a practice with proven physiological and psychological benefits for almost any type of body, it makes perfect sense.
Yoga for Life, a community-based yoga series created by Charmaine Cu-Unjieng, a Yale-educated HIV specialist, and Paulo Leonido, a fitness expert and personal trainer, came together when the two met during yoga teacher training under Roland dela Cruz of Bliss Yoga. Call it dharma. “We were together six days a week for two months. We’re both passionate about HIV. We even have the same birthday,” Charmaine says. “I always wanted to merge the work I had been doing with yoga, and meeting Paolo catalyzed it.”
With her contacts at Echo Yoga, a group that offers alternative classes to niche groups like overweight and older people, and his contacts at Philippine General Hospital and the Research Institute for Tropical Medicine, Charmaine and Paulo developed an Iyengar-based yoga program designed for the needs of people living with HIV and AIDS. Worldwide, yoga is being recognized as an important complementary therapy for immunosuppressed patients. “I have friends living with HIV. I had always wondered, what happens next?” Paulo says. “So we came up with Yoga for Life, which is a non-strenuous, holistic approach to wellness.”
The first couple of months of classes were not so easy, as newcomers had many fears to overcome and needed to grow more comfortable about opening up and talking about HIV. “We didn’t know at first whether to focus on people with HIV, or make it an advocacy against stigma and discrimination, open to everyone. We were also concerned about confidentiality,” says Charmaine. But it has become a safe space: there is no requirement to disclose one’s status, and the classes are indeed open to people with HIV and those who support people with HIV. Ninety percent of the students are gay men, and half of them are estimated to be HIV positive.
In Ayurvedic philosophy, specific poses like inversions are beneficial to the immune system, while backbends stimulate thymus activity and forward bends detoxify the liver. B.K.S. Iyengar, the founder of Iyengar Yoga, outlined a sequence of poses that encourage proper blood circulation and activate glands that are known to regulate the production of T-cells, the body’s army against infections. For people living with HIV, yoga alleviates stress and depression. For those on ARV drugs, yoga helps detoxify their system. After an hour and 15 minutes of asana practice, the students are guided through meditation and breathing techniques, and it is in these moments that yoga becomes its most medicinal. “Our approach is to bring back the inner peace, self love, self empowerment and happiness. You don’t have to be reminded about your sickness,” Charmaine explains.
Feedback and results from students have been encouraging. One student, with a dangerously low CD4 count of 7 (HIV-negative people normally would have 700-1,000 T-cells) was getting sick with opportunistic infections. The doctor advised him to stop exercising. Charmaine and Paulo put him in relaxing poses. He stopped getting fever every day, and started gaining weight and getting stronger. His new CD4 count is unknown, but one can surmise that his stabilized health reflects a higher number of T-cells. Paulo shares that other students are starting to practice on their own, even employing breathing techniques inside taxis when they need to calm down.
With Paulo as a great motivator for the students, keeping in touch with inspirational texts, Yoga for Life has become more than just a place for a judgment-free work out. “Yoga for Life has proven itself to be a real community,” blogged one practitioner who had been living with HIV for three years. “Being with the Yoga for Life community turned out to be the best way to celebrate World AIDS Day. Yes, I dare to use the word ‘celebrate.’ Because gone are the days of World AIDS Day being a commemoration of the lives that had been lost to AIDS. Rather, we should be celebrating. Celebrating life going on in spite of the virus.”
For the new year, Paulo and Charmaine are hoping to scale up their program, introduce fun safer-sex campaigns to spread the message of positive prevention, and find more yoga teachers. As they run it on a volunteer basis and only ask for a suggested donation of P200 per class, the sustainability of Yoga for Life still looms as an issue. But with the energy they give out in service to others, the universe is sure to respond in manifold.
* * *
Yoga for Life is held on Wednesdays, 7 p.m. at 28th Floor Conference Room, Medical Plaza Ortigas Building, San Miguel Avenue, Ortigas, Pasig City, and on Saturdays, 2 p.m. at Echo Yoga Community Center, 9th Floor Penthouse, Century Plaza Building, Perea Street, Legazpi Village, Makati.
Friday, January 07, 2011
Shooting Stars
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Bitch Finds a Bastard
You already know that I’m the self-named, self-confessed, self-admitted B.I.T.C.H. I might just be the only person who has no problem being called a bitch. I’m the personification of the old Alma Moreno joke, who when called out, “Hey, BITCH!”, would reply with much annoyance, “Don’t you dare call me ‘Hey’!” So, as the Bitch, it is appropriate that I find my bastard. And I found my bastard.
He’s young. He’s short. He’s dark. He’s hairy. He loves to nibble. He’s jumpy and very excitable. He loves me unconditionally. He hates taking baths. He’s one hot dawg. Oh... what? I really was talking about a dog... as in he walks on all fours.
A colleague at work had puppies that she needed to give away... to anyone who was willing to give them a good home. Four puppies each needed a home. Easy a decision as it should’ve been, I had to think about it seriously.
I’ve always been a pet lover. I’ve had fish, turtles, fortune lobsters, cats, dogs and even a monkey. And my last pets, and I could say my favorite species, were rabbits. But it’s been 2 years since my last rabbit died. Almost perfectly timed with finding out I was HIV positive. I guess it gave me time to take care of myself first.
But it was time. I took a chance. Let’s give him a codename. Let’s call him mah little Bastard. Because he is... he is Bitch’s little Bastard. Just in case he’s in any way covered by R.A. 8504, let’s keep his real identity for him to disclose for himself.
And August 21st, the little Bastard came into my life. He was born June 10th, making him around two and a half months when I got him. He’s a mini-pinscher, with a little mix of shitzu. So in the question whether he’s a pure breed or not, he isn’t. But that don’t mean he ain’t the cutest.
He doesn’t exactly look like a mini-pinscher or a shitzu. People have said he looks like a Yorkshire terrier. He actually reminds me of Tintin’s dog, Snowy, just tinier and in a different color. He’s black, with brown bits on his legs, his snout and his eyebrows. He’s not exactly classy looking. I would actually use the word “scrappy” to describe him. He really looks scrappy. But just right. I’m not classy myself. I’m scrappy, too.
So there. Officially, this is my first dog. My own dog. A dog who I’ll be bringing up, my own style.
So for the first time ever in my pet history, this dog stays inside the house and sleeps in my room. He ain’t gonna be eating bones and just leftovers either. But most importantly, health-wise, karir kung karir.
Well, it was partly a condition laid upon me by my colleague who gave me the little Bastard. But more importantly, I cannot overlook the fact that I am now immuno-compromised. So the little Bastard’s health can and will directly affect my own.
So, two weeks ago, I brought the little Bastard to the veterinarian, luckily just a couple of blocks from where I live. It wasn’t his first trip to the vet, as he’d began his shots even before he was given to me, but it was mine. He had a little booklet that was a record of the vaccines he’s gotten... funnily similar to the booklet I have for my ARVs.
The poor little thing got the second dose of his vaccines, which the doctor said was a 5-in-1 thing, all with a little whimper. It was a combination of vaccines for DHLP - short for Distemper, Hepatitis, Leptospirosis, and Parvovirus - plus Corona Virus, if I‘m not mistaken.
Interesting. I never knew dogs could get hepatitis. I’m sure it’s different from the hepatitis I have, but I could’ve truly said that I can sort of relate.
By next week, he’ll get his next shots, which the vet says will be a 6- or 7-in-1. I’m not exactly sure what six or seven those are. Also soon, he’ll get a follow-up for his deworming, and start on his rabies shots. I’ll probably have to get a rabies vaccine as well, just to make sure. I’ll ask RITM about it.
I really wasn’t sure how my mom would take the little Bastard. But thankfully, she’s fallen in love with him. She’s been able to whip out her grandmothering skills, probably seeing him as the first ever grandchild she’s been longing for. She loves feeding him, keeps him company during the day while I’m at work, telling me all about his antics while they’re home alone, and even going online to research on dog care. And mind you, my mom isn’t exactly all that techie, so that’s a real effort for her.
It’s really not hard to fall in love with the little Bastard. He lives by little bundles of energy, and is a sleepy, lazy pup in between... quite like myself. He’s also extremely perky and pesky, in an adorable way. And he’s extremely smart. It took just over a week to potty-train him, although he does still have the occasional accidents every once in a while. He also knows this early how to “sit” and “come”, and he has this funny way of putting his toys away by his little bed, which my mom says takes after my obsessive-compulsive side. Hehe.
