So as I mentioned in the story of my last trip to RITM, aside from getting my ARV refill, I ended up accomplishing something else, which was to submit partially to the RITM personnel the required documents regarding my PhilHealth. PhilHealth is the Philippine government’s health insurance system. Why is it just now that I’ve needed to submit stuff regarding my health insurance information to my HIV treatment hub?
Okay, here’s the deal. The Philippines’ ARV supply is currently supported by Global Fund grants, Global Fund being an international funding agency that somewhat focuses on HIV and AIDS, Tuberculosis and Malaria. And the Philippines is and has been a beneficiary for the past few years for HIV and AIDS, and Tuberculosis.
Naturally, that’s how funding works, right? You take out a grant for a project, towards certain goals for a certain time period. As that period draws to a close, the beneficiary is expected to furnish the benefactor the proper documentation to show where the funds went and how the funds were used. Causes or projects that are able to prove themselves trustworthy of funds can then usually easily apply for a new round of grants.
As such, the Philippines has been a beneficiary of the Global Fund for some time now. It is shouldering the cost of ARVs and some aspects of care and treatment such as medical consultations and laboratory tests. But at this point, a wave of anxiety and an unsure future is spreading through the whole positive community as it is being revealed that funding will cease by 2012.
Gasp! How cruel, how cruel! But is it really merely cruelty at all?
The first problem is that, from way back to my 2009 Funder Blunder entry, one of the non-government organizations, the Tropical Disease Foundation or TDF, that had served as a primary recipient for Global Fund grants, has failed to properly account for I-don’t-know-how-many millions of US dollars in grants, which the Global Fund itself has evaluated as “unauthorized expenditures“.
As a result of that, the Global Fund suspended for some time further funding of new beneficiaries, or new pusits. It was actually a relief that, later on, the funding was reinstated to the Philippines, with the Department of Health or DOH taking over the role that TDF was playing. So we all breathed sighs of relief. I’m quite uncertain though if TDF was able to fix the controversy it got into. Millions of dollars? I doubt.
The second problem is that the grant that is being enacted today, specifically for the care and treatment of HIV and AIDS, was really only meant to last until the year 2012. Meaning, 2012 marked the end of the period covered by the grant, and a new round of grants would need to be applied for beyond 2012. Simple, supposedly. But apparently, the country’s application for a new grant beyond 2012 didn’t make the deadline. Seriously? We missed a deadline?!
So who was supposed to do that on behalf of the country? The Philippine National AIDS Council, or PNAC. I’ve seen certain persons from the HIV organizations in online discussions blaming PNAC. HIV positives blaming PNAC for the oversight may be expected, of course, we are the ones who are directly affected, right?
But I must amusingly point out that these very HIV organizations are supposed to be members of, and be representing the positive community in PNAC, alongside government agencies like the DOH, DOLE, DOJ, and DSWD, and other non-government organizations. So wouldn’t their finger-pointing towards PNAC just ricochet back to their own organizations? Hmmm.
It’s just funny that, back in the day when we, the first positive bloggers, were making our voices heard, it was people from these very groups that were trying to take us down. And even more funny was that even as we were just putting together Positivism, they had tried to defame us, probably because they saw us as rivals for funding.
And now, we have them there on online discussions trying to rally us, the positive troops, around the issue, and even going as far as criticizing as being negligent of duty, anyone who is any ounce short of participating. Where the hell is all this negativity coming from? Heaven knows. Perhaps if certain people realized that snuffing positive voices and killing new advocacy groups was not part of their duty, then they could have fulfilled their responsibility to be representatives of the positive community.
Anyway, back to the problem of grants. So as a backup plan for persons living with HIV, should the time come that grants from Global Fund cease, Philhealth may shoulder the medical tests and services needed, and subsidize the cost of ARVs. So I had to leave photocopies of my Philhealth ID and my ARV regimen booklet, submit a copy of my Philhealth Member Data Record or MDR, as well as accomplished Philhealth Claim Forms 1 & 2. Just a few more things I need from my employer.
Since I’m currently employed, membership in PhilHealth is mandatory, so I get part of the premiums deducted from my salary automatically every month, while my employer is obliged to pay for another part. For those unemployed or who have never signed up for PhilHealth, there is an option of voluntary membership, which I think costs PhP200.00 or so a month.
So there. If at least, the Philippines is on the road to becoming less reliant on external funding to fulfill everyone’s, us HIV-positives in this case, basic right to healthcare.
Considering that voices from the grapevine say ARVs may still cost us around PhP3,000 a month even with PhilHealth subsidy, I think the ones who will be most affected by any interruption of Global Fund grants would be those who aren’t working. But then, having HIV is NOT an excuse to stop working, right? Not unless you’re paralyzed from the neck down or in a coma, which is hardly the case.
Some may think it’s easy for me to say that, since I’m currently employed and working right now. But then it is the truth. Having HIV is NOT an excuse to stop being productive. I’m not in a particularly secure situation myself right now... I’ll tell you about it later... but I’d still vouch for it.
But anyway, I’m not panicking about the funding issue. Stressing out about it this early just may affect my health, won’t it? And worrying about the future just ruins what you have today. We still have hope. No reason to stop hoping. Things will happen if they’re meant to happen. Que sera sera. For now, I still have the rest of my life to deal with. To infinity and beyond.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Meds, Grants & Insurance
Saturday, November 28, 2009
A Glitch in the System
Some weeks ago, I got a text message. An unknown number said something like, “Your schedule for CD4 will be on November 17. Please do come as your slot may be given to others.” Nothing else followed, but it was signed with a couple of familiar names from the RITM.
You’d think I’d had enough CD4 counts done for this to be something routine. But... it was the farthest from it.
I didn’t doubt the veracity of the message, even though it came from an unknown number. But my first instinct was that this message was just missent. Why? Basically, I’ve fallen into the routine of having my CD4 count monitored every 6 months. So since I started my ARVs at the RITM, I’ve had it done August 2008, February 2009 and August 2009. So my logic was telling me November 2009 was not next in the series.
So I chanced upon Red Apple Black Mark online, a blogger friend who happened to be at the RITM one time. So I asked him to confirm with the personnel whether they had really scheduled me. I remember telling him to point out that my next CD4 wasn’t due till February next year. I thought it’d be easier to have it clarified person to person.
