Here I Am

Here I am.

Okay, so it's not really ME saying "Here I am". But someone is. And that someone isn't just saying it. That someone is coming out. That someone is showing his face, disclosing his identity, not just to his family, but to the whole world, saying... and proudly, at that... "Here I am. I'm living with HIV."

It may be someone you know. Or maybe not. But I'm sure you do want to know who the hell it is. I did. So come in closer and watch with me...

I don't know Laurindo Garcia personally, but his name rings a bell of Fridae.com fame, for those who don't know. And now, here he is.

Here I am.

You can find out more about Laurindo and the Here I am Campaign on www.hereiamcampaign.org.

read more...

summary only...

Yogaing Away AIDS Day

Fine. It’s December. Primarily, I’m dreading the reality that Christmas is fast approaching. Gone are the days when hearing Christmas carols as early as August was a welcome thing. Lately, I’ve been trying hard to ignore the -ber if the months, even as they didn’t exactly sneak up on me. But even before Christmas hits me smack in the face, the dawning of December is something else. It’s World AIDS Day.

December 1 was World AIDS Day. This is officially my third as someone living with HIV. My first, back in 2008, I remember I was home watching how the news would ramp it up, at the same time awaiting the launch of Positivism. My second, last year, I think I was watching some local documentary about HIV. It’s my third. Imagine that?

It’s my third, and still, I object about being part of the celebration, considering I don’t technically classify as having AIDS. Maybe there ought to be a World HIV Day? Oh well, that’s just me and my twisted mind.

My third year. What did I do? I could’ve been glued again to the boob tube with my guns ablaze ready to shoot down all the reporters who would say something wrong about the issue. I could’ve been leafing through the latest UNAIDS report on the global status of HIV. I could’ve actually been surfing through the Project Headshot Clinic albums trying to spot the people I knew. I could’ve even been lined up at the cinema to watch the premiere of the HIV-inspired and DOH-supported indie film H.I.V.: Si Heidi, si Ivy at si Vi. But no. I had plans.

December 1st this year just happened to fall on a Wednesday. And Wednesday is Yoga for Life day. And as an official HIV advocacy, our Yogi Bear and Babe planned to integrate a World AIDS Celebration into the day’s session as well. Involved as I am in Yoga for Life, I honestly didn’t know what was going to happen exactly.

Getting there, the usual: Changed into my shorts. Rolled out a yoga mat. Chika with friends. Then things were taking a twist.

First, candles were being set up. Tea light candles in little red glasses were shaped to form a red ribbon. Around it, the mats were positioned like rays around a sun. And on each mat, another tea light candle was placed. Hmm. Two friends arrived and started hushing with our Yogi Bear and Babe, with a guitar on the side and a stack of papers in hand. What’s this all about? And shortly, we started.

After some breathing exercises and nine sun salutations, we sat down to start what was called a Kirtan, if I’m not mistaken. Basically, it was meditation through song. Fine, I don’t really sing, but I can try. And try I did. Some songs I actually knew. There were church songs, and you know how I’m not exactly the church type. There were Tagalog songs, the cheesy kind, which I like. And some English songs, including the Rent classic, Seasons of Love. But singing wasn’t all of what it was about, surprisingly.

In between the songs, the floor was opened to anyone who had something to share with the group. Our Yogi Babe started the ball rolling, expressing how honored she was to have been destined for Yoga for Life. My BFF followed, a bit emotional at that. Then our Yogi Bear. Then BFF’s kid. Then BFF’s future boyfie… it just went on and on and on. It seemed like so many people had something to say.

Quite remarkable was how most of those who spoke were the positives, telling their stories and how our little community had factored into their lives, actually getting to the point of disclosing their status to the group. Significant, as for some, it was the first time they were to disclose in front of a crowd. At Yoga for Life, there’s an unspoken don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy when it comes to status, aside from the fact that you really couldn’t guess who was positive and who was not just by looking at us as a group. Test us all, why don’t you…

Anyway, the stories varied. Some thankful. Some emotional. Some just poured their hearts out. One of them talked about feeling the ripples of disclosing to a parent, and how heartbroken he was about being judged for his condition by the very person from whose womb he came.

I admit, it wasn’t easy to listen to a sad story as that. And I would’ve had much to say, talking from my own experiences and drawing on what analysis I could make, if only I had the guts to speak up. But then I’m not exactly the expert on disclosing to parents, am I? Hehehe. Oh well, maybe what insight I can share with him someday might help somehow. Someday, someday.

I, of course, didn’t volunteer to speak. But alas. I was volunteered. Argh. It was a conspiracy against me. Darn, even Yogi Babe has now figured out how I looooove (urk) being put on the spot. So aloof and anti-social as I am, I dug deep trying to weave my thoughts together impromptu.

Of course, I still don’t have a sob story. But as I looked around realizing that I probably was the one person in the group that evening that had been living with HIV the longest, maybe I did have some thoughts to impart. Don’t ask me what those thoughts were exactly, because again, I was speaking half-conscious, half-unconscious, half-subconscious, and half-self-conscious. Dami, ‘di ba?

I remember pointing out how life must go on for all of us. I remember saying HIV is not a punishment, but rather a challenge and an opportunity to care for one’s self and others more, and make changes for the better. I remember mentioning my HIV tagline, about how H.I.V. for me is a whole different acronym… Happy In spite of the Virus. I was staring into the candles for most of that time, so I’m not sure if I made sense, if at all. But hopefully I did.

At the end of it all, I was glad I wasn’t glued to the television this year. Yoga for Life has proven itself to be a real community, and 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. Celebrating hope that humanity will not be beaten by a measly virus. Celebrating faith that there is purpose to be found in everything. Celebrating reassurance that every one of us, positive or negative, is and has been blessed.

Happy World AIDS Day!

read more...

summary only...

Our Power of You

Subic. It’s December 2, the crack of dawn right now. We travelled three hours by bus from Manila Monday night to be here in time for yesterday, the first day of an HIV Awareness campaign training thing for school officials and student leaders, organized by the Department of Education with the support of UNICEF. E is sound asleep in the bed next to mine, while I’m sitting up in bed right now... blogging. Freaky, huh? Yes, E, gising na si lola. Hahaha.

Yesterday was just the first of three days, but it was so overwhelming... so much so that I was too speechless to blog last night, but at this break of dawn everything’s coming back to me and I don’t even know where to start telling you about it.

