May pasalubong ako sa iyo! Baket ka nagagalit sa akin? Nagpapakasweet na nga lang ako eh!
Him dropping the call was the most welcome thing for me. That was it. We didn’t talk nor text for the next two weeks.
Yep, I’m talking about the hubby. Do I seem harsh? Snapping at someone just because of a pasalubong? I think so too a bit, but here’s my story.
So he goes out of town, and asks me what pasalubong I’d like. He always brings me pasalubongs. Too much in fact, that when one pasalubong comes, I would still have pasalubongs from previous trips still at home. Perishables every time at that. So I declined this time.
But I want to.
So he goes on his trip and comes back. May pasalubong ako sa iyo! And I’m pissed.
Why? I’m a quiet guy. An introvert. I would usually rather keep things to myself. So those few times I speak up, I would appreciate if you'd listen.
And I repeated myself.
But I want to.
Baket ka nagagalit sa akin?
Nagpapakasweet na nga lang ako eh!
Sige na nga, matulog ka na!
Call dropped.
I felt offended. Not by the dropped call. But by the insinuation that material things equal sweetness. No. I’m not that kind of a guy, sorry.
Sweet is listening to what little I have to say.
Sweet is calling not just to say you love me... ask how my day went!
Sweet is not stopping me from putting my arm around you in public.
Sweet is not just saying you want to hug me whenever we meet. Do it.
Sweet is accepting my invitations to share my yoga time with me.
Sweet is not a “Masaya ka na?” after meeting my BFF the first time.
There, that’s why I snapped. Sweet?! These were things I had been letting pass. I was patiently letting him have his way. And this, this seemed like the last straw.
I’m sorry. I’m the farthest thing from a closet case. Fine, I’ve declared I’m Back In The Closet with this HIV thing, but even with that, I haven’t let the closet doors stop me from living. Not at this point where I’ve gotten a wake up call to treasure life more, and be thankful for every moment I get to live, laugh and love.
I was soon asking myself, why was I so bitchy? Why was I nitpicking? Why did I snap at him? It was becoming clear what the underlying issue was... I was falling out of love.
Some of you will think that I’m letting go of a perfectly good thing, knowing that an HIV-negative guy accepted me for who I am and what I had. But that’s not the end all and be all of it all.
He will not be the last person who will accept me despite my HIV-positive status. Call me much hopeful, but I guarantee that. Like I always say, if you don’t like me just because I’m HIV-positive, then you’re not worth my time anyways.
So there. Pending one final conversation... closure to be exact... this BITCH is officially single.
So, sweet ba kamo? Break.
Tuesday, June 07, 2011
Sweet Break
Saturday, January 16, 2010
It's Complicated
I’ve been barely half a year, I think, on Facebook. I know, right? When Facebook was gaining popularity, I was still trying to get a hang of Friendster. And thus, my being a late bloomer with respect to Facebook. But already, I know, Facebook statuses are deadly. One little peep, and practically the whole world knows.
Papi and I have been witness to that. And not in an entirely good way, unfortunately. It's been... uhm... complicated.
In a Relationship with Papi
Like I mentioned before, this status started out as a little game for us both. I mean, yeah, I was attracted to him, but we weren’t committed at the time, but agreed to have fun and link openly on Facebook. After that, was the only time we had our first date. And the relationship status suddenly became more real than what it used to be. That was back sometime in September. And the rest was history.
I do have some friends on Facebook with whom I’m not yet open about my homosexuality. Classmates from high school, classmates from college, former officemates, and a cousin even. It’s not like I still claim to them to this day that I’m straight. It’s more like I never told them that I was gay because I had lost touch.
So was I afraid of what they’d think? Not really. I am gay, for heaven’s sake. My mom knows it. My dad knew it. I’m pretty sure my siblings know it. So really, it wouldn’t really matter who else found out. But even with that revelation splashed all over my Facebook profile, no one ever dared ask about it. At least, no one that I would’ve expected to wonder about it.