After a few minutes, he came back and confirmed that, yes, I was indeed scheduled for a CD4 count November 17th. When I had him ask why, he was told that it was complicated, and would just be discussed with me when I got there myself. What the?!
That’s when my paranoia kicked in. Why couldn’t they tell me why they needed to monitor my CD4 just three months after my last? It was a valid question, I believe, right? So knowing my personality, I needed to know. I needed for it to make sense. Was there something wrong? My CD4 did go up a number of points last time, from 484 to 493. Was the improvement not enough? Was it a concern? Did they find something else? Why was I not told? Believe me, my mind was going berserk. Was it the funding problem? Did they need to have tests done while supply lasted? Were they unsure that they’d still be able to do the tests next year? I just had too many questions that needed answers.
I talked to E about it, knowing that he is aware that I can be paranoid sometimes. He mentioned he’d be going to the RITM the following week to visit. So I couldn’t pass up the chance to have him confirm... yet again... whether I indeed was scheduled for a CD4 count. And I asked him to badger them with whys. I just needed to know why.
So he went, and he asked... At first he irked me saying it was something that needed to be discussed in person. Good thing he took his joke back. He was told I was one of those who was undergoing special monitoring as part of some research of Doktora. Some sort of Taser or Genotyping ek-ek. Hmm. Two words came to mind: Guinea Pig. But having a scientific background myself, it came across more like an honor. Those two words were enough to answer my questions.
So from that time on, November 17th was marked on my calendar. I was joking with E and GreenMan that I was part of a special group. If RITM was a school, I was a Dean’s lister. The chosen one. Proud, proud, proud.
So November 17th came, and my morning routine commenced an hour earlier than usual, so I’d be sure to get to RITM before the 9:00 am deadline. I think I got there at 8:30, with Ate pointing me to the back office to get my lab request from the people there. As I did, the lady there said she’d do one final check on her computer records. Nuneenuneenu... yes Madam, you should find me on that Dean’s list.
With her back still to me, she pointed out that I was still updated on my CD4 counts. Of course I am, I said to myself. And then she said I wasn’t due for another CD4 till February... and that I could go.
WTF?! My jaw dropped. The worst part, she was too matter-of-fact... very unapologetic. I don’t know exactly what expression I had on my face, but I was trying hard to stay positive. Did I just waste my morning for nothing?! Were my instincts spot on from the beginning?! My mind was spinning again, I was borderline angry already. Angry but trying to keep a smile on my face. I'm sure this mistake wasn't unavoidable. It’s no joke travelling from Quezon City to Alabang for nothing.
I made my way to the front office to Ate. Why? Because that was my comfort zone at the RITM. Getting there, she was surprised that I had had my test done so quickly. I told her what I was told. Ate sighed, and sat down and explained. She gave me the apology I needed.
She explained that the task of scheduling CD4 counts had been taken from her and passed on to someone else, which apparently wasn’t going too well. Just that day, already three of us had made unnecessary trips only to find out that a mistake had been made. She was just sooooo apologetic about the whole thing, even though it wasn’t her fault. She was apologizing for the glitch in the system. I felt her sincerity. And with that, I cooled down, just happy to have an excuse to visit the RITM.
From there, I headed off back north... late for work for a reason that was valid but totally unnecessary. Fine. This was one day that half of me wanted to forget. I’m sure I’m not the only one to have experienced this. So just be forewarned. They’re undergoing some administrative changes right now at the RITM, and may, may, may just need some extra patience from us. My lesson learned? Trust your instincts... and patience is suuuuuch a virtue. Hopefully they’ll get through this glitch soon enough. Peace out...
Thursday, July 23, 2009
D'oh!
You’d think taking ARVs once a day at 9:30 in the evening would be simple enough, right? Of course!
But prepare to be amazed.
Leave it to little ol' me to really screw things up... big time.
It was a regular Thursday morning. I was up and about by 6:00 am as usual, awoken by my wretchedly reliable body clock. I stepped out of my room and went to the kitchen sink to wash my face. I headed to the dining table and took breakfast while watching Umagang Kay Ganda. Rice as usual. Today, it was chorizo and fried egg. Yum. Nope, no coffee, just water
When I was done, I took my plate to the kitchen sink and let it sit in some water so it’d be easier to wash later on. Meanwhile, I went to my room and popped a handful of something in my mouth, and finished it off at the fridge with a tall glass of water. Ahhhhh. I then headed back to my room to get my towel, ready for my morning shower. And then I was stopped dead in my tracks.
Nope, not by anyone or anything. Just a freaky realization echoing in my head. What the hell did I just do? Did I just drink my ARVs? Did I just drink my ARVs?! Oh... my... gosh!!!
I’m not really sure why it took me that long to realize it. I’m not even sure why I had to realize it at all. But instead of my daily dose of vitamins C & E, I actually grabbed one of my little pill cases and downed a day’s worth of ARVs 15 hours before I was supposed to! Oh... my... gosh!!!
I don’t think I was panicking. I was actually shaking my head and laughing at how stupid I was to make that mistake, repeating to myself, Oh my gosh, Oh my gosh, Oh my gosh!
I was wondering if I should stick a finger down the back of my throat and force it out, but I just couldn’t. It would be such a waste. And not to mention gross. This is it. I had officially overdosed.
Considering I usually feel lightheaded between one to two hours after drinking my ARVs, I was doomed. I now had one to two hours to go through the rest of my morning routine and make it to work unscathed. Otherwise, I’d be walking around like I’d been left with a hangover from the previous night. Great. That’s a really great impression to leave with my old office in Ortigas, where I had planned on reporting for the day. Trust me, I was worried.
And I don’t know for sure, but I think all that paranoia just brought the side effects on even faster. I was on the bus with my mind spaced out, my face flush, my eyes getting heavy, and my head in the clouds. Fortunately, I managed to get to Ortigas safe and sound... and still wide awake.
So what was I supposed to do now? Should I still drink another dose later tonight? Or should I skip it and just wait for my next one tomorrow night? Argh, my doctor will kill me if she reads this. I can only hope she’s laughing with me... Imagine me with a guilty smile on my face. Ooopsy... I just never meant for it to happen.
