Simply Complicated: Workout

Were we officially a couple? Are we officially a couple?

Okay, okay, hold your horses.

I hope to successfully zoom through what’s left of my little flashback that’s taken up more than a handful and a month’s worth of entries, and answer that question by the end of this post.

So... let’s continue.

When June 1st came, I don’t remember exactly why, but I didn’t report for work that day. If I’m not mistaken, I just wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t be late for Yoga for Life’s anniversary that evening. Yep, I think that was it.

When I told the boi of my free day, his reply was an invitation for me to join him at the gym. I froze. I was a gym virgin, having never worked out before, at any gym. Mostly it was because I was intimidated of the place and the people . Seriously. Paranoid, I know. I mean, yeah, I’m pretty sporty and all, but gym… all the horror stories and visions of predators lurking in the locker room ready to pounce on any fresh meat that passes... been dreading it, been dreading it.

Honestly, I’ve been wanting to do it, for decades now, but dreading it. And here was someone offering to hold my hand through the experience. We’d actually talked about this before, under the context of sharing. He would teach me what he knew about working out and swimming, and I would teach him what I knew about Photoshop and organizing a space. Fair trade.

So I faced my fear, and agreed to the gym date. So we met and went to his gym. I was almost clueless. And here he already had printed out a workout regimen for me. Nice. So I was devirginized, gym-wise, that is. And I also saw and appreciated what passion he had for working out. He proved he wasn’t there to hang out at the showers and flirt around with guys. These were the perks of going to a bakal gym instead of all the commercialized gyms. Perfect for me. Very, very nice.

It was actually an eye-opener, that little invitation. This was turning out to be our first taste of commitment. From gym to commitment? What the hell am I talking about?

Let’s face it, here he was, inviting me into his territory, the gym he goes to, where I would see him half-clothed, sweaty, grunting, making faces, and down to his bare elements. And, I was to be enrolling for a month at a time. So it was a month’s contract not just between me and the gym, but between me and him too. I wonder if he realized that.

After a good couple of hours at the gym, we freshened up and headed for yoga together. We passed by a Yellow Cab to schedule for a couple of pizzas to be delivered at the end of the session that evening. We made it to yoga, went through the class, and Savasana’ed into the anniversary celebration of Yoga for Life, a banquet of food to reward everyone for their practice that evening. We then headed home, still together. And by the end of that day, it was clear that we would be sharing more time together.

So I’ve known him since February. Buddy-buddy since March. Love since May. Gym buddies since June. And been practically together since… sweating through gym and yoga; chatting online when time permits, talking on the phone when load doesn’t; a lot of lunch and dinner dates just anywhere, and a couple of out of town trips with yoga friends; making it through a sick period on his end (though all I could really do to ease his discomfort was bring his favorite cake and buko shake), currently going through a career hitch on mine; and even things as simple as shopping for vegetables at the local wet market, and raiding an ukay-ukay a couple of times.

Throughout our kinda-sorta-relationship, I’ve made sure there would be no pressure. No pressure for us to be together every minute of everyday. No pressure to be at yoga or wherever together all the time. No pressure to stop either of us from going out with other friends. No pressure to text every single chance there was.

But surprisingly, despite not being together all the time, not texting every chance we got, nor talking every single day, I can confidently say that we are pretty secure… even despite the technical non-relationship.

So again, the situation begs the question, are we a couple? At this point, if you were to ask me if we were a couple, I’d say officially, we’re not.

I know, I know. Why not? Why not? What am I waiting for? I’m really not in a rush to define us with a couple label. Why, because it’s just that… a label. It doesn’t define what we do have. And that’s something even I can’t put into words.

What about the early bird catching the worm? Was the worm meant to be his soul mate, or might another bird be the reward for his patience?

Someone mentioned about good guys finishing last. First, I’m flattered to be considered a “good guy”. Other than that, it’s not a race. I don’t mind finishing last, because the last means no one comes after. Yep, the last guy gets forever.

I don’t want to be pushed towards proposing prematurely just because someone else might get to him before me. Even if someone did, I know, I know, I know he’d be happier with me. Wooooow... confidence, no? Hahaha.

So there, no proposals, no courtship, no I-dos. Rest assured, we’re working it out, albeit slowly but surely. Hmmm, if you think about it, we’ve gone pretty far in the mere five months we’ve known each other... that ain’t too slow. So officially, we are NOT a couple. But there’s love. I know it. He knows it. And even if we haven’t declared ourselves a couple, it sure feels like we are. And damn, it feels good. It feels right. And that’s what’s important, right?

It seems complicated, but it's really been simple... thus, Simply Complicated.

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Simply Complicated: Surprises

Am I ready to deal with all the competition?

Again, the too-cute category instantly invokes a fight or flee mode. And honestly, I would usually flee. I’m not a competitor. I was never raised to be. Inferiority complex, that’s me. But this time was different. I found myself with an unusual conviction. Go ahead... someday you’ll see we belong together. Wow. My confidence amazed even myself.

So I was sticking around for that “someday”.

And in sticking around, we were spending more and more time together.

Having met there, definitely, yoga was a staple. As he became a regular, so did we become... uhm... regular. On Wednesdays, we’d see each other there, him from school, me from work, and head home together. And on Saturdays, we’d meet around our place and go together, and after head home together.

But in all that, I made sure we weren’t a package deal. We should go for the benefits of yoga, remember? So on more than a handful of times, either he’d be there and I’d be stuck at work, or I’d be there and he’d be busy with school. No big deal. And even when we’re both there, we’d usually be in different parts of the room, only catching up when it was time to leave.

And aside from yoga, at times, I’d take leaves from work, to give myself a break and to accompany him on errands. I dunno, I felt like I needed – no, not “needed” – I wanted to take of him. But even if I wasn’t completely helpful on his errands, he appreciated me being there, and we both always had fun spending whole days together. A very good sign.

When our birthdays came, mine a day ahead, I wanted to spend it with him. Dinner would do. It was a Friday, so I suggested we meet at the mall. I’d be coming from work, and him, school. As I got there, he was on his way. Next text, he said he was there, but with a classmate he needed to shake off. It turned out to be a harder shake that expected.

I ended up waiting a couple of hours, and found myself alone, no dinner, no date, no nothing. I admit, I was a bit disappointed. It was my birthday! I had dodged other invites so I could be with him! Geesh! Instead I was home, lying in bed with my dog, munching on some cookies for dinner. Very spinster.

Ah well, no grudges. No big deal. By the next day, we were together on the MRT, on the way to yoga kissing and holding hands. No blaming, no apologies… he told me about his night out with his friends, and I was happy he had fun. Sincerely. So at yoga, we got offered a lot of sun salutations that day, a number equal to the average of our ages, actually. And after, we were able to have our birthday dinner finally, with Yogi Bear and BFF.

He fell asleep with his head on my shoulder on the long bus ride home from Makati. We took a cab from the bus stop, and I dropped him off at his place. But before he alighted, I reached into my bag to pull out a gift I got for him. Surprise! He thanked me intensely, as we greeted each other happy birthdays, and he gave me a kiss. I hoped he’d like the gift.

It was tough thinking of what to give him. But this was something I knew he needed. So I got it, and made sure he’d see a message as he opened it. I fell in love with you. Happy Birthday. The L word. I used the L word. It may have been the first time I used the L word towards him, but I had been feeling it for quite a while already.

Cheesy, I know. But it was the truth. I wasn’t saying it so he’d love me back. I was saying it because it was matter-of-fact. No more, no less.

I was thinking, even if he didn’t like the gift, I hope he appreciated the feelings that I sent with it. Napaiyak mo ako sa saya! Maraming salamat! Mwah mwah mwah! With that, I believe he was happy. And so I was happy too.

We saw each other again the following Wednesday at yoga. I ended up carrying a package of his through a dinner meeting and on the trip home. As I handed it to him as we were about to separate, he throws me the most beautiful smile and says Surprise! What the?! Apparently, what I thought the whole time was his school project was his gift for me! Grrr, I hate surprises, remember? Hehe.

As I got home, I opened up the gift, and it was something I could definitely use, and even better, something that would surely remind me of him. I spied a little card at the bottom of the package. Thank you for being there when I needed you. =) Love you too! Happy Birthday! The L word? From him?! And, hard as it is to admit, I broke down. Argh, I still get teary-eyed every time I read it till now.

So was this it? Were we officially a couple?

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Simply Complicated: Competition

Should I die now? Of course not. OA lang ako.

