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.

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Disclosure... Sort Of

Okay, so maybe I’m not new to disclosure. The back of my head was featured on TV for GMA’s Think Positive documentary about HIV some years ago. And I was part of DepEd’s Power of You sexual health awareness campaign, disclosing my HIV-positive status to an audience of students and faculty, both in Subic and Cebu.

For some, those are amazing steps to take. But for me, I could inch a wee bit further.

Really, those times I’ve delved into the business of disclosing my HIV status have almost never been any risk to me. I mean, almost all of these people, I had not known before, and they would only have known me after the fact. And also, there was little chance of seeing most of them ever again. Non-detrimental is the term I’d use.

So in summary, brave as some of you think it to be, there was to be little bearing on my everyday life. But, in the interest of being a guinea pig of the HIV experience, I’ve been taking it a bit further.

You know how when you get urine tests for illegal drugs, they would usually ask if you’re taking any medications? Well, the reason for that is the possibility of false positive results. Our doctors and nurses have always said that some of the ARVs could result in a positive result of a typical urine test for drugs.

So lately, I’ve been figuring, I may as well tell them before a drug test that I am indeed taking maintenance medications... just so it doesn’t sound like a defensive afterthought after a false positive result of a drug test.

The first time I applied this new mentality of mine was some months ago, when I went to have my driver’s license renewed. So, wary of my shy bladder, I arrived with my bladder already full to the brim. In afterthought, not a very good idea.

Hour after hour of filling out forms, waiting, waiting and more waiting, it was finally, finally, finally my turn to collect my urine sample. Sounds normal, right? But at some point of filling out the form, I filled in “Yes” to answer the question of whether I was currently taking any medications. And in the blank provided, I wrote “Lamivudine”.

Lamivudine is actually just one of my three ARVs. So, of course, like I taunted it out of him, the guy who checks my form asks what I’m taking it for. Okay, in all honesty, I didn’t exactly disclose that I’m HIV-positive. But rather, the next best thing... how about disclosing one of my co-infections? Good enough.

Hepatitis B. Yep, aside from HIV, I indeed have Hepatitis B. Not your typical Hepatitis that you get from dirty food, but rather, an STD as well. But fortunately, due to some odd circumstances, two of my three ARVs, Lamivudine and Tenofovir, are acting against both my HIV and Hepatitis B. Two birds with two pills. So I could really claim that I am taking them for my Hepatitis B.

So to cut this chapter short, I renewed my license without a hitch. No false positives. No problem with disclosing having an STD either. No... Big... Deal.

Cut to the next scene. I’m tempted to try my stunt again. Let’s move on to a different challenge... something more detrimental.

So the last time I had a medical exam for employment was back in 2004. Pre-HIV. This year would be my first after that little milestone.

So I got a dental exam, blood tests, x-ray, and once again, another urine test for illegal drugs. After all that, I go to the doctor for the physical exam. And she was plotting out my medical history. Previous operations? None. Hospitalizations? None. Family history? Well, diabetes, heart disease and cancer. And medications? Yes. Lamivudine.

Of course, she needed to ask what I was taking it for. Hepatitis B. When was I diagnosed? Did anyone in the family have Hepatitis B? Did I have any blood transfusions? 2008. Nope. Nope. So I’m sure in her head, the doctor now could deduce it was sexually-transmitted. And so it was over, she sent me off. I could expect the results at the office.

For all I care, it’s no big deal. I just have it. It’s not affecting my work. I still wasn’t sure what effect it would have on my job prospects. Then the following day, I got called into the company clinic. Oh boy. Here it goes.

So I was called in with a couple of others. One needed a follow-up urinalysis. The other, a re-x-ray. And then, my turn. I was told to shut the door to the clinic. What the? So I was asked by the company nurse about my Hepatitis B. How long I had it and what not. And I was just answering it matter-of-factly. Then she places a call to the doctor, asking about my case. Chit-chat chit-chat over the phone. She looks at me from head to toe, and looks into my eyes while still on the phone.

Hindi naman po siya naninilaw. Okay, salamat doc.

She puts the phone down.

Okay ka na. Fit to work ka na.

I knew it was right, but I honestly was still in a level of disbelief. Sigh of relief.

Yeah, yeah. I know that was just Hepatitis B. But really, if you think about it, disclosing HIV should be just as easy. Exactly like I just happened to have Hepatitis B, I just happened to have HIV. I am still fit to work. I am still fit to live. I am still fit. Period.

If you think about it, I didn’t have to say it. I didn’t have to disclose. I didn't have to take the risk. They wouldn’t have found out if I didn’t tell them. I have an STD. Hmmm, not the easiest thing to say. Let alone I have HIV. But why must it be that way? Why must HIV be the one skeleton I have in my closet that I have to keep hidden? Sadly, for now, there’s still a higher level of stigma that surrounds HIV. But times are a-changing... Someday... Someday.

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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!

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Owned

Okay fine. I’m going to say it. I’m going to try to say it.

I dread having to admit it. But this being my journal, I can only say it because it’s the truth.

I’m... gulp... seeing someone.

Da bitch is owned.

He’s someone who found me online... yet again... on one of my personals sites. I held off on meeting up as long as I could, but he was persistent. I told him I was HIV positive. He still wanted to meet. I ran out of excuses.

We eyeballed at a local Starbucks, drove around a bit, and he brought me home. He snuck me into his house, got me comfortable, got me in bed, and got it on. This was last year. And that was that.

I couldn’t see him anymore because the time came when I was supposedly in a relationship. But that’s not to say that he wasn’t trying to see me. But I knew I couldn’t and I shouldn’t, so I didn‘t.

Of course, my relationship ended. This guy was still keeping in touch every so often. So June this year, he texted asking how I was and how my relationship was going, I decided. Fine I could see him again. No more reason not to.

So we’ve been going out since June. He immediately made clear that he couldn’t commit to anything just yet. That we could take it slow and just enjoy what we had. I honestly didn’t think I could commit either. I was at a point where I had come from committing myself to a relationship that turned out to be physically unsatisfying. So I was itching to just cruise the meat market, really. So taking it slow and just having fun was just perfect.

So yeah, we were dating regularly, once, sometimes twice a week, but not exclusively. I was dating other guys. I was sleeping around. I even had a bus buddy and a sex week, remember? What other things he was doing on his end, I didn’t really need to know. I didn’t ask. But he wanted to know what I was up to. I didn’t see any reason to keep him from finding out. And then it happened. He arranged for us to have a serious talk. Uh-oh.

To put it simply, he wasn’t happy. He was jealous. He was sad. He was disappointed. I could even say he was pissed. He was certainly reconsidering what we had. But what did we have? Technically, nothing. But introspect told me I wasn’t happy seeing that glum look on his face. So his sudden display of these emotions was, for me, a call to rethink where whatever we had was going.

So who is this guy? Well, he’s older than I am. Taller. Fairer. Built with a little bit extra, which is fine with me.


The bad news?