As much as I’d like to deny that it happened, I won’t. As much as I’d like to convince you that I did it as an experiment just so I could share the experience with you... I can’t. It was just another of my D’oh! moments. This was just a hugely embarrassing but funny mistake that I hope everyone can learn from, including me. Note to self: Try not to do this again. Again I’m reminded... I’m just human. D’oh!
Monday, July 06, 2009
The HIV Card
It’s been more than a year now. More than a year since finding out I was HIV-positive. A year and four months to be exact. A year and four months since discovering my secret. My new powers. I’m like one of the Xmen now. A mutant trying to protect the world and fighting for acceptance. Like Gambit... with an HIV card... sort of.
Change. For someone like me, it’s scary. And frankly, this HIV thing has been the biggest and most shocking change in my life... ever. Now I won’t readily say that I’m getting the hang of this change thing, but lately, having been faced with another prospect for change, I went for it.
Having been with the company I’m currently with for so long, I’d certainly fallen into a comfort zone. The same place, the same people, the same culture for five whole years. But I took a leap of faith. I turned in my resignation letter. It’s time for a career change.
Rather than have any rumors circulating around the workplace, I kept my plans to myself and took the initiative to make sure it was our HR-in-charge who found out my plans first.
She, of course, didn’t let me go without a short chat. I shared with her the opportunity that had presented itself to me which had triggered my move. And in trying to be as honest as I could, it wasn’t far from my mind at the time that I might just have to play my HIV card.
Certainly, I did not have to tell her about it. But frankly, it was this advocacy that was the most compelling reason to move. It was this supposedly wretched virus that steered me onto this new direction and which was fate’s instrument of choice to enable me to encounter the people behind Positivism.
A few minutes after that chat with the HR-in-charge, I got a call from the owner of the company, a lady already in her 70s. She was surprised, and wanted me over so we could talk. And so we did. Over dinner, I was touched to realize she didn’t want to let me go that easily. I was shocked, honestly... and speechless. But I was ready to whip out my HIV card... if I needed to. Fortunately, the evening ended with her final request for me to just give it some thought. I did not have to play my HIV card to her either.
Certainly, this move I’ll be making will be a leap of faith in all aspects.
First, it will be a huge change in terms of my job description. A total shift from left to right brain. I’d like to think that I’m enough of a creative person to be able to do this new job. Yeah, I may have been doing some creative stuff for the company I’m leaving, but they were never really part of my job description.
Can you imagine what a heartbreaker it is to do something you’re asked to do, and then hear these same people say you can’t be commended for what you do because it’s not part of your job? It’s an enigma, isn’t it? Then they wonder why you no longer do it after that.
Second, it will be a huge change of environment. I’m talking about people. This group of people I’ve been working with, some of whom for almost five years, isn’t something that’s easy to turn my back on. Again, it’s a terrifying change. I’m gonna be with new people... well, relatively new, considering I’ve been working on Positivism with some of them for the past six months... which means new relationships. That’s scary, right? Or am I just paranoid?
One major difference will be that this new group of people knows that I’m HIV-positive. It’ll be one less secret I’ll need to hide. And starting off on an honest note will always be a good thing. I’ve actually been prepared to get asked whether my HIV thing will ever be a problem. Well, if I take good care of my health, I know it shouldn’t be. But I think more importantly than HIV being a problem for me, I would rather ask back whether my HIV will ever be a problem for them... which, ideally, it shouldn’t. So again, my HIV card is safe.
The HIV card isn’t something I can actually use indiscriminately. I certainly won’t be asking for any special treatment or anything because of my HIV status. If at this new job, I just happen to screw up, then I am the one that screws up. I can’t blame HIV for it. Wish me luck.
More than any professional advancement, with this move, I look forward to my personal growth. More focus, less spreading myself too thin. It will also be a chance to make Positivism and my advocacy a greater part of my life. As it stood, Positivism was something outside of my fulltime job. Working with people who know fully about my status and my advocacy will be a big change. It will still be an HIV card, but I will have that card laid out on the table, so to speak.
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.
Saturday, June 06, 2009
Rewarded
It was Thursday, and I’d just gotten home from work. I headed straight for my room as usual, but was surprised to find an envelope on my little desk. Hmm, I got mail? Not a very common occurrence. Just from the envelope, I sort of had an idea of what it was. And I was surprised. And excited.
Welcome to a privileged lifestyle! it said on the envelope. We find ways. O... M... G... it’s something from BDO!
It was a BDO Rewards card! I admit, I’m an SM loyalist, along with its affiliates which include BDO of course. I have been one ever since I was a child. Back in the day, I even had what I think was called a Junior Saver’s Account. In fact, I started so early with them that I needed to reopen my account because I could no longer mimic my childhood writing signature. So apparently, they’ve now decided to reward me for my loyalty.
I must admit that during the initial stages with this HIV thing, I did fall into the mentality that I should not make any major investments because of the perceived uncertainty of my future. But then, I’ve always been like that. I do want a lot of things, but it takes a real need before I buy things. I don’t shop a lot. I hate shopping. I’m not rich either. But I live within my means.
What I am able to do though because of this, is put aside a part of what I make into my savings account with BDO. Despite having to pay bills and spend on daily living, I still try to put aside around half of what I make every month. So, I do believe they’ve noticed the movements in that savings account, and that’s what prompted them to think of me as a potential Rewardee.
This HIV thing has also been more than enough inspiration to put aside for in-case-of-emergency moments. I just think of it as taking responsibility for myself. A lifeline, so to speak. Just in case. And along with this BDO Rewards thingy, came exactly that, a Lifeline. The Lifeline Rescue Program, that is.
With the coverage of SM’s Lifeline Rescue Program, P150.00 assures me of a quick connection to Lifeline Rescue’s medical emergency hotline for a whole year. As a Reward, I save P850.00 from the regular rate of P1,000.00. Not bad, diba?
This covers free ambulance service during medical emergencies. The membership provides free access to Lifeline’s medical emergency quick response service, but covers only from the time a member calls for an ambulance until proper endorsement to the emergency room of the receiving hospital. At least you stand a better chance, right?
Quick-response services are available within the Greater Metro Manila Area, including Antipolo, Cainta and Taytay in Rizal, Bacoor in Cavite, Meycauayan, Obando and San Jose del Monte in Bulacan, and San Pedro in Laguna. More than enough, I think.
