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.
Thursday, August 05, 2010
Yoga Gaga
Friday, July 23, 2010
Too Much
Now, work is no question. I do need to make a living. So around half the hours of five days of every week is dedicated to work, inclusive of lunch breaks and daily commutes. That leaves 12 hours each from Mondays to Fridays, plus entire weekends to do everything else.
It may sound like enough time, but I’ve come to realize it’s not. Right now, I’ll be humble enough to say that I'm taking on... too much.
This entire week has been heavy. It started Sunday night, when I had to go out late to meet a pozzie friend. He was to hand over pasalubongs for BFF and myself, as he had gone abroad recently. It sounded simple enough. I left the house around 9:30 pm, unusual, because I’d usually already be in bed or at least in my room by that time.
But considering it wasn’t often that he was in the Metro, I gave the proposal a nod. We met at a little coffee shop, and he treated me to some coffee. And we went on, and on, and on. Before we knew it, it was almost midnight. The load of a busy weekend, the going past my bedtime, my Efavirenz, and thoughts of the coming Monday were heavily creeping in.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. I seriously had a great time hanging out, dishing out the dirt, catching up, and getting cruised by the late night boys, but my body clock could not tick for much long. So he headed off, as I battled my way back home. Not even the boys in the dark who were checking me out could stop me, seriously. It was that bad. So with that, it was going to be a sleepy start to the week.
Monday. Work as usual. Usual, until I was reminded that one of my poz kiddos, ImNotDyingImLiving, was scheduled to leave the next day. So BFF and I got planning to at least take him out to dinner one last time before he left. It was going to be another long day. But I wasn’t going to let the last chance to see him pass.
BFF and I showed up at his place, where my favorite doctor-advocate showed up with our Yoga for Life yogi followed. It was a perfectly tight little group. We had dinner, after which we strolled around cruising the local hot boys. Hmm, I seem to be doing a lot of cruising lately. Must be the weather. And with that, sans any boohoo moments, we hugged ImNotDyingImLiving goodbye one last time and wished him care and luck on his trip. Sigh. One less pozzie in the Philippines? Sort of.
Hehe. BFF and I headed home together, to my place actually, so he could get his pasalubong. More catching up, plus a bit of cruising, and I took him out to the highway where he could catch a cab. A big hug, and I was off, home and into bed.
Okay, it was a Monday and I already owed two fractions-of-a-day’s worth of sleep. So Tuesday night, I made sure I slept early. Or earlier rather. Still only got seven hours of sleep.
Wednesday, of course, was Yoga for Life day. I was running late, literally running, so I was heaving to begin with. Add to that an extremely intense yoga session. Hell, almost every inch of my shirt was dripping wet. It was a good workout, but a real “work” out. Whew. Five of us had dinner after, which meant another late night out. I think I got home just before 11:00 pm, and with a cool down and a cold shower, I must’ve been asleep by midnight. Again, I got less than my forty winks.
Thursday, I made sure I went straight home. I was in bed by 10:00 pm. Ugh, my first complete 8 hours of sleep for the week. I swear, I was sleeping till the very last minute before my alarm woke me up. It was gooooooooood. But I could use more rest.
And throughout the week, tiring as it already was, the pending weekend was already haunting me. Saturday was to be saturated day. Running buddy was calling for an early run. Grocery with mom mid-morning. Yoga for Life in the afternoon. A foursome bloggers birthday bash of ToiletThoughts, OdinHood, WanderingCommuter and ClosetGeek in the evening. And another dinner invite to be one half of a pair of dates of my favorite doctor-advocate. Oh, and a last minute addition, a family lunch thing. Hoooooo-kay.
I could actually do everything. Really, I could. But geez, this was just not a good week to be dumped with so much. There is actually such a thing as too much. And this... this was just too much.
So I decided to let some things go. I begged off from running... I’d be too drained too early in the morning. Grocery can wait. The rest, I either want or need to do. The family lunch would be the last chance I’ll get to see my uncle and his family for a while. Of course, I want to Yoga for Life... I’m getting used to having it twice a week already.
The evening is surely booked. I want to do the birthday bash, because they’re all my friends, and it’s not often that ClosetGeek is in town. I want to do the dinner, too, because I’m sure I’ll get a hug there. Haha. Though I still have to figure out how I’ll be in both places at once. Geez!
So there. It was just too much. It ain’t the HIV. Not at all. It’s just me managing my priorities. It’s just me making sure of what exactly I can do, I want to do and I need to do. It’s just me being human. It’s just me knowing when to say it’s too much.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Shrill Thrill of April
April is almost halfway through. Argh. Was I unconscious or something? Where did it all go? Well I guess it can be attributed to all the long weekends that we’ve been having, thanks to Holy Week and National Heroes Day, which gave us 4- and 3-day weekends respectively. So much free time, but oddly enough I haven’t been able to blog. Not really a case of not having anything to blog about. Just wasn’t in the mood I guess. Or busy maybe. But time to recap.
Holy Week started the very first day of April. I was actually supposed to be out of town, in Puerto Galera to be exact, to help out with the Take the Test project, spearheaded by Jethro, an advocate and friend of E. The team had been cramming for it the previous week, they more than me, to get everything set. I could only help out with what I was moderately good at, which is words and numbers.