Single
Papi and I have really still been in the getting to know each other stage. Lately, we’ve been discovering a lot of stuff about each other. But on one fateful Monday, the discoveries took a bad turn. Without going into details, let’s just say Papi and I had a bit of a confrontation. Nothing violent, just laying all the cards on the table. We were able to be open with each other about things and I appreciated his honesty, which left me feeling sorrow instead of anger.
The first person I talked to about it was Jinjin. I thought I could tell him because he was my friend, unlike others who were friends of both Papi and I. Tearing the friends we shared apart was never an option for me. I just won’t have it. So I turned to Jinjin, who was completely supportive as I poured my heart out.
Next person I told was E, who was absolutely and positively thrilled at the news. Why was he so happy? As much I’d like to believe that he had a hidden crush on me, he doesn’t. Hahaha. It was more like he wanted me back onto the meat market so he’d have a slut buddy around for his adventures. It pisses him off that much that I’ve been such a good boy and that I’m useless when it comes to cruising and excitement. So the prospect of having me back in the dating scene left him giddy. Such a sweet friend, isn't he? Hehe.
That evening, BFF wanted to meet up, but I declined saying I needed to rest. I just wasn’t in the mood. I wasn’t ready to cry on BFF’s shoulder either, since he was of course Papi-approved. I just didn’t want him to have to take sides. Even W felt something was wrong just based on our quick chat. By the time the evening was drawing to a close, I had Nina singing I Love You, Goodbye, as I changed my Facebook status to “Single”, with tears rolling down my face. BFF may have been the first to see the development, sending me a message of sympathy late that evening.
It’s Complicated with Papi
The next day, I took the afternoon off from work. I promised to take W to RITM for his first consultation with the Doctor. Had I not promised, I would not have wanted to go to RITM. It reminded me too much of Papi. Nor would I want to see any of our common friends there and have to explain what happened. And most of all, I didn’t think I was ready for the risk of seeing Papi himself.
W and I needed to retreat to the back office while waiting for his appointment. Getting there, I greeted everyone I knew, as one of my “kids” pulled me into a smaller room saying he had a surprise. And a surprise it was. I felt the world just stop. Papi was there.
I wasn’t angry. I was indifferent, or at least I thought I was trying to be. I tried to give him a look that meant, “Don’t worry. I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. You be okay.” But he pulled me towards him in a tight hug. I know it shouldn’t have been the case at that moment, but it still was heaven for me to see him, honestly, and I hugged back, thinking it might be the last time I could do it. But he wouldn’t let go.
I was really a bit confused at that time. Was it pity? Was it his way of making sure I didn’t make a scene? Was it me, or was he wooing me back? And was I giving in?
One thing I’m sure of is that that afternoon spent in the RITM was no different from any other. Papi and I hung out together and with all of our friends there. It was as if nothing had happened. And it was nice actually. I mean, we didn’t really have time on our own to discuss stuff, and never really settled anything definitively, but I think it was the foundation of friendship we had built that allowed us to be civil. Oh, and I got a quick smack on the lips before we parted ways. Hmm.
When I got home, I changed my relationship status on Facebook once again. It was complicated indeed, being that we hadn’t really gotten the chance to talk much. The good thing about it was that no doors were closed. And we will talk eventually. So I dared to click “It’s complicated with Papi”, subject of course to approval from his side. I was surprised to find the next day that he confirmed my status.
It felt pretty good that he still was open to be publicly associated to me, even though it was technically still under the premise of complications. It will be a lot of explaining to people who will notice our status. But let it be suffice to say that all is not over. We’ll work something out, not to worry.
So there. That’s what’s been happening. In Facebook relationship status terms, going from “in a relationship” to “single” to “it’s complicated” in a span of 24 hours. Not all good. But not all bad either. I’m still a bit sad somehow, but happy about how things have turned out so far. Labo ba? Basta. Uhm… it’s complicated.
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Why I Cry
I’d mentioned before that my aunt – my mom’s sister and my godmother – was diagnosed with cancer. She had a hysterectomy in May, and had undergone three rounds of chemotherapy. I’d never seen her since before she got diagnosed.
Not until yesterday.