So yeah, people were noticing the chemistry between us. They were seeing a lot of us as a package, arriving and leaving yoga a lot together. Sometimes, during dinners and get-togethers with friends, he would be my plus-one. And on more than a handful of times, I’ve been asked whether we’re a couple. I have to be honest of course and say that technically, we’re not.

But the path we were treading was far from perfect, or ideal for that matter.

On one occasion, after a yoga session just on heels of our being introduced, some were going for dinner, and some were going home. I thought we were heading home together. But he got cornered by someone else... actually the same guy who was molesting him at the dinner some nights back. Before I knew it, they were walking together to the dinner place. And seeing he didn’t even look back to see if I was coming or where I was, I bade goodbye to the others and headed on home.

On the bus, I got a text from the boi. Sabay ka ba maya? Darn, so he looked for me? Should I head back? Geesh. So I replied that I was already on my way home. We sent each other Ingats. So everything was fine, right? Sort of. I found out after that the guy he was with took him home. Whose home? Well, the guy’s status message after which read, Perfect na sana, lakas lang humilik, should tell you what happened.

In all actuality, this guy was pretty persistent. The next yoga session, despite the fact that I had arrived with the boi, the guy again marked his territory. As in I was seated in front of the boi while we were joking around, and the guy actually squeezed himself in between us and immediately put a hand on his leg. Ohhhhh, okay. I backed off.

After yoga, the guy tried to whisk him away, offering him a ride home. Assuming “home” was really home, I should hitch too, so I did. Very third wheel of me, I know, I know.

With the boi in the passenger seat and me at the back, I was witness to a courtship ritual. Actually, from the turn of the key, the stereo flipped on with Cee Lo’s “Fuck You” at the top of the playlist. Wow, all planned out? Double entendre quips. Caresses here and there. And attempts at convincing the boi not to head home yet. Ahm, excuse me, am I not in the car? But at the end of the trip, I had managed to keep my food down, and found myself on the MRT... with the boi... having been dropped off at a station.

This guy was not the only one.

It wasn’t alien for people to be talking with him while caressing his strong arms and bulging chest. Don’t get me wrong, he would never shoo people away, enjoying the attention. But on my end, I’d be rolling my eyes into the back of my head thinking, excuse me, he’s a human being, not a piece of meat.

Sometimes, at yoga, guys would call him over to take the place next to them. In all fairness though, I appreciate how, when that happens, he looks back at me with a face that says What do we do now? I just nod at him to give him the go ahead. We’ll be back together after yoga anyway.

And then the boi has a circle of friends he would hang out with. Out-of-town trips and parties. He tells me about plans, an FYI short of asking permission. Trips and parties, nothing bad about that. Supposedly. But hanky and panky were there hanging out with them. He told me himself when I asked him if he was going to be good at these things. He couldn’t say yes outright. He said I shouldn’t expect, for I’d just be courting disappointment. Rather, I could hope. I appreciated the honesty.

But I think my bigger concern with this group of his would be vices. Fine, I can drink a lot too. Drugs, only time I’ve done it was one session smoking a joint of marijuana. First and last time. But the boi wasn’t averse to these things at all… claiming he knows his limits. But then there’s a reason why the ABCDE of HIV prevention has D as Don’t Use Drugs or Alcohol... because it clouds your judgment.

That being said, mix alcohol, drugs and hanky panky, and you’re flirting with trouble. Yes, even if I’m NOT a trained HIV counselor, I know that. I’ve made sure I’ve done my part reminding the boi of that fact, and repeating time and time again that he stay safe. I just hope this circle of friends of his be real friends - be better influences and keep him safe too.

So a lot of people were interested in him. As in, a lot. And since I was hardly trying to fence him off, it wasn’t unusual for the boi to turn into a free for all.

Nope, all these things were still not a big deal. We weren’t a couple anyway. Special friends, maybe. But not a couple. Yet. So as long as he was safe, I was fine. So it was probably the drugs part that brought me the most concern.

But otherwise, certainly, the too-cute thing was certainly turning into something to deal with. Like I mentioned before, the very first time we were introduced, I instantly put him into my too cute category. Too cute meant too out of my league. Too cute meant too much competition. And the world itself seemed to not even try to debunk my theory.

So should I fight, or should I flee? Am I ready to deal with all the competition?

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Simply Complicated: Revelations

Did the relationship end before it even started?

Saturday was yoga day. Sadly, the boi was a Wednesday yogi. I man the Yoga for Life attendance files, contact numbers included. I was tempted to take advantage. So even after my rePUTAtion being broken, I swallowed my pride and texted the boi inviting him to Saturday yoga. I even offered that we go together. Time tick-tocked away as I waited anxiously for a reply.

All he said was that he’d try. As Saturday morning rolled by, I followed up if we were going together. We could meet at the MRT. No reply.

So I went on my usual itinerary, taking a bus to Makati. Lo and behold, the boi suddenly texted asking where I was, saying he was running late just approaching the MRT. Yikes, but I was already on my way. But of course, I hopped off the bus.

I headed for the nearest MRT station. Ideally, I would ride the MRT back to his station, and enjoy the entire ride with him. But, I stopped myself. I had other plans. Let’s not be totally easy-to-get. I suggested we meet at the destination station, Ayala. Wooooow. Hard-to-get. LOL.

So I got there ahead, and exited the turnstiles and waited patiently. I think it was a good 20 minutes. He got there and looked around for me as I was walking towards him. Fine, I admit, I was a bit thrilled to see him, and more to be with him.

Focus. Focus. This is not a date. This is just a walk... to yoga. This is yoga time.

After yoga, our Yogi Bear insisted we hang out with him before his next yoga class. So we had a snack together at a mall food court. Nothing fancy. I believe I had siomai and a drink.

With much time to spare, the tambay time quickly turned into getting-to-know time. Everything from personal, school and family, to HIV, safe sex and fetishes... oi, this wasn’t an interrogation. This was one huge round table with everyone sharing.

So I got to know a lot about the boi. One thing that struck me was that he was no angel. He’s been around. Yes, sexually. My rePUTAtion heaved a little sigh of relief. Very, very interesting.

One other thing that struck me, was that our birthdays were both coming up... just a day apart from each other. Fate... almost. So we shared the same zodiac sign. Big deal? What if we shared the same animal sign, too? It was creepy.

Were we the same age? Unfortunately not. Which, based on the cycle of the Chinese zodiac, meant we had an age gap in a multiple of 12 years. Age GAP. It’s a wonder that I’m attracted to him. I used to really prefer guys older than I was. But in hindsight, I was attracted to the maturity, which, as I learned the hard way, does NOT come with age. So it was not a wonder after all that his age didn’t matter.

Soon, Yogi Bear needed to leave for his class, and I was left with the boi, still basking in all the revelations. We headed for the MRT together. I put my arm around him as we walked. No resistance. Nice.

Getting to the landing, he said he was staying behind. He was going to a friend’s place in the area. His smirk told me it was a date. Hehehe. No problemo. I said I’d go ahead.

So before we headed off our separate ways, he looks at me with these puppy dog eyes, leans in and pouts his lips. I got it. And I obliged. I leaned in and gave him a smack on the lips. Yes. In public. I smiled. He smiled.

Don’t get me wrong, this wasn’t necessarily a big deal, the kissing in public thing. I kiss BFF in public. I kiss Yogi Bear in public. I kiss my favorite doctor-slash-advocate in public. And so many others. It’s just something we’re not shy about, being the liberated gay bunch. No... big... deal.

Okay, fine. I had a smile on my face the whole way home. I was happy, not just with the kiss. You know how you’re attracted physically to some people, but once you start getting to know them deeper, it changes things make-or-break? With getting to know him, I liked him just the same, if not more.

With that, I texted him reminding him to stay safe on his date... in all senses of the word. He knew what I meant. And I couldn’t stop myself.

Stay safe... Like kita. :-) Send.

Beep beep. Haha stay safe too. Like din kta! Lambot ng labi mo. :)

Should I die now?

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Simply Complicated: Reputation

Were things going to get… complicated?

So the next time I saw him was the following Wednesday. Yoga for Life day again. No biggie, nothing unusual, I was just yogaing away. After the class, in one way or another, we found ourselves planning to head home together. I can already hear you saying HMMMMM.

But no, this was still no big deal. No hangover from the hand-squeezing that happened. None at all. It was all just common sense. We lived within 15 minutes of each other, so it was just logical for us to head home together.

Incidentally that evening, our Yogi Bear, BFF, and other Yoga for Lifers planned to have dinner somewhere in our part of the metro. So logical again, we hitched a ride and joined them for dinner at a local ChicBoy.