Basically this all started way back in April when they aired the interview I granted to GMA’s World View on HIV. Yep, the one where some of you watched the back of my head talking. Mr. DepEd just happened to be watching, and contacted my through the blog after that. Little did he know that he’d be having a project like this dealing with HIV.

The DepEd and UNICEF came up with Power Of You, a youth-targeted interactive video about HIV and STIs. It’s a choose-your-own-adventure thing, where users are immersed in the lives of fellow youths and asked to make choices in life surrounding the risk of HIV. And they gathered school officials and student leaders from Luzon here in Subic this week to train them in the usage of the video and how to get the messages across to other kids. Enter E and I.

Mainly, our role was to be resource persons for the sensitization and testimonial part of the program. We were to give a tangible face to HIV. And knowing what kind of a face needed to be given to HIV, we were up to the challenge.

Okay fine, we were up to the challenge until just before our part. But after a morning filled with the prospect of a hundred unfamiliar faces staring at me and judging me, not knowing how things will turn out, my innate stage fright kicking in, and one hell of a biblical debate that crucified us sinners which left E brimming with feist... well, needless to say, I was shaking in my boots and preparing to sweat bullets.

Kuya DepEd Introduced E and I, and actually prematurely gave away that we were indeed HIV positive. I had had it worked into my presentation to give as much shock value as possible, but hell, it’d be too late to back down now.

Basically, E and I were on the opposite ends of the spectrum. He was pasaway boy, who lived a pasaway life that led to HIV. I was geeky boy who lived an almost ideal life that still led to HIV. So we were opposite ends of the spectrum that met in the middle. Point be told, HIV is everyone’s concern.

I breezed through my life story unexpectedly easily actually. I’m the type of person who is terrified to stand before a crowd, but once I get going, I take on a whole new tougher me. I was lucky to have gotten to that phase. I stood there proudly sharing my wares of where I studied and what I accomplished, but hopefully showed how I humbly accepted and coped with being HIV positive.

E followed with his life story. And though his life story involved such shocking times as smoking at age 10, drugs and prostitution, he just had to flash his pearly whites – his teeth, not his briefs – to win the crowd over.

Really, I think the biggest shocker for the audience was that for most of them, they would not have fathomed ever meeting anyone who had HIV in person, let alone two in a day, or in their lifetimes. And with an open forum to follow, we were prepared – or more like we needed to be prepared – to handle these curious young ones and young once.

The questions thrown to us were a spectrum in themselves, from everything from treatment, discrimination, life changes to love lives and sex lives. As usual, I think we painted the kind of HIV positive picture we wanted... a positive one. The liberty at which the students and even the school officials expressed how they “commended”, “congratulated”, “admired” and were “inspired by” us was every bit of flattering, touching and overwhelming. If I’m not mistaken, someone actually shed a tear listening to our unexpectedly happy stories.

People came up to us after to shake our hands, ask for contact details, and even have pictures taken with us... I know, right?! Good luck to us with how far those pictures will go, hahaha. I mean we weren’t celebrities or anything. But neither was this the venue to show how paranoid someone with HIV could be. We were here to empower the positives and enlighten the negatives. Roar!

But it was still just all so overwhelming. This is technically my first major “coming out” experience to date, and believe me, I was prepared for the worst. I was surprised some biblical lady didn’t take a stone from her bag to have a swing at us with. So as a first, this was the best it could ever get. And I’m surprised to hear myself saying... coming out ain’t so bad after all.

So is the title “Back In The Closet” nearing the end of its useful life? Well not quite. Not until I muster up the guts to tell my family. But this is a good step forward, right?

So on behalf of E, I thank the participants for opening their ears and minds to our stories. We hope we got our message across. Yep, even we have and need our “Power Of You”. To the guys and gals of DepEd and UNICEF, thank you, thank you, thank you for this opportunity... and see you again later for more. Hehehe.

read more...

summary only...

Weather Weather

The thought of disclosing my HIV status to my family honestly never leaves my mind. I put it aside at times – actually, most of the time – but it’s there. On one hand, it scares me that they might not care enough. But on the other hand, what scares me even more is the possibility of drowning in attention. Sigh. Weather-weather lang.

Timing is critical. When in good times, a disclosure like that might seem like I’m raining on someone’s parade. I don’t want to rain on anyone’s parade. When in bad times, it might seem like I’m stealing someone’s thunder. I would never dream of stealing anyone’s thunder. Weather-weather.

Lately there has been a lot going on with the family.

An aunt of mine – my dad’s youngest sister – died suddenly earlier this year. It wasn’t too devastating for me because she had been living abroad ever since, but needless to say it was surprising. She was 59, just a year older than my dad was when he died.

Just this month, all of my dad’s other siblings came back to the country to lay her ashes to rest. They, along with my mom, all took the trip back to the province for the weekend to get things done. I chose not to go. But I couldn’t help imagining how things would’ve gone if I used this rare opportunity of having them all in one place to disclose my secret. Hmm.

I imagine my deceased aunt staring down at me saying Tsk, tsk, tsk... Attention whore! This is my day... my sunshine! Go get your own! So with that, I wasn’t regretting not taking that opportunity.

Last week, when both my mom’s and my own birthdays were, I again thought if that was my good timing. Happy days supposedly, right? But I flashed back to ten years ago, when I admitted my homosexuality to my parents on my 21st birthday. One of the first things my mom managed to say through her sobs was Is this your birthday gift to me? I could’ve been a total ass and said No, this is MY birthday gift to myself, but of course, I wasn't and I didn’t.

Now, considering finding out someone is gay is nothing compared to finding out he has HIV, I just don’t think disclosing my HIV status anywhere close to her birthday will solicit any less negative thoughts than ten years ago. I don’t want to be raining on her parade... again.

This week, it was my mom’s side of the family. Another aunt of mine – my mom’s sister and my godmother if I’m not mistaken – underwent a hysterectomy. Yesterday, news came in that they had found more malignant tumors, and I think she’ll be needing to undergo chemotherapy after. Still no final word on whether everything went well.

Now this aunt may be my favorite, because I don’t remember any time that I felt inferior in her eyes. I know I’m not perfect, but I always felt she focused on what I had than what I didn’t. It was just in her personality to be that way. And so I shouldn’t be wondering why I’m tearing up while I’m writing this, should I?

Naturally, everyone in the family was ready to be at her side. So then I wondered, would this have made a good opportunity to disclose my own misfortune? Again, not immediately a great idea. She needs all the sympathy right now, and I’m just not going to ruin that for her. I’m not stealing her thunder.

