Monday rush hour. Braving the rain, armed with my trusty umbrella, I took a jeep to the MRT station. Jam-packed and with the plastic sheets pulled down over the windows, yes, I was kept dry, but I suddenly felt my claustrophobia creeping in. Logically, my eyes went to the rear of the jeep, hoping to at least see some air. But no, someone was hanging off the back of the jeep, blocking that view as well. But against what little light there was, I felt the man’s eyes looking at me. Was he smiling? At me?
I checked him out a bit. He was probably in his mid-20s, tall, fair-skinned, dressed in just jeans, a shirt and a cap, and good looking, I thought. I remember wondering if it was someone or something else he was looking at. But I still felt it was me he was looking at. I shrugged it off. He got down ahead of me, and I eventually lost sight of him.
Making it up to the MRT platform, I stood at my usual place, the middle door of the third coach. Waiting for the next train to come, I couldn’t help but look around. I was surprised to spot the same guy standing just two meters to my left... and still looking at me... this time, from head to toe. I was now sure he was checking me out, complete with an impish smile on his face. I busied myself looking around, panicking, honestly. I regret trying to check on him with my peripheral vision, only to realize he now stood right beside to me. Oh, fuck.
When the train finally came by, everyone seemed to get sucked into its open doors. Rushing in, I felt a hand wrapping around mine... yes, it was him. I couldn’t help myself. The next thing I knew, my hand had betrayed me and clasped back, revealing my interest in him, too. Inside, he made sure to stand next to me. It seemed he still wasn’t convinced that I was interested, and still made little efforts of looking my way, rubbing elbows, and finally holding my hand as he concealed it with his bag. I looked back, rubbed back and held back. That’s what he was waiting for.
He soon struck up a conversation of whispers. We introduced ourselves and found out I lived near his brother’s place, where he stays on weekends. He asked if he could drop by sometime... I said maybe. I was getting off ahead of him, so before we got there, he asked for my number and saved it on his phone. He rang me up to make sure I got his number, too. It was time for me to get off... the train, that is. And with that, I fell in love with the MRT.
I just felt so good about myself. It was such an ego boost. He was just... so... interested! I couldn’t believe how aggressive this younger guy was. Or maybe he just judged my age wrong. I’d blush if that was the case. But honestly, it was so extremely flattering. His moves gave me the kiligs.
We were texting a bit during the following hours, and establishing our preferred roles in bed, it was clear he was after sex. And we were a perfect match. I jokingly guessed that he had a relationship, which he confirmed... he had a girlfriend. Okay, I can deal with that. And so it was set, we were to meet the following Saturday. He was to come to my place... honestly, I was excited. But then my dilemma of revealing my secret came with the excitement.
During the following days, I tried not to worry too much. It was my hormones that were taking control. I cleaned my room and changed the beddings, and even replenished my supply of prophylactics. It should’ve been so simple, but not for me. I knew I was worried, because I found myself asking a number of my friends whether I should tell this guy about my HIV or not. Opinions varied, and I was still at a loss. The decision would still be mine to make.
Well, it was more like I knew what was right, but didn’t want to take the risk of “losing” this guy. I didn’t want to make the decision. So Saturday crept up slowly and the time to decide was looming. He just couldn’t wait. Friday night, he sent a message asking if we could meet already. This was it.
I was in a jeep when I replied, finally revealing my little secret. I told him I was bothered about not telling him about it, and mentioned that it was my way giving him the chance to change his mind. Honestly, I was expecting the worst, but really hoping for the best. I stuffed my phone back into my pocket as soon as it was sent, anxious of what reply I was going to get.
After five minutes, I checked for a reply. Nothing. Another five minutes. Still nothing. Maybe he was busy. Maybe he was thinking about it. For the next hour, I was flipping my phone every five minutes... and the realization that he was no longer interested was hitting me again and again and again. I felt sad. Sad that I was reduced to an HIV-status. Sad that it tipped the scales against me.
Do I regret telling him? Well, the sex in me says “Sayang!”... but my consuelo-de-bobo would be that hopefully he realizes that you can’t tell one’s HIV-status just based on looks alone. Hopefully, he’ll play safe from now on. But damn! I really, really wanted him!
So there, I chose to do the right thing, but ended up with nothing. I guess the worst part about it is that he completely lost interest, not even considering the option of being friends at least... he just didn’t want to have anything to do with me. Ouch.
But you know what? I can’t blame him. That was just the harsh reality of things... for now. I took another risk, and lost again. Nope, I gotta convince myself that it’s his loss, not mine. No more use crying over spilt milk. After all, I could always spill my own milk... by myself.
Post-script:
As of Saturday afternoon, he sent me a text message asking how I was and if what I had confessed was true. I just said it would be such a bad joke to tell. He admitted doubting its truth, and I ended up lecturing him about the fact that you can’t tell one’s HIV-status based on looks alone. Nothing again after that. Sigh.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Spilt Milk
Monday, June 15, 2009
Stop the Party
Remember that thing I mentioned about the Lifeline Emergency Quick Response Program? Well, I received their membership form by mail recently. I should be happy, right? SHOULD...
But now I realize that...