At the last minute, E told me constraints in the budget meant they’d have to cut some of the team from being on site. Of course, priority would be given to the nurses, medical technologists, and peer counselors. It was a little sacrifice for me, towards the success of the project. But a bit of a relief as well, because I dreaded the Holy Week travel rush and the need for kapal-muks had I played GRO for the event. Whew. It would’ve been the first Holy Week ever that I would be spending outside Metro Manila, too.
So instead of going out of town, I stayed in the city. I always treasure the peace in the city whenever everyone’s out town. I love it. But that weekend was not at all boring.
While Holy Thursday was spent at home, there was also planning going on for a Good Friday thingy. What was up? A photo-tour of Manila! So with me and 2 of my pozzie kids, and Papi with 2 of his friends, the 6 of us braved the summer heat to trek through Luneta and Intramuros, and have lunch in Binondo with a couple more pozzie friends catching up with us.
Armed with hardly anything more than a camera each, we soon succumbed to the afternoon heat, not managing to continue the walk in the afternoon. We would’ve been able to squeeze in more sights probably had we started earlier in the day. It was just too hot. So we spent the afternoon indoors just hanging out. I left for home past 10 in the evening. It was a truly fun, tiring and wholesome day spent with friends. Not bad for a Good Friday.
Most of Black Saturday was spent resting, while Easter Sunday saw me having lunch with the family. I finally got to taste the Papi-recommended Crispy Dinuguan of Kanin Club. Absolutely yummy. I also tagged along to do an ocular of the La Mesa Eco-park. For me, there were just too many people there, and it didn’t live up to my expectations of a peaceful and quiet place to spend a day. I was just itching to go home and sleep.
The day was saved by news from E that the Take the Test project was a huge success in Galera. Aside from the voluntary counseling and testing conducted, he said it was the HIV seminar held daily on the beach front that made a huge impact. He says we reached even more people than the million-peso-budgeted efforts of other NGOs and even the DOH. Whoa... I can’t wait to hear more about how it went.
After just four days of work, came another long weekend. Friday was National Heroes Day, another non-working holiday. Something was up. Should I go or not? Fine, someone helped convince me to go. It was to be another pozzie gathering Friday night.
Unlike previous ones, this was going to be at someone’s residence, and not with my usual pozzie group. So even more than usual, my wallflower mode was so on. It was really just a chill night, with some fab singers, some flashy dancers, some overly okray acts, and a whole lot of candles all around. And with more than twenty of us there, things were bound to overflow. If we started out in the living room, but by the end of the evening, most of us were outdoors in front of the house and seated along the sidewalk. Good thing the neighbors didn’t complain.
Although I was my usual quiet self, I did get to meet a lot of new pozzies I hadn’t known or had never seen before. I mean, yeah Papi and some of my “kids” and friends were there, and some I’d just met before or knew by name, but a lot of others I had never seen or been introduced to.
I think my most nega moment of the night was when one of the RITM doctors showed up. I didn’t really know who he was, but heard people calling him “Doc”. Nope, I wasn’t nega just based on having a doctor there. There was just one point in the evening that he called my attention upon seeing me reach for a bud of chicharon, saying I shouldn’t be eating it because it could cause high bood pressure. Seriously?
My mind was reeling. Excuse me? Have we even been introduced? Why exactly was I the only one whose attention you called, when I wasn’t the only one eating chicharon in the first place? Do you have my medical records with you? Did you see something alarming? And while you’re at it, maybe you should go the extra mile and point out every one of us who was either drinking alcohol or smoking, right?
If he was kidding, it wasn't a funny delivery at all. And if he was serious, hello?! There was just some sort of conflict between the professional and personal encounters of being a doctor. Anyway, I was able to keep my mouth shut. And yes, I still ate that chicharon. Bah!
So there, I had my gimmick quota as early as Friday night. I spent most of Saturday at home, highlighted by dinner and coffee with BFF, which I absolutely enjoyed. It was sort of us catching up, and me sending him off as well because... Wheeeee! Basta, I won’t be seeing him for a while because he’ll be... uhm... busy. Wheeeee!
And Sunday was spent dreading yet another Monday once again. Okay, I guess now I know where all the weekends went. Aside from my new addiction... agh, yes I admit… I’m B.I.T.C.H and I’m addicted to an online game... huhuhu... seems like I’ve been pretty busy after all. Some shrill but so much thrill... So far, that’s been April!
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.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
The Real Man
Come to think of it, Fathers’ Day came and went this year with hardly a hint of a fuss. Had I not gotten the call from L that day and heard his son in the background, I could’ve possibly completely forgotten about it. I know I seem like such an ungrateful son to have only greeted one person and it wasn’t even my own dad. But that's just how it went.
Growing up, I didn’t really have my dad beside me. His profession required him to be out-of-town most of the time. He did, however, show up around once a month if I remember right. During those once-a-months he’d come home, I would run out to meet him and hug him around the waist, my little arms unable to wrap around his fully-developed beer belly. Yep, my dad was a Pale Pilsen person, and he was a real man.
I remember the lingering scent of a smoker, as well as his signature smokers’ cough that filled the house every time he was around. I don’t even wonder why I never felt the need to get hooked on cigarettes. Yep, my dad had his own carbon footprint, and he was a real man.