Kuya Kim: Laging tatandaan na ang buhay ay weather-weather lang.

And so... I’m left absolutely clueless again with this timing thing. My disclosure of my HIV status has the potential to make good days bad, and bad days worse. Anytime and everytime seems not to be the right time. It’s always someone’s sunshine, someone’s rain, someone’s thunder. I wonder when I’ll find my own weather. Whenever it may be, I just hope it won’t be too late.

read more...

summary only...

Psyched Out

I don’t know what’s been going on, but I’ve found myself volunteering more and more to be a representative of the HIV-positive person. It’s a consequence of my being more relatively in-your-face from the start about my whole HIV story.

I received an e-mail last week from a group of psychology majors who were doing a study on some things that an MSM who lives with HIV has to deal with. They had found me through this blog and I certainly fit their criteria. I didn’t really have to give it a second thought, and I agreed to meet the group.

I’m not sure, but I think the fact that they were from the same university I went to made me more eager to do it. Making sure not to give them any clue, I decided I’d reveal that fact to them at the end of the meeting, so it would not be something that they nor I would need to factor into the conversation.

My eagerness to do this particular meeting hit a speed bump when I realized that my sister taught at the same department of this same university where these students were from. I was thinking what a hilarious coincidence it would be if my sister turned out to be their professor. So again, I decided not to dare ask who their professor was until the end of the meeting.

It was another benefit-of-the-doubt thing to be waiting inside the mall for some strangers to come up to me. After a few minutes standing there, I was approached by two girls. It was them. The third member of their group was to join us in a while.

While walking to the third floor of the mall, they began chatting me up. It was fine to some extent, but hearing them refer to me with words like sir, kuya, po and opo was a bit uncomfortable. Considering I was more dressed down than they were, I requested them to treat me as a peer. I just thought it’d make things more comfortable for the rest of the afternoon. And it would be good for my ego, too.

Getting to the almost empty coffee place, we took a table at the very corner, and they began explaining that this was to be an unstructured interview, where they had no real outline, basically just letting the conversation take on its natural flow. They simply called it kwentuhan. Cool. They also mentioned that they had already spoken to members of the so-called HIV advocacy groups, which only struck me because of the fact that what they learned there could already have caused them to formulate patterns for MSMs with HIV. Patterns which I probably won’t conform to.

It was an awkward start for all of us, to be honest, but when the third member of the group arrived, he had the secret to breaking the ice. He had been reading this blog religiously, I believe, so much so that he was accurately able to use several entries, situations and personalities that I’ve mentioned here to formulate his questions.

So with Mr. In-One-of-your-Entries opening the floodgates, they were able to tap into my thoughts, and I found myself rambling openly and comfortably with the group. The two other girls followed suit and opened up as well, and they became Ms. I-Have-a-Question and Ms. I-Have-a-Realization. Don’t get me wrong, these were all good aspects of each of them, and I really do believe that it was their diversity that made them a great team.

After about three hours of touching every aspect of my story, even going beyond the supposed scope of their topic, it was refreshing to see them all still laughing and smiling. That, to me, was good, because it meant that I had told my story just as it was, which was far from tragic. The most significant thing I heard from them was that I seemed so different from the guys from the HIV advocacy groups that they’d spoken to. I took that as a compliment.

As the end of the meeting approached, Ms. I-Have-a-Question wanted to know if writing was any part of my profession or education, to which I answered, “No”. Asking what course I actually took in college, I said I’d tell them off the record later, which was when Mr. In-One-of-your-Entries reached for the voice recorder and turned it off. So I told them. You’d think they’d stop there? No, no, no.

I soon found them passing the baton to each other, wanting to ask me something else. I had a hunch what it was about, but waited. Ms. I-Have-a-Question stepped up to the plate. I was right. They wanted to know where I went to college. They didn’t ask what school, but rather named their own, asking if I graduated from there or not. I was giggling at the fact that they guessed right, and that they couldn’t even stop themselves from asking or wait for my planned confession. So I said simply, “Yes”.

With I-knew-its all around, they admitted they were so convinced based on the way I dressed, the way I spoke, the way my mind worked and even went as far as saying it was evident in my eyes. Very intuitive. I felt good that I was that open and transparent to them, as I pride myself with being a no frills kind of guy. But I had also confirmed that these people were amazingly smart. They had psyched me out.

With that secret out of the way, I decided to ask my other question. Who was their professor? With drum rolls in the back of my mind, they mentioned a name. Nope, it wasn’t my sister. I’m not sure if I was relieved or disappointed, having considered the possibility of this being a chance from the heavens for me to come out to my sister. Darn.

At that point, we wrapped up. They presented me with a token of thanks, which I certainly wasn’t expecting or asking for. After agreeing to follow-up meetings after this and hugs all around, we went our separate ways. I couldn’t help smiling on the walk home, recalling the afternoon’s events. I realize that I do love sharing my story, and I was left with a high for me to enjoy.

Though I can only hope that I have been able to share my knowledge and my experiences to these members of the new generation, I acknowledge that I too have learned a lot from them. More than just the objective of a passing grade, they have shared with me their sincerity, their interest and their passion in the lives of us who live with HIV, and if I may take them to be rightful representatives of their generation, then there is definitely much hope for the future.

read more...

summary only...

Ol' Friend

It was January 5th, the first working day after the long holiday break. The day started out slow, as did the week, and though I did get some work done, I admit my mind was still in vacation mode.

The day went by faster than expected, and nothing unusual really happened. At least not until the last few minutes of my work day. Something just left me speechless, and in a daze.

It was my fault really, I just had to check my personal e-mail account before heading home. I found some of my usual friend requests from a personals site, but like a sore thumb, one message stood out. It was an alert that I had a message waiting at another personals site. I hadn’t been very active there lately, so I really wasn’t getting or expecting any messages at all. And curiously, and foolishly, I clicked.

Just three words. Three simple words that threw my world out of orbit. I’m single now. I remember saying to myself, Oh fuck.

It came from, let’s just say, an Ol' Friend. I met my Ol' Friend back in 2007, just after I broke up with my last boyfriend. As usual, we fucked on the first date. It was a no strings attached thing, but we ended up enjoying each other’s company, both in and out of bed. What was supposed to be a fuck and run, ended up with me hanging out at his place for the morning and reporting for work at lunch time. We clicked so much that we ended up hanging out a lot after that. I’d hang out at this Ole Friend’s place, we’d have drinks together, I’d sleep over, we’d fuck a lot, and talk about every thing under the sun for hours and hours at a time. Did I mention we fucked a lot?