My aunt’s family – my uncle and cousins – had already asked for help. Simply help to relieve them at my aunt’s bedside and give them some chances to rest. My mom had already assumed even beforehand that I’d be going with her to watch over my aunt in the hospital, thanks to my availability it being a holiday. But overhearing that my aunt had developed pneumonia had left me concerned.
I know I sound selfish. But whether I like it or not, I am now immuno-compromised. And pneumonia is always going to be one of my foes. Ate, our nurse at the RITM, had advised me against exposing myself to it. But my mom nagged me enough to get me to go. Of course she didn’t know what risk I was running. Until last minute, I still wasn’t sure whether I’d stay the whole time or just take my mom there and leave. I just thought, worst case, if I stayed, I’d just spend most of the time outside the room.
So, fine. I woke up early for a holiday, took breakfast, showered and dressed up. My first instinct was to wear my happiest outfit to cheer things up. Was it inappropriate? It wasn’t a wake anyway, right? So I ended up in a blinding orange shirt with a huge smiley printed on it. Very me.
I spent the cab ride to the hospital thinking. I knew she was in recovery. I knew she was in some pain. I knew chemotherapy had caused her to lose her hair. I knew she’d been wearing wigs and hats to hide it. I knew she was going to look different from when I last saw her. But no matter how much I knew, nothing could prepare me for what I was going to see.
Stepping into her room and seeing her for the first time, I was overwhelmed. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe how different she looked. It was pitiful. I almost cried. But I couldn’t. I shouldn’t. I knew that in the same way I don’t want anyone’s pity, she wouldn’t want it either. So I tried my best to keep the tears at bay. But I didn’t know how else to react for the first few minutes.
Frail, pale and lying in bed, she looked up at me, pointed at my shirt and said, “Now that makes me smile!” But you know what, more than me making her smile, I think she was trying to make me smile. As always.
This was the woman who never made me feel like I was a disappointment. This was the woman who always made me feel good about myself. This was the woman who always had something good to say about me. This was the woman who would take the news of my HIV status well. This was the woman who I don’t think ever made me cry. She still was.
So at that point, the pneumonia was not a factor. Catching anything was the least of my concerns. I was going to stay. For her.
The rest of the day was spent massaging her legs, applying some hot compress, adjusting her blanket, fanning her head... just anything she needed that could give her comfort. But I could feel she was in a lot of pain. It was so bad at times that she was crying. I admit, I shed a few tears myself. But I tried my best to hide them. Believe me, I shed more secret tears during my six-hour stay with my aunt, than I did for the more than a year that my dad suffered from cancer himself. It was heartbreaking to see her suffering. But what was more heartbreaking was that there was nothing I could do to ease it.
It was tough to be there to hear that the prognosis was bad. It was tough to hear that the cancer came back with a vengeance. It was tough to hear she wasn’t responding to chemotherapy. It was tough to hear the word “palliative” being used. But surely, not as tough as what she was going through.
Indeed, it is scary that the cancer genes are definitely present in both sides of my family tree. And HIV causing me to be more prone to it definitely won’t help. But certainly, if my own time comes, I shall never forget the spirit with which my aunt is fighting right now.
Right now, I’m still physically, mentally and emotionally drained. You won’t believe how many times and how hard I cried just writing this entry. The heavens can be so unfair sometimes. Certainly, as a mentor, as a daughter, as a sister, as a wife and as a mother, she has much more to live for than I do. She just doesn’t deserve this. If I could take her pain and suffering, I would. I would. I would.
Before leaving, while no one was looking, I left a rosary by her bedside. It was a rosary given to me, brought from and blessed in Jerusalem itself. I always had it at my own bedside. But this time, I think my aunt needs it more than I do. Please help me pray for her... if not for her recovery, just for some relief and comfort. Please... Thanks.
Friday, August 07, 2009
I Hate Cory
I loved that it was a holiday yesterday. I was able to rest, to do some errands around the house, but really, I spent most of the day watching the funeral of former Philippine president Cory Aquino. But after it all, I was left with just one conclusion...
I hate Cory.
In the wake of her death, Cory has been the headline of every news broadcast lately... quite expected, really, considering she was the eleventh president of our beloved republic.