I’m a bit ashamed to admit that I used to sleep in the same bed my parents did. And waking up beside my dad without his shirt on, I would wonder why there were stray hairs around his nipples, which I’d try to tug at, eventually waking him up every time. Yep, my dad walked around without his shirt on, had armpit hair, nipple hair and a full mustache, and he was a real man.
But of course, my dad was a real man in all the other senses of the word.
He would go hang out with his drinking buddies out on the street corner, usually coming home so drunk that on some occasions that he’d fall asleep right on top of our school books, and on one really bad day, he pushed my mom around and left her in a heap on the floor right before our very eyes. Yep, my dad was an alcoholic, and he was a real man.
He was always right. He knew how to use any product ever manufactured, even better than the manufacturer. And not even the scientific knowledge that we, his children, would bring up was enough to overturn his own know-how. Yep, my dad was a know-it-all, and he was a real man.
He was one hell of a driver. He had a habit of running female drivers off the road, and honking them to jitters. He hated being overtaken, and loved cutting in. Yep, my dad was king of the road, and he was a real man.
He was a man of few words. When I told my mom that I was gay back in 1999, she actually forced me to tell my dad. So I did. I admit it scared the shit outta me, but hearing him say Just let him be in a matter-of-fact way just shocked the hell outta me, too. Yep, my dad seemed void of emotions, and he was a real man.
So my dad may have seemed like as much of a real man any man can ever get. But it took a real man to put my dad down... he succumbed to himself.
In late 2003, my dad felt the need to once again be a real man, as he ignored advice from his doctor-cousin to go for a checkup. By the time he couldn’t bear the pain, which was when he finally went for a checkup, it was too late. He was diagnosed with terminal stage cancer.
Of course, being a real man, he still didn’t follow everything his doctor said. Yes, he went in for chemotherapy, which would seem to say he still wanted to live. But he still ate what he wasn’t supposed to be eating, drank what he wasn’t supposed to be drinking, and did what he wasn’t supposed to be doing.
The fact that he outlived the 10 months he was given didn’t even help. He just became more stubborn. I felt how it was to have a child... and a brat at that. He couldn’t see that we were just trying to take care of him. He wanted to live, but wasn’t willing to make the sacrifice.
I remember thinking to myself, Is this what it takes to be a real man?... If it was, then I was rather relieved that I wasn’t one.
Finally, his moment of humility came as he was lying helpless in the hospital. With his wife and all us kids around, he confessed that he fathered two other sons with another woman, both of whom shared our family name, as well as our initials. Oddly enough, we were far from shocked, having known about it since years ago. But the way he said it... the first ever time I may have seen him cry... was a breakthrough. It redefined what I knew of what a real man was supposed to be.
Sadly, about a week after that, we were awoken by the dreaded call that rushed us to the hospital. Other than the doctors trying to resuscitate him long enough for us to get there, it was too late. My dad had died.
Time flies, and it’s been almost five years since. I still will openly admit that we hardly had a real relationship, and still think that he was an arrogant, stubborn ass most of the time. But hell... I had to get some of it from somewhere, right?
Remembering my dad and my own challenges today, I will have to say that I got more than my tolerance for alcohol, my thinning hair, and my skin color from him. If he could see me now, I don’t exactly think he’d be proud, but he can definitely rest assured that some of the better points of his “real man” legacy may just have rubbed off on me.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Family Day
It was almost 6:00 pm, and the rain was pouring hard. I was hoping it would hold up just long enough to give me time to get to the mall dry to some degree, but it didn’t seem likely. I was nearest to the agreed meeting place, and as such, should have been least likely to be late. So I whipped out my long wind-proof umbrella and decided to brave the rain.
It was Saturday. Payday weekend. Family day.
RubyPurple was going to be late because of traffic. JohnStanley was going to be late because he was coming from further away. I got there late, just as I expected, bogged down further by the huge crowd. I spotted TurismoBoi and his friend as I approached, and greeted them. With so many people lined up waiting to get inside, TurismoBoi decided we go to from Gilligan’s to Max’s instead.
We were seated after a few minutes, ordered for ourselves and started catching up while waiting for the others. RubyPurple soon arrived, followed shortly by JohnStanley.
With the common complaint about the huge number of people at the mall and seeing families all around, I reckon we were the only group not buying school supplies for any kids of our own. But you know what? We weren’t any less of a family amongst ourselves.
RubyPurple and I had been chatting a lot about this get-together this week. Initially, TurismoBoi just had dinner planned, but RubyPurple and I came up with this plan for us to go videoke after. I can’t sing, and RubyPurple denies that she can, so we must’ve been really crazy and really shameless to even fathom this plan.
After our sarap-to-the-bones dinner just before 9:00 pm, TurismoBoi accompanied his friend who had to go, agreeing to meet us at RedBox in a bit. RedBox was packed, so we needed to just wait and hope for a vacancy. With TurismoBoi catching up to us, TristanTales dropping by, an hour, and my tummy full of very gay, very strawberry ColdRock Ice Cream later, and still no room available, we decided to find somewhere else to go.
With RubyPurple and I in a convoy with JohnStanley, TurismoBoi and TristanTales, we scoured the QC area to find other videoke places. Finally, we settled for the only place we knew and could find on Timog Avenue. Although it was already fully-booked at the time, we didn’t have to wait long before a room became available. As we headed up, TristanTales had to leave us to go to a prior engagement in another part of the Metro. And then there were four.