He’s a pessimist, putting himself down, especially when it comes to what we have. Lines like “Ayaw mo naman ako i-hug eh” after a perfect date piss me off, regardless of how little it’s meant. I just think it’s uncalled for, and there’s no right response to something like that.

Sexually, he’s more vanilla than I’d really like. But it’s something we can still work on and are still working on. No biggie.

He’s got a temper. He sometimes won’t let bad service at a store or a restaurant pass. He voices out getting pissed at rowdy kids at the mall. He barks at promo people who pester him. Believe me, even I have been on the receiving end of that temper already. Not the best way to start a date.

He’s paranoidly discreet. He takes a lot for him to give me a smack in his quite tinted car. He won’t hug me in public, not even in a bromantic way, and sometimes stops me from putting my arm around him. He’s even threatened to walk out if he hears any of my pozzie kids call me “mom”. Seriously?


The good news?

We have common interests. He’s an architect, and I’m a frustrated one. I match his educational and professional background in design with my fanaticism with the Lifestyle Channel. I sort of understand property development, have engineering somewhere in the back of my background, and know that ottoman pluralized is not ottomen.

He misses me. A lot. And very easily. Maybe too much. We’re still together and he already says he’s going to miss me. I know. Cheesy much.

He worships me. Not my most preferred role, but it’s good for a change. Still getting used to it. He knows everything about me, from my indecencies to my HIV, but still proudly declares something to the tune of “My boyfriend is a slut!” Oh, I’m fine with that. Not like it’s a far-fetched idea.


At this point, we’re still “together”. After that serious talk we had, we sort of honeymooned, spending a weekend in Tagaytay, albeit just sleeping in most of the time. We see each other at least weekly. He calls me his boyfriend. He uses the word “love” liberally. I admit I’ve used that L word as well. Gah! Cheesy! So not like me.

So there, that’s what’s been happening. I am owned. Or at least I’m letting myself be owned. Let’s see how things will go from here.

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The Bad Trip

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Yoga Gaga

Yoga for Life has been going on for quite some time now, almost two months, if I’m not mistaken. During the first month, I was a regular of the Wednesday evening classes in Ortigas. And by the time the second month crept in, I found myself a regular of both Ortigas Wednesdays and Makati Saturdays. Yoga twice a week? And coming from a guy who has been brushing off any regular exercise routine because he was too tired and would rather rest? Yes, I surprise even myself.

And Yoga for Life is also growing into the point where you can sort of figure out who the real regulars are, and those who really aren’t or weren’t into it are falling on the wayside. Trust me, it’s a normal thing. Even I have needed to figure that out for my own self.

Of course, I did pass the stage of worrying, “Oh no, what if they think, ‘Sweaty-yoga-novice-boy is here again!’” So what? I don’t care. Hehe. Of course, that was just my paranoia. And even if it wasn’t, I was there for yoga, right? So thankfully, at this point, I’ve gotten over the initial anxiety of being new at yoga, and being new at any workout in general. I’m just past that excuse.

And also, for the past few yoga sessions, I’ve been consciously stopping myself from texting peeps prior to a session, “Let’s go yoga together later” or “You going to yoga today?” I don’t want to be at yoga just because I’m going to see someone, for example BFF, there. I mean, if he’s there, then great. If not, keri. And the opposite works as well, I don’t want to hear myself think, “I won’t go to yoga unless so and so is there.” I just think, “I want to go to yoga” and that should be enough reason.

I’ve also let go of pestering my peeps too much to attend yoga. While the invite is always open, I’m thinking, if they’re there, then cool, but if not, no biggie. I mean, for me, I don’t want them to be there just because I think they should. While there are many benefits to Yoga for Life, I can’t give anyone else a reason to be there. They gotta find the reason themselves.

Personally, I do yoga for me. I focus on the fact that I’m enjoying yoga and feeling good. And the precedents of two of our regular yoga buddies increasing their respective CD4 counts by more than 100 points each? A huge bonus if ever it happens to me.

So Saturday, I found myself on the way to Makati for yoga. I arrived to find only our yogi babe there. It was on the brink of becoming a one-on-one session when our Ortigas trio of yoga buddies arrived. So it was a tight group of regulars, which was taken advantage of with an extra intense session. Believe me, I soaked up two towels with sweat.

By the end, my legs were burning, and I was almost falling asleep from exhaustion during the meditation. But it was a good and refreshing hard sweat. And I was proud to have held up throughout most of it. And with that, it’s evident... I’m officially gaga over yoga.

But that is just a side story...

Segue to the previous weekend before last. If you recall, I had a family lunch before going to yoga. I needed to leave ahead of everyone, and I had made that a pre-announcement to my cousins earlier on. My girl cousins curiously asked where I was headed... whether it was work or just a gimmick. I nonchalantly said, “Neither... I have yoga.”

And then it hit me. Me and my big mouth.

They, of course, were interested in doing yoga. These cousins of mine were both ballerinas when they were younger, so they aren’t new to the flexibility thing. And they admitted they had tried yoga a few times before, but never carried it though. They were now seriously asking me about where I do yoga. I was caught off guard, so I had to spill the beans... just inches short of mentioning HIV.

I may have been sweating beads at that moment, bewildered as to how I could possibly cut the conversation short. Thankfully, they did it themselves, saying they’d like to join me for yoga sometime. Whew, I was safe... for now. Let’s prolong the agony, shall we?

So with that, a dark and anxious cloud looms over my yoga head. If and when they do join me for yoga, I’m probably going to have to tell them about the HIV link, am I not? That will surely fast track my coming out of the positive closet. And if I still want to tell my sister before anyone else in the family, that’ll zoom in even faster. Argh.

Don’t get me wrong. I would love to have my cousins come and share the yoga experience with me. But as to how I’ll get from being in the HIV closet, to having them with me at my complementary HIV therapy? Oi, heaven knows. We’ll just have to wait and see.

Hayyyyy... Yoga... it’s so gaga.

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The Cocky Asian

I’d been messaging with a European guy a couple of months ago, with him planning a trip to Manila in May. Physically, from pictures and descriptions, there was chemistry. And it was mutual, too. He liked me and I liked him. Sexually, we were a match. When the time came that I was convinced that he indeed was coming and that it wasn’t just a prank, I had to tell him that I was HIV-positive. Well, okay, I didn’t have to tell him, but I wanted to, so he could take that factor into consideration. I was prepared for any response. But I was hoping for the best.

I won’t deny that I’ve done it with men of different nationalities. I may even be too proud. I remember, during my pre-test counseling, that was among the questions asked… what the nationalities of my sex partners were aside from Pinoy. I listed them down proudly, from Asians all the way to Caucasians. Hell, I didn’t care about being thought of as a global slut. At least I told the truth, right?

So far, with my non-Pinoy conquests, the Caucasians in particular, I’ve had a pretty good record in the sex-to-HIV field. It just really seems that they’re more open-minded about the issue. A couple of them were okay with it, even if we had unprotected sex prior to finding out I was HIV-positive. They even made it known that they still wanted to have sex with me. Hmm, haba ng hair...