I guess the worst part of it is that the little Bastard is really taking up my time. I can’t just stay out all the time knowing that he’s home waiting for me. And my mom is taking advantage of that fact as well, using him as a way of convincing me to come home early every time I have plans. Argh. But he’s not exactly cramping my style completely. I am still able to stay out late or go out on weekends, either for yoga or the occasional dates.
He’s not keeping me up late either. Mostly, he’s sleeping when I am. Or if he is awake, I don’t know what else he’s doing... he’s really quiet and doesn’t disturb my sleep. Though he is becoming my third alarm clock, as he now knows the morning routine. My cellphone rings, my wristwatch rings shortly after, and soon he starts licking whatever body part I have hanging off the bed, trying to wake me up to let him out of the room. Even on holidays. Hahaha.
So there, this is my little Bastard. Just over four months old, and barely a month under my care, the little Bastard right now has earned his special place in my heart. One other reason to try to stay healthy and live longer. Yes, this Bitch has found his Bastard.
Sunday, September 05, 2010
Sex Week
Sex-wise, I’ve been such a good boy. Not totally good, but relatively, I could’ve used a whole lot more. After my sexless Papi-stage, sex has been few and far between, and more vanilla than I’d prefer to be. A combination of choice and chance. I just wasn’t going all out just yet. There was an election day fuck, a feast of german sausage, and some mini servings of vanilla here and there. Ugh, I’ve been good. I’ve been too good. I’ve been good long enough.
I wanted sex. I didn’t need it. I wanted it. Enough goody-two-shoes.
I finally gave in to my accounts on some gay personals sites that were craving for attention. I wouldn’t want to give them too much time speculating about my absence, right?
So I took the initiative to plan out some sexy time. What? I’m single. I’m horny. So? Go!
Episode 0 (Yes, even before Episode 1...)
Monday. I was rushing home. I crossed the overpass. I made eye contact with someone going the opposite direction. I glanced back. He was looking. I continued walking, turning to look every so often. He was still looking. He stopped at the end of the overpass. I was at the opposite end making my way down. I could see his silhouette against the bright lights behind him. His arm was up. He was inconspicuously calling me over, pretending to be fixing his hair. Should I, or shouldn’t I?
Should I! I was particularly brave this day. I turned around and climbed back up the stairs to cross to meet him. He walked beside me. “Anong gusto mo?,” he asked. Confirmed. He just wanted to get off. He led me to his car, where he nervously tried to get it on. He had me explore different parts of his buff body with my tongue. And despite the hesitation every time someone would pass by, he came. It wasn’t much action, but it was a good quickie to start the week.
Episode 1
Still that same Monday. The first planned session of the week. A guy I met online was inviting me over to his place. So I made it home, had dinner, showered, and waited for the go signal. His roomies were gone. He sent me a text message calling me over. A tricycle ride, a short walk, and another tricycle ride... I was there.
This was my first eyeball in a while. I wasn’t as nervous as I usually am on eyeballs. Odd. Might be the age. My age. He was much younger. He led me in, and we sat and talked in the living room. Then he led me into the bedroom, where we did the deed… in his roommate’s bed. Yikes. In the end, we were spent. He thanked me. I thanked him. And a condom manufacturer thanked us both. I finally got the chance to bring my condom stash to life.
Episode 2
Fine, I rested a couple of days. The next session I had was set for Thursday. Someone I met online was inviting me over to his friend’s place after work. The rain and traffic that day were really challenging my determination. But it was set, and I didn’t want to back out at the last minute. So late and wet as I was, I made it to the meeting place. From there, he bought us some takeout for dinner, some drinks… and of course, rubbers and lube. And off we went to his friend’s place.
A long walk and a tricycle ride later, we were there. He keyed the door and… oh. Of course. It was naïve of me to think we’d have his friend’s place without his friend. So, I was going to have my first threesome since a while ago. I’m not new to it. I know what it takes to balance two cocks at one time. I just haven’t been able to practice lately. And it showed. I was a bit awkward admittedly, but at the end of the evening, I got them both off. Whew!
Episode 3
This particular one, I told you about already in The Bad Trip. It was the fortunate or unfortunate and unexpected falling into place of all elements of being in the right place at the right time, all for one hot and steamy encounter. But one of the biggest factors that allowed this to happen was actually another surge of braveness that evening. Hell, I hopped in a stranger’s car... doesn’t that say it all? I can’t exactly say I’m more confident, maybe just more daring...
And all this happened, while I was on my way to...
Episode 4
So there, fresh... or not so fresh... from an encounter with a stranger... yes, cum-breath and all... I headed off to meet up with the guy with whom I’ve been dating most regularly. Good thing he didn’t suspect anything. We’ll, it’s not like we’re a couple or anything just yet, so it should’ve been fine anyway. I just needed to work within my green mind to downplay the afterthoughts and the afterglow and concentrate on the task at hand.
Well, this particular one shouldn’t even be part of this list because, technically, I’d really consider this a date more than a sex session. That particular evening, we just hung out at his place... albeit half or totally naked... teased a bit, napped a bit, and basically enjoyed the time together in private... in a comfortable but non-orgasmic way. Anyway, this guy is a whole other story, so I’ll tell you more about him in his very own post probably.
Episode 5
Saturday, I had an eyeball. The guy didn’t even have a picture in his profile, but then again, that may have just intrigued me more. We planned to check into a motel and do the nasty. Our preferences were a perfect match. That was something I was looking forward to. I got pissed a bit with how hesitant and finicky he was with the actual meet up, with him worrying that I was “halata”. Saying, “I’m here. Meet me. If you don’t like what you see, then just tell me off,” did the job.
Me? Halata? Hello?! So we met. Him leading me to the motel may just have meant he did like what he saw. He wasn’t so bad himself. He was older than I was, but looked good. Er na er. And he lightened up once we started talking and getting comfortable in bed. So sans all the sordid details, after two spent condoms and getting him to cum three times, I can confidently say that he enjoyed every minute of the four hours we spent together. This was one perfect fuck. And he’s looking forward to more.
Episode 6
To cap off a whole week of steamy encounters, I unwittingly ended with a bang. Reviving some old buddies I used to jam with, a conspiracy ensued to have hot fun. Of the buddies I used to have, the guys I had less qualms about keeping in touch with were the “strictly safer sex” guys. My sensibility says I wouldn’t have to convince them to safer sex. While with the rest, they’d probably be wondering why I suddenly shifted to safer sex after years of doing it with them unprotected.
So with worries like that out of the way, five horny guys got together and had a whole lot of fun. Fetishes and kinks all the way. Oh, you’re still stuck at lucky number five? Well, a five-some isn’t even the maximum I’ve ever had, so you shouldn’t be surprised at all. In the end, all five of us had fun, the chemistry surprisingly still there despite not seeing each other for over a year. Close to perfect. But the perfect way to end the sex week.
So there. Seven sessions for a week. An average of one per day. From a regular date to old buddies to new eyeballs to total strangers. From an intimate one-on-one to an unexpected threesome to a full-fledged orgy. From total vanilla to going all the way to having the kinkiest of kinks. This was one hot, hot week that gave me the sex fix I wanted. And I’m left saying to myself, “HIV and all, I still got it.” Pak!
Friday, July 23, 2010
Too Much
Now, work is no question. I do need to make a living. So around half the hours of five days of every week is dedicated to work, inclusive of lunch breaks and daily commutes. That leaves 12 hours each from Mondays to Fridays, plus entire weekends to do everything else.
It may sound like enough time, but I’ve come to realize it’s not. Right now, I’ll be humble enough to say that I'm taking on... too much.
This entire week has been heavy. It started Sunday night, when I had to go out late to meet a pozzie friend. He was to hand over pasalubongs for BFF and myself, as he had gone abroad recently. It sounded simple enough. I left the house around 9:30 pm, unusual, because I’d usually already be in bed or at least in my room by that time.
But considering it wasn’t often that he was in the Metro, I gave the proposal a nod. We met at a little coffee shop, and he treated me to some coffee. And we went on, and on, and on. Before we knew it, it was almost midnight. The load of a busy weekend, the going past my bedtime, my Efavirenz, and thoughts of the coming Monday were heavily creeping in.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. I seriously had a great time hanging out, dishing out the dirt, catching up, and getting cruised by the late night boys, but my body clock could not tick for much long. So he headed off, as I battled my way back home. Not even the boys in the dark who were checking me out could stop me, seriously. It was that bad. So with that, it was going to be a sleepy start to the week.
Monday. Work as usual. Usual, until I was reminded that one of my poz kiddos, ImNotDyingImLiving, was scheduled to leave the next day. So BFF and I got planning to at least take him out to dinner one last time before he left. It was going to be another long day. But I wasn’t going to let the last chance to see him pass.