We were good together. The one catch, my Ol' Friend was courting someone. It wasn’t really a problem for me, because I’d just gotten out of a relationship, and actually chose to give myself some time to stay single. And I knew I was comfortable with the set-up because I was totally okay with talking about his special someone. But not for long.

Months of being together-but-not-together passed by, and I realized I was falling for my Ol' Friend. After hearing how his special someone would treat him, I knew I could do better. But it was not to be. My Ole Friend chose to be mistress to his someone, who incidentally was mistress to someone else, than to have me all to himself. But I wasn’t planning on being a tertiary level mistress in one hell of an entangled love web. So I said, we’d be nothing more than friends.

I knew I’d fallen for him, because it hurt like hell. But I didn’t let it show. I sucked it up and kept on going. Believe me, my theme song was Kung Ako Na Lang Sana. We would still hang out together, and do everything else we used to do. But I made sure sex was a no-no. I never even knew I had that much pride in me. We’d sleep together, but nothing more. Just sleep sleep. On some nights, he’d try to make a move, but I would always say no. Gosh, it’s fucking hard to say no.

Like I said, we carried on. He just liked me sooo much. When he was lonely, all he needed to do was lay a guilt trip on me, and I’d be there in a flash. I was a stand-in, when his boyfriend wasn’t around. When they’d be fighting, I’d be there to lean on. When he’d want to go clubbing in Malate, I’d be his designated buddy. And mind you, Malate is NOT my kind of place. Hell, I became such a pushover that I even cleaned up when he puked all over his place after a long night of drinking. And even if he got mad and almost drove me out of his place from embarrassment after that, I didn’t mind. Think doormat. Think panakip-butas.

I was unappreciated, and he knew it. That was apparent when he told me I deserved more love from him than what his boyfriend was getting. But he made clear he couldn’t give it to me. That sucked. But more than that, it hurt and it made me cry. A classic case of consuelo de bobo.

I don’t remember how exactly it ended, but I think I missed sleeping in my own bed and being alone so much, and probably had enough of the partying and the drinking, that decided to fade away. I needed to take care of myself again.

I think I last saw this Ol' Friend in December of 2007, long before my plight with HIV began. He doesn’t know how much I’ve been through since that time. The only thing he’s heard from my side is an anonymous text message telling him to get tested for HIV. Yes, he’s one of the lucky ones who got it. I don’t know exactly what he did with it, but he should’ve gotten it.

For the past couple of months though, this Ol' Friend has been trying to make contact. Via e-mail and my guys4men account, and even through friendster. All I’ve been doing is deleting his messages. Apparently he’d lost my mobile number, which is fortunate for the hiding game I’ve been playing.

Up until that fateful day when I read those three words, I’m single now. And all I’m thinking is It’s too late. Things have changed. I’ve changed. Why me? Why now?

It took me the whole week to have the guts to face those three words again. The only reply I could manage was I’m sorry to hear that. What happened? Consider it as half being concerned, half acting unassuming and half confining it to small talk. See, even my math is fucked up.

I know I’m miles away from telling him about my HIV, but I did the least possible for old times’ sake. Let’s just say I didn’t have a choice, and couldn’t act like I didn’t care. Maybe he deserves an explanation? Maybe he doesn’t? Maybe I deserve an explanation? Maybe I don't? Who knows? I don’t know how this chapter is going to unravel.

read more...

summary only...

Coming Clean

Finally, I can write about R. We’d met the first and only time earlier this year, when a common friend of ours organized a threesome. My friend and I drove to R’s place, and roarrr, I liked him. He was my type: manly, mature, smart, and very dominant. But being an expert at threesomes, I always make sure the guys I’m with get their fair share of the action. So we did the deed.

R and I kept in touch after that, but before there was any opportunity for us to meet again, I found out that I was HIV positive. And for lack of having an excuse to see him again, I told him.

This thing with R sounds similar with my thing with Mojo, but it was more complicated. Why? Even R doesn’t know this yet, and he’ll be finding out for the first time from this blog entry. That one time we had sex happened on April 7th, while I was waiting for the results of my HIV test. It was after March 31st, when my blood sample was taken, and before April 16th when I got my results. I’m not proud and I realize now how lackadaisical I really was about getting tested.

R basically didn’t take the news of my being poz too well. I knew from the way he bombarded me with messages and questions that he was panicking. And as it was at a time when I myself was in a chaotic state of mind, I didn’t know how to calm him down. He got tested almost as soon as I told him, and it came up negative. But we both knew that wasn’t enough.

It was such a small HIV world, that he found this blog shortly after, probably in the midst of his panic. He even asked me point blank if I knew the guy who was writing it. I denied, of course. And with the truth being in this blog, I had to change my story with him: when I got tested, when I got my results, my age, and even my birthdate. Talk about paranoia, huh? That's why I never wrote about R, because he'd find out it was me.

I was witness to how hard it was for him to spend the next few months just waiting for the window period to expire. And for those next few months, he never stopped bugging me, until I just chose to stop replying to his messages altogether, mostly because I felt he was just dragging me down with him into depression. I knew I held some responsibility for his dilemma, but needed to help myself before anyone else.

So we lost touch, or at least I did, until that fateful day that he sent me a message after the window period passed, saying his HIV retest just turned up negative. I’m sure I heaved a sigh of relief that time and congratulated him. I think his reply was something to the tune of he’ll still be there for me, but I never held him to that promise, not after I dropped him like a hot potato in his own time of need.

So months and months passed, but I do recall getting messages from R. It wasn’t that often, probably just once every other month, asking how I was doing. I’d reply, but still felt too guilty to take too much of his time.

Up until last week, when he sent his usual how-are-you-doing-buddy, which he followed up with asking if he could call so we could talk. I was hesitant, because I didn’t feel worthy of his care and his time. I was also worried because I couldn’t remember all the details of the story I’d fabricated to cover myself up. But I gave in after a few more messages, sent him my number, and we talked.

R started out asking how I was, then moving on to more personal stuff about my family, work and other stuff. I was on to him. He was checking my story out. So I decided, fine, it’s time to come clean. I answered all his questions with utmost truth, completely aware that these same details could be found littered in this blog. I honestly had a smirk on my face talking with him, as if we were playing Pinoy Henyo.