I think the worst reaction was from one American guy who went into panic. What if I am sick?, What if lose my job?, and I’d rather die! were among the hysterics that he gave me. He pushed me away. But shortly after, he made his presence felt again, apologizing and revealing that he was actually in a long term relationship with someone who was HIV-positive, too. I never did figure him out.

Even now, I still touch base with a number of foreigners who find me online and who still look forward to meeting, mating and more with me, even after disclosing my HIV-status. Potential meets and mates in the future. And knowing me, right now single and all, I’m game.

And so... back to my story. Last week, I was in touch with my European guy, as he shared his itinerary with me, laying out the days we could possibly meet. And finally, last weekend, the fateful day came. Would it push through? Or would it fall through?

I had to work overtime last weekend, a one-to-sawa meeting that was to taunt my pending date. With just half an hour to spare before our agreed time, I was off. I rushed home to freshen up, and zoomed off into the night headed for the guy’s hotel. I was so fast that I left my mom wondering what could cause me to pop in and out of the house with such speed.

Already late, I took a cab straight to my destination. I got there and asked the receptionist to buzz his room. He asked me to wait, he’d fetch me at the lobby. So I sat and waited. Odd. I wasn’t nervous. I usually am on first meets like this. Really odd.

I heard steps coming down the stairs, and there he was, the same as he looked in his pictures. He led me up to his room, stepped in, as we both plopped onto his bed. He offered me a drink as we got to getting to know each other. And as casually as we were talking, so did our hands start groping. One thing led to another... and another... and another.

Indeed, the virtual chemistry we’d established chatting, messaging and e-mailing were expectations we did live up to, kink and all. And with that, I added one more to my list of nationalities. Yes, I had my German sausage. The issue of safer sex was addressed by the fact that he was mostly into oral... making it relatively safer... and he was an oral-inserter at that, meaning he preferred to be the one getting blown... making it relatively safer again. Take note, I use the words “relatively safer”, as oppose to being absolutely safe.

But as if that wasn’t enough, he surprised me again when he performed some oral on me as well. I appreciated it, but before long, we turned back to our preferred roles. Soon, the scents of steam, sweat and sperm filled the room, and we were spent.

As we cooled off, we got back to talking... about everything under the sun. From work, to family to our motherlands, to his Philippine experience, and other stuff. Of course, we touched on my HIV experience as well, and he expressed how appreciative he was of my honesty with my status, and I expressed my appreciation of how open-minded he was. After over an hour of conversing, we were both ready to call it a night. So I showered and headed on home.

The following day, we were still in touch, and there were plans to meet that night again. The plan didn’t push through though, because we both took the time to rest for our big tomorrows… him for his early flight home, and me for the start of another work week. But at least the desire to meet again was there. Argh, the sex... ahh, I mean the chemistry was that good!

Was it the fact that he was Caucasian? Well, probably not that in particular. I’m not particularly what they'd call a Potato Queen. I'm just a cocky Asian. Hehehe. Although, I do remember an American friend of mine tell me that I was the type who matched well with Caucasians, himself included. Because I’m open-minded? Maybe. My dry humor? Possibly. Hmm, wait... mukha ba akong katulong? Just kidding... let’s call it... exotic. Hahaha.

So once again, I proved that HIV-positives can still have sex. Safer sex, but hot sex nonetheless. And I do believe it factored in significantly that I was not burdened by the need to be carrying my HIV baggage at the back of my head the whole time, and that we were both completely consensual to everything that happened that evening.

So there. Disclosure of my HIV-positive status isn’t exactly damaging my sexlife. Not even with those who are negative. Just the way it should be, with Caucasians or otherwise. That’s what safer sex is for. Hopefully more Filipinos will follow suit. Let’s prove that this kind of knowledge, power, acceptance, openness and awareness isn’t something that only Caucasians are capable of.

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Getting Stoned

Egged on by BlackPool, I recently joined an online forum that was inspired by the barrage of HIV in the news lately. It was actually a good venue for discussion, populated primarily by Filipinos in and around their twenties, the exact demographic that is now said to be most affected by HIV and AIDS. Easier said than done, apparently.

It started out as a healthy discussion. But I think my coming into the thread seemed to stir things up. Initially, it was probably something new to them to have someone who actually was living with HIV to be in the discussion. Some had gone through this blog, and professed how much of an eye-opener it was for them. I was glad to some extent. Hell, some of them even cried. Cried?! I don’t really know why.

But then, all good things come to an end. One of the voices in the thread who wished to stir the pot in more turbulent ways came across one particular entry of mine, Sex After HIV, where I talked about how I had been doing in the sex arena as of around 7 or 8 months after finding out I was HIV-positive.

If you remember, I had been wading through the remaining ripples of my old fuck buddies, alibi-ing out of the unsafe sexers, and limiting myself to the ones who had always practiced safer sex. I was mostly not disclosing my status at the time. That’s when I started getting the flak.

Why wasn’t I disclosing? Considering that condoms are far from completely safe, what would I do if the rubber ripped and I unwittingly infected someone who I didn’t tell of my HIV-status? Would saying sorry make up for it? Interesting questions, indeed. But aside from questions, judgments were also being thrown around.

Their point? People who I was having sex with had the right to know. Ergo, according to them, I owed to disclose my HIV positive status to my sex partners, so they could choose whether they still wanted to have sex with me or not. Otherwise, I was to be robbed of the right to have sex. It was so bad that at some point, one person accused me of being careless with others’ lives because I no longer had any future to look forward to. And then of course there was the one statement that said people like me didn’t deserve to live and should be fed to an incinerator. Okay. A bit low.

The truth of the matter was that that post was made back in January 2009. Having sex with twenty guys in a span of 7 or 8 months was such a low already, compared to the around 100 I had sex with in that same period the year prior, when I had not gotten tested. And right now, I can say that in that same period a year after, I don’t think I’ve even had sex with 5 persons, and I’ve already made it a habit to disclose to most before anything could even happen.

It’s so bad that since dating Papi, I have not had sex. Yes, as in zero. Okay, two, if you include my right hand and a rubber pussy. Hmm. It has all been by choice, and not because of a self-inflicted law that forbids an HIV-positive person to have sex. But I chose not to defend myself in the thread in that way. I chose to take their debate to heart.

Why was I not disclosing? Because I believe that my disclosure of my status is my option. It is my right. And it is your privilege. The truth of the matter is that still many people are more afraid of having protected sex with someone who is known to be HIV-positive, compared to having unprotected sex with someone who does not know his or her HIV status. Analyze it. Yes, it is the wrong mindset to have.

Condoms not being completely fool proof? Well, part of using condoms does entail using it consistently, meaning always, and correctly. I know how to use condoms correctly. Do you? That way, you reduce the risk of condom failure to as little as under 2%.

And if the condom should tear? It is actually we HIV positives who have delved so much into the topic who know all the inside information as to what to do with accidental exposures to further cut down the risk of infection.