Seats were taken around a long table. The seating arrangement? Nope, we weren’t dinnering as a pair. Hell, we weren’t even sitting beside each other. I didn’t even try to elbow my way there. I’m not that type. Truth be told, someone else’s hand was all over his thigh... almost the whole way through dinner. Ohhhhhkay. I’m not reacting. No reason for me to react. I’m an observer. So I observed. And I observed that someone was aggressively interested in him. Geez, the guy didn’t spend much effort trying to hide it either. Deadma. Good job to him, I thought.

The next thing I know, the topic of the conversation went my direction. As is, I’m not comfortable having the spotlight on me. To make it worse, I was being outed as the slut that I potentially could be. Okay fine, true as it all was, it’s not exactly something that I would like a new acquaintance to know. Let alone a new acquaintance that seemed... uhm... interesting.

Geesh. Thanks ha. Ang linis nyo lang teh eh no? And these were supposed to be my friends?! The friends-make-laglag-friends principle is one I don’t really subscribe to, sorry. I don’t know what face I was making, but I guess I kept my evil eyes at bay because the person who started it was and is still alive. I’m pretty sure though that my eyes rolled into the back of my head a number of times. And I was fake laughing. Tact, anyone?

It was embarrassing. Frustrating. Irritating at the most. But fine, que sera sera. And indeed, sira went my reputation. I reminded myself that I spelled my reputation with a capital P-U-T-A. Ah well. There goes the norm of making a good first impression. Instead of having my best foot forward, my filthy ass led the way. Nak nam puta.

So with that, the little hope or dream or whatever spark I had for the guy fizzled out. I was thankfully first to get dropped off, as I could not have turned invisible soon enough.

And with that, the relationship ended before it even started... or did it?

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Simply Complicated: Squeeze

I apoligize for being so quiet. Too quiet. I've been busy. With work. And with family. Okay, fine... and with my personal life. It's been a case of I-want-to-tell-you-all-about-it-but-I-don't-want-to-jinx-it. But right now, I'm afraid that I've been saving too many details in the memory card in my brain... so I decided I'd tell my story. Or start to. So allow me to backtrack... to when it all began.

It was February, (hahaha, what?! i told you i would backtrack didn't i?!) and Yoga for Life was celebrating the love month with a series of partner yoga sessions. Basically, you do yoga in pairs. You get into more intense stretches and positions with the help of your partner, and vice versa. And you get the challenge of going into a deeper state of focus, having to interact with someone in your personal space. Sound interesting? It is.

So basicaly, as much as I wanted to have my actual partner-hubby at the time there, he just wouldn't have it. No way in hell. Fine. I will go alone... and be a broken record explaining why I didn't have my boyfriend with me. Screw you all.

So it was a packed class on my first partner yoga session. And I looked around the room wondering who I was going to get paired up with. I had a few that I was eyeing. Crushables, you might say. Mostly shorter guys. Yeah, I tend to be attracted to short guys, because they tend to be more chunky... CHUNKY in my bitch-tionary is short for chubby-slash-hunky. Basically, I’m tall and lean, I’m borderline-twink, so I prefer guys who are more built that I am, albeit a little extra or more to love. And shorter usually means the weight is packed into a smaller frame... ergo, chunky. Mmm.

But then of course, partner yoga pairs you up with someone closer to your height. Lucky me, I got paired with the young, tall, lanky, straight guy. He wasn’t bad looking at all, don‘t get me wrong. A number of others were eyeing him... but he wasn‘t rowing my boat. Oh well. I was there for the yoga anyways, so I got down to business.

At the end of the class, we were okay. We worked hard, I could say. It probably helped that there was no sexual tension going in either direction. We were all about the yoga. And then of course, I got approached by some saying how lucky I was to have him for a partner, and how envious they were of me. And I was like, yeah, whatever.

So after class, I got introduced to some of the other guys, including one of those I way eyeing. Acquainted, and that was that. I looked him over and thought... mmm, chunky, more hunky at that... but cute. Too cute. Yes, some guys fall into my category of too cute... and I fall into out-of-my-league mode. As in this guy is too cute to be interested in someone like me. So on that note, I drop it. Done. Acquainted, and that was that.

As fate will have it, we both live up north of the metro, so we headed in that direction together with our yogi bear. The MRT was packed. No poise whatsoever, not that I needed it. Yogi bear got down first, leaving the two of us. He was getting down next, a station before mine. Dito na ako, he said. Okay, I replied, Ingat ha.

Simple, right? Yes. But only until his hand slid down the handrail to where mine was, managing to squeeze the fleshy part at the base of my palm, before he stepped out of the train. What the hell was that?! I stared at my palm, and my brain went haywire. Was I imagining things?! I admit, I was giddy, but didn’t want to assume anything. I was left speechless. And confused. It couldn’t be. No.

And with that, were things going to get... complicated?

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PGH with a capital ACHE!

I met a new friend at Yoga for Life quite recently. Despite starting from zero, and being almost a whole generation away from each other, we clicked. Blame location, blame the zodiac, blame Chinese astrology, we just clicked.

So I swore I’d take care of him, as a friend and as a newbie to the HIV scene.

So we were headed home from yoga one Wednesday when he mentioned he was going to PGH for his lab tests the next day. He asked what I was going to be doing. Work as usual. Hey, I’d be a newbie to PGH as well, right? “Sayang, magpapasama sana ako...” and he laughs it off. I didn’t.

The following day, I left the house at 7:00 am as usual. But whether I was going to work or going to accompany someone to PGH was still undecided. Deep inside I knew I wanted to go with him to PGH. I honestly did. He was just hesitant to have me take a leave just for him. If hiya was all it was, then darn. So I decided. I would go with him.

After scurrying about with last minute plans, which entailed a misunderstanding as to where we were meeting, we finally caught up, as his sweet smile and thanks told me I made the right decision.

We took a familiar route, one that I took to the Social Hygiene Clinic in Manila, and the same one I used to take when I used to date someone who lived in Sta. Cruz. A jeepney ride, and a short LRT trip to Pedro Gil Station, and we were at PGH. It wasn’t my first time at PGH, I’d been there for a meeting before. But for medical services? Never. Here goes nothing.

He suddenly realized he didn’t seem to have his lab requests with him. No problem, right? I’d just ask Ate for another set, and that would be that. So we headed to the Infectious Diseases Section (IDS) and knocked on the door. A nurse opened the door, and greeted us, but not so warmly. She was short of asking who the hell are you and what are you doing here. PMS, teh? Okay, stay cool.

So he relayed his problem. And with a furious frown and clearly peeved, she told us to wait outside for the doctor. Hmm. I had to ask, is this nurse always this bitchy? I could not help compare to how Ate takes care of us at RITM.

So we sat along the corridor for a good half hour. We talked about anything and everything, thankful that neither of us had to experience such a thing alone. We fidgeted in each other’s bags, for fans, clothes and books... Good enough as we found his lab requests hidden under all his stuff. Whew!

So we walked down to the cashier and lined up. At the window, we got asked about a Blue or White Card. What card?! I just answered that we came from the IDS. The cashier mentioned something about Charity, and I just thought, okay, if you say so.

From there we walked a short way to the Express Laboratory. But only to get pointed to another lab, Laboratory Info on the second floor. Then we were pointed to the OPD Lab in a whole other building. We managed to walk the whole PGH block to the Faura end, near the Supreme Court. It was the building that housed the OPD. Made sense, at RITM, we were at the OPD department as well.

Inside, gasp! Long lines, hot air and dismal faces. And not just any lines. You were supposed to line up to get a schedule, and come back another day for the actual test. Seriously?! We walked back to the IDS to ask. That just couldn’t be right.

Nurse PMS opened up again. Fine, she was calmer this time. Apparently, we had gone to Charity indeed, which explained the long lines. We were ushered back to the Express Lab. There, we were told we had paid the Charity rate. So once again, we had to line up at the cashier to pay for the upgrade to the Express rate. And again, back to the Express Lab.

So apparently, only blood tests could be done there. No sputum tests. No x-rays. Fine, fine. He took a seat. Before he got pricked, the nurse asked what he was getting the tests for. He hesitated, so I just answered we came from IDS, hoping that she’d understand without us having to spell it out. But she continued to badger. Was this for employment? A check up? Close tayo, teh? I was fed up. Just blurt it out. You want to know? Fine. He said HIV. Happy now? She went on telling my friend not to be too paranoid about the tests and all... Hmmm, free counseling I see. Interesting.

From there, we were pointed to the x-ray section, where we were pointed once again to the OPD building. We got there and it was closed for lunch. Let’s try the sputum.
We headed back to the IDS to ask where we were supposed to go, and nursey pointed us to another section, Lab Info, the same one we passed earlier. Okay, we were really making the rounds.