We continued our conversation the next day, which was when, upon being asked again, I finally admitted to being the owner of this blog. It was liberating, probably even for him. He told me he’d been following this blog religiously, never forgetting the suspicion he had all along that it was me. I thanked him, and surprisingly, he thanked me too. He thanked me for triggering this phase in his life, where, as he said, he realized and learned a lot.

Although I'm wondering whether my admission changed his view of me as a person, or whether it changed his view of the PinoyPoz or B.I.T.C.H. writing this blog, either way, I was just appreciative of the time he took to salvage what he could out of our friendship. I know you’re reading this, R. Thanks for listening to – and reading – my story. And thanks for still being a friend. This is just filthy old me, finally coming clean.

read more...

summary only...

Coming Out?

I started this blog feeling like I was, as entitled, Back in the Closet. But as I went along my HIV journey, I started seeing that things weren’t so bad. And especially since the so-called HIV advocacy groups showed me how they were Back in the Panic Room, I realized how relatively liberated I was about this HIV thing.

I think it was my effort to learn more about my condition that gave me some visibility to the road further ahead. Okay, maybe not so much as to just blurt it out to my family just yet. But it’s like I’ve become was comfortable with myself again, ready to face the world. So am I actually coming out?

Well, honestly, to some extent, I have been coming out.

Other than the doctors and medical personnel who tested me positive for HIV, my first ever attempt at disclosing my status was with Mojo, who I’ve mentioned in earlier posts. I was just weeks into being HIV positive, and we were leaning towards pursuing each other for something beyond sex at the time, and I had no reason to give for my sudden loss of interest. So I confessed. Yes, it felt like confessing, like it was a sin to have HIV. His initial reaction was irritating, because he had to ask if I was joking. That would’ve been such a bad joke, wouldn’t it? But he redeemed himself when he said, “I’m still your friend.” I had that message saved in my inbox until about a month ago, when I finally admitted to myself that we’d lost touch. I felt his sincerity when he said he’d still be a friend, but he couldn’t hide the fear, which was so bad that he hasn’t gotten tested himself, from fear of the possibility of being HIV positive. And although I still feel that his fear of HIV translated to being afraid of me, I’ve forgiven him.

Since that time and this blog, I’ve been pretty open to coming out. Of course, telling fellow pozzies doesn’t count as coming out at all. But I’ve openly given my number to some readers, given my real life Friendster account to some who wanted to put a face on me, given out my full name, especially lately with this campaign for Baby Nathan, and even gotten the chance to meet a few people who’d been reading this blog. And yes, occasions have come where a new guy would be looking to hook up, at which point I sometimes choose to tell, so he’d have time to change his mind if he wanted to.

Has it been that easy? Not at all. It’s taken a bit of courage and a lot of trust for me to be able to do such things. But then again, I always think to myself, “How can I expect them to accept me and my condition, if I am drowning in my own paranoia?”

Impressive? Not really. Because I opened up to these people as strangers. And as I always said, the less a person knew me, the easier it was to tell.

So what about the rest? Well, honestly, I’ve been too chicken to tell some of my other contacts myself. And when I say contacts, I mean... okay, sexual contacts. So I did the next best thing. I backtracked through my sexual contacts up to more than a year ago, and had a friend contact them anonymously, to advise them to get tested for HIV. The reactions varied from asking who the sender was, replying to the anonymous number that they’d just gotten tested, sending foul messages to their alleged stalker, or most commonly, assuming that they did get the message, not replying. But I felt that was as decent a warning as I could manage.

Sometimes though, especially lately, I find myself disclosing my status to some of my guys. These are guys who I’ve met before, and were interested in seeing me again. These were guys who knew what a slut I was and with whom I had chemistry, and for whom I had no valid reason to suddenly be uninterested in having sex. I can’t just hurt their feelings with lies like I didn’t enjoy our last time, or I don’t miss doing it with you. I just can’t. And so I tell.

Again, a bit of courage, and a huge benefit of the doubt. I usually start with the line “I got sick,” to which they usually reply “I hope you’re feeling better now.” At that point, I’d throw my cares in the air and drop the bomb, “I found out I have HIV.” Again, some would ask if I was joking, which pisses me off, but eventually, the reality would set in. So far, no really negative reactions. They’d say they’d be there for me, wish that I was okay, and even go as far as check every so often how I was doing. The worst, so far, just involved us losing touch all of a sudden, which isn’t surprising at all. The best? Some guys would say they’d still want to see me, and even better, would still want to have sex with me. That still throws me off guard, until now.

Do I really have to tell them? Technically, no. But let’s put it this way: Granted that these guys may just be after sex, I’d like to be in a similar frame of mind, thinking that this is just HIV. It doesn’t change who I am, but rather, it just changes the premise of meeting. Definitely, it changes my sexual limitations, and possibly, it can change their interest in me. And whether it does or doesn’t, I’m fine with it. I’m not the same as before, when I’d have as many as three sex sessions in a day, three to four days a week, every week. Sounds like a gym workout, doesn’t it? I’ve mellowed down a lot, and have been finding myself resorting to every excuse there is to get out of a sex meet, but definitely, hearing HIV seems to douse most guys’ libidos most effectively.

So the road to disclosure hasn’t been as bad as I expected. But it’s still all baby steps for me. My next milestone would be being able to come out to my sister, which honestly, right now, doesn’t seem too far away. It certainly helps to have a full understanding of my condition, so helping others understand me and HIV won’t be too hard. But again, baby steps, baby steps. For now, I'm still Back in the Closet. Hopefully, someday, sometime and someway, I’ll be able to come out to the world, and with them realize that... my deepest, darkest secret is really no big deal.

read more...

summary only...

Oh Sistah!

My sister is the eldest in our brood of three, while I’m the youngest. Not much of an age gap to speak of, though, as we were born just three years apart from each other. Spending my childhood with her didn’t really leave much of an impression on me, since we would usually do things separately. You know... the Mars versus Venus thing. One thing I do remember is that she and my brother would always team up and pick on me. Pretty normal, don’t you think?

I believe I’ve mentioned my sister a number of times since starting this blog. So I might as well tell you more.

Growing up with her was a different story. She became a thorn in my side. Being siblings, I expected her to be an ally against authority figures. But no. She always played mommy-junior, echoing every disappointment my mom had for me. So much for her being my hero.

She was always so perfect. She set the standards when it came to educational achievements. And man, were they high. The sad part was that I was always compared to her.