I confess, I’ve been relegated to such a schmuck with it all. Seeing all the news about her, all the memories of her, all the tears shed for her... it all touches me. Although I do acknowledge she was one hell of a woman who showed what one seemingly lowly housewife could do to change and inspire a whole nation, I’m not necessarily a big Cory fan or anything. But still, seeing how her life is now being celebrated brings a tear to my eye.
If I had things my way, I’d be sobbing my heart out every time I’d watch something about her on TV. Yeah, yeah, call me a faggot, but it’s so damned touching! But, of course, that is not the case. Having my mom beside me forces me to be... discreet. I don’t want her to see me crying.
So what triggers all my emotion? I was just eight years old when the EDSA revolution that won her the presidency took place, so certainly I can hardly relate to the democracy thing that she brought at the time. Certainly, Cory had encountered the "STD" notion during her lifetime, but I seriously doubt if it was as close an encounter as mine. And though the fact that she looks just like my lola could play a part in it all, considering that I may have been the least favorite grandchild of that lola of mine just rips that theory apart.
If it is one particular thing, it’s the death that bothers me. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not afraid of dying. I’ve always been ready to go. It just seems that the heavens aren’t ready to take me. Not to mention that I’m not dying just yet either. It’s the prospect of dying alone that saddens me. I’ve always feared dying alone. That I’ll bravely admit.
Even before, I’ve dreamt of it more than a handful of times. Seeing myself lying in a wooden box in an empty church. No one grieving, no one missing me, no one caring, no one even noticing that I’m gone. I hate waking up sobbing like a baby whenever that happens.
One’s family should be there, right? But I seriously doubt I’m going to be anyone’s husband or father. I am a son, a brother, a nephew and a friend... but will they be too ashamed to admit that? I always said I was a loner. I am. But in death, I tend to wonder... will I still be alone?
Cory... she had it all. Children, siblings, nieces, nephews, cousins, friends... A husband saying he fell in love with her three times... Not to mention a whole nation regarding her as their mother. Will I have anything like that when the lights dim on me?
People thanking her. People missing her. People crying for her. People celebrating her life... even after her death. It was just one hell of a way to go.
She was missed. She was thanked. She loved and was loved. She nurtured. She inspired. I can only wish I had such a legacy to leave when my time comes.
I hate Cory because I can only dream of being like her. But I can try. I can certainly try.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Left Behind
Somehow, someway, my last entry apparently made someone I’ve regarded as a friend sad. I reread my entry and reread this person’s comment over and over again, but couldn’t quite understand. It was a happy entry. What happened? Did this person prefer me to be miserable?
At this point, I just need to get things off my chest, and so I opt to whip out my negativity card.
I confronted this person, and it basically boiled down to unmet expectations. Geesh, of course, that’s just like me, not to be able to live up to expectations. Of course I needed to be reminded yet again. I guess I’m just not too good at this friend thing.
Friends. I don’t seem to have very much of such thing. No barkada to speak of. I seem to have left everyone behind. You maybe be wondering why that is, and trust me, I wonder that too. So, let’s wonder together.
Back in primary school, I do recall having one best friend, who became such, mostly because our moms were best friends. He lived just a hop, a skip and a jump away from my grandmother’s place before, and so, on weekends we’d play with toy cars and robots, which he had a lot of.
I think our fallout came when my elder brother started joining us on our play dates, and I’d get ganged up on by my brother and my supposed best friend. I guess I was just too much of a sissy. And though just part of being kids, I remember being pissed off when I found out we were still going to be schoolmates up till secondary school. I was just ready to leave him behind.
In high school, I was just usually with whomever I happened to be with in a class at the time. Year in and year out, new sections were formed, which meant new sets of friends. Maybe I just panicked too much. So again, left with little time to build bonds, I easily left people behind in my motions of moving on.
In college, though I did carry over some familiar faces from high school to the university and the course that I chose, it was my academic organization that was the key. I became extremely active with the group, and it became the outlet that I was looking for – where I think I was really able to find myself and be appreciated for who I was, even down to the imperfect, silly, and crazy parts.