BFF and I showed up at his place, where my favorite doctor-advocate showed up with our Yoga for Life yogi followed. It was a perfectly tight little group. We had dinner, after which we strolled around cruising the local hot boys. Hmm, I seem to be doing a lot of cruising lately. Must be the weather. And with that, sans any boohoo moments, we hugged ImNotDyingImLiving goodbye one last time and wished him care and luck on his trip. Sigh. One less pozzie in the Philippines? Sort of.
Hehe. BFF and I headed home together, to my place actually, so he could get his pasalubong. More catching up, plus a bit of cruising, and I took him out to the highway where he could catch a cab. A big hug, and I was off, home and into bed.
Okay, it was a Monday and I already owed two fractions-of-a-day’s worth of sleep. So Tuesday night, I made sure I slept early. Or earlier rather. Still only got seven hours of sleep.
Wednesday, of course, was Yoga for Life day. I was running late, literally running, so I was heaving to begin with. Add to that an extremely intense yoga session. Hell, almost every inch of my shirt was dripping wet. It was a good workout, but a real “work” out. Whew. Five of us had dinner after, which meant another late night out. I think I got home just before 11:00 pm, and with a cool down and a cold shower, I must’ve been asleep by midnight. Again, I got less than my forty winks.
Thursday, I made sure I went straight home. I was in bed by 10:00 pm. Ugh, my first complete 8 hours of sleep for the week. I swear, I was sleeping till the very last minute before my alarm woke me up. It was gooooooooood. But I could use more rest.
And throughout the week, tiring as it already was, the pending weekend was already haunting me. Saturday was to be saturated day. Running buddy was calling for an early run. Grocery with mom mid-morning. Yoga for Life in the afternoon. A foursome bloggers birthday bash of ToiletThoughts, OdinHood, WanderingCommuter and ClosetGeek in the evening. And another dinner invite to be one half of a pair of dates of my favorite doctor-advocate. Oh, and a last minute addition, a family lunch thing. Hoooooo-kay.
I could actually do everything. Really, I could. But geez, this was just not a good week to be dumped with so much. There is actually such a thing as too much. And this... this was just too much.
So I decided to let some things go. I begged off from running... I’d be too drained too early in the morning. Grocery can wait. The rest, I either want or need to do. The family lunch would be the last chance I’ll get to see my uncle and his family for a while. Of course, I want to Yoga for Life... I’m getting used to having it twice a week already.
The evening is surely booked. I want to do the birthday bash, because they’re all my friends, and it’s not often that ClosetGeek is in town. I want to do the dinner, too, because I’m sure I’ll get a hug there. Haha. Though I still have to figure out how I’ll be in both places at once. Geez!
So there. It was just too much. It ain’t the HIV. Not at all. It’s just me managing my priorities. It’s just me making sure of what exactly I can do, I want to do and I need to do. It’s just me being human. It’s just me knowing when to say it’s too much.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Unreproductively Productive
I was supposed to be in Tagaytay last weekend. An uncle of mine arrived from the US and had planned an out of town trip for the family. I was hesitant. Even in family situations, I’m still aloof. At 32, I’m caught in the middle of the generations. Too young and shallow to mingle with the grownups. Too old and out of fad to hang with the kids. The one person I could have related with would be my sister, but she’s been able to evolve and dodge most of our family gatherings. Which left me with a huge decision. To go or not to go?
Not to go. My reason? I had other plans.
It was the truth, I did have other plans. There were so many things I could do instead of being stuck in Tagaytay, succumbing to heaven-knows-what plans the family had for the weekend. Don’t get me wrong Tagaytay is a nice place to be, but I would rather be there with the freedom to do what and go where I’d want. So I decided to stay home alone and get my own stuff done for the weekend.
I’ll be honest. With my mom’s early retirement, I don’t get much time home alone. The times she goes out are usually the same times I’m at work. When I’m home, she’s always there. So I treasure every bit of home alone time I get. I know it sounds harsh to talk about my mom like that. But it’s the truth.
So I woke up early Saturday, and hit the road at around 5:00 am, even before my mom got picked up by the Tagaytay-bound carpool. Why so early? I had a date… a running date. I was trying out being a running buddy to one of my Yoga for Life friends. I’m not new to running. I spent a whole semester with Running for Fitness as my P.E. course in college. But I never got to do it regularly after that.
I got to Ultra shortly before our 6:00 am call time. Running buddy was already there. And so our legs got moving. Warming up walking a couple of times around the oval, we nodded ourselves into a gallop. Alternating rounds between running and walking, chatting with almost every step, entertained by the sight of all the yummy boys and hot men there, and at the same time distracted by all the females, we had gotten into a good rhythm.
Before we knew it, we had been at it for over an hour, without even taking time to sit and rest. We actually lost count of the number of rounds we did. I guessed 10, he guessed 16. So it must’ve been somewhere in between. And if the track was a standard size of 400 meters, that gives us some 4 to 6 kilometers maybe. Good enough for a short distance marathon. Not bad for a first time.
From there, we headed off to get some brunch. Pasta for me, and a huge sandwich for him. My favorite advocate-doctor-yogi caught up with us in a bit, pouncing on some eggs benedict. And then we got chatting away. Before we knew it, it was past 10:00 am. We all needed to go. What I really needed was to rest, but I needed to go home and start preparing for what was next on my itinerary... yoga.
I was falling asleep on the bus ride home, which was refreshing. I got home, but didn’t have enough time to nap. So I just got on the net a bit to check mail, unloaded my bag, packed new stuff, showered and changed, and I was off to Yoga for Life. Sadly, I was unsuccessful at trying to nap on the bus ride to Makati.
Again, I got there almost on the dot. And again, my favorite advocate-doctor-yogi was there. It was a tight group this time, just 6 of us there. And I have a feeling Murphy was there, too. The day’s yoga routine just happened to focus on the lower body. Great. Torture for me. But I endured. And it actually felt good. Like a delayed cool down from the morning run.
A run and yoga on the same day?! I actually surprised myself. Coming from me who has been passing off on working out with the excuse that I don’t have time nor the energy for it, doing yoga as much as twice a week and even squeezing a run in between makes me give myself the evil eye and say, “Well, well, well!”
After an hour of yoga, some of us took a dip in the pool. I couldn’t because I had to be somewhere by 4:00 pm. And it was almost 4:00 pm, I was surely going to be late. I left with our yogi, and was finally introduced to PozzieBoy, one of the newer poz bloggers. We walked together a bit, before PozzieBoy bade goodbye and went his own way. Yogi and I rode the MRT, he to his next yoga class, and me to Quezon City for what was literally my next booking... E’s booklaunch.
I got to there late as expected. And I believe I didn’t have enough energy to even worry about the crowd there. You know how I am in groups of people, right? Luckily, though, E was outside and spotted me right away, waving and calling me towards him. Shortly we went in. The program was about to start, which meant I was late but perfectly timed. Hehe. Fashionably late, if I may say so.
There were some familiar faces there. The first of who was one of the publishers, who just happened to be my highschool classmate. Geesh. Just don’t ask why I’m here, please. I currently do not have a ready alibi. A bit small talk with him, and I was off. A lot of pozzie friends were there to support E. My eldest kid, my grandson, some empowerment batchmates, and others. Some fellow bloggers were there as well, JohnStan, WanderingPolarBear, and of course, McVie and ManilaGayGuy... it was their night, of course!
A word from the publisher, an excerpt from each book, some words from the authors, and it was time for the book signing. We headed out because the place was hot and stuffy, obviously not equipped to handle that many people. BruskoBoi and BFF arrived while we were outside. We waited for the lines to disperse before having our own books signed. To what name? B.I.T.C.H., of course! Both McVie and ManilaGayGuy needed to ask me whether I was sure about that. Naman!
From there, we left E who was still signing books. The posse was going for dinner. And I was off to what was next on my agenda... a movie date.
Of course I couldn’t leave without getting teased that I was just having an eyeball. But this was someone who I encountered through a personals site, way back, before my Papi episodes. Even before we met, I told him of my status. He was okay with it. We went out a couple of times before. And then just kept in touch while I was “with” Papi. And so recently, when we were both available, we got back to going out.
We’re somewhat dating, but with no strings attached. Everything’s clear to us both, no pressure, no expectations. Just fun. And I’m still thankful about how the HIV thing is a non-issue for him. He does ask questions sometimes, and he does get reminded of it every time I take my ARVs when we’re together. But still, he doesn’t care much about it. I got lucky.