So apparently, we again weren’t charged the right rate at the cashier, so we’d have to line up. Again. At that point it was noon, and we gave up. He needed to be somewhere after lunch. We agreed that at least we got most of his tests done. And at least we got to tour the PGH, albeit mostly unnecessary, but together.

From there, we had a well-deserved lunch, just some pasta and chicken at McDonalds across the street. Remember, he had been fasting since the night before for his blood tests. So I’m sure he was happy.

We were both skins sweaty, both bodies tired, both legs aching, both tummies finally full, and it was time to go. From there, we were off. He was on his way to school – yes, school – he was enrolling that afternoon... and I was on my way home.

PGH was an experience. It was a long arduous day. But it was a good one. I got to spend the day with my favorite new person. He was happy not having to go through all that alone. And I was happy that he was happy. And I apologize in advance, but let me just say, at the end of the day, I was happy I was with RITM.

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Holiday Count Down

The eve of Christmas, mass and dinner with my mom’s side of the family. And on Christmas itself, home recovering from the holiday stress. And then back to work for the few days before the turn of the year. That’s how it’s been in previous years. But this year was quite different. Good or bad? Let’s see.

The eve of Christmas was still marked off for the family. But more than my being stranded between the generations, this year I’d be the star. Oh wait, more like I’d have the star. The Li’l Bastard was to make his first appearance as the family’s new bunso at his first Christmas. He was dressed in a little grey shirt with blue piping that matched my own outfit. New places and new faces, kept him quite overwhelmed.

I successfully weaseled out of mass since pets aren’t allowed in the chapel. So we walked around the village to while away the time. Then it was time for a change of costume, as Santa Paws of course! Yes, the Li’l Bastard loves to dress up. And naturally, he became center of attention, the fashionable little whiny pup that always had his left paw up like a limp-wristed twink. Hahaha. Oh well. Mana mana.

By the end of the evening, I was just glad Christmas only happens once a year. Oi, pardon me for thinking that way as early as Christmas Eve.

Christmas Day, I had planned to stay home. But no. I had find internet access because I had work to do. Work?! I knowwwww! Work! So I spent the morning in a coffee shop at the mall, stalling enough through my iced mocha to get everything done. And then I headed back in time for lunch and to spend some home time.

The 26th and 27th continued in the same fashion. No plans, just rest. I did go out for a while to bump into a former college professor of mine to catch up on stuff over a couple of beers, but that was it. Recharge. Recharge.

I had the 28th planned out. I badly needed to go to RITM for med refill… as in two weeks ago. I had already borrowed a month’s supply of ARVs from W, with whom I share the same combination. So like a workday, I left the house at 7:00 am, but this time braved the MRT. Thankfully, it wasn’t as jam-packed as the usual workday rush hour. I actually got to RITM in under an hour, which I found amazing.

There, I texted an online friend. We were eyeballing. Meeting was easy since there were just two of us there at the clinic that early. We talked a bit. He told me about deciding to get tested after noticing he was getting sick a lot, and because he had come from a relationship with a particularly promiscuous guy. I found that amazing that he instantly thought HIV may be the culprit, not your normal reaction. He was barely a month on ARVs, and was there to complete some other baseline tests.

Ate came in and arranged for my refill. Leafing through my records, she pointed out some results. My viral load. The viral load is a quantitative measure of the HIV virus in the blood. The lower that is, the better. I’d never seen my results before. Apparently, my viral load, which is measured annually, has been UNDETECTABLE both in 2009 and 2010. I know I should’ve been jumping for joy, but I was probably in disbelief. Really?! Then my lifestyle, the medicines, and the yoga are working that well. Wow, well I’ll take that.

I left my new friend at the clinic while I went to the pharmacy. Mission accomplished. Ate also sent me to the back office, to submit some stuff for Philhealth. Oi, Philhealth is a long story...

So anyway, that done, I tagged along with my new friend for his errands. Back at the clinic, we caught the other nurse, Ate S. While figuring out my friend’s ARVs, she mentioned they’d started ARVs at the same time. Say what?! Sa kanya ako nahawa eh! I was aghast. Did they have unprotected sex? Did we have a pusit nurse all along?

Well, not quite. Apparently, Ate S suffered from an accidental needle prick injury while administering a PPD test to my friend on a previous visit. So however small the risk, she needed to have a prophylaxis, which meant a month of the very ARVs we‘re taking, just as a precaution. Talk about immersing yourself in the patient’s world, huh? A firsthand experience of ARVs. Not everyone can claim that. But she was in good spirits and was already joking about it.

Oh, and Ate S’ short stint with the RITM is about to end. She said she’d no longer be with us in 2011. Nope, nothing to do with the accident. She’s going to go to med school. I was saddened by the news a bit, she grew into such a competent nurse for us, but I know it’s for the best. You’ll never know, she might come back as our Doc S someday. Hmmm.

From there, we headed off and had lunch at the mall. An early lunch, he was, after all, coming from fasting for all his blood tests. From there, I headed back home to prepare to spend the afternoon with the hubby. Mmm.

Wednesday, the 29th, was Yoga for Life day as usual. But just after lunch, I was off on a mission in Manila. BFF and I met up and took the LRT to Tayuman. We walked a couple of blocks, and finally found our destination. YAFA. Youth AIDS Filipinas Alliance, an HIV advocacy group.

We found the address, but weren’t sure, since it didn’t look right. We knocked. The door was unlocked and opened up to a stairway. We walked up. Tao po? Someone walked out in just his underwear. Oh, welcoming committee? Hehe. Well, we seemed to catch them at the least perfect time. Let’s put things in context, they had scheduled a general cleaning that day, and there was a power interruption, thus, the outfit, or lack thereof.

As soon as they gathered their composure, we got the honor of sitting down with the famous DyingYoung. He told us all about YAFA, and BFF was able to ask his questions about one of their projects. It was actually very interesting, and reinforced the respect I have for YAFA. For such a young group, they’ve really been making waves.

From there, I got BFF to accompany me to the Manila Social Hygiene Clinic. It’s maybe been more than a year since I was last there. Nurse Malou Tan is no longer connected to the SHC. But I got to see Dra. Diana Mendoza, rebond and all. I don’t even think she remembered my name. I left some Positivism brochures with her and asked how the SHC was doing.

They still have free HIV rapid testing there at the Manila SHC, so she asked that we refer people to them for screening. They’re open Mondays to Thursdays, 8:00 am to 3:00 pm, and Friday mornings till noon.

And from there, we took the LRT-MRT route to Ortigas. After a quick snack in Shangrila, we headed to yoga early. Yoga was special today. A hundred and eight sun salutations. Yes, 108 forward bends, halfway lifts, pushups down, and upward- & downward-facing dogs. Was I confident I could do it? Not particularly. But I was going to try. And try I did.

After it all, up to today, two days after, biceps and triceps, quads and calves, back and chest, basically from the top of my neck to the soles of my feet, I’m sore. Sore in a good way. And the fulfillment of getting through the 108 sun salutations is phenomenal. Roarrrrr!

So that was my itinerary for the week leading up to the turn of the year. Sounds like a lot for just a week, especially for me. If that’s going to set the stage for 2011, then it’s going to be a busy one. Bring it on. Bring it on. With that, I hope everyone has all their fingers intact, and had a very Happy New Year. It's 1-1-11. Nagpaputok ka ba?

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Yogaing Away AIDS Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At the end of it all, I was glad I wasn’t glued to the television this year. Yoga for Life has proven itself to be a real community, and being with the Yoga for Life community turned out to be the best way to celebrate World AIDS Day.

Yes, I dare to use the word “celebrate”. Because gone are the days of World AIDS Day being a commemoration of the lives that had been lost to AIDS. Rather, we should be celebrating. Celebrating life going on in spite of the virus. Celebrating hope that humanity will not be beaten by a measly virus. Celebrating faith that there is purpose to be found in everything. Celebrating reassurance that every one of us, positive or negative, is and has been blessed.

Happy World AIDS Day!

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A Good Night

Last night. Saturday night. I got a birthday invite. Not just from one, but two people. A joint birthday bash. Two people I knew, and hadn’t seen for a while. This was the chance to. The perfect excuse to finally show up at a pusit party. Should I, or should I not? How sure am I that this is going to prove to be a good night? I’m not. But...

I don’t usually like going to pusit gatherings like these, mostly because of the possibility of seeing some... uhm... nega-monsters.