Just like her, I graduated at the top of the class in primary school. But unlike her, I never had any medals to add to the showcase. Just like her, I graduated from one of the toughest secondary schools in town. But that never mattered because my grades were never as high as hers. Just like her, I graduated from one of the best universities in the country. But unlike her, I needed extra years to finish my course.

I know I didn’t do too bad, but being compared to her just magnified my flaws and left me at the bottom of the pack. I’m probably an underachiever because of her. I became an underachiever hidden behind the guise of being easily contented with what little I had and proud of what little I was capable of.

So far from the looks of things, we were never close. Add to that the fact that she moved out on her own earlier on, leaving us even less time to build a mature relationship.

But somehow we did. I don’t know exactly how it happened, but I think it started when she needed someone to take care of her dog and her house while she was at work, for a couple of weeks, after a burglar broke into her place. She chose me. I was honored. I couldn’t believe she trusted me that much, and felt safe coming home to find me there.

Since then, she’d gotten married, and man, I was holding back the tears at her wedding. Who would’ve imagined we’d build that kind of relationship? She and her husband eventually moved to a neighboring city, but she’d still call on me to man their house or take her dog while she was out of town.

Our relationship is... civil. We’re not all mushy and I-love-you about it, but the ties are definitely there. We don’t get to talk that often, but each is just a phone call away when the other one is in need. We understand each other. We have the same humor. We have the same pet peeves. We’ve even accepted the fact that I’m a male version of her, and she a female version of me. Good thing we look pretty good either way.

The last phone conversation we had started with me ranting about my mom. Shortly after, the conversation shifted to her ranting... ranting about how she’d just had her appendix removed, and how she’d had a couple of benign cysts removed from her breasts before that. I was shocked. She never told me any of this. But again, I was honored she trusted me with her stories. I offered support, and mostly humor about it, although she begged me not to make her laugh because it still caused her pain in the side.

And then, my realization came. This is why I thought she would be the perfect person to tell about my condition. This is why I thought she deserved to know I have HIV. Because if I could count on the fact that she was just a female version of me, then that would be the same way she’d take my revelation. Light, supportive, and positive.

I don’t know how, where or when I’ll tell her, but God is definitely sending me the signs. I can’t promise I won’t cry when I tell her, but I’m sure it won’t take long for her to make a joke out of it and tickle me silly. I can’t be sure she won’t faint with the news, but she’ll snap out of it soon enough. I can’t say she won’t be all mommy-junior about it, but I know she won’t judge me for it. I won’t promise she’d understand everything right off the bat, but I know I won’t have to apologetic about it.

So I’ll leave it at that for now. When I'll tell her, and if I'll tell her, only the heavens know. The only thing definite now is that... I do love my sister.

read more...

summary only...

Movie Review

It’s been a good week. No biggie. Nothing extremely good, nothing extremely bad. When the weekend came, no real plans. A former buddy of mine sent me a message inviting to have “fun”, but of course I had to decline, under the alibi of “dating somebody”. I find that excuse to be most effective for me right now. I cannot just tell them that sex, orgies and slutting isn’t my thing. That would be the surprise of the century. There would have to be some reason for me to mellow down this much. And there is a reason, and you guys know it. It’s just not that easy a reason to blurt out.

Saturday morning, I got a text message asking if I’d like to go watch a movie that afternoon. It was someone I had encountered online, but never met before. A movie? Innocent enough, right? It would be overly assuming of me to think this was more than just a movie. So I agreed. He even told me he’d invite another guy along, which to me, made it much safer and easier to get away from, should anything more happen.

So I left the house braving the rains and got to Greenhills just on time. We met. He looked good. We needed to walk right into the movie, so we didn’t have much time to talk before that. Not much talk inside either, as we seemingly concentrated on the movie. Silence. But it was comfortable. There was only one incident of attempted physical contact inside, when he put his hand on my knee in the latter part of the movie. It was a bit unexpected, I wasn’t sure if he was being cheeky. Not that I didn’t like it.

We walked out when it ended, and he asked that I accompany him to the mall to buy something. Sure. I had nothing against it. At least I wasn’t just sent off, right? He asked if I had plans that evening, to which I said no. Then he told me he wanted to see the other movie that was also showing. I didn’t get it right away, but he wanted to see it that evening too. Hmm, two movies in one night. Well, it’s been a while since I’d watched one movie at the cinemas, let alone two. So, I agreed. And on we went.

Still no talking. Probably because it was another good movie. But the previous attempt of his hand on my thigh went… further. He caressed my knee again, held my hand, and kissed it. I didn’t know a proper way to stop it. I’ve never needed to. Needless to say, groping in movie houses is improper. And needless to say, we were improper.

Ok, so it didn’t go much further, which is a big WHEW for me. We grabbed some coffee after the movie, and he dropped me off near where I live. The evening was good. I admit it made my weekend. But walking home, I realized that I was in a dilemma.

I know I have HIV. And I will tell some people eventually. But I maintain that this should be on a need-to-know basis. So who needs to know? People I had encounters with before, people I trust and people who deserve to know. It seems, definitely, new acquaintances do not need to know, unless we’ve built up enough of a friendship to deem them to need to know. But when the time comes that we’ve built enough of a friendship, it’s much, much harder to reveal my secret. Questions as to why I didn’t tell them before will come up. Especially if by that time, we’d gotten into compromising situations. I realize it’s easier to tell a complete stranger. Should I immediately assume that anyone I’m about to meet will want to get frisky with me? Should having HIV be a premise to the person I introduce myself to be?

So that’s my dilemma. It’s like trying to figure out whether the chicken or the egg should come first. I don’t have ready answers to my questions. One additional thing I’ll have to figure out. Soon. I never imagined watching a movie could be this problematic. Sigh.

read more...

summary only...

Close Encounter

A Monday night out?! It’s the first working day of the week. Very unlike me. This Monday was different. Not for a date, not even for sex.

I had finally gotten some use out of my poz.com account. Prior to this, I had my profile up in the personals, but not much replies from the other Pinoys there. I encountered C on the site.

C and I exchanged e-mails and contact numbers, and agreed to meet Monday night. I have no idea where my fear, paranoia and shyness went at that time. I jumped right in. He said he’d be in the Ortigas area, where I work, so we could meet there. So C and I met. We clicked right away, just while walking to find a place to eat. Living with HIV just gave us so much to talk about. We settled into a table at McDonalds for dinner.