It was already midnight, and after ordering some pulutan and a drink each, and my ARVs safely down my gullet, the show began. Granted, it was TurismoBoi who emerged the real singer among us, everybody was singing. Even me. I know. Gasp. I was actually choosing songs and keying them into the videoke thingy. Gasp again.
And with everything from sad songs to love songs, solos to duets, and pop tunes to novelty songs in our repertoire, the evening was nothing short of fun. In the middle of tonight’s program, without Stop in any of the song lists, sadly, the Spice Girls may have had to disband. But, alas, Smokey Mountain was formed. We now have our signature song, again complete with choreography. Hehehe.
Even a bit of a Stresstabs-iuwi-mo-na-yan moment didn’t dampen things. Fine, TurismoBoi was the runaway winner of the Energizer award, but surprisingly, I kept up. I even found it odd that I didn’t feel drowsy or dizzy because of being up past my bedtime and taking my ARVs.
I think it was past 3:00 am when we finished our queue of songs. It was time to go. Heading our separate ways, with TurismoBoi hitching with RubyPurple and me with JohnStanley, we called it a night... or an early morning. It’s been a while since I was last on a gimmick like this, and certainly a longer while since I had this much fun on a gimmick like this.
No inhibitions, no shame, it was just fun and comfortable. Even if my kumare couldn’t make it, with daddy JohnStanley, mommy RubyPurple, and baby TurismoBoi there... okay fine, I’ll settle for being the lolo, the yaya or the family pet... we certainly had our own version of a family day.
Thanks guys and gal!
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
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.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
Happy New Year?
Since finding out I was HIV-positive, especially earlier on when I didn’t really know what prospects there were left for the rest of my life, I had put myself in a mindset of preparing myself to live a short life. Of course, that included having to prepare the people around me, especially my family, to get used to not having me around. And take note, as of today, still no one in my family knows I have HIV.
Among us 13 cousins on my mom’s side of the family, I might not be the least talented, but I’m certainly the least appreciated. Let’s just say, if there weren’t any papers that obligated them to recognize me as a blood relative, I’d probably be an orphan by now. And the HIV thing isn’t even part of the equation yet.
Even without the HIV factor, I’ve already probably been the biggest failure, or at least the least successful, that I’ve had to make up for it in other fields. I’m the most scrappy, I’m the least ordinary, I’m the most sarcastic, I’m the least gullible, I’m the most witty, I’m the least sensitive, I’m the most goofy, I’m the least uptight, I’m the most street-smart. These are things that I won’t exactly get citations for, but have learned to be proud of nonetheless. But that’s just it. I’m the only one who is proud of myself.
I know this all makes me sound so pitiful, but since finding out I was HIV-positive, I thought this might actually work to my advantage, making it easier for my family to cope without me, in case of my early demise.
So time-space-warp to today, New Year’s Day. Just like Christmas Eve and All Saint’s Day, another obligatory occurrence for a family reunion. This year was no different.
The one thing I was definitely there for was lunch. But heaps of rice, slabs of crispy pata, chunks of fish, and mountains of salad later, I was left in limbo.
The men were playing mahjong, whereas I hate gambling. The women were Skype-ing with my brother and other relatives abroad, whereas I was still actually enjoying my first brother-less New Year. The girls were trying on dresses and blouses, whereas I was keeping my opinion to my discreet self, not planning to be Fanny Serrano for them. The boys were playing some multi-player shooting game on their laptops, whereas I am still of the Pacman, Tetris and Minesweeper generation.
I envy my sister who has been able to break free from the obligation of attending such family gatherings. It’s as if she is no longer expected to show up. Which is sad for me, because she might’ve been the one I’d be hanging out with if she was there. But I’m happy for her. And I’d like to be that way too, no longer expected to be around.
But this was ridiculous. I’m still alive, and already it’s like I didn’t exist. I had nothing to do. I was stuck in nowhere land. Not here, not there, not anywhere. I felt as though I could’ve left and no one would notice. And that was really sad. I was just lying there on the couch, feeling my heart breaking with that realization.
Although I’ve learned not to fear death itself, I have to admit my greatest fear might be dying alone and having the life I’ve lived not sum up to anything. That I would not have done anything significant in this world. That I would be forgotten.
Spending the day with my family left me with both a happy reassurance and a sad realization: They’ll be okay without me.
Happy New Year?
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
My Christmas Spirit
I was awoken this morning at 5:00 am by a call on my mobile phone. The ringing didn’t last long. When I checked, it was an unknown number, so I dozed back off again. The next thing I heard was my message alert, which is a bit more annoying than my ringtone. That brought me to my senses.
Checking the message, it came from the same anonymous number, but made me smile. It was Baby Nathan’s dad, using a new sim card on my same network, greeting me a Merry Christmas, thanking me for all the help, and telling me he’d call later. Wouldn’t that make you smile? I replied with a good morning and a Merry Christmas as well.