So I walked to a nearby Starbucks to meet with my guy. He picked me up and we headed for the mall. We window shopped, had dinner, got some juice, and watched the last full show of Karate Kid. Not bad. It was just nice having a hand to hold while watching... and a head resting on your shoulder, too. It’s been a while since I had that. Argh! Cheesy alert!
Anyways, the movie finished past midnight, I think. I was really nearing the end of my wick after a long, packed and tiring day. And my Efavirenz taking effect didn’t help either. So he brought me home, ending the night with a hug and a kiss in the car. I had to convince him... and dare him even... he’s a pretty shy guy with public displays of affection. Hehehe.
And so my day came to a close. Thinking about it, I could’ve taken advantage of having the house all to myself, and invited some fuck buddy – or buddies – to come over and bang the hell outta me. Honestly, I thought about it. But I had a full day planned out, and not much energy left for any banging. My mind was kept off those kinds of things. No regrets.
Run, brunch, yoga, booklaunch, dinner, movie... Whew! I had a great Saturday… eventful, fun, busy, and most of all, unreproductively productive.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Mr. Mouth Down South
It was a typical Friday. A hot, humid, but thank-God-it’s-Friday Friday. I got to work early, and was texting with one of my “kids”-to-be. We had been in touch, and I first met him when I invited him for my birthday dinner earlier this month. I had promised to bring him to RITM to be registered, a promise that became urgent Friday as he told me he had a bad cough, a high fever, and was throwing up what he was eating. I was, of course, worried.
So I texted Ate, telling her about his condition, and asking for advice. She told me to bring him in ASAP, so he could be checked and medicated properly, and to make sure he wasn’t getting dehydrated. Okay. Considering it as an emergency, I left work early and met with my newest “kid”-to-be to take the trip to Alabang. It was late afternoon already, and I needed to text Ate that we were on our way, requesting for her to wait for us.
Getting there, we got first dibs with Ate. Seemed like everyone who went for check-ups were done already. The only other people there were those who were going to join the out-of-town for Doc’s birthday. I had no plans of going, first, because I was going to be on call for work this weekend due to an urgent account, and more importantly, a friend was in town from Germany, and we had agreed on this weekend to meet up and...
While my “kid” was in session with the doctor, I was chatting it up with one of the pusettes – female pusit? – someone who I really didn’t know well or talk to a lot, but to whom I made a mark when I gave her what condoms I had the last time I saw her, since she had plans to do “it” with her boyfriend. Hehehe. Funny, she put me on the spot about what happened to me and Papi, something that I myself couldn’t say and didn’t know. So I just told her to ask him herself.
So anyway, another group of guys was in the room, those who were going to Doctora’s birthday thingy. And then it started. I got asked if I was going. And then I got asked why I wasn’t. No, I wasn’t asked, I was attacked... by Mr. Mouth. When Mr. Mouth talks, he... really... talks. Ears bleed.
With a screech of a voice, Mr. Mouth was attacking me about why “we” aren’t participative, asking why “we” were letting off an exclusive and elusive vibe. We? We?! He, of course, was referring to my little pozzie posse. And even as I denied that “we” had any issues with “them”, he just wouldn’t stop badgering, going as far as saying “Eh, baket may chismis?”
Rumors? Oh please, grow up. My eyes rolled into the back of my head. He was getting on my nerves already, and I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “Eh kasi chismosa ka, kaya siguro may chismis.” I was half joking, but half just putting him in his right place.
At that point, I knew I didn’t need to defend myself. I was there to accompany my newbie and nothing else. And if not for this newbie, I wouldn’t even be there on that day and at that time in the first place. I would be working. So I focused on my newbie and just let the freakish voice go in one ear and out the other.
Our group? My pozzie posse? What’s the issue? While our “group” is a group, we are individuals. We are not clones of each other. We each have a mind to make decisions. We do not need to conspire about who and what we like. Each is entitled to his own opinions. Now if we just happened to not be at a certain event at the same time, or not be particularly drawn to the same person, it’s all coincidence.
The truth was, I did know that at least two of us were going, E and my eldest pozzie kid. But, again, I didn’t need to defend myself with that fact. The same way he didn’t need to insinuate his baseless accusations.
So just shut the hell up, Mr. Mouth. And as for the intrigues, cut your crap. Get a life... a life of your own. Consider this: the world does not revolve around you. If you think we have issues with you or whoever, then that’s your issue. You deal with it.
Wow, I was amazed. This person actually had the gall to show that he thought everything was about him. I won’t even hope that his “group” thinks the same way, or that he was speaking on their behalf. Everything was just about him, and “his group”. Amazing, amazing, amazing. So maybe that’s the problem? Is it just me, or does anyone else have issues with attention whores?
Anyhoo, from there, I managed to escape the clutches of Mr. Mouth. Away from the south, and away from the mouth, my new bunso and I headed off back north. He was just advised to stop what medication he was taking, try to rustle up a nebulizer in the meantime, and go back this coming week for his baseline tests.
As for me, I purged the negativity that I got showered with at the RITM, and just focused on staying positive for my newbie. And as for Mr. Mouth, I don’t look forward to seeing him again... or hearing him again for that matter. Here’s my foot... shove it. Oh, on second thought, EWWWWW. I wouldn't want to get my foot dirty. He can use his own.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Christmas?!
It's not easy getting up in the chilly mornings.
There are so many things to do.
My back just hurts.
I have a cold.
I'm tired.
Hehehe, okay fine. I'm gonna stop ranting. Chika lang! Drama lang yun.
Although all of the above are true, I know there is much to be thankful for. I'm alive, I'm healthy (well sort of, hehe), I'm happy, I love and am loved. And maybe the only thing I could wish for is for everyone out there to realize the things in their lives they can be thankful for.
Personally, I'm thankful for everyone who has become a gift to me. Thank you, thank you, thank you. And Merry Christmas to everyone as well. :-D
Sunday, December 06, 2009
Nasty Nazi
It’s been days since getting home from Subic after the Training of Implementers on the Power of You Campaign for HIV/STI Prevention. But still I’m reeling.
Although the whole thing was better than what E and I expected and overall, a very successful event and a positive experience for both E and I, it was far from perfect. There still are some things that I need to get off my chest.
During the first day of the seminar, December 1st, we were able to witness as one school official claimed quotes from the Holy Bible saying how Adam and Eve were punished by God because they engaged in premarital sex and how HIV came about because Cain was a bad son who copulated with different animals. Hmm.
I know I’m no Bible fanatic, but think about it. Was it not something about an apple that led Adam and Eve into temptation? And who exactly was supposed to wed Adam to Eve if they were the only two people around? And Cain sexing it up with animals... hmm, that’s a new one. Thankfully, neither E nor I needed to speak up, for it was the other school officials who refuted her claims, saying nowhere in the Bible is any of that said.
But the little old lady wasn’t done. She proudly expressed her disgust at the immorality of society today, leading her to prohibit holding of hands in her school, be it between opposite or same sexes, as well as campaign against homosexuality among students and faculty. Hmm. E seemed to think it’s a classic case of an old dog and new tricks. Okay, from this point on we shall call her Nazi lady.
Luckily, we hardly heard a peep from Nazi lady after her outburst that first day. She didn’t even interrogate us about our immorality or stone us, even after E and I told our life stories. I was surprised actually. She was reduced to giving us mean looks and sneers that might be her way of telling us, “You got what you deserved”. Deadma na lang. So was this the end of the Nazi lady chapter? Hell, hell, hell no.
We were eating a late breakfast on the third day when we saw Nazi lady come out of the conference hall. Honestly, I kept my head down, not wanting to show any interest in her, nor daring to make eye contact with such an omnipotent being. We just were not worthy.
Of course, if anything can go against the plan, it will. E was whimpering beside me, as he noticed her approaching us from across the room. I thought he was kidding, but when I looked up, there she was, asking if she could join us. Like we had a choice, right? Hail, your highness. So, fine. We let her.
If I remember right, she started off telling us that she had allegedly been speaking with the student leaders from her school, and their reactions were that they were pleased to realize that we were okay in spite of the virus. Too pleased, in fact, that she was concerned that it would create complacency around the risk of contracting HIV. As in, “Why should we (her students) be so concerned about HIV if they (E and I) are doing alright with it?” Hmm.
We tried hard to be nice. First of all, I seriously doubt the veracity of her allegations. I really think she once again misinterpreted what her students were expressing to her. It pissed us off that she obviously wasn’t paying attention to the synthesis of that first day, which explained the objective of our telling our stories.