And of course, add to that the analysis that the irrational fear of these negatives shows their biases, their penchant to blame, and their need for information. We HIV positives do not merely use condoms to protect others. We use condoms to protect ourselves. We protect ourselves from other STDs that are out there. We actually have long lives ahead to look forward to, and must protect it from further complications.

HIV-positives having sex is a fact of life. And sadly, I cannot say confidently that all of us do confine ourselves to protected sex. And that’s just speaking of those 4,000+ who have been diagnosed already. Remember, we are only the tip of the iceberg. What about the rest of those who are carrying the virus that remain undiagnosed?

Think about it. Even if all 4,000+ of us who’ve been diagnosed stop having sex completely, that would not stop the spread of the virus. Not while possibly an equal or greater number of people are out there getting their freak on, unknowingly carry the virus and not getting tested.

One final attempt to mock and put the blame on HIV positives, specifically me, drove my point across. The same person who wanted to throw me into an incinerator said something to the tune of, “Thanks to people like this pathetic excuse for a human being, we HIV-negatives are now are limited to choosing between abstaining from sex, being mutually faithful with our sex partners, using protection always, or becoming part of the pozzie posse.” Duh?! So, he actually did get my point. Whatever else could I have been trying to say? I rest my case.

I just find it funny how some people don’t get the value of a look into the life of someone with HIV. Granted, based on the Sex After HIV entry, I was far from perfect. But then I’m not here to be perfect. I’m not here to be a saint. I’m here to tell my story, whatever it may be. It will be up to you to find the message that will be of greatest value to you.

It is the kind of a ready-to-incinerate attitude that is most destructive to the cause. It actually made me realize something. No wonder there aren’t more HIV positives coming out and disclosing their HIV statuses as readily. Because there still are self-righteous and judgmental people like these who are just ready to burn us at the stake. It’s sad. It’s really, really sad.

But funnily, these are the same arrogant people who... heaven forbid... if they ever do get diagnosed with HIV, will be flooded with regret and depression for sure. Agh. This stems from nothing else but fear. Irrational fear. And as Master Yoda says, fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to suffering.

My point was really simple. Fine, of course, there is some responsibility on the shoulders of us who are HIV-positive to protect our partners. But we are far from being primarily responsible. The fact will always remain that it is primarily and most importantly every individual’s responsibility to protect themselves.

A lesson learned that I may have been too brutally honest in telling my story here. But hey, since when has being honest been a bad thing? Will I start editing myself to look more perfect as expected? Hell, no. Let those who are without sin cast the first stone. Because as I’ve realized, if my confession of my supposed “sins” scares people into either abstaining from sex or using protection, then I’ve done my job.

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The Power of Cebu

It’s over.

The Cebu leg of the Power of You campaign organized by DepEd, commenced last week. I just got back to Manila Thursday afternoon, and I’m honestly a bit pooped. But it was all worth it. The fulfillment I got supporting the advocacy was just amazing.

Amazing, amazing, amazing.

Actually, I almost didn’t make it to Cebu. Work wouldn’t allow me to take a leave for it. But I wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass. Honestly, I was willing to go AWOL if I needed to. I thought the cause would merit it. Luckily, a compromise was struck, and I was off to Cebu as planned Monday morning, and in exchange, I’d fly back earlier than expected and report to work before the week ended. Better than nothing, right?

So as early as 7:00 am Monday, E and I had met at the airport, my first time at the NAIA Centennial Terminal 2. I sat with E through breakfast at the canteen, after which we met up with the DepEd guys and gals to check-in together, so they could use our available check-in luggage weight for the other equipment and supplies for the seminar. After a couple of hours of feigning elitism surfing on our laptops, it was boarding time.

We were taking the 9:35 am Philippine Airlines flight to Cebu. I was a bit bummed to be seated at the aisle, and worse, next to strangers. But hey, who am I to be choosy? The three DepEd ladies were seated in the row in front of me, while E and the two DepEd guys were in the row behind. E had warned that he was a nervous wreck when it came to heights and flying, so I couldn’t help but turn to see his reaction during takeoff and landing, as well as every time we hit some turbulence on the flight. It was refreshing to see someone with a worse fear of heights than I do. Hehe.

But of course, we got to Cebu safe and sound. It was the first time in Cebu for both E and I. The trip from the airport to the hotel left us both realizing that Cebu was a lot like Metro Manila. There were rotondas like the one in Tomas Morato, rows of shops like those in Manila, streetscapes like those in Marikina, overpasses like those in San Juan, and of course traffic that is characteristically Metro Manila. Cebu was very much like Metro Manila, but a tad cleaner.

The hotel was a quaint little building along the country’s oldest street in downtown Cebu, which would serve as both lodging and conference venue for us and the participants. We checked in, and this early, a day before the conference itself started, E made it clear that the stay in Cebu would be unlike that in Subic. Subic was more of my style, where we retired to our room early and spent a great part of our spare time in the hotel. Cebu was to be more of his style, late nights out and all... but that’s a whole other story. More about that another time.

The next day, Tuesday, was the official start of the conference. And the afternoon was ours, for the sensitization exercise and our testimonials in front of the assembly. Kuya DepEd was super apologetic upon reading my Subic entry about how his introduction pre-empted our disclosure. Hehehe. But of course, we were really okay with how it went in Subic. But this time, in Cebu, he did heed my request to keep the suspense of our HIV statuses until the appropriate chapters of our stories.

Although I told my story the same way and used the same visual cues to accompany it, my spiel honestly went smoother two weeks ago in Subic. In Cebu, I was panicking, sweating bullets, and stuttering like it was no one’s business. That’s my normal, actually. The confidence I had in Subic was the fluke. But nevertheless, I got through it.

After, I passed the microphone on to E for his story, after which we sat up front with the doctor for the open forum. I found the questions in Cebu to be actually quite tame compared to those in Subic. More of them actually were addressed to the doctor. But the one thing I noticed was that I could not dodge the bullet of being asked how my family took the news of my being HIV positive. It’s inevitable to be one of the first things one would wonder about. So again, I explained how it’s still a sensitive issue for me, and how Cebu is finding out my HIV status even before my family.

The DepEd people have been getting the flak from the Catholic Church for discussing contraception, so E and I censored ourselves a bit in that field. We barely mentioned “condoms”, and just grazed through with “protection” and “safe sex” instead, focusing more on abstinence for prevention. Very unlike in Subic, where I proudly proclaimed that I always have condoms in tow just in case. So sue me, I was just being honest.

Fortunately, there weren’t any Nazis in the crowd this time. The worst reactions probably included suggestions to do devotions to Father Pio and Father Suarez, getting asked whether we knew if we were going to heaven if we died right that moment, and being told how HIV made my achievements seem like such a waste. Hmm. Granted, they were all said in a nice way and in good faith I believe, but there was no proper way to answer comments like that. So we just ended up smiling and thanking them for the prayovers.