At 36, he’d been living with HIV for 5 years now. He’s on ARVs, and is doing ok. Although he did have to resign from his previous job because of the stress. I wasn’t sure if the stress had affected his health or not. But he’s in the process of applying for a new job now, which is always good.

My two and a half months being poz is nothing compared to his 5 years, and I knew I had much to learn from him. Some of the things were affirmations of what I thought. Others were totally new to me.

He shared with me how he was diagnosed in the Middle East, and even jailed for a year for being HIV positive. I could not help but realize how lucky I was to be here in the Philippines.

He told me about Pinoy Plus, which according to him is a non-government organization which serves as a support group for PLWHAs. He offered to take me there one of these days when I was ready to meet people and had some free time.

He told me to watch out for depression, and explained to me how my acceptance was not the end of depression phase. He recounted how he has been through several cycles of depression and acceptance, noticeably triggered by some unfortunate day to day events or situations.

I complained to him about the doctors practically “requiring” me to have my family with me when I go for my ARVs, and he told me to take my time telling the family, to seriously consider and limit the persons who need to know, and to just settle for the support of friends if telling the family was too big a hurdle towards my ARV medications. It was a relief to receive that affirmation.

We talked about the H4 ward at the San Lazaro Hospital, as well as the Research Institute for Tropical Medicine, or RITM, an alternative venue to the H4 located in Alabang, where he is registered. C explained that whereas it’s free at the H4 ward at the San Lazaro Hospital since it is a government hospital (I wasn’t exactly sure whether everything was free or just services or accommodations or what), at the RITM, discounts of 75% are apparently given to HIV patients.

What interested me most, was the information he shared with me regarding benefits available to people living with HIV in the Philippines. Regarding Pag-ibig benefits, or the Home Development Mutual Fund, he said something like it is an option for people like us to retire and withdraw all accumulated contributions to one’s name. Even better for the Social Security System, apparently, SSS members infected with HIV may opt to file for disability and qualify for a monthly pension. Something he is able to count on while he is unemployed. Very interesting. He warned, though, that filing for disability while I am employed or still connected with my employer may as well mean I’ll be coming out of my closet whether I like it or not. He says it would be more advisable to file when one is no longer connected to any employer. It made sense. He didn’t mention anything about Philhealth, or the Philippine Health Insurance Company, but I’m guessing they have to have something for us as well. This was all good news for me, to know that there are these opportunities for people like me. It might make the future less daunting. But I’ll do more research on it and tell you more.

We ended the evening walking towards the bus stop and going our separate ways on different bus routes. But everything was good. We bid goodbye with hopes of keeping in touch and meeting again.

All that, and more, left me with so much learnings. It was exciting. I was truly fortunate to have encountered and met C. I realized there were so many facets to this “new life” of mine. Much, much more to learn for sure. I’m up for it.

read more...

summary only...

My Sanity

Exactly two months ago today, I found out that I am HIV positive. Not exactly something to celebrate, but maybe just reason enough to be happy that I’ve survived this long and managed to remain sane… for now.

My HIV journey has slowed down a bit, after hitting that speedbump of needing to tell someone before getting started on the ARVs. Someone to help me on my journey. Easier said than done. I’m still numbed at the proposition, and still trying to figure out what to do next. I’m tempted to ask how urgent it is for me to start on my ARVs.

I was talking to a Swedish poz guy I encountered on one of the gay personals sites I frequent. In his opinion, I wasn’t doing too badly, and he didn’t think I needed the medication too urgently.

He may not be a medical expert, but he speaks from experience of living with HIV for 4 years now. So I have to admit that what he says does carry some weight with me.

So I’m tempted to think. What’s the real deal anyways? What’s really going on? Do I really need to start on anti-retroviral medication? Or is this sense of urgency merely a ploy to try to fasttrack my “coming out” to my family? That’s just playing with my emotions, and really not very much fun. Emotional blackmail, to be harsh about it.

I hate having to bother to think such sinister thoughts, but I’m left with no choice. If I am advised to start my ARV medication, why was I not counseled further while I was there, or even given a date for counseling or starting the medication? It would be really, really tragic if my condition was aggravated just because I was not able to start my ARV medications earlier, right?

I’m left with a lot to think about, but fortunately it hasn’t exactly been causing sleepless nights and restless days. Now you know why I need to celebrate my sanity at this point. There might not be much of it left. Get that straightjacket ready.

read more...

summary only...

Scary!

I've been so stressed out these past few days. So much of my days have been spent thinking, and thinking, and thinking. An after-effect of the last consultation I had at the San Lazaro H4 Pavilion. And it's not even about the result of the CD4 count itself.

I still can't wrap my head around having to admitting to someone in the family that I'm HIV positive. It's just been barely two months. I'm still not even completely back on my feet from the news that I have HIV. And now this?!

I remember Dr. Malou of the Social Hygiene Clinic specifically say I should stay away from stress and depression because it in turn stresses and depresses my immune system. Something not good for someone with HIV. So why are the doctors at the H4 practically forcing me to tell someone in the family?

I honestly got the impression that they were indirectly saying something to the tune of If you don't tell, we won't start you on the medication. I mean if this were really a life and death situation, regardless of who knows or does not, they should give me the medicines I need, right?

I'm expecting everyone will find out eventually, but I'd appreciate being told that I could take my sweet time. I need to be reassured that it is not a requisite to being treated. I believe it is my health that is important, and that does not directly revolve around who I am able to reveal to.

It's just really really not that easy. It's easier said than done. Dealing with HIV, I can be pretty brave. But when it has to combine with interacting with other people, I'm chicken shit. I realize that the less I know a person, a stranger to the extreme, the easier it is for me to tell about my condition. Adversely, the more I know someone, the harder it is to tell.

I've been trying to analyze why this is the case with me, and I guess the difficulty to reveal is proportional to what reputation I've built with the person. I'm not saying I have some flawless reputation which I need to protect. I've always been flawed to begin with. But telling someone I've shared years with would retrogress to the very start of the acquaintance, I imagine. It would snowball into other issues and other skeletons in my closet, like how I got it, what I've been doing these past years, when I got it, how gay I am, how promiscuous I am, how I could have hidden my alternative life, and so on. Too many questions I might not have enough time to backtrack and answer, assuming I have answers at all. Multiply that with the number of people I have to come out to, and that just scares me. I just hope it doesn't scare me to death. That'll just put me out of my misery, huh?

read more...

summary only...