Nega-monsters. My term for a few pusits who are just swimming in so much bitterness that they’re just out to nitpick at everyone who crosses their paths - devoid of any wit, sense or reason - as though they’re perfect and actually have a hand in the lives of everyone else. Nega-monsters. Ironic how someone who is “positive” can be so negative. Ugh.

Of course, there’s a lot to nitpick about me, but then I never claimed to be perfect. But then again, it’s my life, right? And these nega-monsters have been out to get me and some of my friends. Not our fault, they just don’t have lives of their own. And I choose my battles, and these nega-monsters have never been worth one.

With that, I choose to avoid any possibility of encountering these negativities, not participating in some of these gatherings at the risk of appearing elitist, snooty and anti-social. I’m just not the type to care if others think that way.

So with this opportunity to celebrate another year for two friends, and the assurance that nega-monsters weren’t invited, I seriously considered and reconsidered going.

Saturday night, I found myself on the way up north, with BFF and O. After around two hours on the road, we got there, almost exactly on call time, but still early as just the second group to arrive. The celebrants were there already plus a couple of familiar faces. And as the rest of the group showed up, sans the fact of being an hour or so late, it struck me that that night was going to be a good night.

Primarily, there were no nega-monsters. That in itself was reason to party. Other than that, Ate showed up with some other staff of the RITM. Perfect. I always thought having authority figures at times like these will mean that things will be kept in check. Of the 30 or so people there, I only hadn’t been acquainted with less than a handful maybe. For me, that means a bit of a comfort zone.

A group of pusits who prefer not to call themselves pusits was there, but in all fairness they were the ones I didn’t have problems with... not so much at least. Mr. Mouth was there, flaunting his gift of gab as usual, but thankfully this time, not anywhere in my direction, so he was okay. Not a problem.

Another set of people, I knew from the empowerment seminar I attended several months ago. A majority of our batch was there actually. Some sort of a mini-reunion after months of not seeing most of them.

But really, the biggest surprise was the little pozzie posse I fell into since about a year ago. Roll call?

There were four of my “kids”; the first ever person I brought to RITM, LittleJenny, and RedAppleBlackMark, and my adopted kid Positive'sStory. There was one of E’s “kids”, who I surrogated and who just happened to currently be LittleJenny’s beau, making him an in-law. Some friends LuckyTrese, O, and BruceKho. Papi was there, as well as one of his “kids”, who just happened to be LuckyTrese’s ahem-ahem. And my friendly neighborhood BFF, GreenFrog, of course. I was missing a couple of people though, W and E. And maybe my “dad”, U, who technically is part of the family.

But twelve of us there made it one hell of a reunion. A reunion because it’s been a while since I last saw some of them. The only ones I would regularly are those who attend Yoga for Life. Other than that, being busy with each one’s lives has been keeping us apart. And quite frankly, I’m sort of happy that we didn’t see each other a lot.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not about me not wanting to see them. I’m happy because that just means everyone’s busy with their lives. Busy being productive. Busy with their own families. Busy with their personal lives maybe. Just basically being busy going on with life, sans the HIV-positive part. Busy proving that life goes on. Perfect.

But despite this apparent retreat from the posse, we still know we’re all just around, and we still love seeing each other every time we do. Sort of like we move in our own little circles but still gravitate towards each other somehow, like the planets to the sun. The bond remains, if not gets stronger. Absence, fonder.

Also funny that night, I realized that most of the posse I haven’t even known for a full year. But I’m pretty sure there’ll be more years to come. I don’t believe that it’s the HIV that’s keeping us together. It’s more like HIV brought us together, but it’s something else that’s keeping us tight. Jiving personalities maybe. The overall good vibe. Whatever it is, heaven knows.

And so with that, that night was indeed a good night. Even if I had to leave my little bastard at home. Even if I made the boyfie sad at the fact that I chose my friends over him for that night... he was extremely understanding but I’ll make it up to him. Even if I’m still reeling from lack of sleep right now. Even if there was that one parlor game that led to a hair-raising and spine-tingling mishap... not my mishap, but my hair raising and spine tingling. Even if, even if, even if... Last night truly, truly was a good night.

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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.

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The Burn

My body’s been aching a bit these past few days. Hot. Burning hot. Why?

A room full of people. People grunting. People moving. I found myself surrounded by lots of hot sweaty bodies, with just a thin rubber mat separating me from the cold marble floor. I was in motion, with a single voice telling me what position to take, to tighten up, to relax, to breathe hard. From being on my back with my legs reaching for the sky, to being on all-fours with my ass up in the air, until I was lying motionless on the floor, breathing heavily, heart pounding, sweat dripping from every pore.

Whoa, wait a minute. Before you go jumping to conclusions... I was just talking about... gasp... YOGA.

So it was in May that talks began on having yoga sessions for HIV-positives. Paulo Leonido, a certified yoga instructor and advocate, came up with the idea. With the help of some other Positivism friends, we fleshed it out. Another certified yoga instructor and advocate, Charmaine Cu-Unjieng, joined the team.

One problem we foresaw was that people wouldn’t want to attend something in which they’d automatically get labeled as HIV-positive. So to address that concern, instead of it being exclusively for HIV-positives, we decided to open it up to anyone who was interested. HIV-positives. Advocates. Our medical allies. Affected family. Friends.

So two weeks ago, the very first Yoga for Life was held. I invited some of the pozzie posse for the pilot session, and packed a change of clothes for myself that day. Of course, Murphy’s law took control. I got stuck in a one-to-sawa meeting at work, and despite cabbing to Ortigas, I was not surprisingly late. I snuck in, but was too ashamed of my tardiness that I decided against joining the session.

I just sat at the back with my favorite doctor friend who was playing GRO-slash-host for the event. While we were quietly chatting (like that’s possible, right?), trying not to disrupt the concentration in the room, I watched intently as the participants went through the motions. There were about 14 or so people there, most of whom I didn’t know. What I did know, though, was that not everyone there was HIV-positive. Cool.

BFF was there. I’mNotDyingI’mLiving was there. Some others who I knew. Others I didn’t. And I didn’t even have to know them. Nor their HIV-statuses. It was a don’t-ask-don’t-tell environment. It was a non-issue.

Seeing everyone in action, those who were doing well weren’t necessarily the ones who didn’t have the pozzie-secret. Interesting. And as for me, just sitting there watching all the contortion that was happening, I was left sweating. And panting. It was daunting. I was scared. I was suddenly relieved that I didn’t join.

Honestly, I’m a yoga virgin. Even if I do believe I am pretty fit, I haven’t really been active lately. Nothing more than the walking between transport hubs and work and home. Gym? Nope... too scared... and insecure. Back in school, I used to play soccer, volleyball, tennis and table tennis. I used to bowl and jog, too. I even used to dance, so I think I can be pretty flexible. But lately, ugh. Yoga was the farthest from my mind before this. Oh, maybe sexercise counts?

So after that first session, being one of those who kept inviting people to join Yoga for Life, I was sort of pressured to participate. I gotta walk my talk, right? So last week’s session, I vowed to be there. And not only be there, I vowed to yoga-ize myself.

And so I did. Despite raising my hand when our yogi Charmaine asked who were yoga virgins, I tried my best to keep up. In the middle of the first part, I found myself sweating profusely, worse than I’d seen anyone do in the pilot session. I was worried. I took time to look around, and was relieved to see others were sweating as well.

Poses. Stances. Holds. Stretches. Points. Flexes.

From something as simple as inhaling and exhaling, to something as difficult as being on your back trying to swing your legs over your head into a shoulder stand. Very Kamasutra. Honestly, that was the hardest part. During the pilot, I saw them try to do it, and I said to myself, “No fucking way.” But last week, I wouldn’t let the session pass without trying it. I get challenged too, ya know! So I got as far as trying. I didn’t quite get there, but I got to the next best option, having my legs up in the air. Whew. I’m a proud boi!

By the end of the session, the meditation part, I couldn’t help but appreciate the time we were given to just lie on the mat and rest every part of our bodies and even our minds. It was a good way to end the hour-long yoga session.

I was warned by BFF that my body would ache into the next day. The following morning, I proudly reported to him that I was a-okay. I, of course, spoke too soon. By that evening I could feel the burn. I was reminded I had muscles I’d forgotten I had. Abs. Shoulders. Triceps. Quads. It was a burn. But it was a good burn. I missed having this burn.

So there. I lost my virginity yet again... my yoga virginity. I’ve pretty much recovered from last week, but not in time to join the weekend yoga session. But as of this writing, I’m already on my 2-hour fast and looking forward to having my second yoga session in a couple of hours. Is it really good for me? Feels like it. Well, I’m now officially physically active. And I’m happy... as always!