I was the thorn among of a barkada of roses, who called themselves the Powerpuff Girls, but I didn’t mind having to wonder whether I was the Professor, the Mayor or the Mojo Jojo of the group. Apparently, that didn’t strike anyone as such a gay thing, as there was even a point where people just thought I was so chickboy of me to be so comfortable hanging out with females.
It was also at that time that I was discovering my sexuality as well, and I found myself building a friendship – a platonic one – with one of my org-mates, a guy who openly and flamboyantly declared himself as silahis. I found such comfort in him that, one evening over dinner, I admitted to him that I was venturing into dating someone of the same gender. His reaction to that disclosure of mine was pretty vague, so I just brushed it off as shock. But the next couple of days of him avoiding me told me otherwise.
The next thing I knew, one of my Powerpuff Girls approached me and asked me if the news about me was true. News? What news? Complete, with the name, the date, the location, and a word for word account, news of my coming out was apparently going around. I neither confirmed nor denied, and just told her I’d need to find out where the news was coming from first.
After vehemently denying, but with no other possible source but him, he finally admitted to telling others about it, apparently for the reason that “he could not handle the news himself”. I was dumbfounded. You’re a homo yourself, how could you not understand? Maybe I was just too gay. He never apologized for what he did. Needless to say, that was the end of our friendship. He made all the effort himself to avoid me after that.
As for the rest of the world at that time, I just distanced myself from everyone, no longer interested in knowing who thought what about me. I needed to leave everyone behind and start anew – alone again. Up to this day, I see from afar that my Powerpuff Girls are still together, still complete, even without me. Might this be what I’ve summed up to for them? Something negligible? It honestly breaks my heart a bit that they seem to have hardly noticed that I used to be walking alongside them.
Even now as I walk with a new group again, mostly the people who I’ve been working with for the past years. But facing this new secret that I keep scares me. Will I be too HIV-positive? Will I inevitably be forced to leave them behind again? Or have I been fooling myself? Have I been the one being left behind? And am I going to be left behind again?
And then of course there are those of you who’ve known me to be the HIV-positive bitch. Let this serve as a warning to you. That’s what kind of a friend I am. Don't set expectations of me too high, because I will fail... miserably. I know nothing more than to be myself. I will eventually turn out to be too much of a sissy, too panicky, too gay, too HIV-positive, too insensitive, too stupid, too bitchy, or whatever other flaw you might see in me. So if you bank on me being something which I am incapable of being, then take caution now. Go ahead and walk away. I’m nothing more than a glass half-empty.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Thirst-Day
It was just another regular Thursday. No biggie.
Or so I thought.
What should have been just a regular commute to work turned into a whole telenovela of emotions worthy of being featured in a chick flick.
Or so I thought again.
Let me tell you my story.
I used to take the MRT to work to avoid the traffic, but realized the face-tradingly crowded trains, long walks to and from the train stations and steep climbs to the platforms just aren’t worth it. I don’t really mind the traffic anymore. My consolations are that I’m seated comfortably for most of the ride, and picked up and dropped off at more convenient places. I’ve now traded in the speed of the MRT for the hour-long weave of a public bus in and out of traffic on EDSA.
So last Thursday was like any other. I started off with my daily routine, heading out the door to brave the traffic that I’ve eventually gotten used to facing five times a week. Although I’m so used to it, I hardly find it boring enough to manage to sneak in some shuteye during the approximately hour-long trip. An hour long, if I’m lucky.
I’ve always been the type who loves seeing people, not to mention adoring them. I’ll admit, I look more at men than anyone else. I’ve been a man-watcher ever since, and all the more now that I’m HIV-positive, with the rationale that it’s the safest sex there is. And with that as my new hobby, the traffic is a huge plus. The more time I spend on the road, the more people there are to see.
The bus I was in reached Cubao, and queued at the foot of the MRT station. I’m pretty sure I’d seen so many good looking guys already, being just halfway through my trip, and my eyes had made their quota for the day.