The membership also covers around-the-clock phone consultations during medical emergencies. You also get free use of ambulance equipment and medicines... aba, dapat lang.
Though membership is non-transferable, I actually noticed that the form I filled up had several more spaces available for other names or beneficiaries if needed. My mom already had her own so I didn’t need to include her in mine. Now that I’ve paid, all I need to do is wait for and fill up the membership enrollment form which they’ll be sending.
Sooooo, friendly friends, if something bad happens to me... knock on wood... call Lifeline Rescue Services’ hotline at 16-911. Other hotline numbers are 839-2520 to 30.
Pusit or not, maybe you wanna get something like this for yourself, too? For me, it’s just one thing less I need to worry about. At least for a year. Now that’s a reward in itself.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Unleashing the Er
Er. Er, as in er.
Er. It’s a Filipino gay term which sort of refers to people, usually men in particular, who engage in manual labor. The construction worker, the carpenter, the janiter, the garbage collecter, the plumber, the driver and so many others. As you notice, all very manly professions. That is the er.
Lately, I’ve been struck by the urge to be er.
I’ve always been a pretty handy and resourceful guy. I remember when I was younger, I used to fix my little cousins’ toys armed with just a screwdriver and a bottle of white glue. And I was pretty good at it.
Eventually, I graduated to more manly stuff, being able to put those assembly-required pieces of furniture together very easily. At some point, I would laugh impishly at the fact that I was manlier than my straight brother in that aspect.
And today, I have a pretty adequate set of tools. In an actual tool kit. Not even one of those tool kits with nail polish and make-up inside, okay? I have screw drivers, pliers, chisels, a saw, a tape measure, brackets and screws, electrical wires, screws, nails and washers, hinges and latches, a pair of those Gryptonite wrenches they sell on TV, and even an electrical drill, a soldering iron and a jig saw. Nay, bading ba talaga ako?
I’m not sure if my science and engineering background helped at all, but I am self-learned in basic electricals, plumbing, carpentry, painting, and other atypically gay stuff. Very, very er.
For my latest project, I wanted to install an exhaust fan in my room, supposedly in time for the hot summer days. I had it all planned out. I had measured an upper window and bought an exhaust fan that could fit in it. All I needed to do was remove a part of the glass pane to make way for it.
In my imagination, I knew what I needed to do. But of course, things don’t always go according to plan. I first wired an electrical outlet and a switch to power the exhaust fan. I had bought myself a diamond-tipped glass-cutter at the local hardware, but was really unsure of how easy it was going to be. Cutting glass was not something I had done before. But I was hell-bent on trying.
I knew how dangerous glass could be, and I wasn’t planning on ending up with any open wounds that could get infected and stuff. So I took as much caution as I could. I had scored part of the glass pane to get it ready to break easily. A couple of taps with a hammer, nothing. I whipped out my chisel, and whacked it with that and the hammer. I heard a crack. Supposedly good, but... I ended up breaking the whole pane of glass instead. Oh, well.
Not to be beaten, I slowly removed every bit of glass from the window, including the wood molding that held it in place. With that out of the way, I installed the exhaust fan and just covered the exposed part of the window with a piece of plywood. Looking at it working now makes me think, pwede na.
It was a tough job, but someone had to do er.
Now almost a month later, the only thing left is for the wound I sustained to heal completely. Believe me when I say it was pretty bad, as I witnessed it go through a spectrum of Christmas colors, from blood red to pus green. Eeew.
So what caused it? Was it a shard of glass? No. Was in a splinter of wood? I wish. It was... gasp... a paper cut. Sigh.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
The Explanation
I had a relationship.
That was your explanation. That was the explanation as to why you moved away.
But it explained nothing.
It was just... lame.
That was not an explanation. That didn’t explain anything. It just brought about even more questions.
I had a relationship. That’s not an explanation. That’s a kiss-ass attempt to cover your ass and clear your conscience.
I had a relationship. That’s not even an excuse.
I had a relationship. Was I supposed to feel happy for you?
I was like a fish. A fish on your hook. If I wasn’t the kind you were looking for, or if I wasn’t big enough, or if I wasn’t fresh enough, then the least you could’ve done was take me off the hook and throw me back into the water.
But no. You made sure you kept me on your hook. I had to live through YM statuses that ranged from is working, is busy, to is super busy. I thought I just needed to be understanding, and still made the effort to keep in touch. But at some point it was like you wanted me to take a hint. If you were really that busy, you shouldn’t have had time to log into YM in the first place.
But then every single time I’d feel some slack on your rope, you made sure to reel me back in. You were right to say you had bad timing. And considering I gave you every chance to tell me no, stop, enough or get off my back, you really had very bad timing.
Lines like I’ll see you soon and may inaasikaso lang... what else are they supposed to mean? Well, of course, may inaasikaso ka nga naman. Sino ba’ng hindi? But you could’ve been man enough to say it was a someone, and not a something, that you were making asikaso.
You always said you wanted to be famous. Your ability to do anything and everything and trample over anything in your way without hints of heart nor soul tells me you’ll get there. Ouch. Insert applause here.
I did say the least we could be is friends. But how can I regard you as a friend if you have no respect for me? That’s all I needed. Respect. And I don’t think that’s too much to ask, do you?
I had a relationship. That was anything but an explanation. I led you on. I didn’t really like you. I no longer needed you. I used you. Now those are explanations.
Lesson learned: Before respecting me as a pusit, you have to respect me first as a person. Because over and above being just a pusit, I am a person.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
I'm NOT Okay
I’m depressed. I’m weak.
I’m paranoid. I’m pathetic.
I’m nothing. I'm crap.
I’m not okay.
Everything you said to me has been reduced to crap. Thank you. I no longer know what part of it, if any, was true. The same way you made me believe in myself was the exact same way you tore me apart.
But I was okay. I didn’t need an explanation. I had made sense of it all already. It hurt, but at least it made sense. It needed to make sense. I needed it to make sense. I forced it to make sense.
And then, when I least expected it, just when I was getting over it, you reminded me. You reminded me again. You reminded me of all my self-doubt. You reminded me how badly it hurt.
Why now? You’d walked past me already. You didn’t just walk past me. You walked all over me. Why did you have to turn and look back? Did you enjoy seeing me hurting? Were you dead set on making sure I wouldn’t be able to stand from my fall?