And am I ready to ache again? Bring it on! I yearn for the burn! ROAR! Yoga for Life, here I come!


Yoga for Life sessions are held every Wednesday evenings in Ortigas, and Saturday afternoons in Makati. If you’re interested to join us, you may contact our yogi bear and babe, Paulo at comradepaw@gmail.com, and Charmaine at charmaine.cuunjieng@gmail.com for more details.

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Self-Empowerment

Self-empowerment? A self-empowerment course? I admit, I was avoiding it. Why? Well, first, all the sharing and public speaking... stage fright galore. And second, I’ve seen the previous batch that supposedly underwent self-empowerment. Didn’t seem like it worked, not for everyone at least. In just the week after they did, all the drama, all the issues, all the arguments, all the bitterness, and all the negativity they were throwing around… even more than before... it made me skeptical of this self-empowerment thing. Seriously.

But thanks to being badgered by BFF and pressured by E, I got convinced to go. But I had a disclaimer beforehand... don’t be surprised if I end up scoffing and rolling my eyes the whole time. And I swore I wouldn’t cry as others had apparently done a lot of in the previous batch. Aside from there really being nothing to cry about, E would be there, and he’d mock me. Of course, I’d gladly do the same to him as well. Hehe.

So Saturday morning, anxious and over-packed as usual, I got schoolbussed to the venue with BFF and another guy by AA, who had attended the previous empowerment session. He told us about their experience, about the sharing and how physically and emotionally draining it would be and all... and already, I was dreading it.

This self-empowerment training had been done several times in the past before, but we were only the second batch since the National AIDS/STD Prevention and Control Program (NASPCP) of the DOH took it under its wing and funded it last month. Previously, it was just a philanthropic venture by volunteers and concerned people.

Getting to the hotel in Manila that would serve as venue, only E wasn’t there yet. The rest were already taking lunch. Passing the public announcement video system at the lobby, it was funny how the sponsors of our event were spelled out explicitly. Department of Health. Research Institute for Tropical Medicine. National Center for Disease Prevention and Control. National AIDS/STD Prevention and Control Program. Okay, a few inches short of disclosure, but fine, but no big deal.

We went up to the function room, signed in, and headed down to attack the buffet. There we found some of the other participants, my eldest kiddo, Lil Jenny, and PositiveEqualsRebirth were the some of the few familiar faces there. It was natural to stick to who you knew. The others were yet to be revealed. E showed up shortly, and we all took our time savoring the buffet of spring rolls, sautéed cabbage, lemon chicken, cream puffs and chocolate brownies.

After that, the training commenced. I’ll try not to make this too much of a spoiler for future attendees of the self-empowerment training, so please bear with me. Led by Doc Rita, who is incidentally the sister of our dear Doctor D at RITM, the session began with introductions all around and a getting-to-know-you activity at the same time. And then it got serious.

Part of getting to know each other was to come from learning about each others’ pasts. And revisiting childhood days, family life, till the present, including the time each one found out he was HIV-positive, was not an easy thing for some. This early, tears were shed. But the air of support, listening and openness we had was a nice ambience to be in for something like this.

It was then that we found how balanced a group we were. Though we were all male and all poz and all RITMers, that’s where the similarities ended. From newbies, months into the HIV journey, to not-so-newbies, already years past. From gay and bi guys, to some who were on the straight road or had vowed celibacy. From those gliding in acceptance, to some still wallowing in confusion, and even one intriguing guy who had gone through years of subscribing to AIDS denialism. Amazing. I was thrilled to meet my first AIDS denialist in person.

This first part took longer than expected. What normally took 3 hours for other groups, took us a record breaking 6½ hours! So record-breaking that we obviously stressed Doc Rita out And our record-breaking streak went on into the following activities. Enhancing self-image. Finding the power in you. Taking control of one’s life. Creating a healthy balance in life. Career planning. Appreciation of others.

So again, I wonder why the self-empowerment seminar didn’t seem to work for some from the last batch. Well, looking back after going through it myself, I realize you’re not expected to leave the seminar empowered. You’re just given the tools to work towards empowerment, and left with some questions for introspection. It will be up to you and what you do with them that will determine whether you get to empowerment or not.

And then, I believe, the foundation for self-empowerment lies in such simple things as openness, self-awareness and self-evaluation. If you’re not open, or are clueless of your concerns or what negativity it is you are feeling and what causes it, then the facilitator won’t be able to give you an objective evaluation of your situation. Am I making sense?

And finally… one last hunch. You know how being with certain friends makes it sometimes harder to be honest about how you really feel? Because they might make fun of you, or they’re fair-weather friends you’re only used to having fun times with?

I also believe that the composition of the group as a whole played a part. Having friends there is nice. But if having friends there makes you too self-conscious that you’d want to hold back information about yourself, then that won’t be a good thing since you won’t be able to paint a clear picture of yourself.

Our batch was not dominated by one single group... I mean, yeah, I was close to E, BFF, and my eldest kiddo among others, but we were a mere fraction of the 16 person group. Plus, we weren’t fair-weather friends nor the types to judge each other. We actually know more than our TMI share about each other. No reputations to ruin, no pride to swallow, no shame to dread.

So there, I think that’s as much as I can reveal. Empowering? Not automatically. But you should have learned something. You should at least come out of it a better person. If you come out even worse than you were going in… more negative, more of a drama queen, more issue-laden... then something definitely went wrong... or something’s wrong with you. So nega-monsters... check yourselves.

Two days, just 6 hours of sleep, a lot of yummy food, and around eighteen hours of seminar later, it was time to go home. Met new friends. Learned new things. Left with some work to do... on myself and on the world. Empowered? I will be. Definitely.

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The Cold Weekend

Last weekend? It was a cold weekend.

Well, no, temperature-wise, it was scorching. Agh. Hello, it’s summer in the Philippines in the era of climate change. What else could you expect?

But still, it was a cold weekend. Cold. Harsh. Cruel. Brrrrr, brrrrr, and brrrrr.

Friday night, I headed off from work, off to an unfamiliar place. I had heard of the place before, but never been there. I did my homework researching how to get there, but figured, since it was near my sister’s place, I would take the same route and wish for luck from the heavens that my logic was right. Fortunately, it was.

I took a short bus trip and a tricycle ride, and I got to the quaint little Café Juanita and headed inside. Yes, a trike, so what? At least I didn’t get lost. Walking in, I was ushered to the farthest table. Okay, this is it. Another night of socializing for the anti-social like me. Gulp.

Just walking through the restaurant was an experience. Everywhere you looked, you’d see abubots and trinkets, very reminiscent of my packrat of a lola crossed with a shiny drag queen. I don’t think there was one bare inch of space. I’m not a big fan of clutter, and this wasn’t just clutter. This was clutt-est! But hey, it’s not my place, so who am I to complain?

Getting to the table, introductions went around. Some familiar faces, and some new ones. Bloggers. I’d really been out of this blogger’s circle for sometime now. But the occasion? It was JohnStan’s birthday. But other than being a friend, the inside scoop was that someone got me invited because I needed a perk-up after my recent single-ification. Sweet. Cold. Cruel. Cruel, but sweet.

Aside from the birthday, it was also an occasion for us, John Stan’s friends, to meet the boyfriend. The one. A couple? In love? Love?! Gah!... Hehehe, okay fine, I guess I did have a bitter side. But it was under control, don’t worry. I was my usual quiet self, even quieter because I was nursing a cough and a cold. Taste buds were numb, sinuses stuffed, hearing impaired... Argh. Eh wala, eh... Malakas sa akin si JohnStan.

Kare kare, crispy pata, fried lapu-lapu, topped off with sticky toffee pudding… what was left of my tongue did enjoy. From there, I passed on further nightlife. My excuse? I was drugged... with ARVs, of course. But the cold didn’t help. And the long day at work didn’t either. So I called it a night and went home ahead.

The next night, I had a date. A date with an ex. Not what you think. This ex of mine from maybe a decade ago wanted to see me... and introduce his boyfriend. Love? Again?! Gah! What is this, the season to introduce boyfies?! Actually, it was the boyfriend who was apparently pushing to meet. I don’t know what he knew about me that brought this on, but I was game. This was an ex with whom, despite a short relationship and a dramatic breakup, I had successfully transcended into friendship with. Hello?! We’ve been in touch for a decade! That’s something.