Shortly after, another call came in. I answered this time, and it was Baby’s dad, saying Merry Christmas and asking how I was. I could hear Baby Nathan in the background obviously craving for some attention from his dad. I couldn’t help but laugh. We talked a bit about how they were discharged from the RITM last December 16th, how he’d gone back for a med refill yesterday, how Baby Nathan was doing well, and was becoming his naughty young self again and I told him I’d try to drop by sometime, since we lived in the same city. I was regretting having to work today. It’s December 24th, and I should just be relaxing in time for Christmas eve. But nooo. I have to work. The whole day. Argh.
Regardless, that call just jumpstarted my day. I got out of bed in a jiffy, and found myself preparing to glaze our Christmas ham while I was eating breakfast. Hmmm, did I finally find my Christmas spirit? Hahaha.
I was out of the house with a bounce in my step, and I stood across the gate waiting for a tricycle. There was this one moment when there were no cars on the street, no tricycles, no dogs, no people. It was unusual. And I realized that for that brief moment, the world was all about me. God was making me smile with the gift of silence and solitude. And smile I did.
The bus ride to work was a surprise in itself. Yeah, the traffic was terrible, especially by the bus stations in Cubao as people tried to rush home to their respective provinces. Yeah, that loud sound made when the side mirror of another bus broke against the frame of ours jolted me a bit. But the little gesture of the bus conductor thanking me for giving him exact change was unusual and unexpected, but deeply appreciated. I smiled again.
I continued exchanging text messages with Baby Nathan’s dad until I got to work. He half-jokingly wished I’d get the afternoon off from work so I could drop by. He told me to just send him a message so they could meet me in the area in case I got lost. I fished a bit, asking what they were having for Christmas dinner tonight. He shamefully answered that they didn’t have anything special to serve me. I laughed and assured him I’d try my best to drop by and take care of that. His last reply was that Baby Nathan said he’d wait for me to come. Haha, this guy knew how to make me smile.
So here I am, working on the eve of Christmas, but really, I think my day is already made. I sooooo want to go visit Baby Nathan and give them some of the Christmas spirit I’ve been being blessed with, and I’ll be trying my bestest.
I don't know exactly what endears me so much to Baby Nathan and his family, but they sort of remind me of the Nativity story of Baby Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the Christmas family. For now, let me greet everyone a VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS. May the spirit of family, happiness and giving be with us all. Wow, was that me talking?! Maybe I'm not such a scrooge after all.
Friday, December 12, 2008
A Positive Christmas
It was Friday, but I took the day off from work. I still woke up early though, to take a trip to the Social Hygiene Clinic to get the results of my Quantitative RPR. Nothing alarming, just part of the monitoring for my syphilis.
From there I headed straight to my favorite barber who gave me my signature semi-kalbo, after which I treated myself to a hairspa. Having not that much hair left and having a hairspa doesn’t make sense, but I mostly do it for the massage that comes with it. It borders between being extremely relaxing and slightly arousing. I don’t even know if he’s really good at it, or if I just find him that hot. It feels so good that I get chills down my spine. And so much chills that I get confused whether I’m truly aroused, or just need to pee. Mmm.
It was just 11:00 am. So did I take a leave just to get my lab results and treat myself to a haircut? No, of course not. That was just the beginning. All in preparation for a big day, my first Christmas Party at the RITM.
I was feeling good today. My face was cooperating, with my breakouts taking a bit of a break. Even my sniffles were in on it, as my runny nose held up for the day. Okay so the haircut was half because I needed it, and half because I wanted to make a good first impression. Good impression, my ass! Was I planning to flirt?! No, not planning. Let’s just say I was open to the possibility. No, no. More like I needed to feel confident. Whatever.
I was able to convince U to go, so we went together, buying some pitchi-pitchi and some bread and dip on the way, for our contribution to the potluck celebration. Coming from all the way north, and going all the way south, it was expected that we’d be late. Let’s just say call time was 10:00 am, and we got there at 1:30 pm. Talk about Filipino time.
Walking in to the tune of Hep-Hep-Hooray being played by some of the pusits, I carefully stayed unnoticed while I looked around, wondering if I’d see someone I wasn’t expecting to see. Someone who I’d made contact with, who I didn’t know had HIV, too. Fortunately, other than the guys and some gals I’d met at the RITM and San Lazaro before, our resident counselor, the Doctor and the Ates, no other familiar faces. A big Whew! from me.
After a run down the buffet, I sat down and faded into my wall flower mode. Quiet, insignificant, observant, hiding behind a huge column in the middle of the hall, away from all the action. I looked the crowd over a second time between bites, checking everyone out. I have been asked by others if there really are a lot of hot guys there. I just tease, saying SECRET! I’m sorry you couldn’t make it! Hehehe.
And, though it was a party, and as much as I’d liked to share the experience, I didn’t expect any pictures to be taken. I myself opted against bringing a camera with me, from fear of the pictures having to look like this...
That aint lookin' so Christmasy, huh? Hahahahaha.
But more importantly, other than a couple of guys I noticed in face masks, everyone looked every bit normal and ordinary as the rest of the world. There were guys, there were girls, even guys who looked like girls... nothing new to me. There were kids running around, some RITM personnel hanging out and some affected friends in the mix, so much so that no one could probably identify correctly who was HIV positive and who wasn’t. I couldn’t tell myself just by looking.