I may just have celebrated too soon.
Again, I saw the envelope as soon as I got home from work, and of course, I knew what it was supposed to be. So even before I changed from my work clothes, I sat down and took the form out, eager to see how easy it would be. And then my excitement died down.
Basically there were just ten groups of questions I needed to answer. Not too bad really. Let me take you through it.
10. Basic Information? Name; Date of birth; Gender; Civil Status. Expected.
9. Permanent Address? Complete address; Phone, fax and mobile numbers; E-mail address. Cool.
8. Employment? Company name; Designation; Complete address; Phone, fax and mobile numbers; E-mail address. Okay.
7. Hospital? Hospital name; Attending Physician; Complete address. I admit, I gave this some thought... Nothing wrong with naming the Research Institute for Tropical Medicine and Dra. Ditangco as my preferred hospital and physician, right?
6. History of Past Diseases? None.
5. Previous Operations? None... unless circumcisions count.
4. Allergies? None.
3. Family Diseases? Hmm, my dad had it all... Diabetes, Heart disease, Cancer.
2. Habits? Smoking; Alcohol; Drugs. No, yes, and no.
It was easier than I expected... until...
1. Present Illnesses and Medications? O.M.G....
Okay, I told myself not to panic. I needed to calm down. Putting down Syphilis wouldn’t be so bad. Listing Hepatitis B could actually explain my Lamivudine and Tenofovir medications. But HIV? Should I tell them I have HIV?
Somehow, reading that All information contained herein will be confidential just wasn’t enough. Can I actually withhold that information?
I hereby certify the truth of all representation made in this application, and acknowledge that the Lifeline service agreement may otherwise be invalidated with costs chargeable to me. Okay, that’s a huge risk.
I further authorize any physician, clinic or hospital where I have been treated to disclose and provide the company with the medical, dental or clinic findings relative to the medical representative above. Geesh, so they’ll find out eventually? There goes that option.
Please fill out the form at your earliest convenience, as it will provide us with accurate and pertinent information regarding your medical history and will greatly facilitate your efficient care. Hmm, admittedly, that’s a good reason to disclose.
Well, if they ever happen to fail on their provision of service just because of my having HIV, I can always cite the clause in their website that says No exclusion for pre-existing conditions. Or I can take them to court for discrimination under R.A. 8504. Interesting. Stressful... and extremely paranoid of me... but interesting.
So after giving it some thought, I decided. Fine. A few more people will be added to my those-who-know list... and I won’t even know who exactly these people are. This will be another case of the-benefit-of-the-doubt.
Will I regret doing this? I don't know. But I'll do it. I'm going to be holding my breath. Celebration postponed until further notice.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
The Buscapade
I rode the same old bus, from the same old stop, at the same old time, along the same old route. This morning was supposed to be just another regular commute to work. But no, no, no. I would just not be that lucky.
What is it with me, buses and sexual tension?
The bus had reached Cubao in a record-breaking time, thanks to less traffic probably due to students being on their summer break. We got in queue at the foot of the MRT station again, reminiscent of my Superman experience not so long ago. Hmmm, come to think of it, I never saw that guy again.
A handful of people got onto the bus as we screeched to a stop. I was focused intently on watching all the people who seemed to be scurrying about that part of Cubao. I just love to watch people, and the view from the vantage point of a bus window is always perfect for that. And then it started. I felt someone, one of those who had just gotten on, looking straight at me. Oh, boy, here we go again.
With just my peripheral vision to work with, all I noticed were his long-sleeved layered outfit, his oasis-style hairdo, and his bug-eye shades. Sigh. My gaydar went off the scale. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against their type. I admire their tenacity to layer clothes without a single drop of sweat amid this Manila summer heat. I envy them. But that’s as far as my admiration goes.
Sensing him make his way towards me, I tried to occupy as much as my two-seater as I could. But it was not enough. I guess his own gaydar went off as well. He stopped adjacent to my seat, and I had no choice but to move over. I just stuck myself as close to the window as possible, and went on with my people-watching.
Of course, the story didn’t end there. He made sure we were close. Very close. Hip to hip would’ve been normal. Thigh to thigh, understandable. But the way slouched and moved further forward in his seat just so our calves would touch was... outrageous! And his elbow, which began poked into my side, was actually resting on my belt – no, resting on my hip bone! You can get beaten up if you happened to do that to the wrong person.
It wasn’t like this bus was one of those whose seats were tailored for humans without arms and shoulders. It was one of those more comfortable ones actually. So he was really pushing his luck and making every effort for his intent to be known.
I could’ve easily felt violated and acted on my paranoia, but that would just get me into trouble. I hate making a scene. Plus it was all harmless flirting. It wasn’t like I was losing my virginity or something. Nor was it my first time to experience such things in public transport. Been there, done that.
Better yet, I thought to myself, act nonchalant about everything and hopefully turn him off. So that was exactly what I did. And thanks again to the smooth flow of traffic, the bus reached my stop – and in turn, the torture was over – in a short while. I knew he was getting down as well at my stop, so once I got moving, I never looked back.