You gave me the explanation I was looking for. But it was too late. You gave it when I no longer needed it. Why did you do it? Why did you have to do it? Was your conscience eating you up? Were you feeling bad about it?
Did it ever strike you that what you were feeling was just a teeny weeny fraction of what hurt you’d already caused me? A teeny weeny fraction of what hurt you were bringing to me yet again?
What is this for you? Washing your hands? Wiping off your feet? And what am I, your doormat? That’s selfish. You never even thought of leaving me with my dignity.
I should have listened to my instincts. My instincts were right. But I gave you the chance. I gave you the chance to hurt me. I gave you the chance to pull me down. I gave you the chance to rub my face in the dirt.
I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt. I want to cry but I can’t. I need to save face. That’s all I have right now. That’s all you left me with.
I’m not this strong. I’m not. I’m numb. But not numb enough. It hurts. I wish HIV just made me numb. Why couldn’t HIV do that?
Is this my karma? Have I done something bad? What did I do to deserve this?
What I hate most is that I don’t hate you. I just hate myself. Thank you. These are the times when I question the existence of love, respect and humanity. And no. I’m not okay.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Haunted
I'm stressed out. I’m anxious. I’m uneasy. I feel faint. I’m in distress.
I’m distrubed. I'm paranoid.
I'm scared. I’m really scared.
Almost a year ago, I received an e-mail from a couple of my friends from back in college, saying that they were planning to get married a year from then. Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean that I had almost a year to prepare for it. That just meant I had almost a year to not think about it.
These were people who I hadn’t seen for years and years and years. They were actually some people who I’d Left Behind because of that little incident of my disclosure of my sexual preference to someone I regarded as my friend, who in turn became the key to disclosing my secret to the world. As I said before, I was no longer interested in knowing who thought what about me. So it was easy to say goodbye. To everyone.
And then last week came. It was Sunday, and I was busy not feeling well at home. Suddenly, a knock at the gate. And then a voice calling my name. Who could it be? I wasn’t expecting anyone. So I dragged my ass out the door to brave the rain and see who it was. Good heavens. Boo!
It was her. The bride-to-be. Groom-to-be was apparently waiting in the car, and they’d just passed by to drop their wedding invitation off. Wow, special. Shit, I thought they’d forgotten about me. I honestly hoped they’d forgotten about me.
They’d apparently been trying to access me through several means. I’d changed my mobile number some years ago, so that was out of the question. I don’t know why they didn’t know my e-mail address, but it was a blessing. But Friendster was a bullet I just could not avoid.
Friendster always scared me because it would make me easy to find. To some, that’s a good thing, but to me, I worried more that it would be harder to hide from people by whom I didn’t want to be found. And now, the very reason it took me a while to even begin on Friendster was happening. Boo!
So... they found me. And in a serious lapse of judgment, I gave my e-mail address and mobile number. And with that, it just snowballed.
I don’t have a Barong Tagalog. I don’t have nice shoes. I don’t know how I’ll get to Tagaytay alone. I might have other plans. I still might not be feeling well. I can’t leave my mom home alone. My aunt is in the hospital. I have more important things to do. Hell, I might even say I don’t really want to see them again. See, I already have every excuse in the book.
Now, I’m trying to dodge every effort they’re making to solicit further responses from me. I really don’t want to go. There’s a reason why I haven’t seen them for almost ten years. There’s a reason why I haven’t even been trying. That reason was that I had a secret. And now, I have a newer and an even bigger one. Boo!
I don’t need their sympathy or anything. Nor will I need the paranoia that may stem from reviving broken ties. I’ve been okay the past ten years without them, why not another ten?
Granted, I don’t necessarily have to disclose anything to them. But I can only imagine how draining it will be to even try to put together plausible stories as to what I’ve been up to for the past ten years, let alone the past year. Hell, even right now, this early, it’s draining already.
So needless to say, just a week to go before the event, I am NOT excited. It just feels is as if I’m being haunted by ghosts from the past. Ghosts that, for now, I’m hell-bent on keeping in the past. Boo!
Thursday, April 30, 2009
The Song
You came at a time when I wasn’t expecting anyone, nor looking for that matter. But you came. You were there. You appreciated who I was. You showed me my strength. You gave me a high. You helped me take flight. You made me soar. You were my lift.
But what happened?
Just when I got so used to having your arms around me, and my hand in yours... just when I needed you... I lost you. And without your lift, I went from a gentle glide to a steep dive. And the harsh reality is, the higher one flies, the harder one falls... and the worse it hurts.
I never learned my lesson. I’ve soared several times before. I’ve plummeted several times as well. And been hurt even more. But still, I’ve always wanted to fly. Everyone deserves to fly.
I opened myself up to you. I broke down my walls for you. But what happened? I was left standing there, bare of the walls that used to protect and comfort me. I shuddered with every gust of wind against my nakedness.
And these walls, they would have been as easy to build as they were to break down. But walls, they’re only as strong as the foundation upon which they stand. And with every ray of self-doubt and every drop of insecurity you brought me, the elements eroded my foundation.
Was that it? Was that all you needed from me? It hurt to have to second guess myself. Paranoid? Yes, I am. And with hundreds of questions without answers, I had no choice but to be.
What changed? What happened? Why did you seem so distant? Why did you disappear? Was it something about me?
Now, I’ve been slowly trying to pick up the pieces. Trying to convince myself that I wasn’t broken. Trying to forget. Trying to move on.
And now, you choose to make your presence felt... again. Why now? Why just now?
Has anyone else had a song written for and dedicated to them? It would be the most wonderful and flattering thing, right? It should be. But right now, it’s not. Not yet. It just reminds me of all my weaknesses you exposed... all my insecurities that I’ve been trying so hard to forget.
I promised myself I wouldn’t cry. And I won’t. If there’s one thing you taught me, it’s that I am strong. I will be strong.
I’ve been playing it over and over and over for the past five hours now. I’m going to keep on playing it until I’m numb. Until all the questions stop. Until it no longer hurts. It’s my fault. Just give me time.
But regardless, the song is beautiful. Thank you. Thank you.
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.
Sunday, April 05, 2009
My Love Bus
When Australian band Bachelor Girl came up with their debut hit Buses and Trains back in the 90s, I instantly fell in love with the song. With a chorus of lyrics that went...