The kids meanwhile were extremely open-minded and receptive. Just after our testimonials, we had already gotten hugs from a couple of the girls before the session wrapped up. We also spent time with them during the socials one evening, where I dared dance Nobody as a consequence to their game. Argh. And more than a handful of them even visited us in our room Wednesday night to chat with us and Kuya DepEd, where it was once again apparent that E had charmed his way into the hearts of some of the kids. Two words: puppy love. Hehe. Three more words: menor de edad. Hehehe.

Really, Cebu was a great experience and a great opportunity. I mean the teams from DepEd and UNICEF could’ve well gone with the usual pusits from the usual NGOs, but our Kuya in DepEd took a chance on E and I just based on what they knew about us from our blogs. Granted, ours were not the usual pusit stories and dispositions, but that didn’t mean we would not try to get our intended message across.

I know the effort seems like such a small drop in the ocean, but knowing that these are kids – the future – and that they will be sharing their experiences with their peers, we do believe the advocacy will make bigger and farther waves and ripples. If I die now, no matter where I end up, I can confidently say I’ve done some good for future generations. Just allow me to be proud of that.

Right now, the trainings are over, but after just two weeks spent with them, everyone from DepEd has become like a family to us... Oi, you won’t believe how protective they’ve been of us. Miss Thelma, Miss Mel, Miss Salie, Miss Flora, Sir Junel, Sir Joseph, Sir Noli, and of course, Sir Edward, who was the man behind our being a part of the Power of You training. Again, we thank you for the huge opportunity, and whether you like it or not, we’ll see you again soon. Hehehe.

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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.

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World AIDS Day

It's December 1, 2009. Today is World AIDS Day. No real celebration for me. I'm here with E in Subic. Nope, it's not a vacay. We're here for a seminar organized by the Department of Education that will work towards the integration of an HIV/AIDS awareness campaign into school curricula. We're here to share our stories with some students and school officials... I know... Yikes. Wish us luck!

For now, happy World AIDS Day!

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Über Proud

I took a day off from work this Tuesday that just passed. Nope, I wasn’t sick or anything. No emergency either. I just had stuff to take care of.

What can I say? I’m in demand.

Hehehe, just kidding. I just really needed to do some stuff, that’s all.

I woke up and left my usual time, but in just a pair of shorts and flip-flops. I was to take a trip to the Social Hygiene Clinic in Manila. The first time again since almost a year ago. I met up with someone who I encountered thru Positivism, to accompany him to get tested. Honestly, with his nursing background, he was at the point where he knew too much for his own good. That didn’t leave much for me to do other than give emotional support and lighten the mood. Seeing Dra. Diana and Nurse Malou there was great. They did recognize me and seemed happy to see me, too.

So I got my new friend pricked, and we waited an hour for the results of the Rapid Test, which really wasn’t too rapid. Ate Malou was saying it was the routing of the results for signature that took a while. We whiled away the time chatting it up with her and the volunteer who was on duty. After an hour, jubilance. He was negative for HIV. Woohoo!

From there, I headed home to take lunch and change into pants for an afternoon meeting. I had been corresponding closely for the past few months with someone from the Department of Education, who watched me on GMA’s Think Positive and contacted me through this blog. I could sense he understood and shared the advocacy. And soon he mentioned that they were coming up with an HIV module which they might need help with. I was game... but didn’t really know what exactly I was getting into. Hehe.

A couple of weeks ago, he told me they were setting up a day to meet with me and the other resource person. Wow, so I was a resource person? I was wondering who the other one would be, but soon found out it was none other than my good friend, E! We were pretty happy and relieved to realize we would be in it together. I dunno, there’s just a level of comfort that we get from going through new things together. Well, for me at least, that’s the case.

So we met up and headed to the DepEd compound in Ortigas. We really had no idea what the meeting would be about. Mr. DepEd had mentioned that an HIV Specialist from UNICEF would be attending too, which gave us an idea of how big and how serious this was going to be. Ergo, seeing E in pants and shoes for a change was more appropriate than hilarious. I was nervous, honestly.

Getting there, we finally met Mr. DepEd, and were asked to wait a while in the conference room. Soon after, we were joined by four other ladies from the DepEd, as well as the pretty, statuesque German lady from UNICEF. This is really is it. Gulp. It turned out, this was for a Training of Trainers thing on HIV issues, set for November and December, for faculty and student leaders of schools nationwide. I know... Whoa.

Apparently, with what Mr. DepEd had known about E and I, our reputations had preceded us. We were both known to be HIV-positive bloggers. I graduated from reputable schools, and was editor of Positivism. E was an opinionated dude who has braved all odds and was about to get published. All true, all true. But little did we know that this was just the start of our proving our cases that we would be good resource persons... resource persons who were going to give our testimonials, help to put a face to HIV, and be part of an open forum, speaking in front of crowds of at around a hundred. Yikes.

E and I both got grilled a bit regarding the stories of our lives. But knowing E and I, we could tell nothing more than what was the truth. We’re both pretty much at a point where we’re responsible for the mistakes we’ve made but still have much to be thankful for, so certainly we weren’t going to be sugarcoating anything we were going to say.

For E, it was pretty awkward to talk about his having to exchange money for sex, his drug addiction, and how he veered off track from his family. For me, the awkwardness was more about the issue of homosexuality and my apparent issues on disclosure, not being able to tell my family about my condition.

I wouldn’t say we were defending ourselves the whole time. We weren’t trying to be perfect. It was more of like we were trying to help them understand all the factors behind who we are. After all, this may have just been the first time for some of the people there to have met and talked to people who were living with HIV. So were we going to be perfect role models for the youth of today? Certainly not. But what I can say is that we weren’t bad images of people living with HIV to leave with an audience.

You should’ve seen us. We were handling the embarrassing questions, making our awkward confessions, shocking the hell out of the dignified ladies, making jokes, laughing at ourselves, but all the while making our points and, I believe, helping them understand. I realize now that it was such a light mood to be in, considering we were talking about HIV and AIDS. And that’s the way it should be. Very Positivism.

Leaving, E and I talked about what just transpired. We weren’t sure exactly how we did, but it was clear we were happy with what we did. We certainly had no regrets. Most would probably wonder why DepEd approached individuals like us instead of the existing NGOs. But for E and I, based on how we know the NGOs think and work, we doubt if it would be anything more than a pity fit if they were subjects.

Our bewilderment about whether we passed or not was put to some ease by a couple of text messages I received. Mr. DepEd said he was initially worried that we might have taken offense from some of the questions thrown at us, but was glad that we handled ourselves well. Ms. UNICEF meanwhile said she admired the positive attitude, and the patience with which the questions were faced. He added that he was now sure of the success of the event, while she hoped we would be indeed available for the training course. Wow, does that mean... I know, let’s wait and see. But I’m still amazed myself.

I’ve told E how über proud I was of us both, but really, I was über-düber proud of E in particular. Because other than the PSP he was carrying around yesterday, he was the man. He’s really come a long way, and he’s just such a changed man, I believe. And allow me to be a proud kuya.

So there, that was the huge adventure I had with E yesterday. At this point, it was a huge, huge opportunity offered to us. Humongous if we push through. So watch out, Subic and Cebu! The B.I.T.C.H.-E tandem might just be coming your way!