And then there he was, just standing there, waiting for a ride. A guy. The guy. He was in a sexy, body-hugging, blue shirt, tucked into a pair of equally sexy jeans, every perfect muscle making itself known to the world against the constraint of his outfit. Admittedly, a guy’s body usually does make a huge initial impact on me. And I have this crazy habit of actually voicing out my appreciation whenever I see a perfect specimen. And so I let out my signature Wow, Wow, Wow through the glass panes of the bus, knowing I was safely away from his earshot.
I wanted to see if he had the face value to back up his great physique, but wasn’t at the right angle to judge clearly. I noticed he was looking into the bus I was in, trying to see if there were vacant seats. I knew it was half empty, and found myself saying Oh please, Oh please, Oh please, wishing he would get on the bus so I could get a better look at him.
I lost sight of him for an instant as he approached the front of the bus. And then, there he was, climbing up the steps at the door, making his way onto the bus. Oh yes, Oh yes, Oh yes, I finally got the chance to look at him straight in the face. It was as perfect as his body. Dark, clean cut hair, just as I like it, a fair, clear face that anyone would like, and the most beautiful eyes hidden behind a pair of dark rimmed, almost geeky glasses. He was a complete picture: the innocence of Clark Kent flaunting his Superman of a body.
At that point, I was in heaven already. I’d gotten my ultimate fix. The icing on the cake was seeing him look my way. Icing that melted away when I realized he was making his way towards where I was seated. Oh shit, Oh shit, Oh shit. I was panicking. Why was he headed my way? There were certainly so many other vacant seats. Why walk to almost the rear of the bus and squeeze into a two-seater with me? I felt faint.
Sure enough he sat beside me. Oh no, Oh no, Oh no. I was nauseous by that time, not knowing what to do. So I sat quietly, but was still observing. He seemed extremely comfortable beside me. Calf to calf, thigh to thigh, hip to hip, elbow to elbow, and arm to arm.
I could feel some electricity as his arm grazed the hair on my forearm as he reached into his pocket for money as the conductor came to collect his fare. "Guadalupe lang", he said in his deep, sexy voice. I caught myself realizing that I’d be late for work if I overshot to Guadalupe and just took a ride back to Ortigas. Hmm. I slapped myself mentally.
What was I supposed to do or say? Hi, I’m HIV. or Whoa, before you start groping me, I’m HIV-positive. or I really do have HIV, it’s not an alibi!, I imagined myself saying. I think my sanity got off back in Cubao.
So anyways, it seemed to be the longest ride between Cubao and Ortigas I’ve ever been on, and I suspect it was because all my blood had unconsciously rushed from my brain all the way down to my groin. Before I knew it, we had reached Ortigas, my stop. I stood up and excused myself, and got down from the bus without even looking back. Whew, Whew, Whew, I remember saying.
I looked at the bus as it drove away, trying to see the row where we both sat. It was vacant. Oh fuck, Oh fuck, Oh fuck. The panic was back. My imagination ran wild, thinking he’d gotten down to try and catch me. Of course, that wasn’t the case. I looked behind me and didn’t see him.
My ten-minute walk from the highway to the office left me with a lot of time to think, and as usual, I was suddenly struck with a bit of regret, missing my chance to meet a possibly great guy. Crazy, ain’t I?! Or is it just the Valentine thirst? Geesh, I think I need a life.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
I'm Not A Superhero
I’m not fast like The Flash. I’m not strong like The Incredible Hulk. I’m not a web-swinger like Spiderman. I don’t have x-ray vision like Superman. I can’t communicate with animals, like Dr. Doolittle. I’m not even as hung as Jeff Stryker.
I’m not a superhero. But these past few weeks, everyone has been expecting me to be one.
At work, I’ve been denying the fact that I’ve managed to shoulder the work being done by at least four different people who’ve left the company. And this past week, I’ve been receiving feelers to take on even more work. They’re actually trying to flatter me into thinking that I’m being developed for bigger things, but flattery will get you nowhere. I’d appreciate some help, for crying out loud! Multi-tasking is one thing, but overloading is a whole different situation. It’s not even funny!