So I walked under a bus
I got hit by a train
Keep falling in love
Which is kinda the same
I've sunk out at sea
Crashed my car, gone insane
And it felt so good
I want to do it again
... I just thought this was the perfect ode to describe the hopeless romantic that I can be at times. Inspired, both by the song and some things that have been going on in my life in the past months, I came up with my own pathetic attempt at a love rhyme. Here goes.
Down a dusty old path, baring body and soul
Like a trek with no end, it had taken its toll
I got used to walking with no one at my side
When you turned 'round the corner and offered a ride
Stared into your lights down to each shiny hub
Felt my heart skip a beat and I knew it was love
Hesitant at first to take a hitch like a whore
Now I can't help but wish there’s still room for one more
Just when I got so used to your soft comfy seat
You just left me wondering where and when we'll next meet
Are you gonna reroute or splash mud to the shin
Honestly I'd rather you stop and say "Hop in"
You said you'd be coming this way again real soon
Are you gonna slow down or fly by with a vroom?
You know where to find me, I got nowhere to go
Trying not to expect and yet can’t help but hope
It's lonely being "me", I would rather be "us"
I'll still be waiting...
Waiting for my big Love Bus
No, I'm not in love with a bus, a bus driver nor a bus conductor. There's such a thing as a metaphor, 'ya know! Don't bother asking who or what exactly triggered this... please? Whether my Love Bus picks me up or just runs me over, my biggest consolation is that I'm happy to realize I'm still capable of loving. Just take my emo-ness as you see it. Thank you. Bow.
Lecheng pag-ibig 'to...
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Walling Myself In
I’ve been trying to convince others who, like me, live with HIV, to realize that HIV is not the end-all and be-all of a person. I’ve been trying to let them see that this is not a reason for them to discriminate themselves from the world they live in. I’ve been trying to show them how to empower themselves, to get them to let go of the paranoia, and to break down the walls they’ve built around them.
Yes, I can be strong for others. Yes, I can fight for others. Yes, I can be feisty for others. But do you ever notice that it’s much, much easier to help others feel good about themselves, than you of yourself? I did.
In as much as I’ve been trying to encourage others that this HIV thing is something that can be dealt with, I realize that when the prospect of a relationship comes up in my own life, I am reminded of how hard I can really get on myself.
It’s not really something new, I’ve been there before. Even long before this HIV thing. Minimum self-confidence, maximum self-doubt. It took me a while to get a grip of myself and realize that I wasn’t such a bad guy. But just when I thought I’d found my mojo, and was starting to get the hang of it, I found out I was HIV-positive. I lost it again. That’s when I started building my wall.
Realizing that I was losing some old so-called friends was my rebar. It started off touching to hear them say I’m here if you need me. But then words are sometimes just that – words. Hearing it so many times as I watched people walked away, I started realizing that maybe what they really meant was I’m here if you need me, but until that time, ciao!
Realizing how much of a deal breaker this HIV thing can be with new acquaintances is like the foundation to my wall. Hearing I’d still like to see you and watching it end up as nothing, I started realizing what they really meant was I’d still like to see you, so just send me a picture or a video, thanks!
The stigma has been looming. So with that, brick after brick was laid, and the wall I was building around me went higher and higher, stronger and stronger. I was set on not letting anyone in. At some point it got so bad, that every time I’d meet someone who just wasn’t into me, I’d automatically think, it’s probably the HIV thing. HIV became the moat outside my wall.
I don’t know what other crazy things have I’ve cultured in my head, but I’m pretty sure I’ve added some barbed wire, glass shards, and electrification to my fortress. I was safe.
And then it came. Someone came. It didn’t start out as anything meant to threaten my security. It wasn’t even a date. He knew even before we’d met that I was HIV-positive. But after that first meeting, he made sure he showed he was interested. I brushed things off as just a pathetic attempt at flattery, but with the way he kept things up during the days that followed, I couldn’t help but think.
It’s been a week, and I’ve let every form of skepticism run through my mind. Maybe he didn’t realize the implications of my being HIV-positive. Maybe he just didn’t think things through. Maybe he was just desperate. Maybe he was just being nice because he needed something from me. Maybe he just didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Maybe he just felt sorry for me. Maybe he’ll snap out of it soon enough. Maybe he deserves someone better.
It hurt a lot to have to roll through all those scenarios in my head. But it hurt even more to have to acknowledge them and enunciate it to someone. I told him. I felt so pathetic admitting my flaws. I felt naked opening myself up like that. I was showing my vulnerability.
That’s when it hit me. I was fighting myself to open up to this guy. Even more convincing was getting the chance to get physical with him, but showing that I wasn’t ready to take that step. Me? Not ready for sex? I was dumbfounded. If it was just a sex thing, then we would’ve been done in a matter of minutes. But that didn’t happen.
With the infancy of what I not dare call a relationship just yet, I’m still left in limbo. In Friendster terms, it’s complicated, but in an it-feels-right kind of way. I’m trying hard not to have any expectations, but I must admit... it’s hard not to at least hope.
If I can bank on it being similar to the relationships that it’s supposed to protect me from, then hopefully this wall I’ve put up will be easier to destroy than it was to build. What happens next, only heaven knows.
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.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Rumors & HIV
Years ago, I recall a friend of mine asking for help, because someone – an obsessed fan or a jilted lover – was writing nasty things about him in some online forums. He was called a thief, a sex addict and a liar, even broadcasting his address, his landlord, his number, the company for which he worked, and worst of all, it was being said that he was HIV positive. I knew the guy well enough to know he was a good guy, but I never questioned if the HIV part of it was true or not. I didn’t need to. All I did was report it to the webmaster, who eventually deleted the forums and the profiles being used to spread the rumors.
Eight months into being positive myself, HIV is suddenly a big issue. The ultimate nightmare for anyone with HIV, me included, is to be outed or even just speculated to have HIV. This is primarily because of the stigma attached to it. Hell, the stigma is so bad, that even if it’s not true, it can still be a nightmare.
Now, I don’t know if it’s a Filipino thing, or a universal fact, but there will always be people who will thrive on talking about other people. And I’ve come to realize that the occurrence of HIV rumors has been rising on the net, particularly on guys4men, a gay personals site that has become popular with Filipinos.