My story was an extreme polar opposite to E’s plight with drugs, dropping out of school, vices and prostitution. I was the typical kid who studied in a Catholic primary school, an enviable science high school and a prestigious university. The objective was to show that whatever background one comes from one can still be put at risk of HIV. Just like it doesn’t know gender, race, religion, sexual preference, and social status, HIV has no respect for educational attainment. A risk is a risk.
We explained that to her... again... and really, my thoughts were that she really underestimated the intelligence of her students. These are student leaders, mind you. They aren't stupid. And kids these days deal with more things that we or she did in our time.
Then she wanted to know whether we still were living the same lifestyle even after HIV. For my case, I knew what she was referring to. Homosexuality. But E was smart to ask what she meant by “lifestyle”. She elaborated. Homosexuality, drugs and prostitution. The drugs and prostitution part, I never dealt with, and I know E has passed that phase. But the homosexuality part, I chose to speak for myself. Yes, of course, I still practice homosexuality.
She countered, “Then what’s the purpose of this seminar if you still go on with that lifestyle?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I think I had DUH! written on my forehead. I explained that I am a homosexual, and having HIV doesn’t mean that I should go straight or stop having sex. E added how HIV is not a homosexual thing, and even straight sero-discordant couples we know can still have sex with the proper precautions.
Was she done? Hell no. She clearly was not digesting what we were saying. As she started to leave, she gave us the consolation of hearing that she did think that it was admirable how positive we still were despite our conditions, but she made clear that she hoped we had repented, and that “she did not consider us heroes”. Wow. And E and I were supposed to be the judgmental and self-righteous ones respectively?
Was I offended? Hell, no. We were not there to be patronized or made heroes. Ours was, after all, according to the programme, a “testimonial”. And that’s just what we did. What bothers us is how this Nazi lady is going to teach students about HIV. And hearing her repeat later on at the assembly that she would still campaign against homosexuality in her campus told us exactly how she was going to. Nazi style.
With all that had been said, E and I kept as cool as could be. We did tell the organizers about what happened, and they decided against letting us speak for ourselves to make sure things didn’t get personal. Instead, they took it upon themselves to reiterate that it was an HIV prevention seminar, and not an issue about homosexuality. I hope Nazi ears were listening, and Nazi minds understanding.
HIV is a disease that can affect everyone. Campaigning against homosexuality won’t help. Even if all her students were straight, HIV would still be a threat. Campaigning against pre-marital sex won’t help. Even if all her students were already married to one another, HIV would still be a threat. Banning holding hands won’t help either. Even if you cut off everyone’s hands on campus, HIV would still be a threat.
This type of martial rule does nothing but encourage rebellion. Risks do not only exist within the four walls of a school and do not end with the ringing of the school bell at the end of the day. They abound everywhere and every minute. Nazi lady is really not that omnipotent to be lurking behind each student their whole life, is she?
The title of the course is The Power of You. It is not the power of Nazi lady. It is not the power of B.I.T.C.H. and E. It is the power each one has over his or her life. It is the power in every one of us. And that explains the objective precisely. We are not here to make absolute rules to do this and not do that. We are here to empower the youth of today with the knowledge and skills to enable them to make the right decisions for themselves – about the risks of HIV and life in general – and live by whatever decisions they make. And that is The Power of You.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Examine the Vaccine
This past week, the world was rocked by news of the discovery of the first vaccine that prevents HIV. This development was certainly newsworthy, getting the attention of everything from our local Philippine Daily Inquirer, to the Associated Press. I was hearing about it as well, from everyone from fellow pozzies to friendly neggies. Everyone was excited.
How about me? Was I excited? I’ll be honest. Not really.
I apologize, but really, I was skeptical to begin with. I’d never read about any even minute developments towards a vaccine against HIV. It was just too out of the blue and too sudden to be a success, I thought. I know, my pessimism got ahead of me. I just needed to read all about it myself.
Modesty aside, I consider myself a scientist. It’s probably just my personality, reinforced by my educational background. Whether by induction or deduction, I run on reason. I run on questioning. I run on proof. I run on logic. Let’s find me some logic.
Before anything else, we must point out that the article talked about a vaccine, not a cure. So this is not something for us who already have the virus. This was something that would primarily benefit those who are not infected with HIV. With that taken into consideration, I’d be happy for those who are negative.
I think the most prominent phrase in the article is the part that says that “the vaccine cut the risk of becoming infected with HIV by more than 31 percent.” I’m sure most people will initially think Wow! upon hearing that, but something just struck me about the statement. Let’s see.
Vaccines supposedly prevent infection by a pathogen, which in this case is the Human Immunodeficiency Virus. Note, the word is prevent, not just reduce. Preventing infection, for me, means having zero chances of getting infected after vaccination. Zero. Zilch. Zip. None. Nada. So to merely cut the risk just doesn’t cut it. Ergo, I believe it should not have been called a “vaccine” in the first place.
Calling it a “vaccine” would just throw people into a false sense of security that with the so-called “vaccine”, they would be completely safe from catching HIV. It might just cause unprotected sex and other risky practices to break free from the word of caution that we’ve been trying to point out.
Okay, fine. The article did say benefits were modest. But anyone who hears of a lowering of the risk of HIV infection “by more than 31%” would be impressed. So how did they get “31%”? Let’s study the data.
Of the 8,198 who got the “placebo” or dummy shots, 74 got infected with HIV, amounting to 0.903%. While of the 8,197 who got the “vaccine”, 51 still got infected with HIV, amounting to 0.622%. The difference between the two is around 0.281%, which indeed accounts for 31.073% of 0.903%.
But really, how significantly far away is a 0.622% chance of getting infected from a 0.903% chance? With the “vaccine”, approximately 6 in every 1,000 people got infected. But even without the “vaccine”, the chances of getting infected were still small. Just 9 in every 1,000 people. The difference? For me, minute.
And then there are other peculiarities that I tend to notice. First, it is noted that the efficacy of the “vaccine” was tested against particular strains commonly found in Thailand. But then, of course, I’m not in Thailand. And around the world, there are different types of HIV, with each type having different strains. So it is a strain-specific “vaccine” to say the least. And along with that should burst the bubble of safe, carefree, unprotected sex.
“All were given condoms, counseling and treatment for any sexually transmitted infections, and were tested every six months for HIV. Anyone who became infected were given free treatment with antiviral medicines.”
Whoa! Wait a minute. Back it up. So it wasn’t just a battle between a “vaccine” and a placebo. Condoms were in the mix?! That’s a whole other factor which fucks up all the results, doesn’t it? You wouldn’t know if it was the “vaccine” that was working, or just the use of condoms. Hmm.
So there, I rest my case. Fine, it may be a breakthrough in the field of medicine. But wasn’t it a tad overrated? Tell me really, knowing that this “vaccine” reduces the rate of HIV infections from 9 to 6 out of 1,000, only for specific strains of HIV, and even with condoms playing an unknown factor... Would you still be willing to take the risk with this “vaccine”?
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Vaccine Alert!
Pardon me, but having been busy with the recent passing of my aunt and godmother, I haven't really been taking the time to blog.
But I got a number of alerts this week, mostly from fellow pozzies, about news of an HIV vaccine that had been developed. And this new vaccine news, was my cue to make a comeback.
I'll be back in a bit. For now, read more about the new HIV vaccine from the Philippine Daily Inquirer. What do you think about all this?
Rest assured, I have much more to say about this... soon.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Hell on Wheels
It was a weekday. A workday. I went through my usual morning routine. This was going to be one of those regular days. I get up. I eat breakfast. I shower. I dress up. I leave for the trip to work. A trike and a jeep to the MRT station. As usual, a wave of people waiting at the door of the train, pushing, pushing, pushing, and eventually I’d get into the train whether I liked it or not. And then my supposedly regular day ended there.
The next thing I knew, I found myself sprawled on the floor of the MRT coach, with what seemed like thousands of feet rushing past me. I swear, I must’ve looked like Dyesebel without the fish tail. I wanted to cry, but I knew it would be fruitless. There’d be no one to console me or condole with me. I was pissed, of course. I pitied myself. But I found it funny noticing how those who got startled by my fall were staring at me, while those who were probably guilty of pushing me were looking the other way, trying to act like nothing had happened.
Okay, fine. I picked myself up off the floor. What else was I supposed to do? But I think I was only able to pick my physical self up. I may just have left my ego still battered and bruised where my body used to lie. What was everyone to think of a grown man stumbling his way into the MRT, getting intimate with the ground? What the hell. I didn’t know anyone there. And I probably wasn’t going to see any of these people again anyways. So I just walked away with whatever self-esteem I had left, and braced myself for the ride standing where I thought I would be safest.