Some emo friends have been making contact as well, asking for some advice regarding their respective relationship problems. I don’t know when exactly I became the expert on love, nor do I know why I was made mature enough to handle situations such as theirs. I know I’ve been gifted by the heavens with this “talent”, but sometimes, I just don’t want to hear things. I don’t want my solitude-slash-loneliness being rubbed in my face. I just want to tell them to be thankful they actually have relationships to be problematic about, when I on the other hand, have nothing.
This thing with Baby Nathan has been another challenge. This was the one time that the HIV advocacy organizations could’ve stepped up to the plate to help this deserving family out, but sadly, I don’t know if and how they’ve been helping. I’m not exactly rich or anything, but I do manage to assist them in my own personal capacity. Granted that they should eventually be able to support themselves, you don’t know how hard it is to turn my back on a kid who can’t even go for a check up or a med refill because they don’t have money for a bus ticket to Alabang.
I’ve been fortunate enough to have found my passion for writing, and be able to use it to fuel my HIV advocacy. But even that is daunting. There’s just so much to do, and lucky enough that I’ve been receiving opportunity after opportunity to both write and advocate, I’m just afraid of spreading myself too thin.
And with everyone pulling on me from all directions, some even trying to shoot me down, the last thing I want to do is snap. This is not exactly going to do wonders for my upcoming CD4 count. There just has to be some other way to relieve the strain.
It’s just so much pressure to have the success, happiness, comfort, and the very lives of others depend on my actions. It’s physically tiring, mentally exhausting, and emotionally draining. So much so that, I must admit, I’ve needed to take a slight respite from the realities of life.
I felt like a turtle in a race, leaving the confines of my own shell, trying to push everyone else, from a frail ant to an emotional elephant, past the finish line. My biggest fear was looming... to get trampled in all the ruckus. A hero in the eyes of the few who might care, but mere roadkill in the greater scheme of things.
Fortunately, an angel picked up my rotting carcass and took me up to the heavens, to revive what little life there was left in me. And given the chance to converse with God, I only had three things in mind. I asked for strength, I asked for purpose, and I thanked Him extensively for everything I have. And with that, I felt peace and smiled.
Somehow, it dawned on me that maybe I didn’t need to be a superhero. It might just be enough to be me.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Not so Christmasy
Oh, shit. Four days to go till Christmas.
It’s never been a day or a season I look forward to. Ever since I had the maturity – or should I call it angst – to look beyond the decorations, the gifts and the food, and into all the emotions that are wrapped up with it, I’ve come to realize how the holidays have usually been a lonely time for me.
I know I’ve always regarded myself as a loner, and as being strong and secure, but Christmas is a time that magnifies all my insecurities, all the loneliness, all the self-pity and all the hurt. I can honestly say that I’ve cried myself to sleep on more than a couple of occurrences of Christmas.
I can’t say I’ve always been single whenever Christmastime comes. But memories of the few years that I’ve had someone special beside me during the holidays end up being tainted with doubt when the relationship ends because of infidelity, mostly on their part.
Last year, my first Christmas after my personal vow of singlehood, I remember getting the most greetings ever, mostly from the guys who I was playing mistress to at the time. But knowing that they needed to sneak off and could spare just a few minutes from their normal lives to drop me a line, and when these guys would need to go back to their wives, girlfriends, partners or boyfriends, I realize that the numbers didn’t count. Eventually, I’d be alone again.
This being the last weekend before Christmas, I’ve been attending party after party the past few days. Fun? Yes, definitely. And though I am usually nothing more than a wall flower, the happiness overflows in my heart when I see other people happy. Creepy to some extent, I know. But deep inside, I’ve been feeling the loneliness skulking in.
From my late father, I inherited a penchant for booze. And though I don’t really do much of it, nor am I addicted to it, I’ve been treating myself to my fair share of the drinking the past few days. But as much as I’d like to try to drown my sorrows away, it’s like the heavens have taunted me again. I do not get drunk. I’ve gotten as far as tipsy and sleepy, but never ever gotten puke-mad-don’t-know-what-I’m-doing-can’t-remember-what-happened unconscious. I don’t know if that’s a good thing. I want to forget the loneliness. I want to be numbed of the pain. But I wasn’t meant to be that lucky.