I’ve been playing roles in my head, wondering how I’d react if the same things happened to me. And I’ve come to the conclusion that my premise will always be that these are all just rumors. It will always be a question whether the details are true or not. A question which really does not need to be answered. Why? Let’s take come actual examples of stuff I’ve seen online.
Accusations of being HIV positive. Even if it is true, what’s so bad about that? HIV is not the be-all and end-all of a person. HIV is just a single facet in the gem of who we HIV-positives are. I’m HIV-positive, but I’m sorry, that doesn’t make me less of a person. Why haven’t I come out if having HIV is so bad? Well, the reality still remains that there is still stigma attached to it. That’s why I’m trying so hard to show everyone how it is to be HIV positive, so we can all understand it and those living with it better.
Allegations of someone with HIV spreading the virus irresponsibly, because of anger and revenge. Even if it is true, what can we do? Beat him up? Does that make us better people? The fact will always remain that every single person has the ultimate power to keep himself safe. If everyone he partners with opts to play safe, how far will the virus spread? To the condom? Duh. The point is, don’t expect anyone but you to keep yourself safe.
Accusations that someone has HIV and is using two profiles – one for HIV & advocacy, and one for plain sex. Even if it is true, what’s so bad about that? I have HIV, believe I’m an advocate, and I have a guys4men profile. I won’t deny that I have used that profile to find sex ever since I created it five years ago. And the reality is, I still can.
I think I’ve been smart enough not to disappear inexplicably from the site to keep people from wondering why all of a sudden. Nor do I broadcast on my profile that I am HIV positive. Reality check: my disclosure is a privilege, not an obligation. As of now, I don’t actively look as much for sex using it, but I won’t deny that I’d love some. A wake up call to everyone: the HIV positive get horny, too. We’re human! That’s what safe sex is for.
Look at it this way, would it be any better if just one profile is used for both HIV & advocacy and searching for sex? Duh. Is stigma and discrimination against people living with HIV non-existent in the Philippines? Duh again.
These are just examples of some of the stuff that’s online. Heaven knows what others there are. And personally, I don’t have enough time to comb through all the shit that’s out there.
Here’s my take. Rumors are just rumors, and can remain as such. Especially in these cases, where the words come from faceless names hiding behind the anonymity of the internet. Give humanity the benefit of the doubt to be wise enough not to take everything they read at face value.
The burden of proof is in the hands of whoever starts it. And don’t tell me that so and so said this, and so and so said that, because that just reduces accusations to mere hearsay. Do they know that you’re namedropping them in all this mayhem? Why can’t these people speak for themselves? Heaven knows what your motives are.
Contrary to popular belief, rumors, true or not, are not made to be dispelled. Rumors are made to provoke a response from the subject, and any time wasted by him doing that is an automatic victory for he who started the rumors. The more you’re affected, the more fulfilling it is for him. Remember when we were kids? Ang mas pikon, mas masarap alaskahin.
Turn a blind eye and a deaf ear, and he’ll get tired eventually. I remember being bullied as a kid, where I learned some words that were then childish but now surprisingly sensible: Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me.
And to whoever is the victim of such rumors, don’t allow yourself to be the victim. Be bigger than the rumors themselves. Focus on what’s important. Work. Family. Love. Friends. Happiness. Life.
A copy of the Optimistic Creed is posted behind me here at work, and I just have to share some of its wisdom. Be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear and too happy to permit the pressure of trouble.
Friday, December 12, 2008
A Positive Christmas
It was Friday, but I took the day off from work. I still woke up early though, to take a trip to the Social Hygiene Clinic to get the results of my Quantitative RPR. Nothing alarming, just part of the monitoring for my syphilis.
From there I headed straight to my favorite barber who gave me my signature semi-kalbo, after which I treated myself to a hairspa. Having not that much hair left and having a hairspa doesn’t make sense, but I mostly do it for the massage that comes with it. It borders between being extremely relaxing and slightly arousing. I don’t even know if he’s really good at it, or if I just find him that hot. It feels so good that I get chills down my spine. And so much chills that I get confused whether I’m truly aroused, or just need to pee. Mmm.
It was just 11:00 am. So did I take a leave just to get my lab results and treat myself to a haircut? No, of course not. That was just the beginning. All in preparation for a big day, my first Christmas Party at the RITM.
I was feeling good today. My face was cooperating, with my breakouts taking a bit of a break. Even my sniffles were in on it, as my runny nose held up for the day. Okay so the haircut was half because I needed it, and half because I wanted to make a good first impression. Good impression, my ass! Was I planning to flirt?! No, not planning. Let’s just say I was open to the possibility. No, no. More like I needed to feel confident. Whatever.
I was able to convince U to go, so we went together, buying some pitchi-pitchi and some bread and dip on the way, for our contribution to the potluck celebration. Coming from all the way north, and going all the way south, it was expected that we’d be late. Let’s just say call time was 10:00 am, and we got there at 1:30 pm. Talk about Filipino time.
Walking in to the tune of Hep-Hep-Hooray being played by some of the pusits, I carefully stayed unnoticed while I looked around, wondering if I’d see someone I wasn’t expecting to see. Someone who I’d made contact with, who I didn’t know had HIV, too. Fortunately, other than the guys and some gals I’d met at the RITM and San Lazaro before, our resident counselor, the Doctor and the Ates, no other familiar faces. A big Whew! from me.
After a run down the buffet, I sat down and faded into my wall flower mode. Quiet, insignificant, observant, hiding behind a huge column in the middle of the hall, away from all the action. I looked the crowd over a second time between bites, checking everyone out. I have been asked by others if there really are a lot of hot guys there. I just tease, saying SECRET! I’m sorry you couldn’t make it! Hehehe.
And, though it was a party, and as much as I’d liked to share the experience, I didn’t expect any pictures to be taken. I myself opted against bringing a camera with me, from fear of the pictures having to look like this...
That aint lookin' so Christmasy, huh? Hahahahaha.
But more importantly, other than a couple of guys I noticed in face masks, everyone looked every bit normal and ordinary as the rest of the world. There were guys, there were girls, even guys who looked like girls... nothing new to me. There were kids running around, some RITM personnel hanging out and some affected friends in the mix, so much so that no one could probably identify correctly who was HIV positive and who wasn’t. I couldn’t tell myself just by looking.