I swear, during much of the MRT ride, my knees and arms were still trembling from what happened. I tried to feel if I suffered any scratches or bruises. But other than the dirt I had on my right hand, everything seemed alright. I did notice I had dirtied the hem of my pants so early in the morning, to think I decided to wear slacks today because I felt like dressing up a bit. And my shoes, I ruined my shoes. What used to be my only perfectly good pair of shoes, is now chipped and dingy, with its sole now starting to separate from the leather. Sigh. I need to have it fixed sometime soon.
Fortunately, I got to work with no other mishaps. But it wasn’t until I sat down at my desk that I was able to tune in to my body and realize that my finger hurt, and that I felt pain and swelling near my shin. I wasn’t limping or anything. It just hurt. I was just hoping I didn’t scrape it or anything. It just shouldn’t hurt more than my ego.
So what the hell am I supposed to do to avoid something like this again? I could opt to pass on the MRT and just go back to riding the bus every morning. Imagine the heaven of not having to share your own personal breathing space with at least ten people, comfortably sitting the whole way. But then I’d just be subjecting myself to the hands of fate and luck when it comes to EDSA traffic.
Or, assuming that most people are misinformed about HIV, I could just warn everyone around me beforehand that I had it. Maybe I could even feign a sneeze or a cough to just drive my point through. Just like one bad fart load. That should keep them away from me, right? Hmm, interesting.
Or I could actually use my HIV thing and claim disability so I could ride from the platform where only the pregnant, the elderly and the disabled are allowed, and in the special coach for women, children, the elderly, and the disabled. Very tempting. 
Did you know that having HIV is actually considered a disability worthy of a monthly pension from the Social Security System? That is, if you’re ready to practically disclose and expose yourself. So I’m guessing, armed with a medical certificate, similar to or more worthy than what some women playing pregnant do, I should get some perks too. But then, the proud pusit in me says, Hey, I’m not that disabled. Plus, considering it’s usually the women who push the hardest and are the most ruthless at the MRT, this disability thing might not put me in a better position after all.
And without any apparent solution, I have no other choice. I could just be more careful next time.
So there, that’s how much of a jungle the MRT can be. Hell on wheels. So far, this has been my worst MRT experience yet. Was it traumatic? A bit, honestly. At least I didn’t feel the need to ice myself after. Plus I still found myself on the MRT the next day. So I guess it wasn’t bad enough to put this guy down permanently.
Let’s just look at the bright side. At least that day of mine couldn’t get any worse, right?
Saturday, June 27, 2009
The Real Man
Come to think of it, Fathers’ Day came and went this year with hardly a hint of a fuss. Had I not gotten the call from L that day and heard his son in the background, I could’ve possibly completely forgotten about it. I know I seem like such an ungrateful son to have only greeted one person and it wasn’t even my own dad. But that's just how it went.
Growing up, I didn’t really have my dad beside me. His profession required him to be out-of-town most of the time. He did, however, show up around once a month if I remember right. During those once-a-months he’d come home, I would run out to meet him and hug him around the waist, my little arms unable to wrap around his fully-developed beer belly. Yep, my dad was a Pale Pilsen person, and he was a real man.
I remember the lingering scent of a smoker, as well as his signature smokers’ cough that filled the house every time he was around. I don’t even wonder why I never felt the need to get hooked on cigarettes. Yep, my dad had his own carbon footprint, and he was a real man.
I’m a bit ashamed to admit that I used to sleep in the same bed my parents did. And waking up beside my dad without his shirt on, I would wonder why there were stray hairs around his nipples, which I’d try to tug at, eventually waking him up every time. Yep, my dad walked around without his shirt on, had armpit hair, nipple hair and a full mustache, and he was a real man.
But of course, my dad was a real man in all the other senses of the word.
He would go hang out with his drinking buddies out on the street corner, usually coming home so drunk that on some occasions that he’d fall asleep right on top of our school books, and on one really bad day, he pushed my mom around and left her in a heap on the floor right before our very eyes. Yep, my dad was an alcoholic, and he was a real man.
He was always right. He knew how to use any product ever manufactured, even better than the manufacturer. And not even the scientific knowledge that we, his children, would bring up was enough to overturn his own know-how. Yep, my dad was a know-it-all, and he was a real man.
He was one hell of a driver. He had a habit of running female drivers off the road, and honking them to jitters. He hated being overtaken, and loved cutting in. Yep, my dad was king of the road, and he was a real man.
He was a man of few words. When I told my mom that I was gay back in 1999, she actually forced me to tell my dad. So I did. I admit it scared the shit outta me, but hearing him say Just let him be in a matter-of-fact way just shocked the hell outta me, too. Yep, my dad seemed void of emotions, and he was a real man.
So my dad may have seemed like as much of a real man any man can ever get. But it took a real man to put my dad down... he succumbed to himself.
In late 2003, my dad felt the need to once again be a real man, as he ignored advice from his doctor-cousin to go for a checkup. By the time he couldn’t bear the pain, which was when he finally went for a checkup, it was too late. He was diagnosed with terminal stage cancer.
Of course, being a real man, he still didn’t follow everything his doctor said. Yes, he went in for chemotherapy, which would seem to say he still wanted to live. But he still ate what he wasn’t supposed to be eating, drank what he wasn’t supposed to be drinking, and did what he wasn’t supposed to be doing.
The fact that he outlived the 10 months he was given didn’t even help. He just became more stubborn. I felt how it was to have a child... and a brat at that. He couldn’t see that we were just trying to take care of him. He wanted to live, but wasn’t willing to make the sacrifice.
I remember thinking to myself, Is this what it takes to be a real man?... If it was, then I was rather relieved that I wasn’t one.
Finally, his moment of humility came as he was lying helpless in the hospital. With his wife and all us kids around, he confessed that he fathered two other sons with another woman, both of whom shared our family name, as well as our initials. Oddly enough, we were far from shocked, having known about it since years ago. But the way he said it... the first ever time I may have seen him cry... was a breakthrough. It redefined what I knew of what a real man was supposed to be.
Sadly, about a week after that, we were awoken by the dreaded call that rushed us to the hospital. Other than the doctors trying to resuscitate him long enough for us to get there, it was too late. My dad had died.
Time flies, and it’s been almost five years since. I still will openly admit that we hardly had a real relationship, and still think that he was an arrogant, stubborn ass most of the time. But hell... I had to get some of it from somewhere, right?
Remembering my dad and my own challenges today, I will have to say that I got more than my tolerance for alcohol, my thinning hair, and my skin color from him. If he could see me now, I don’t exactly think he’d be proud, but he can definitely rest assured that some of the better points of his “real man” legacy may just have rubbed off on me.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Serendipity
I always found it such a huge and funny coincidence that the acronym for Back In The Closet was just one letter shy of BITCH. So what was the H supposed to stand for?
Horse? Neigh. Hunk? Sus.
Hung? Shhh! Heart? Aww.
Hoe? Derogatory? Not at all. Bad for my reputation? Hmm. Teka, what reputation?! Hoe? Hoe... HOE!!! And so B.I.T.C.H. was born.
All along, it's been a case of no-better-choice. But browsing through www.t-shirthumor.com and its hilarious designs, a moment of brilliance came. Was this God's sign that it was truly meant to be?
and then this was the sign... O.M.G.... yep, Big Guy, I hear ya... BITCH it is.
Serendipity, man... serendipity.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
My HPV Brothers
HPV. The Human Papilloma Virus. Lately it’s been all over the boob tube, with a commercial promoting a vaccine against HPV. It is said that eight out of ten sexually-active women are at risk of contracting HPV, which causes cervical cancer, genital warts, vulvar cancer and other diseases.
Hold on. Nope, I do not have HPV. Not as far as I know, that is.
During the lifetime of this blog, I’ve encountered two guys who were diagnosed with HPV. You’d be wondering what they were doing lurking around a blog about HIV. Mostly because, as having other STDs is one red flag to look out for, they were advised by their respective doctors to get tested as well for HIV.
Although I’ve never met either of them in person, I was able communicate with them regarding questions and concerns they had about HIV, and was witness to the agonizing wait they had to endure before getting their HIV test results. The great news behind their stories is that they both tested negative for HIV. Excellent news, actually. Or so you’d think.
Considering not many people understand HIV, even less people know about HPV. The commercial that’s been being shown on TV only centers on women being victims of HPV. And other than that, I’ve never seen any documentaries or reports that tackled the subject of HPV, unlike HIV which has had more than its fifteen seconds of fame.