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The Ex Factor

I haven’t seen Papi since our first date almost a month ago. Thanks to being busy with my aunt’s passing away, plus the two typhoons that just happened to ravage the country on successive weekends… yeah, it was like I had a date one weekend with Ondoy, and another with Pepeng the next. Papi almost got jealous. Hehehe.

But I’ll be honest, I did have a date... a human one... and it wasn’t Papi.

I was on my prior-to-HIV YM account some weeks ago, after being off it for so long, when I got a message from a familiar name. It was my ex-boyfriend asking how I’ve been. He was my third boyfriend, from way back 8 or 9 years ago. After our break up, we’d managed to transcend to becoming friends. I mean, we weren’t meeting up anymore, but we were able to stay in touch.

Every time we’d catch each other online, he’d ask how I was doing. A simple question to answer supposedly, but it wasn’t. It was different. I mean I was okay, but I was different. He knew of how wild I could be, and was just so curious about not seeing me online anymore. He guessed that I was probably in a relationship. But after hearing that I’d been single for almost two years, things just didn’t make sense. He knew me well enough to know something was up.

Hold on. Now let me make clear first that this was not a case of love being lovelier the second time around. Nope, he wasn’t interested in getting back together with me. He had a boyfriend, and they’d been living in with each other for several years already. We were just friends... who just happened to be a couple before. Yep, it’s possible.

So anyways, given that we’d known each other for so long, he knew me well enough to know something was up. So from the lack of an excuse, plus the fact that I had no reason to keep secrets from him, I told him. I told him I had been dealing with HIV. I couldn’t really read how shocked he was from the way he chatted, but he did say he was saddened by the news. And with that, he insisted that we meet.

With my little secret out of the way, I had no reason not to see him. I’m confident I didn’t put him at risk of infection, despite the fact that we did it unprotected back when we were still a couple. Yep, I was still at the dawn of my sexual awakening back then. Much, much less adventurous than I’ve become now. And we hadn’t had sexual contact since breaking up years ago.

Honestly, when I was starting out my HIV journey, back when I was still with San Lazaro, he came to mind. Mostly it was because of what was then an apparent need to have someone with me – a friend or family member – before they would start me on ARVs. He lived extremely close to San Lazaro, which is why I have him to thank for my being familiar with the area. I considered asking for his help if I had no choice, but didn’t want to be an inconvenience. But I’d transferred to the RITM soon after, and that time never came.

Back to the present. One evening after work, I took a trip other than the way home... to the same mall we used to frequent together. So going there really brought back memories. Not necessarily good or bad, but memories nonetheless.

He got to the mall first. I got there some minutes later. Walking to him, I didn’t know what he was thinking. I’m sure he wasn’t ashamed of what had become of me, nor was he going to reprimand me for what had happened. I mean, we weren’t like that before. I was always the kid to him, him being 10 years my senior. But I think I’ve gained more than my kid’s share of respect from him at this point. So I wasn’t going to need to defend myself to him. But from the look on his face, I think he just felt some pity. It was pity that I was planning on changing.

If meeting with me was his way of reassuring me of his support through my supposed endeavor, meeting with him was my way of showing him and proving to him that I was okay, and that I was still the same old me, at least, or hopefully even better.

I mean, 8 or 9 years ago, I was certainly a different me. Maybe I was less mature and less experienced. But that many years passing can really change a person. I mean deep inside I’m still me, but experiences and learnings should’ve changed me somehow, right?

So of course, other than strolling around, having dinner and lounging around, the evening was primarily filled with catching up. I did have him read through this blog prior to us meeting, just so he had an idea of how long a journey we were going to have to recap. He had a lot of questions which I gamely answered, and of course, I had him share all about his life as well.

On the most part, he was supportive. But he was peeved when he found out that I didn’t call on him during the time that I needed someone with me. And then of course he was pissed that I hadn’t told my mom about my condition yet. Argh. But he understood it wasn’t going to be easy for me. But still, I got the scolding. Argh again. I know he’s just concerned, but he was still treating me like a kid. Hmp, si lolo talaga! Hehe. Just kidding!

Anyway, pretty soon, I think we got to where I wanted us to be. I was joking around with him, just like we were before, and he was not getting all my punchlines, just like we were before. Hehehe. We blame it on the age gap, but we just laugh it off now, unlike before. But really the bottom line was that he knew that I was okay, I knew he was okay, and we knew we were okay.

Since that time, we’ve had dinner one more time, and he’s even managed to get himself tested for HIV at the Social Hygiene Clinic. So he met my Dr. Diana Mendoza and my territory there. I do think he was getting tested regularly whenever he donated blood, but still I was so proud. Happily, he’s negative.

We do plan on meeting up again sometime. Maybe I’ll get to meet his hubby. Or he did say he’d want to check out Papi as well. Aba, kikilatisin pa! Schucks, strict ang lolo ko, no? Hehehe, kidding!

So there. That was my date. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t a date-date. Otherwise Papi could kill me. It was a friendly date. This friend just happened to be one which I was carrying over into my new poz life. Nothing bad about that. Nothing bad about the ex-factor.

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Spilt Milk

Monday rush hour. Braving the rain, armed with my trusty umbrella, I took a jeep to the MRT station. Jam-packed and with the plastic sheets pulled down over the windows, yes, I was kept dry, but I suddenly felt my claustrophobia creeping in. Logically, my eyes went to the rear of the jeep, hoping to at least see some air. But no, someone was hanging off the back of the jeep, blocking that view as well. But against what little light there was, I felt the man’s eyes looking at me. Was he smiling? At me?

I checked him out a bit. He was probably in his mid-20s, tall, fair-skinned, dressed in just jeans, a shirt and a cap, and good looking, I thought. I remember wondering if it was someone or something else he was looking at. But I still felt it was me he was looking at. I shrugged it off. He got down ahead of me, and I eventually lost sight of him.

Making it up to the MRT platform, I stood at my usual place, the middle door of the third coach. Waiting for the next train to come, I couldn’t help but look around. I was surprised to spot the same guy standing just two meters to my left... and still looking at me... this time, from head to toe. I was now sure he was checking me out, complete with an impish smile on his face. I busied myself looking around, panicking, honestly. I regret trying to check on him with my peripheral vision, only to realize he now stood right beside to me. Oh, fuck.

When the train finally came by, everyone seemed to get sucked into its open doors. Rushing in, I felt a hand wrapping around mine... yes, it was him. I couldn’t help myself. The next thing I knew, my hand had betrayed me and clasped back, revealing my interest in him, too. Inside, he made sure to stand next to me. It seemed he still wasn’t convinced that I was interested, and still made little efforts of looking my way, rubbing elbows, and finally holding my hand as he concealed it with his bag. I looked back, rubbed back and held back. That’s what he was waiting for.