I started off on a bad note, being late for the meet. No big deal to them though. Finally, the past and the present met. We headed to Mang Jimmy’s, another must eat in the city. Kare kare again, tapa mix, beef and baby corn, and two servings of sizzling pusit... Pusit? Was he trying to imply something?! Well, I haven’t told this ex of mine about my status. I wanted to, but would rather just tell him first without the boyfie... so maybe some other time.

After the hefty dinner, they toured me around the MWSS compound, where they apparently usually stroll. It was nice that they shared such intimate moments and places with me. Of course, I couldn’t help feeling like a third wheel at the time, and would’ve loved to have a hand to hold as well. Sigh. We then ended up at the foot of the UP Oblation, where we lounged, people-watched, and talked... about everything under the sun... about them, about our past, how we met, why we broke up, how we became friends again… trust me, there was a lot to laugh about when it came to our history. If only, if only, if only I wasn’t wheezing and coughing the whole time. Argh, damned cold again... and cough.

From there, I headed back home, alone this time, as they were heading another way together. It was a few minutes before 9:30 pm. I know because my ARV alarm went off just as I took my seat in the jeep. At least I didn’t have to come up with an alibi for my little watch ringing.

There. Argh. It was a cold and cruel weekend. Cold and cruel for the recently single. I mean, I had a choice not to be there, and I could’ve been bitter about it. But I don’t want to be that way. Couples aren’t out there to rub my situation in. It ain’t their fault. So I shouldn’t be blaming them or taking it against them or anything. If anything, I can truly, truly say that I’m happy for both of the couples I spent last weekend with. Really. Frost my heart... I mean, cross my heart.

So at this point, I’m imbibing positivism... Love. It’s there. I still love it. Love, love, love, love, love. Bring it on. But first, let me... defrost.

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Stupid Love

Love works a different way in different minds. The fool it enlightens, the wise it blinds. – John Dryden

Love. I lost it. Nope, nothing sudden or new. It’s been going on – or off – for some months now. It just took me a while to really muster the guts to say it out loud. I just always never knew how to answer how “we” were. Because I really never knew. I was always the last to know. Amazing how it takes other people to drum into your head and make you feel how stupid you’re looking already. And every time, I’m made to feel that way, I can only smile and shrug and take it. I’d say that I was okay. I was. I really was... I think.

Was I being stupid? Stupid, the dictionary says, is being slow of mind, or lacking intelligence or reason. Falling in love makes one stupid? How could that be? Well, definitely, I deny being slow of mind, because after all, I did get to where was, didn’t I? Lacking of intelligence? Well, I have that accounted for. Because when it comes to love, intelligence is sooooo overrated anyway. Maybe lacking reason. Well I think love can justify itself. If it is for nothing more than the unadulterated state of mind that love can bring, that’s reason enough. Now, if anyone can devise a foolproof way of rationalizing and concretizing love into whys and hows, well then you can gouge my eyes out.

If being “stupid” like this was supposed to be wrong, then maybe I should know what I should be doing right now. Drop everything, pick up where I left off, go straight, get married, have three kids, and live in a house with a picket fence? Maybe I should do that, huh? Well, you know my answer to that one. Many others have made a hobby out of being stupid and they have several different reasons. Trust me, I’ve seen much worse.

But for me, if it means sucking all the passion out of life, putting a little more of myself into it, not letting anyone get more out of my life than I do, enjoying the life that I have, having the life that I want, even if it means listening to my heart, dancing to the rumba beat, putting my heart on the line for someone I love, even for a small moment, for the simple reason of who-knows, could-be, and we’ll-never-know, well, then I’d rather be stupid. Wouldn’t trade it for anything. And you can quote me on that.

I don’t think I was being stupid at all. Brave, maybe, and God knows what I wouldn’t give to be even a fraction braver, albeit more “stupid”. Giving is best if it is given willingly. And I gave willingly.

Yes I don’t deny that sometimes I realized that I was going way off my path for something that seemed so perfect yet so unattainable. Sometimes, I can’t help but submit to destiny. Sometimes, the only thing that drives me is the hope, the anticipation, the passion, but still, that doesn’t make it pointless to pursue. I can only dream to be like that, a person driven by true passion, fueled by pure hope.

But ultimately, in love, as in anything, the decisions are mine to make. The philosophies of look-before-you-leap and better-safe-than-sorry are much overrated, and may have better applications than love. Use those mottos for sex, not for love. More importantly maybe, I’d rather thrive on live-in-the-moment and no-regrets.

I have no regrets. Lost a love? Well, I can still love him... as a good, good friend... no regrets. Not even for the months and months of not really knowing where I stood... no regrets. Not even for the months and months of believing I was dating someone exclusively, only to realize that I was not being exclusively dated myself... no regrets. Not even after months and months of only wanting to be intimate with one person, and barely even getting to first base... read: yes, months and months without sex is sooooo unlike the bitch I was built to be... no regrets. Not even months and months off the dating scene and now finding myself chucked back on the meat rack... hell, I have a dates lined up starting tonight... so why regret? Hehehe.

If anything, I’m actually glad to have gone through this. I’m glad to realize that I am capable of making the sacrifices that a commitment can demand from me. I’m glad to know that life hasn’t left me too jaded, and that I do still have at least this little to offer if and when the right guy comes along. I'm glad that I still have the gall to worry about love, which means I'm not doing so bad HIV-wise.

Too much a martyr? Hahaha. Too idealistic? Maybe. Too mushy? Indulge me. Too stupid? I wouldn’t admit it.

Honestly, I believe one to be more stupid if he lets the chance to experience true love pass him by. It’s not true that love is blind, or stupid for that matter. With all due respect to John Dryden, that may just have been the rationalization of some pathetic person who wished not to admit he could fall into such vulnerability. Love always has its reasons, mysterious as they may be.

How about you? Go back to the times that you felt love made you stupid. Did it really? Think about it. But even better, don’t think. Feel it.

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Livin' La Vida Aida

Trese had the contacts and got us tickets. Our Sunday evening was set. February 21st, we were going to watch Live AIDS. I know... if it were all up to me, I wouldn't be the type to go out on a Sunday evening. I mean we would be out late, and there would be work the following day. But this was Live AIDS. And I would be with my pozzie friends. AIDS with HIV friends... who wouldn't want that?

Sunday afternoon, we had agreed to meet at 4:00 pm at the local mall. I was there around 4:00 pm, and met up with BFF. My mobile was ringing off the hook, as I became the voluntary coordinator for the event yet again... seemingly, I'm the root of all lakwatcha lately. Shortly, O and ex-BFF-in-law (Oi, a long story... and not mine to tell) showed up. Then a veteran pozzie but a newbie to the group joined us... this was a friend of E, GreenMan and mine.

Soon, I got a text from the real newbie, advising what he was wearing and where he was... this was actually someone who had just found out he was HIV positive about a week before... But he was adjusting well, having been able to start a blog of his own, and eager to meet others like him, so I invited him to join us. Let's call him by his blog, LivingWithHiv. Finally we had met. My soon to be "bunso", as we had planned that I'd accompany him on his first trip to RITM sometime soon. Wee!

Trese and the not so Lil Jenny brought up the rear. Again we were a formidable bunch. Eight of us to be exact, coming from everywhere from way up north to down south. We were so many that some of us had to take an extra cab, lest we plan on ruining the suspension trying to fit into just one vehicle. It just wasn't going to happen. Eight pozzies. I'd say wow to that. Or maybe the DOH would declare us an epidemic with our viral density in such a small floor area. What brought us together? Friendship... definitely, fun... absolutely, HIV... to some extent, and AIDS... Live AIDS to be exact.

Live AIDS? People who have never heard of Live AIDS might think it's some programme or campaign about the Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. And at least eight of us positives being there might reinforce that thought. But nope, it's nothing like that actually. The AIDS in Live AIDS stands for Ang Istoryang Dinebelop ng Samaskom, literally translated, The Story Developed by Samaskom. Samaskom is actually an organization of Mass Communication students in the University of the Philippines in Diliman. And coming from Mass Comm, it could not be expected to be anything but fun.

Simply put, Live AIDS is an annual tradition and pride of Samaskom, a show where the members are able to showcase their talents in performing. We're talking about dancing, singing, and acting, but for me, the one distinctive thing about Live AIDS that people watch out for are the comedy skits and monologues that Samaskom develops, each one being very relevant to the times. It's like one huge standup comedy stint. I had watched Live AIDS just once before, years and years ago, back when I was still in college. Oi, ancient history, I know. Back then if I remember right, skits were about showbiz, politics, and pagers. Pagers?! I know! That should give you an idea of how long ago this was.