Similarities between HIV and HPV abound. Both are primarily sexually-transmitted, and both still have no cure. Both viruses are risks to everyone regardless of gender, and, as my two friends show, regardless of sexual orientation – yes, one of them is straight, and the other is not. And as I continued communicating with these two guys, we realized that we’ve been able to experience the same things – confusion, anxiety, depression, paranoia, and insecurities, among others.
We’ve realized so much similarities that one of them even thought of the idea of mimicking this blog! If I was PinoyPoz, he would be PinoyWart. If this was Back In The Closet, his would be Wart In The Closet. So if I was B.I.T.C.H., he would be W.I.T.C.H.! Hahaha. A brilliant idea, if I may say so myself. Watch out for that blog, in case it pushes through!
As such, I think they realized that there is hope after HPV, just as I did with HIV. And in some ways, they appreciate the positivity with which I’ve been able to face my new life with HIV, and have been able to – hopefully – adopt that same attitude in theirs.
But the similarities between HIV and HPV practically end there. Upon giving things some thought, I realize that we who live with HIV are in a way luckier than our HPV counterparts. How so?
Well, for one thing, unbeknownst to most, me included, there are types of HPV that can be transmitted by less sexual contact, from the skin or mucous membranes in casual contacts, whereas HIV would require exchanges of bodily fluids such as semen, blood and vaginal fluids. As such, people living with HPV may need to take even more care – more care than even a condom can give.
But more importantly, there is more activism behind awareness and healthcare surrounding HIV. I don’t think there are NGO’s or support groups for people living with HPV. At least, I’ve not heard of any. There is also nothing close to R.A. 8504, or the Philippine AIDS Act, that protects those with HPV. And people living with HIV have access to free checkups, and free medication – something that cannot be said for those with HPV. There is no such thing as Positivism.ph for them either, which aims for awareness and understanding of a plight with the virus.
But negativity aside, I’m glad to say I’m still in touch with these two guys until today. Regardless of the fact that their HIV test results came out negative, they’ve professed how life-changing this experience has been, and expressed their continued support for people like me who live with HIV.
And in as much as I’ve realized that we with HIV seem luckier than those with HPV, I therefore move that our fight for awareness, understanding, respect, empowerment, and positivity, transcend the viral strains with which we live. I motion that we adopt these guys into our little community, not exactly as honorary pusits, but more like – our HPV brothers. Any objections?
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
The Explanation
I had a relationship.
That was your explanation. That was the explanation as to why you moved away.
But it explained nothing.
It was just... lame.
That was not an explanation. That didn’t explain anything. It just brought about even more questions.
I had a relationship. That’s not an explanation. That’s a kiss-ass attempt to cover your ass and clear your conscience.
I had a relationship. That’s not even an excuse.
I had a relationship. Was I supposed to feel happy for you?
I was like a fish. A fish on your hook. If I wasn’t the kind you were looking for, or if I wasn’t big enough, or if I wasn’t fresh enough, then the least you could’ve done was take me off the hook and throw me back into the water.
But no. You made sure you kept me on your hook. I had to live through YM statuses that ranged from is working, is busy, to is super busy. I thought I just needed to be understanding, and still made the effort to keep in touch. But at some point it was like you wanted me to take a hint. If you were really that busy, you shouldn’t have had time to log into YM in the first place.
But then every single time I’d feel some slack on your rope, you made sure to reel me back in. You were right to say you had bad timing. And considering I gave you every chance to tell me no, stop, enough or get off my back, you really had very bad timing.
Lines like I’ll see you soon and may inaasikaso lang... what else are they supposed to mean? Well, of course, may inaasikaso ka nga naman. Sino ba’ng hindi? But you could’ve been man enough to say it was a someone, and not a something, that you were making asikaso.
You always said you wanted to be famous. Your ability to do anything and everything and trample over anything in your way without hints of heart nor soul tells me you’ll get there. Ouch. Insert applause here.
I did say the least we could be is friends. But how can I regard you as a friend if you have no respect for me? That’s all I needed. Respect. And I don’t think that’s too much to ask, do you?
I had a relationship. That was anything but an explanation. I led you on. I didn’t really like you. I no longer needed you. I used you. Now those are explanations.
Lesson learned: Before respecting me as a pusit, you have to respect me first as a person. Because over and above being just a pusit, I am a person.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
I Am Me
I apologize for that last outburst. I never planned on revealing who the person is, even though this person volunteered that information in a subsequent comment. It just didn’t matter. To make the long story short, we’ve been able to patch things up and move on. Let’s just all pretend that the Left Behind entry is a prequel to the bigger issue, the Right Behind. But hey, don’t get me wrong, my ass is well-proportioned, okay?
So with all that prior ruckus, was there anything to learn and share? Hmmm.
When I was chatting with this person and writing that entry Sunday night, I’ll be honest, I was really in a bad mood. It was a bad end to a great weekend, as well as a bad start to the week ahead. So I was pissed. And though I am usually a very patient and subdued person, I chose to go the other route with this. I was harsh. I was sarcastic. I was a bitch. I didn’t need this person to tell me how bad I was. I heard myself, and just shook my head and said I’m such a bitch. I AM SUCH A BITCH.
I was just being myself. I’m not sure how accurate I am, but I imagine people reading what I wrote and saying, geesh, this person is sick with an incurable virus, maybe he should consider being a kinder person. Should I?
I remember sometime last year, when E and I encountered a new pozzie. This new pozzie was in a pretty good place to start with, as his family and his friends knew about, supported and accepted his condition. But for some reason, he still fell into a mode of self-pity and depression. E and I were there to support him. Yes, support. *evil laugh*
Being the B.I.T.C.H. and E we were known to be, we employed the method of cariño-brutal, or tough love. Less cariño and more brutal, actually. Even as this new pozzie was giving up, swearing off getting treatment and wanting to wait for the virus to just run its course, we bashed him. We got tired of showing him the good side of things, and stopped trying to convince him, and just chose to mock him. Isn’t it just fate that B.I.T.C.H. and E, when put together, make B.I.T.C.H.-E?
New pozzie was pissed to say the least. I think he went as far as hating us for not being more supportive. He said, as fellow pozzies, we should have been kinder. But geesh, E and I just knew patronizing him could do nothing if he didn’t help himself. So fast-forward to today, I think it worked. This now not-so-new pozzie is now a friend, and is in an extremely positive mindset, moving on with life, and even sharing his story.
Lesson learned? Suddenly being HIV-positive does not necessarily make us suddenly kinder, just because we’re supposedly in a tough chapter of our lives. Not even with fellow pozzies. Neither is it the case that we are bitchy at times because we have HIV. We are bitchy at times, because that’s the way we always were – even before the virus.
Maybe it’s part of the Life-Goes-On philosophy I encourage with HIV. HIV does not change who I am. I am not HIV. I am still me. And as with life, everything else – yes, even bitchiness – goes on.
But it’s not one-sided, okay. The world around us goes on as well. So don’t treat us like we are HIV. Love us not because of the virus, but because of who we are. In the same way, you are also entitled to hate us. But hate us not because of the virus, but because of who we are.
I am not HIV. I am me. I am B.I.T.C.H.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Happy Positiversary!
How time flies. Today is my 1st Positiversary! Three hundred sixty five days since I was told I was HIV-positive. Would you believe that it’s been a year? A year since finding out I’m HIV-positive. A year since my life was thrown into a frenzy. A year since I wondered if I’d even be alive for another year. Almost a year since I started broadcasting my new positive life through my blog.
Thinking back to that very day that I got my test results telling me I was HIV-positive, I remember not being able to do much at work. I was at my desk, but was really more preoccupied with learning what I could about HIV. I’d already heard about HIV since back in high school, but more than the scientific blur that I already knew, I needed to know how it was to actually live with HIV.
I’d gotten to a number of sites that had the information I needed, but none were in the context that I was looking for. They were all sites on living with HIV in other countries – useful somehow, of course. But nothing about the Philippines, where conditions might be different, resources might be different, acceptance might be different, and support might be different. Not knowing anyone personally who was living with HIV in the Philippines, I needed to know if there were any. I needed to read their story. I needed to know how difficult the road ahead of me was going to be. I needed to know how they were living, if there were any living at all.
And so I searched, and searched, and searched, and came up with hardly anything. There were just loads of statistics, and a couple of blogs written by HIV-positive Filipinos who were residing in other countries. Still not what I was looking for. It was then that I decided that I may as well be the first.