He soon struck up a conversation of whispers. We introduced ourselves and found out I lived near his brother’s place, where he stays on weekends. He asked if he could drop by sometime... I said maybe. I was getting off ahead of him, so before we got there, he asked for my number and saved it on his phone. He rang me up to make sure I got his number, too. It was time for me to get off... the train, that is. And with that, I fell in love with the MRT.

I just felt so good about myself. It was such an ego boost. He was just... so... interested! I couldn’t believe how aggressive this younger guy was. Or maybe he just judged my age wrong. I’d blush if that was the case. But honestly, it was so extremely flattering. His moves gave me the kiligs.

We were texting a bit during the following hours, and establishing our preferred roles in bed, it was clear he was after sex. And we were a perfect match. I jokingly guessed that he had a relationship, which he confirmed... he had a girlfriend. Okay, I can deal with that. And so it was set, we were to meet the following Saturday. He was to come to my place... honestly, I was excited. But then my dilemma of revealing my secret came with the excitement.

During the following days, I tried not to worry too much. It was my hormones that were taking control. I cleaned my room and changed the beddings, and even replenished my supply of prophylactics. It should’ve been so simple, but not for me. I knew I was worried, because I found myself asking a number of my friends whether I should tell this guy about my HIV or not. Opinions varied, and I was still at a loss. The decision would still be mine to make.

Well, it was more like I knew what was right, but didn’t want to take the risk of “losing” this guy. I didn’t want to make the decision. So Saturday crept up slowly and the time to decide was looming. He just couldn’t wait. Friday night, he sent a message asking if we could meet already. This was it.

I was in a jeep when I replied, finally revealing my little secret. I told him I was bothered about not telling him about it, and mentioned that it was my way giving him the chance to change his mind. Honestly, I was expecting the worst, but really hoping for the best. I stuffed my phone back into my pocket as soon as it was sent, anxious of what reply I was going to get.

After five minutes, I checked for a reply. Nothing. Another five minutes. Still nothing. Maybe he was busy. Maybe he was thinking about it. For the next hour, I was flipping my phone every five minutes... and the realization that he was no longer interested was hitting me again and again and again. I felt sad. Sad that I was reduced to an HIV-status. Sad that it tipped the scales against me.

Do I regret telling him? Well, the sex in me says “Sayang!”... but my consuelo-de-bobo would be that hopefully he realizes that you can’t tell one’s HIV-status just based on looks alone. Hopefully, he’ll play safe from now on. But damn! I really, really wanted him!

So there, I chose to do the right thing, but ended up with nothing. I guess the worst part about it is that he completely lost interest, not even considering the option of being friends at least... he just didn’t want to have anything to do with me. Ouch.

But you know what? I can’t blame him. That was just the harsh reality of things... for now. I took another risk, and lost again. Nope, I gotta convince myself that it’s his loss, not mine. No more use crying over spilt milk. After all, I could always spill my own milk... by myself.

Post-script:
As of Saturday afternoon, he sent me a text message asking how I was and if what I had confessed was true. I just said it would be such a bad joke to tell. He admitted doubting its truth, and I ended up lecturing him about the fact that you can’t tell one’s HIV-status based on looks alone. Nothing again after that. Sigh.

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Stop the Party

Remember that thing I mentioned about the Lifeline Emergency Quick Response Program? Well, I received their membership form by mail recently. I should be happy, right? SHOULD...

But now I realize that...

I may just have celebrated too soon.

Again, I saw the envelope as soon as I got home from work, and of course, I knew what it was supposed to be. So even before I changed from my work clothes, I sat down and took the form out, eager to see how easy it would be. And then my excitement died down.

Basically there were just ten groups of questions I needed to answer. Not too bad really. Let me take you through it.

10. Basic Information? Name; Date of birth; Gender; Civil Status. Expected.

9. Permanent Address? Complete address; Phone, fax and mobile numbers; E-mail address. Cool.

8. Employment? Company name; Designation; Complete address; Phone, fax and mobile numbers; E-mail address. Okay.

7. Hospital? Hospital name; Attending Physician; Complete address. I admit, I gave this some thought... Nothing wrong with naming the Research Institute for Tropical Medicine and Dra. Ditangco as my preferred hospital and physician, right?

6. History of Past Diseases? None.

5. Previous Operations? None... unless circumcisions count.

4. Allergies? None.

3. Family Diseases? Hmm, my dad had it all... Diabetes, Heart disease, Cancer.

2. Habits? Smoking; Alcohol; Drugs. No, yes, and no.

It was easier than I expected... until...

1. Present Illnesses and Medications? O.M.G....

Okay, I told myself not to panic. I needed to calm down. Putting down Syphilis wouldn’t be so bad. Listing Hepatitis B could actually explain my Lamivudine and Tenofovir medications. But HIV? Should I tell them I have HIV?

Somehow, reading that All information contained herein will be confidential just wasn’t enough. Can I actually withhold that information?

I hereby certify the truth of all representation made in this application, and acknowledge that the Lifeline service agreement may otherwise be invalidated with costs chargeable to me. Okay, that’s a huge risk.

I further authorize any physician, clinic or hospital where I have been treated to disclose and provide the company with the medical, dental or clinic findings relative to the medical representative above. Geesh, so they’ll find out eventually? There goes that option.

Please fill out the form at your earliest convenience, as it will provide us with accurate and pertinent information regarding your medical history and will greatly facilitate your efficient care. Hmm, admittedly, that’s a good reason to disclose.

Well, if they ever happen to fail on their provision of service just because of my having HIV, I can always cite the clause in their website that says No exclusion for pre-existing conditions. Or I can take them to court for discrimination under R.A. 8504. Interesting. Stressful... and extremely paranoid of me... but interesting.

So after giving it some thought, I decided. Fine. A few more people will be added to my those-who-know list... and I won’t even know who exactly these people are. This will be another case of the-benefit-of-the-doubt.

Will I regret doing this? I don't know. But I'll do it. I'm going to be holding my breath. Celebration postponed until further notice.

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Ongina

Following in the footsteps of Fergie, Pam Anderson, and Linda Evangelista, a Los Angeles–based drag queen named Ongina has become the latest spokesperson for the M•A•C Viva Glam campaign, raising more than $140 million by donating 100% of the sale of M•A•C’s Viva Glam products to fight HIV/AIDS.

As is, the support for the fight against HIV is amazing enough. But what’s even more amazing?

Also known as Ryan Ong Palao in real life, Ongina is a 27-year-old proudly born in no less than... the Philippines. Claiming to be a woman trapped in a drag queen’s body, he used his middle name, Ong, and because God didn’t bless him with a certain kind of ’ina, to come up with his drag persona, Ongina. He says his first drag name was Peck-Peck Galore.

Ongina first made waves as a fan favorite on TV reality competition RuPaul’s Drag Race, in which female impersonators battle it out to become America’s next top drag queen. M•A•C Cosmetics was a major sponsor of the show, which is hosted by the original M•A•C Viva Glam spokesmodel and drag superstar, RuPaul.