So this year, I got the chance to watch again. The long lines that wrapped around the corridors of the UP Diliman College of Music, where Abelardo Hall, the home of Live AIDS, was, were testament to how anticipated this show was. This was to be the last show of the year, unless they stage a repeat, so expectedly, most of the kinks and flops of previous stagings, if any, should've been worked out. This was going to be a fun night.

While in line, or even before, Trese kept saying he had a surprise for me that evening. I had no clue what it was. Lo and behold, he finally revealed that one of the newbie positives with whom I had been chatting for some time now was also there to watch. And having been told that that person was standing somewhere in line in front of us, I tried my hardest to try and guess which one it was. Fruitless of course. It's not like I have some sixth sense to figure out who looks like a walking virus. Bwehehe. I soon gave up trying to guess.

After wrangling with a long wait in a long line prior, we finally made it into the theatre, luckily able to grab the last few seats left. I remember the first time I watched years ago, I was seated in the aisles the whole time. So regardless of whether we were in the rearmost of the theatre, and seated in different rows in pairs, it wasn't all that bad. Of course, I had BFF beside me. While waiting for the show to start, I had my mobile phone in hand, awaiting word from the newbie I was yet to meet. I was not disappointed. He called me in a bit, asking where I was. I stood up, asked him to look back, and waved at him. That made at least nine positives in that little hall. Contact. Bwehehe. That would be enough for now.

So anyways, the show started in a bit. Live AIDS 2010 entitled Circusmaryosep! started off with an amazing monologue by its "ringmaster", by the end of which LivingWithHiv struck gold when he found himself holding the winning ticket for the one and only raffle prize. I can say nothing but that the prize was hot, hot, hot! That lucky bastard. Hehehe.

One after another, the puchlines were rolled out. A Showtime spoof entitled "Shorttime", amazingly with the actual Vice Ganda seated in the audience. A parody of the Pacquiaos, complete with Manny, Jinky, Krista and Mommy Dionesia shopping for a pair of limited-edition-Coco-Chanelas slippers. A political skit complete with the 2010 presidentiables losing out to finalists Philippine president Gloria Arroyo and U.S. first lady Michelle Obama. And my personal favorite, an Avatar-inspired twist on the phases of homosexuality entitled "Avakler", complete with audience participation, specifically pulling a poor gay guy out of the closet and toying with him to the audience's delight. Body shot, Bonding, Booking, Bromance. LOL... Laugh Out Little. Yes, yes, yes, sans the shimmying females that hardly interested me in between sets, the show was a blast indeed.

A ten minute walk out to Philcoa meant we were starving. Well, actually, having not had dinner and it already being past 10:00 pm really meant we were starving. We had dinner at Chowking, and two of us went off their own ways. B.I.T.C.H., BFF, Lil Jenny, O, Trese and LivingWithHiv. The six of us left decided to have a nightcap at a not-so-far-away coffee place in the city.

I was glad newbie LivingWithHiv was still there to witness a whole spectrum of emotions, from bawling with laughter still from the Live AIDS punchlines, to giggling at the sexual undertones dropped every so often, to ogling at hot guys in the vicinity, to some serious talk about love lives and the challenges that come with them. If that didn't convince him that we were still a normal bunch of guys, then I don't know what would. It was a pretty excellent initial immersion in the positive world, if I could say so myself.

All that said, it was around 2:00 in the morning, and with it already being a Monday, a workday shortly for some of us, it was time to go. Fine I was going to be hungover from lack of sleep on that Monday, but really, I wouldn't have traded it in for anything... that one little evening of Livin' la Vida Aida.

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Like Poles Attract

Another weekend passed by. But it was far from my usual weekend of just lazing around at home and taking a breather from a week of work. I did spend Friday night and most of early Saturday just home recharging… but I was really getting ready for a night of epic proportions.

Another weekend passed by... and it was like a whirlwind.

It seems my weekends have become more active than usual, thanks to the little group of HIV-positive friends we’ve formed. Again, we’re not a formal group. We had HIV in common, and the RITM. But really, we were just friends and friends of friends. Simple as that.

For the past few occasions that we’ve met, the most that we’ve ever been is seven, which happened on each of first three times we went out. It was never the same seven people though. Just a little coincidence. I thought it’d be a pattern, but the fourth time, we were below quota at six. There went my theory.

This time it was going to be different. I don’t know exactly what was up with this weekend, but a lot of us were game to meet up. In the planning stages, up to 10 people were confirmed to come, with a good 5 or 6 more new guys invited. Of course, 10 minds working towards a common goal was difficult enough. Just deciding what time, where to meet, what movie to watch and where to eat was almost hell. Thankfully, the place and time got worked out, so by hook or by crook, it was happening.

So by 5:30 pm of Saturday, I was at the meeting place. I met the BruskoBoy among us, who got there first. Soon, RedApple and his friend got there. And then O. And then BFF-in-law, followed shortly by BFF. And then Positive’sStory. Already we were past our usual quorum at eight. We somehow were able to agree upon Japanese food. Soon, W showed up. And surprise, surprise, Papi showed up. Trese brought up the rear. Eleven?! Ten positives and Papi in a public place? I swear, no one could ever guess it was possible.

Okay, I apologize if I can’t openly disclose exactly where we were and where we ate. It’s because every so often, one of us would see someone he knew, and I’d rather stay away from the possibility of indirectly exposing someone’s identity, if someone just managed to put two and two together. It’s not common to see such a big group. Not to mention we weren’t exactly the type of group that was quietly blending into the crowd. We were somehow eleven huge characters.

After dinner, it was clear that a movie would not get agreed upon, with some saying they’d already watched this and that, and saying that this movie was dragging and that movie was bad. Downside I guess of being eleven in a group. Eleven opinions that won’t necessarily always jive. But it was all good.

After a lot of stalling, with one of us needing to head off for work, the ten of us left headed off for some night life. I know... I’m not exactly the night life kind of guy. But being part of a sizeable group was my safety blanket. Gulp still.

We ended up in a Malate-type place, that wasn’t in Malate. Scary that it was still that type of gimmick, but sans the snooty Malate atmosphere made it a bit better. I didn’t know though what to expect. The bit of wine we had before charging the place helped a bit. I was as ready as I’d ever be.

As it turned out, we got there early, being one of only two tables occupied at the time. I appreciated the space, though. Much unlike the few Malate experiences I’ve had, places so jam-packed that you’d be sharing your breathing space with four other people. Argh. Even at the peak hours past midnight, it still was nowhere near the density of people in Malate. I loooooved it. People could actually dance without having their knees fused together by the end of the night.

Grooving. Loud music. Smoke-filled air. Half-naked hunks dancing upon ledges. Gay impersonators. It all made for a fun night. Of course, alcohol was part of the equation for some of us, but everyone was within their limits. I can confidently say none of us was butt drunk in the end. To one extreme, one of us was enjoying the music, the dancing and the company with just a couple of glasses of pineapple juice. Others were having mixed drinks. Others, myself included, had beer... in numbers nowhere near my maximum capacity. Yep, that’s my defense. Hehe.

It was all good. Except the part where Papi kept rubbing in that he’d had sex with one of the half-naked guys dancing on the ledge some time ago. Imagine my eyes rolling into the back of my head. But sige na, I will choose my battles. I will blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol. And everything shall remain all good.

So there. By the end of the evening, which was morning already, six of us were left having breakfast, exchanging stories and jokes at one of the few 24-hour places we could think of. I got home past 6 in the morning I think. I know... the sun was up already. I don’t even remember the last time this happened, if it’s happened at all.

I know we were just 10 positives and Papi. Even if you include GreenMan, E, and some others whom we’ve invited to tag along, right now there isn’t even 20 of us so far. That’s like less than 5% of RITM’s roster of HIV-positives, and less than 0.5% of the national registry. Our group is tiny. Insignificant. And I know you might be wondering why our little group is such a big deal to us.

Being almost all HIV-positive is a big factor. I mean it probably gives each one of us such comfort to be able to openly talk about health, side effects, CD4 counts, and what not. But of course we’re not limited to just HIV-related stuff. Primarily, we are human beings, so we do talk about family, relationships, sex, work, jokes, bullshit and everything else under the sun as well.

We’re like a support group. But unlike our usual NGOs who call themselves “support groups” we don’t get together for the attention, to sex things up amongst ourselves, or for any funding. We’re unadulterated. We are friends. We’re just choosing to be happy... together. And I can say we truly support and care for each other. Now that’s a real support group. Who ever said like poles repel?

So there. If I was to sum up the more than 12 hours we spent together, uhm, caring for and supporting each other... and gimmicking as well, I have only three words: Fun, fun and fun. Till next time boys.

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