Considering that I was choosing to go through my HIV journey without the support of my family and friends, more than half my purpose was that I needed an outlet for sanity’s sake. I needed to speak my mind, regardless of who was listening, but at the same time stay anonymous to keep the paranoia at bay. The rest of me wanted to do it thinking that someday, someone like me might want to know the story of someone living in the Philippines with HIV.
Initially, realizing that I was being read was humbling enough. I don’t know how they stumbled onto my blog, but most of those who started following my story were actually people of other nationalities – some of whom hadn’t even heard of the Philippines before. I acknowledge I’m not exactly the perfect poster boy to put the Philippines on the map. But I think that support was what I needed, coming from people who were already relatively open-minded about HIV. I believe they were the ones who gave me the initial inertia to keep blogging, and keep living.
Eventually, evidenced by the comments being left, more Filipino readers came plopping onto my blog, and some, I think, have been following it religiously. The positive to the negative, male to female, gay to straight, local to those abroad, and from those who were making themselves known to those who chose to remain anonymous. It was then that I realized that everyone was affected by HIV. As in everyone.
Of course, things haven’t all been peachy with blogging. I’ve been criticized before, by the very HIV advocacy groups that should have been making the HIV journey less of a mystery, for being too open about my plight with HIV, as it was allegedly threatening the discretion of others who were living with it. Being told that I was just too new at it to understand the consequences of my actions just went against my natural logic altogether. I never understood why keeping the names of doctors, nurses and treatment hubs secret was helpful to anyone.
By now, I think they’ve realized they won’t scare me away that easily. I can only hope that the passion with which I tell my story has proved to those skeptical HIV-positives that I am no fly-by-night blogger, and that I mean no harm in telling my story. Did they want me to show a more kawawa image of a pusit? I don’t know, and I hope not. By now, their protests have died down, and maybe they’re even wondering why they didn’t think of doing this themselves in the first place.
Almost a year and over a hundred blog entries since I started, Back In The Closet will spin off onto a parallel course, as Positivism.ph adopts this B.I.T.C.H. as one of its resident bloggers. It shouldn’t be any different, just like putting my blog on steroids. Roarrr!
And so a year since it started, my HIV story goes on. It goes on for those who live with HIV. It goes on for those who await their own results. It goes on for those who are thinking of getting tested. It goes on, even for those who are just thinking about taking the risk. It goes on for those who are affected by HIV, which, in reality, is everyone. I remain... Back In The Closet.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Think Positive!
The day had come. I was in front of the telly as early as 9:00 pm, switching channels to and from Miss Congeniality 2, Extreme Makeover Home Edition, Top Design, and GMA 7, of course. I’m sorry, I just could not stand seeing Yaya Patani on Ful Haus, which finally ended around 11:00 pm. This is it. This is really is it.
At around 11:05, as my ARVs kicked in, the show started with a definition of HIV, moving into vignettes of Vicky Morales showing common myths regarding transmission. Wanggo Gallaga’s story then followed – his risks, acceptance, and disclosure. His dad, Peque Gallaga then frowned on how people connect conditions like HIV to being punishments from God. I had to nod my head to that. I was amazed to realize that all this was just the introduction to the program, as the title sequence swept in: Think Positive.
Earlier meant to focus on 18 to 25 year olds, I noticed they shifted the at-risk group to span up to the age of 29, and realized I did barely fit into this category, having been diagnosed just weeks before my 30th birthday. Should I feel proud? Not exactly. Hehe.
Following the first gap, they went into HIV testing. Vince, a seafarer, was to get a mandatory HIV test for employment – lo and behold – at the Social Hygiene Clinic in Manila! My very own! Kiko, a freelance writer, was also to get tested because he had been engaging in risky behavior. They showed a clip of the pre-test counseling, followed by a gut-wrenching shot of blood extraction. The thing that makes me go eeew.
As Vince and Kiko began the agonizing wait for their test results, the story transitioned to Echo, a counselor, who then discloses his HIV-positive status. He told his story towards the realization that life still has meaning, in spite of HIV.
Going back, we followed Vince and Kiko’s blood samples to the STD/AIDS Cooperative Central Laboratory, or SACCL, where they gave us an idea of how the tests are done. Vicky Morales then stated how opportunistic infections, and not AIDS, are the killers. Perfecto. A Dr. Avelino of the Philippine National AIDS Council, or PNAC, then discussed the modes of transmission of the virus, and how it may take years after infection for symptoms to arise.
Finally, Vince’s test results were handed to him by my own Dr. Diana Mendoza of the SHC. I was stunned when, as the doctor told him he’s negative, he actually needed to cry on her shoulder. Considering he wasn’t blurred out, I just thought to myself, hmm, this is disclosure of a different kind. Hehe. Okay I’m an ass, sorry. Kiko was negative as well, but still within the window period. He did however speak about realizing the need to protect himself from then on. Truly, positive or negative, HIV tests are life changing.
DOH statistics were next, where, as of 2008 records, there are 3,589 Filipinos with HIV. Estimated true value? Almost double that. A total of 528 were diagnosed in 2008 alone, of which I am just one. Highest prevalence was among age groups 25-29 and 30-34, and 70% were male. One shocking number was that 42% of those diagnosed in December of 2008 were aged from 15 to 24 years, and mostly MSM, or men who have sex with men. Fifteen years old?! Geez.
Several vignettes of Filipinos living with HIV followed. Greg was diagnosed in Dubai prior to the start of his employment. Though he ended with a life-must-go-on attitude, he ushered in the internet as a potential risk factor for the spread of the virus, via personals sites, sex eyeballs and the like. Me? Guilty.
Segueing from the HIV and AIDS situation around the world, a couple of Filipinos living with HIV in the United States were shown. With Charles’ story, came the fact that 31% of HIV-infections in San Francisco are Filipino-Americans, attributing to the apparent ease with which Filipinos blend with western cultures. Henry came next, telling of his current partner of 10 years who is HIV-negative. Indeed, there is hope! Hehe.
Before taking the story back to local soils, I need to point out how doctors in the US have a “cleaning” method for HIV-positive sperm, in order to keep an HIV-negative woman safe when attempting pregnancy. Very interesting.
Back to ‘Pinas, Elvira was next, who I recognized to be my S. I encountered her before at the RITM, remember? She was the female face in this HIV documentary, as she told of the time when medical personnel in Bicol refused to treat her ailing child because they were both HIV-positive, even threatening to have them thrown in jail. Sadly, this caused the eventual demise of her child. But bouncing back, she is proud to be the not-so-stereotypical HIV-positive person, and is now a project coordinator with one of the NGOs.
A short description of Republic Act 8504, the Philippine AIDS Prevention and Control Act of 1998, made way for John, who worked for a call center, and was diagnosed in February of 2008 during a pre-employment medical exam for a job opportunity abroad. He was monogamous with his partner at the time – ergo, not my promiscuous type – but still was exposed to the virus.
And there it was. A guy sitting in front of a computer, surfing and typing. Ngarrr, okay, it was me. The B.I.T.C.H. was on TV. I think I spaced out recognizing myself on the screen. I was cold. I was feverish. I don’t know if it was because I was self-conscious, or it was just the meds. I don’t remember much, other than seeing how bad my posture was and hearing myself explain why I decided to start blogging and describing HIV as nandito na and napapag-usapan. You be the judge.
Positivism wasn’t part of the story, other than a few screen shots that I saw and some videos which were reminiscent of those we have on the e-mag. Darn. Maybe next time.
The plot thickened as they featured statement from the CBCP putting the kontra into contraception again, but thankfully ending with the proposed Reproductive Health Bill which is going through its legislative paces.
A little past midnight, the documentary ended with a reminder of the ABCDEs that can help keep one safe from the virus. Eeeehh memorize ko na yan! Hehe.
Was it just me, or did anyone notice how heavy a commercial load the show had for a late Sunday evening? Were companies actually willing to support this once taboo topic? That’s a good sign, right?
Anyways, other than the fact that it went way past my bedtime, and not because I was part of it, and not even because it seemed to give so much mileage to this blog, I gave the documentary four thumbs up. Yes, four thumbs, because I was cross-eyed with my drowsiness and medicinal high combined. Hehehe.
But seriously, although I would have really wanted it to really take the “positive” angle of HIV to its happiest maximum... and although I thought it was still too huge an issue to cramp into an hour... I thought it was PERFECTO!
Again, kudos to the people who worked on this. "World View Presents Think Positive!" was produced by GMA News and Public Affairs. Executive producer and writer, Jay Orense. Writer and researcher, Glenn Ala. Director and segment producer, Maey Bautista. Researcher, Marie Ann Saballegue. Uhm, is there any way we can get a copy of this? :-D
What did you think about it?