Mothers' Day

Mothers’ Day came and went without a stir. I know I’ve not talked much about my mom, or my family even. Just so happened we don’t have the perfect relationship.

Apparently, being the youngest child doesn’t automatically mean you are the favorite and the most pampered. I’ve always been under pressure to live up to my parents’ expectations, not to mention reach the achievements of my older siblings. Something I’ve failed terribly at.

Growing up, I would willingly do chores around the house. But nothing good came from this. My mom would just end up scolding me for doing things wrong, or just not good enough. I’d be left wondering why that was the thanks I’d get for my effort, when my older brother who hardly helped got all the praises.

Conversations at home would be me saying something and getting ignored, and my brother saying the exact same thing and getting commended for his good idea. This forced me to become more passive, less opinionated, and more introspective. It made me a loner, but it made me stronger.

In primary school, I never got any awards, unlike my older brother and sister’s handfuls of medals and certificates during their graduation. I took my secondary education in the premiere science high school in the Philippines, getting into which was an achievement in itself. But my mom would only point out that though I was passing all my subjects, I wasn’t doing as well as my sister did when she was there.

I was never one to take that against them, but I could not deny that it was changing me. I had given up trying to please my mom, and ended up being an underachiever. I had accepted that I was expected to fail.

By the time I was in college, I had turned to extracurricular activities instead, where I earned some respect from my peers for my talents and leadership. My mom never knew about any of my achievements in that field, as I chose not to let her know. I was just happy to get praises from somebody. From anybody. Though my grades suffered and I went beyond the term of the course I took, I finished anyways. And I was proud of that. Maybe because I was no longer expected to graduate, and I surpassed that expectation.

I’ve mentioned that I came out to my mom when I was 21. And I did that at that time, because I knew my relationship with my mom could not possibly get any worse. It came to a point where I was wishing she would tell me I was adopted, just so I had some reason as to why she didn’t love me like my siblings. Just so I didn’t have to think that she hated me for being me.

It’s only this year that I’ve had her to myself, as my dad passed away some years ago, my sister has been married and on her own for several years now, and my brother just left the country to pursue a job abroad. She has decided to turn her attention to me finally, but as my sister says, too late the hero. It’s uncomfortable. I don’t need it. I matured early on in life because I had no choice but to. I learned too soon that I could not count on anyone but myself. That I could please no one but myself. The wall has been built. The damage has been done.

At this critical turn in my life, I have no urge to tell my mom that I have HIV. Because she wouldn’t understand. Because she’d just be disappointed… again. Because she’d just feel obligated to care for me. I don’t want her to love me because of pity. I don’t know if and when I’ll tell her of my condition, but most probably, it will be just an FYI.

How she brought me up made me what I am now. I’m quiet, because I was taught my opinion didn’t count. I’m a loner because I knew only I could accept and love who I am. I love to write, because I had no voice. I’m strong, because I learned I could only count on myself. I’m happy, because I am content with myself… I’m proud of myself.

So thank you, Mom. I just want you to be happy. Happy Mothers’ Day!

read more...

summary only...

My Mojo

Remember the guy I mentioned in my previous post? Yeah, that one. The reason why I decided to get tested… Let me tell you about him.

For purposes of anonymous reference, let’s call him… Mojo. Why Mojo? I dunno, I just always thought that was a cute and cool name. Mojo.

He had found me on the net earlier this year, just being my horny self. Yes, yes, I admit, I’m a raging bull when it comes to sex. How bad am I? Above average kink for universal standards. Which is extreme kink to Filipinos. Please don’t ask for details. So anyways, he found me at it, and surprisingly was still interested to meet. He was into what I was.

So March 25th, we met. Checked into a motel, and did the deed. It was no less than perfect. We were sexually compatible. Unfortunately though, we were both into bareback sex. And we didn’t even consider using protection that night.

We had remained in touch after that steamy night, and I was seriously realizing that this might be more than just about sex. Yeah, he was a nice guy, the split personality type. Quiet, calm and decent in public, but wild, tough and rough in the confines. An ode to Mentos. Crunchy on the outside, soft and chewy on the inside. A great combination.

So anyways, regardless of interest, he still had to know about my condition. We had non-sexual-dated a number of times more between that first meeting and today, and even once after I got my results. I didn’t know how to tell him. I was afraid of how he would take it. I didn’t want to ruin the relaxed evening we were having. I didn’t have a valid segue. Trust me, I had every reason in the book. I knew I should tell him, but just really didn’t have the guts to. Until tonight.

He had been bugging me about our pending “second time”, and I was running out of alibis not to do it. He knew how sexual I was and couldn’t understand why I was avoiding getting back into bed with him. He was starting to imagine that I didn’t like him that much, or didn’t like him at all, or didn’t enjoy the first time, or just wanted to be friends, or was seeing someone else. Sounded like plots to some Filipino soap operas.

So tonight I told him by sending him a text message. “I got sick. I just found out I’m HIV positive.” I think it slapped all the drama out of him. I guess he had to hear it straight, and shortly gave me a ring. I now realize that I shall hate being asked if I’m not joking about it. This would be a very, very bad and unfunny joke. Argh.

So we talked. He asked me all the whos, whens, wheres and whys. He said he wasn’t really surprised, knowing all the bad habits I had. But that he was saddened by the news. Hearing him say “I am still your friend”, brought a tear to my eye. I told him he’d have to get tested as well, to make sure he didn’t catch it. He said he’d wait until he feels something bad. Wha?! I reassured him I’d go with him if he needed support. He said he just didn’t know what he’d do if ever he found out he had it. Speechless. So getting tested really is an big issue for people beyond me. Now I’m really, really proud of myself for doing it.

So anyway, we talked for about an hour, shifting to lighter stuff, tackling his own little dramas of life, even laughing just a bit. It was nice. Relieving. He said he still liked me… that sex wasn’t the only thing he wanted… that he’d be there for me. I hate when I get mushy… and I did. It made me stronger, and I could only hope that everyone I will be coming out to would take it this well.

Mojo and I will be seeing each other at the mall tomorrow, and I’m actually prepared to get asked “Are you sure you’re not joking?” After the weeks I’ve spent crawling back into my shell, this will be a breakthrough for me. I’d forgotten for a while how optimistic I’ve always been, but really… Life isn’t all bad after all. I just might be getting my mojo back.

I’ve once again peeked out of the closet. Or maybe more like dragged someone in.

read more...

summary only...