I just had a moment of bother when one guy was introduced to me. It was a guy who I’ve mentioned in one of my posts before, and not in an entirely good way. Let’s just say I gave my honest opinion not expecting to meet him face to face. But he was nice enough to smile and say something to the tune of yeah, I know him already, which left me speechless. I realize I’m treading the waters between fame and notoriety as The Blogger. Good thing I snapped out of the paranoid spell soon enough.
From across the room, I noticed someone looking my way. It was Baby Nathan’s dad. He cradled the Baby who seemed frightened by all the noise, flashing his familiar smile. I was caught off guard by how he recognized me from that far away, but I nodded and smiled back, and understood, they were doing okay.
A young lady walked by, a couple of minutes later, shook my hand, said thank you and walked off. I later realized she was the Baby’s mom, who I was seeing and meeting for the first time. It was surprising how young she looked, but again refreshing how positive her aura was, even belting out more than a handful of songs on the videoke machine.
Daddy walked over to my corner a bit later, updating me that the Baby was doing fine. The Baby was taken off the ARVs that were causing him fevers, and was shifted to my same pills probably, which he apparently melts in his mouth like candy. Yum. I thought to myself, now he’s really getting his childhood back. I couldn’t help but smile.
Several videoke songs, a fabulous production number from a t-back bearing babe, a couple of hours more of food, zero word from work, an exchanging of gifts, some bulge- and finger-related speculations about my penis size – something I’ve come to be comfortable with and proud of, ahem, ahem – and a refill of my ARV supply later, the crowd had thinned and it was time to go.
U and I headed back up north the way we came, had dinner at the mall – like we didn’t get enough nutrition already – and chatted over some hot chocolate into the night, until we went our own ways at about 10:30 pm.
Looking the day over, the Grinch in me has to admit that it was a positive day. And if this, being my first Christmas party of the year, is a sign of things to come, I think I’ll have a happy Christmas this year.
Christmas is supposed to be about family, and be it as small as Baby Nathan’s family, or as big as the community that came out to celebrate, I felt how it was to have a family. It’s only today that I can finally say that I do feel the spirit of Christmas.
A Positively Merry Christmas to us all!
Monday, October 13, 2008
Oh Sistah!
My sister is the eldest in our brood of three, while I’m the youngest. Not much of an age gap to speak of, though, as we were born just three years apart from each other. Spending my childhood with her didn’t really leave much of an impression on me, since we would usually do things separately. You know... the Mars versus Venus thing. One thing I do remember is that she and my brother would always team up and pick on me. Pretty normal, don’t you think?
I believe I’ve mentioned my sister a number of times since starting this blog. So I might as well tell you more.
Growing up with her was a different story. She became a thorn in my side. Being siblings, I expected her to be an ally against authority figures. But no. She always played mommy-junior, echoing every disappointment my mom had for me. So much for her being my hero.
She was always so perfect. She set the standards when it came to educational achievements. And man, were they high. The sad part was that I was always compared to her.
Just like her, I graduated at the top of the class in primary school. But unlike her, I never had any medals to add to the showcase. Just like her, I graduated from one of the toughest secondary schools in town. But that never mattered because my grades were never as high as hers. Just like her, I graduated from one of the best universities in the country. But unlike her, I needed extra years to finish my course.
I know I didn’t do too bad, but being compared to her just magnified my flaws and left me at the bottom of the pack. I’m probably an underachiever because of her. I became an underachiever hidden behind the guise of being easily contented with what little I had and proud of what little I was capable of.
So far from the looks of things, we were never close. Add to that the fact that she moved out on her own earlier on, leaving us even less time to build a mature relationship.
But somehow we did. I don’t know exactly how it happened, but I think it started when she needed someone to take care of her dog and her house while she was at work, for a couple of weeks, after a burglar broke into her place. She chose me. I was honored. I couldn’t believe she trusted me that much, and felt safe coming home to find me there.
Since then, she’d gotten married, and man, I was holding back the tears at her wedding. Who would’ve imagined we’d build that kind of relationship? She and her husband eventually moved to a neighboring city, but she’d still call on me to man their house or take her dog while she was out of town.
Our relationship is... civil. We’re not all mushy and I-love-you about it, but the ties are definitely there. We don’t get to talk that often, but each is just a phone call away when the other one is in need. We understand each other. We have the same humor. We have the same pet peeves. We’ve even accepted the fact that I’m a male version of her, and she a female version of me. Good thing we look pretty good either way.
The last phone conversation we had started with me ranting about my mom. Shortly after, the conversation shifted to her ranting... ranting about how she’d just had her appendix removed, and how she’d had a couple of benign cysts removed from her breasts before that. I was shocked. She never told me any of this. But again, I was honored she trusted me with her stories. I offered support, and mostly humor about it, although she begged me not to make her laugh because it still caused her pain in the side.
And then, my realization came. This is why I thought she would be the perfect person to tell about my condition. This is why I thought she deserved to know I have HIV. Because if I could count on the fact that she was just a female version of me, then that would be the same way she’d take my revelation. Light, supportive, and positive.
I don’t know how, where or when I’ll tell her, but God is definitely sending me the signs. I can’t promise I won’t cry when I tell her, but I’m sure it won’t take long for her to make a joke out of it and tickle me silly. I can’t be sure she won’t faint with the news, but she’ll snap out of it soon enough. I can’t say she won’t be all mommy-junior about it, but I know she won’t judge me for it. I won’t promise she’d understand everything right off the bat, but I know I won’t have to apologetic about it.