I knew instantly that this adventure would hit the pages of this blog soon enough – in a matter of hours actually – so I just thought it funny if this guy would happen to read this entry and figure himself out as the subject.
What would he think? Would he realize what a close encounter he had with HIV? Would it make him sweat in his seat? Would it occur to him that I did him a huge favor? Would he think twice next time about letting his hormones take control so early in the morning?
In the very words of Bayani Fernando, Urbanidad.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Thirst-Day
It was just another regular Thursday. No biggie.
Or so I thought.
What should have been just a regular commute to work turned into a whole telenovela of emotions worthy of being featured in a chick flick.
Or so I thought again.
Let me tell you my story.
I used to take the MRT to work to avoid the traffic, but realized the face-tradingly crowded trains, long walks to and from the train stations and steep climbs to the platforms just aren’t worth it. I don’t really mind the traffic anymore. My consolations are that I’m seated comfortably for most of the ride, and picked up and dropped off at more convenient places. I’ve now traded in the speed of the MRT for the hour-long weave of a public bus in and out of traffic on EDSA.
So last Thursday was like any other. I started off with my daily routine, heading out the door to brave the traffic that I’ve eventually gotten used to facing five times a week. Although I’m so used to it, I hardly find it boring enough to manage to sneak in some shuteye during the approximately hour-long trip. An hour long, if I’m lucky.
I’ve always been the type who loves seeing people, not to mention adoring them. I’ll admit, I look more at men than anyone else. I’ve been a man-watcher ever since, and all the more now that I’m HIV-positive, with the rationale that it’s the safest sex there is. And with that as my new hobby, the traffic is a huge plus. The more time I spend on the road, the more people there are to see.
The bus I was in reached Cubao, and queued at the foot of the MRT station. I’m pretty sure I’d seen so many good looking guys already, being just halfway through my trip, and my eyes had made their quota for the day.
And then there he was, just standing there, waiting for a ride. A guy. The guy. He was in a sexy, body-hugging, blue shirt, tucked into a pair of equally sexy jeans, every perfect muscle making itself known to the world against the constraint of his outfit. Admittedly, a guy’s body usually does make a huge initial impact on me. And I have this crazy habit of actually voicing out my appreciation whenever I see a perfect specimen. And so I let out my signature Wow, Wow, Wow through the glass panes of the bus, knowing I was safely away from his earshot.
I wanted to see if he had the face value to back up his great physique, but wasn’t at the right angle to judge clearly. I noticed he was looking into the bus I was in, trying to see if there were vacant seats. I knew it was half empty, and found myself saying Oh please, Oh please, Oh please, wishing he would get on the bus so I could get a better look at him.
I lost sight of him for an instant as he approached the front of the bus. And then, there he was, climbing up the steps at the door, making his way onto the bus. Oh yes, Oh yes, Oh yes, I finally got the chance to look at him straight in the face. It was as perfect as his body. Dark, clean cut hair, just as I like it, a fair, clear face that anyone would like, and the most beautiful eyes hidden behind a pair of dark rimmed, almost geeky glasses. He was a complete picture: the innocence of Clark Kent flaunting his Superman of a body.
At that point, I was in heaven already. I’d gotten my ultimate fix. The icing on the cake was seeing him look my way. Icing that melted away when I realized he was making his way towards where I was seated. Oh shit, Oh shit, Oh shit. I was panicking. Why was he headed my way? There were certainly so many other vacant seats. Why walk to almost the rear of the bus and squeeze into a two-seater with me? I felt faint.
Sure enough he sat beside me. Oh no, Oh no, Oh no. I was nauseous by that time, not knowing what to do. So I sat quietly, but was still observing. He seemed extremely comfortable beside me. Calf to calf, thigh to thigh, hip to hip, elbow to elbow, and arm to arm.
I could feel some electricity as his arm grazed the hair on my forearm as he reached into his pocket for money as the conductor came to collect his fare. "Guadalupe lang", he said in his deep, sexy voice. I caught myself realizing that I’d be late for work if I overshot to Guadalupe and just took a ride back to Ortigas. Hmm. I slapped myself mentally.
What was I supposed to do or say? Hi, I’m HIV. or Whoa, before you start groping me, I’m HIV-positive. or I really do have HIV, it’s not an alibi!, I imagined myself saying. I think my sanity got off back in Cubao.
So anyways, it seemed to be the longest ride between Cubao and Ortigas I’ve ever been on, and I suspect it was because all my blood had unconsciously rushed from my brain all the way down to my groin. Before I knew it, we had reached Ortigas, my stop. I stood up and excused myself, and got down from the bus without even looking back. Whew, Whew, Whew, I remember saying.
I looked at the bus as it drove away, trying to see the row where we both sat. It was vacant. Oh fuck, Oh fuck, Oh fuck. The panic was back. My imagination ran wild, thinking he’d gotten down to try and catch me. Of course, that wasn’t the case. I looked behind me and didn’t see him.
My ten-minute walk from the highway to the office left me with a lot of time to think, and as usual, I was suddenly struck with a bit of regret, missing my chance to meet a possibly great guy. Crazy, ain’t I?! Or is it just the Valentine thirst? Geesh, I think I need a life.