In an episode that aired in February, Ongina bested the five remaining contestants to win the M•A•C Viva Glam Spokesperson for the Day Challenge, in which the queens starred in screen tests to promote the campaign. More significantly, M•A•C established its AIDS Fund in 1994 to support those affected by HIV/AIDS globally.

And as if simply winning the challenge wasn’t enough, when Ongina won, he broke down in tears on the runway and shocked the judges, his competitors, and the viewing audience with a revelation... he was HIV-positive. O... M... G...

Considering he hadn’t told his HIV-positive status to his parents yet at the time of the challenge, he was able to disclose it to them just weeks before the episode aired. Prior to that, it was his friends that were his support system in dealing with his early issues with HIV.

Diagnosed in April of 2006, he had already been living with HIV for a good two years before debuting on Drag Race. Initially, he had no plans of disclosing his HIV status, not wanting that aspect to be part of the story. But upon winning, he was overcome by emotions, knowing that he had won something that he could represent, and that had helped him and other people stay alive despite HIV. Any funding for HIV helped humanity one way or another, but this was particularly meaningful because he had HIV.

Ongina recalled growing up in the Philippines as Ryan, where he was as educated about drag queens about as well as he was about HIV – that was not at all. But what lack in AIDS awareness growing up in the Philippines had more than been made up for when he moved to the United States at the age of 12, where sex-education classes were offered every academic year from the sixth grade forward. But still, he caught it after an incident of unprotected sex with a stranger.

Recalling the challenge of his disclosure, “I can barely tell my mom when I’m dating. And now I have to tell her I’m living with HIV?” In the weeks before the episode aired, Palao returned to Washington to have the conversation he avoided for nearly three years. When it was finally over, he says, “I am happy I have come out of the HIV closet, because now I can live life without hiding anything. This is me: full, raw Ryan. You can take it or leave it. You either like it or you don’t, but this is exactly what you’ll get.”

With the celebrity status gained as Ongina on Drag Race, Ryan Palao says he is more than happy to act as a spokesperson for HIVers whenever possible. He shares with others the message he presented during the show’s M•A•C Viva Glam Challenge: “Celebrate life!”

“That’s how I live my life. I don’t live any way other than what I know, and that’s to live life to the fullest every day when I wake up. Even before I decided to disclose my status, I wanted to show people that, no matter what happens, life is a celebration!”

Inspiring, ‘no?

Read and see more of Ongina in his official website, Ongina.com, as well as in articles in The Advocate and in HIV Plus Mag.

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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.

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One Fine Day... Part 2

Getting to his hotel which was a short walk from the MRT station, I walked up to the elevators. I stepped in and pressed 6. I remember looking at myself in the mirrored elevator walls, nodding my head and saying to myself What am I doing here? But there was no turning back now. I walked down to the end of the corridor and went straight to door number 645. I took a deep breath, and knocked.

As the door swung open, there he was – the total hotness of him – in the flesh and smiling at me. And a lot of flesh it was, as he stood half-naked in just a pair of shorts. He led me in, shut the door and grabbed me in a tight hug, saying how he couldn’t believe I was there with him. Am I dreaming?

We sat down on the bed, he took my hand in his and we began talking, during which he never broke eye contact. I felt like I was melting in the light of his hard stare. What was he seeing? He interrupted me in the middle of one of my sentences and asked permission to kiss me. I felt faint as he leaned forward and took me in his arms, passionately engulfing my mouth in his.

He stood up and dropped his shorts and his underwear. I took his cue, stripping myself down to my skivvies. And soon, like a panther, he pounced, resting me on my back and laying his hard body on top of me. “Is this okay?” he asked. “Of course,” I answered. From then on, we just did what came naturally.

I’m sure no one would be interested in hearing all the sordid details. I will not go TMI. All you need to know is that, for a brief moment – well, half an hour to be exact – I felt like the me I was before, prior to HIV. Wild... raw... carefree... uninhibited. At the end of it all, we were left with a lubey mess on the floor and a condom full of passion.

From there, we showered and got dressed, as the driver was due any minute to pick him up. He asked that I run his errands with him if I had no other plans for the day. Sure. We reached the lobby just as the van drove up. As we hopped in, he took my hand in his, weaving his fingers into mine. I stared at him smirking with disbelief as he discussed our itinerary to the driver, to pick up some colleagues, have lunch and drop them off. Noticing me looking at him, he snuck in a peck on my lips, not even caring if the driver would notice.

During the whole trip, he hardly let go of my hand as I sat beside him. He told of how his close pal had AIDS and died some years ago and I understood where he was coming from, causing me to hold his hand even tighter. Even in the company of his colleagues, he made sure we sat at the rearmost seat of the van just so they wouldn’t notice our mischief. Finally, after lunch, we dropped his colleagues off at their hotel. With my hand still in his, he told the driver to head to Makati, where he needed to pick up some stuff at the mall.

Getting there, he just told me to wait at the lobby of the mall while he went to run his errand. I was wondering if this was his way of losing me or something... I would not be me if I wasn’t paranoid. But of course, he proved me wrong, as I spotted him strolling back towards me after about fifteen minutes.

As we waited in front of the mall for the van to pick us up, I opted to make my gracious exit, saying I should head home so we could both get some rest for the week ahead. I thought, quit while you’re ahead. I just needed to grab my bag from the van so we could go our separate ways.

The van took a while to pass by, which gave me time to thank him for the wonderful day. L expressed his delight as well, and said that he wanted to kiss me right there and then if he could. Don’t dare me, I half-joked. Not to be beaten, he called his own bluff. And amid all the passing vehicles and crossing pedestrians, we leaned in for a quick smack on the lips. It was like a movie scene. Dreamy.

As the van stopped before us shortly, L hopped in and reached me my bag. We said our goodbyes – for now, at least – but not before kissing each other on the lips again, something I’m sure the driver noticed this time. And with that I shut the door of the van and waved goodbye.

Walking away, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face, which suddenly turned into a grin when I realized that we scandalized the guard at the door of mall with that last kiss, as he looked at me from head to toe and conferred with the lady guard beside him. I’m pretty shy, but oddly enough, I’m not the type to get conscious of things like that. Not at this point, at least. Kissing a guy on the lips would just pale next to the other shameless things I’ve done in my lifetime.

So with that, the day came to an end. More than the sex, I enjoyed every minute we spent together. All 300+ minutes of it. The time with L left me with the thought that this is the kind of guy I want. This is the kind of guy I deserve. Simple, sweet, sexy and smart. Someone who will respect and accept me completely – HIV and all. And this is the kind of relationship I want. This is the kind of relationship I deserve. Something effortlessly fun and happy. Where HIV is a non-issue.

For now, L is back in Mindanao, and though we have not made any commitments to each other, we’ve been in touch. We’re apart, but I’m happy. He’s been making more than enough effort to stay in touch. Personally, I look forward to seeing him again sometime and spending more time getting to know him. But if at least, I was honored to have met a guy like him, and appreciate how he made me realize my self-worth... something I’ve been needing for sometime now.

Thank you, L. Thank you for that one fine day. May it not be our last.

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