So I’ll leave it at that for now. When I'll tell her, and if I'll tell her, only the heavens know. The only thing definite now is that... I do love my sister.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Close Encounter
A Monday night out?! It’s the first working day of the week. Very unlike me. This Monday was different. Not for a date, not even for sex.
I had finally gotten some use out of my poz.com account. Prior to this, I had my profile up in the personals, but not much replies from the other Pinoys there. I encountered C on the site.
C and I exchanged e-mails and contact numbers, and agreed to meet Monday night. I have no idea where my fear, paranoia and shyness went at that time. I jumped right in. He said he’d be in the Ortigas area, where I work, so we could meet there. So C and I met. We clicked right away, just while walking to find a place to eat. Living with HIV just gave us so much to talk about. We settled into a table at McDonalds for dinner.
At 36, he’d been living with HIV for 5 years now. He’s on ARVs, and is doing ok. Although he did have to resign from his previous job because of the stress. I wasn’t sure if the stress had affected his health or not. But he’s in the process of applying for a new job now, which is always good.
My two and a half months being poz is nothing compared to his 5 years, and I knew I had much to learn from him. Some of the things were affirmations of what I thought. Others were totally new to me.
He shared with me how he was diagnosed in the Middle East, and even jailed for a year for being HIV positive. I could not help but realize how lucky I was to be here in the Philippines.
He told me about Pinoy Plus, which according to him is a non-government organization which serves as a support group for PLWHAs. He offered to take me there one of these days when I was ready to meet people and had some free time.
He told me to watch out for depression, and explained to me how my acceptance was not the end of depression phase. He recounted how he has been through several cycles of depression and acceptance, noticeably triggered by some unfortunate day to day events or situations.
I complained to him about the doctors practically “requiring” me to have my family with me when I go for my ARVs, and he told me to take my time telling the family, to seriously consider and limit the persons who need to know, and to just settle for the support of friends if telling the family was too big a hurdle towards my ARV medications. It was a relief to receive that affirmation.
We talked about the H4 ward at the San Lazaro Hospital, as well as the Research Institute for Tropical Medicine, or RITM, an alternative venue to the H4 located in Alabang, where he is registered. C explained that whereas it’s free at the H4 ward at the San Lazaro Hospital since it is a government hospital (I wasn’t exactly sure whether everything was free or just services or accommodations or what), at the RITM, discounts of 75% are apparently given to HIV patients.
What interested me most, was the information he shared with me regarding benefits available to people living with HIV in the Philippines. Regarding Pag-ibig benefits, or the Home Development Mutual Fund, he said something like it is an option for people like us to retire and withdraw all accumulated contributions to one’s name. Even better for the Social Security System, apparently, SSS members infected with HIV may opt to file for disability and qualify for a monthly pension. Something he is able to count on while he is unemployed. Very interesting. He warned, though, that filing for disability while I am employed or still connected with my employer may as well mean I’ll be coming out of my closet whether I like it or not. He says it would be more advisable to file when one is no longer connected to any employer. It made sense. He didn’t mention anything about Philhealth, or the Philippine Health Insurance Company, but I’m guessing they have to have something for us as well. This was all good news for me, to know that there are these opportunities for people like me. It might make the future less daunting. But I’ll do more research on it and tell you more.
We ended the evening walking towards the bus stop and going our separate ways on different bus routes. But everything was good. We bid goodbye with hopes of keeping in touch and meeting again.
All that, and more, left me with so much learnings. It was exciting. I was truly fortunate to have encountered and met C. I realized there were so many facets to this “new life” of mine. Much, much more to learn for sure. I’m up for it.
Monday, June 16, 2008
My Sanity
Exactly two months ago today, I found out that I am HIV positive. Not exactly something to celebrate, but maybe just reason enough to be happy that I’ve survived this long and managed to remain sane… for now.
My HIV journey has slowed down a bit, after hitting that speedbump of needing to tell someone before getting started on the ARVs. Someone to help me on my journey. Easier said than done. I’m still numbed at the proposition, and still trying to figure out what to do next. I’m tempted to ask how urgent it is for me to start on my ARVs.
I was talking to a Swedish poz guy I encountered on one of the gay personals sites I frequent. In his opinion, I wasn’t doing too badly, and he didn’t think I needed the medication too urgently.
He may not be a medical expert, but he speaks from experience of living with HIV for 4 years now. So I have to admit that what he says does carry some weight with me.
So I’m tempted to think. What’s the real deal anyways? What’s really going on? Do I really need to start on anti-retroviral medication? Or is this sense of urgency merely a ploy to try to fasttrack my “coming out” to my family? That’s just playing with my emotions, and really not very much fun. Emotional blackmail, to be harsh about it.
I hate having to bother to think such sinister thoughts, but I’m left with no choice. If I am advised to start my ARV medication, why was I not counseled further while I was there, or even given a date for counseling or starting the medication? It would be really, really tragic if my condition was aggravated just because I was not able to start my ARV medications earlier, right?