This will be my first Christmas after finding out I am HIV-positive. How much worse will HIV make it? Only time can tell.
So far, sans the HIV part of it, Christmas seems to be a time when everyone is already busy with their special someone. And as I’ve learned, third wheels will get left behind. Even just seeing strangers everywhere I look paired up walking hand in hand just leaves me sighing and trying to shake the loneliness from my mind.
Apart from that, it seems to be a time when people seem to be wearing new clothes, sporting new looks, and of course looking damned good, and it’s been such a torture to try to keep myself from having any part of that pie. I’m just afraid it’s going to get too complicated. Or maybe I’m too proud to admit that I’m needy. I don’t want to run the risk of having something end up as a fling just to tide me over the holidays.
So for now, only solitude will surely remain by my side. I’ll be constantly reminding – and convincing – myself of all the pros of being single, and if I’m lucky, when I go to bed tonight, I’ll wake up to find out it’s January already. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have to whip out – Gasp! – my License to Drama. Just wish my sanity luck... please.
P.S. On a good note, POSITIVISM.PH is up and running! Check it out! Thank you, Hotbox and Synthesis! Congrats, Bossings! We've only just begun...
Thursday, November 06, 2008
License to Drama
Since being immersed in the world of HIV more than six months ago, I’ve been lucky enough to be given little chances to try my hand at counseling – talking with others who are dealing with HIV. Some who are about to get tested, some who are waiting for results, some who’ve just tested positive, some who’ve just tested negative, some who are concerned about medications, and some who have been living with HIV. I can’t say I’ve seen it all, but I’ve seen a lot. And I think it’s dealing with the emotions which is the toughest thing.
I’ve said before how the HIV bomb being dropped on you can be a really daunting thing. It is, it is. But does it give you all the right to be a bottomless supply of depression and negativity? Is HIV a license to drama?
Well, let’s be realistic. To some extent, it is. A string of days crying, feeling lost, not knowing what to do, worrying about how it will affect the rest of your life, being angry, wallowing in paranoia… all common things. Sometimes they come in phases, one after the other, but if you have it really bad, they hit you with one big blow. Again, common, but I repeat, only to some extent.
So when does it become too much? I think you just gotta listen to yourself. If you’re in the dark about HIV, then do something about it. Read up. If you’re worrying about how it will affect the rest of your life, go to a fortune teller. How your life goes will actually be all up to you. If you’re angry because someone infected you, then go ahead and point your finger. It took two to tango, didn’t it? If you’re paranoid, get over yourself. The world doesn’t revolve around you.
Sound harsh? Well, that’s usually what it takes to snap you back into reality. You need to get over all the negativity. It’s all just going to cause you suffering, which is totally unhealthy and unnecessary. You need to get it all out of your system and realize that it’s not the end of the world. Life goes on. And open your eyes and see that so many people are willing to help you through this new phase of your life.
How bad can it all get? I think the worst would be someone who tests positive for HIV and is unwilling to get the help needed and has lost the desire to live. Someone who thinks "I wanna die! I wanna die! I wanna die!" Who isn’t going to die? We’ll all get there eventually, with or without HIV. For this person, some higher being might appear before him and say, "Your wish is my command." Zap. The End. To state the irony, this person might actually die just waiting for his death, which is a sad life.
A close second may be someone who is about to get tested and can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t stop worrying, or worse, can’t stop crying about it. It’s taxing to have to point out that they haven’t actually tested positive yet. Suck it up! Take responsibility! You wouldn’t need this test if you didn’t take the risk, would you? And if I was caught on a particularly bitchy day, be prepared. You’re getting tested for HIV. I already have HIV. Wanna trade places?
I know, I can be tough sometimes. But sometimes, that’s what it takes. The world is even lucky that I’m not the confrontational type, and am content with merely letting thoughts like this brew in my twisted mind, or go no further than my fingers doing the walking.
But nonetheless, the reality is that HIV should no longer be regarded as a terminal illness or a killer disease. HIV is still a big deal. But it can be dealt with. We can still work. We can still love. We can still laugh. We can still live.
Your license is hereby revoked. So go on, quit the drama, and live.