I’m left with a lot to think about, but fortunately it hasn’t exactly been causing sleepless nights and restless days. Now you know why I need to celebrate my sanity at this point. There might not be much of it left. Get that straightjacket ready.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Scary!
I've been so stressed out these past few days. So much of my days have been spent thinking, and thinking, and thinking. An after-effect of the last consultation I had at the San Lazaro H4 Pavilion. And it's not even about the result of the CD4 count itself.
I still can't wrap my head around having to admitting to someone in the family that I'm HIV positive. It's just been barely two months. I'm still not even completely back on my feet from the news that I have HIV. And now this?!
I remember Dr. Malou of the Social Hygiene Clinic specifically say I should stay away from stress and depression because it in turn stresses and depresses my immune system. Something not good for someone with HIV. So why are the doctors at the H4 practically forcing me to tell someone in the family?
I honestly got the impression that they were indirectly saying something to the tune of If you don't tell, we won't start you on the medication. I mean if this were really a life and death situation, regardless of who knows or does not, they should give me the medicines I need, right?
I'm expecting everyone will find out eventually, but I'd appreciate being told that I could take my sweet time. I need to be reassured that it is not a requisite to being treated. I believe it is my health that is important, and that does not directly revolve around who I am able to reveal to.
It's just really really not that easy. It's easier said than done. Dealing with HIV, I can be pretty brave. But when it has to combine with interacting with other people, I'm chicken shit. I realize that the less I know a person, a stranger to the extreme, the easier it is for me to tell about my condition. Adversely, the more I know someone, the harder it is to tell.
I've been trying to analyze why this is the case with me, and I guess the difficulty to reveal is proportional to what reputation I've built with the person. I'm not saying I have some flawless reputation which I need to protect. I've always been flawed to begin with. But telling someone I've shared years with would retrogress to the very start of the acquaintance, I imagine. It would snowball into other issues and other skeletons in my closet, like how I got it, what I've been doing these past years, when I got it, how gay I am, how promiscuous I am, how I could have hidden my alternative life, and so on. Too many questions I might not have enough time to backtrack and answer, assuming I have answers at all. Multiply that with the number of people I have to come out to, and that just scares me. I just hope it doesn't scare me to death. That'll just put me out of my misery, huh?
Monday, June 02, 2008
Time Flies
I just got back from a loooong weekend. After last Thursday spent at San Lazaro, Friday morning signaled the start of a big family weekend. From my dad’s side of the family, aunts, uncles and cousins already based in the US came home to the Philippines. Some of them I hadn’t seen in twenty-plus years. Add to that most of the clan based in the Philippines, most of whom I haven’t met or don’t even know. We all headed to the southeastern part of Luzon, to go home to our province in Bicol.
My mom and I were fetched at home Friday morning, and picked up some of my dad’s cousins and their families in the area. We totaled 16 in the van, including 4 kids, just right for the size of the vehicle. By about 8:00 in the morning, we were on our way out of the city. So how far away is it? Eight to ten hours. Loooong trip. I had planned to sleep through the whole trip, but with all the yakking and cackling of everyone else there, plus a special mention to the cousin I had beside me who kept tapping my shoulder telling me to listen to her, and slapping my back everytime she laughed, I hardly snuck a wink in.
So needless to say, we were there in no time. We got there before 5:00 that evening. Tired. I’m sure I wondered if this was HIV-related fatigue, but really it was just such a long trip.
I honestly had been dreading meeting all the relatives I haven’t seen or didn’t know. I’d much rather blend into the wallpaper. I sort of got used to being “just the other child”, but my brother and sister weren’t there at the time to grab all the attention. I don’t really have much to be proud of, at least not to the levels of my siblings. It’s all just same old, same old for me. But really, it wasn’t that bad. Save for a number who just wouldn’t stop asking if I was married or had a girlfriend or what, everyone seemed glad to meet me. I still half hate everytime people say I’m a carbon-copy of my father. But no permanent damage.
So what’s the big occasion anyways? It’s my grandmother’s birthday. Not just any. It’s her 100th. One hundred years. That’s like a double gold, or a silver-diamond. Wow. I know. She’s hard of hearing, almost blind, bedridden most of the time, but noticeably, her mind, wit and humor are still there. I know I inherited those from her.
Apparently women in our family have longer lifespans. My grandfathers on both my dad’s and mom’s sides are already gone, while both grandmothers are still around. My dad didn’t even make it to 60. And as for me, I can only be happy that I’ve gotten to 30. The odds of me even reaching 50 are grim. But that’s all me, my genes are not to blame.
I thought this would be a good time to pull my sister aside and tell her about my condition. But I never got the chance, not to mention I doubt if I’d have the guts to tell her. But all in all, it was not bad. I loved seeing my cousins from the US. Even the one I accidentally dropped from a flight of stairs when I was a kid. Even the one who used to tag team with my brother to bully me. I loved meeting the at least 200 of my relatives, thinking to myself that this might be the last chance they’d get to meet me.
I tend to wonder if this many people will show up when my time comes. And it honestly makes me sad that I can’t say for certain. So I need to change the topic.
So anyway, home by Sunday morning after taking the night trip by public transport, I’m happy. I’m proud, because I faced what was sort of my fear of facing people. Facing family. But this is only the beginning. They’ll find out about me eventually. And I realize that this is something that I should begin facing now, before time runs out.