I just had a moment of bother when one guy was introduced to me. It was a guy who I’ve mentioned in one of my posts before, and not in an entirely good way. Let’s just say I gave my honest opinion not expecting to meet him face to face. But he was nice enough to smile and say something to the tune of yeah, I know him already, which left me speechless. I realize I’m treading the waters between fame and notoriety as The Blogger. Good thing I snapped out of the paranoid spell soon enough.
From across the room, I noticed someone looking my way. It was Baby Nathan’s dad. He cradled the Baby who seemed frightened by all the noise, flashing his familiar smile. I was caught off guard by how he recognized me from that far away, but I nodded and smiled back, and understood, they were doing okay.
A young lady walked by, a couple of minutes later, shook my hand, said thank you and walked off. I later realized she was the Baby’s mom, who I was seeing and meeting for the first time. It was surprising how young she looked, but again refreshing how positive her aura was, even belting out more than a handful of songs on the videoke machine.
Daddy walked over to my corner a bit later, updating me that the Baby was doing fine. The Baby was taken off the ARVs that were causing him fevers, and was shifted to my same pills probably, which he apparently melts in his mouth like candy. Yum. I thought to myself, now he’s really getting his childhood back. I couldn’t help but smile.
Several videoke songs, a fabulous production number from a t-back bearing babe, a couple of hours more of food, zero word from work, an exchanging of gifts, some bulge- and finger-related speculations about my penis size – something I’ve come to be comfortable with and proud of, ahem, ahem – and a refill of my ARV supply later, the crowd had thinned and it was time to go.
U and I headed back up north the way we came, had dinner at the mall – like we didn’t get enough nutrition already – and chatted over some hot chocolate into the night, until we went our own ways at about 10:30 pm.
Looking the day over, the Grinch in me has to admit that it was a positive day. And if this, being my first Christmas party of the year, is a sign of things to come, I think I’ll have a happy Christmas this year.
Christmas is supposed to be about family, and be it as small as Baby Nathan’s family, or as big as the community that came out to celebrate, I felt how it was to have a family. It’s only today that I can finally say that I do feel the spirit of Christmas.
A Positively Merry Christmas to us all!
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Coming Out?
I started this blog feeling like I was, as entitled, Back in the Closet. But as I went along my HIV journey, I started seeing that things weren’t so bad. And especially since the so-called HIV advocacy groups showed me how they were Back in the Panic Room, I realized how relatively liberated I was about this HIV thing.
I think it was my effort to learn more about my condition that gave me some visibility to the road further ahead. Okay, maybe not so much as to just blurt it out to my family just yet. But it’s like I’ve become was comfortable with myself again, ready to face the world. So am I actually coming out?
Well, honestly, to some extent, I have been coming out.
Other than the doctors and medical personnel who tested me positive for HIV, my first ever attempt at disclosing my status was with Mojo, who I’ve mentioned in earlier posts. I was just weeks into being HIV positive, and we were leaning towards pursuing each other for something beyond sex at the time, and I had no reason to give for my sudden loss of interest. So I confessed. Yes, it felt like confessing, like it was a sin to have HIV. His initial reaction was irritating, because he had to ask if I was joking. That would’ve been such a bad joke, wouldn’t it? But he redeemed himself when he said, “I’m still your friend.” I had that message saved in my inbox until about a month ago, when I finally admitted to myself that we’d lost touch. I felt his sincerity when he said he’d still be a friend, but he couldn’t hide the fear, which was so bad that he hasn’t gotten tested himself, from fear of the possibility of being HIV positive. And although I still feel that his fear of HIV translated to being afraid of me, I’ve forgiven him.
Since that time and this blog, I’ve been pretty open to coming out. Of course, telling fellow pozzies doesn’t count as coming out at all. But I’ve openly given my number to some readers, given my real life Friendster account to some who wanted to put a face on me, given out my full name, especially lately with this campaign for Baby Nathan, and even gotten the chance to meet a few people who’d been reading this blog. And yes, occasions have come where a new guy would be looking to hook up, at which point I sometimes choose to tell, so he’d have time to change his mind if he wanted to.
Has it been that easy? Not at all. It’s taken a bit of courage and a lot of trust for me to be able to do such things. But then again, I always think to myself, “How can I expect them to accept me and my condition, if I am drowning in my own paranoia?”
Impressive? Not really. Because I opened up to these people as strangers. And as I always said, the less a person knew me, the easier it was to tell.
So what about the rest? Well, honestly, I’ve been too chicken to tell some of my other contacts myself. And when I say contacts, I mean... okay, sexual contacts. So I did the next best thing. I backtracked through my sexual contacts up to more than a year ago, and had a friend contact them anonymously, to advise them to get tested for HIV. The reactions varied from asking who the sender was, replying to the anonymous number that they’d just gotten tested, sending foul messages to their alleged stalker, or most commonly, assuming that they did get the message, not replying. But I felt that was as decent a warning as I could manage.
Sometimes though, especially lately, I find myself disclosing my status to some of my guys. These are guys who I’ve met before, and were interested in seeing me again. These were guys who knew what a slut I was and with whom I had chemistry, and for whom I had no valid reason to suddenly be uninterested in having sex. I can’t just hurt their feelings with lies like I didn’t enjoy our last time, or I don’t miss doing it with you. I just can’t. And so I tell.
Again, a bit of courage, and a huge benefit of the doubt. I usually start with the line “I got sick,” to which they usually reply “I hope you’re feeling better now.” At that point, I’d throw my cares in the air and drop the bomb, “I found out I have HIV.” Again, some would ask if I was joking, which pisses me off, but eventually, the reality would set in. So far, no really negative reactions. They’d say they’d be there for me, wish that I was okay, and even go as far as check every so often how I was doing. The worst, so far, just involved us losing touch all of a sudden, which isn’t surprising at all. The best? Some guys would say they’d still want to see me, and even better, would still want to have sex with me. That still throws me off guard, until now.
Do I really have to tell them? Technically, no. But let’s put it this way: Granted that these guys may just be after sex, I’d like to be in a similar frame of mind, thinking that this is just HIV. It doesn’t change who I am, but rather, it just changes the premise of meeting. Definitely, it changes my sexual limitations, and possibly, it can change their interest in me. And whether it does or doesn’t, I’m fine with it. I’m not the same as before, when I’d have as many as three sex sessions in a day, three to four days a week, every week. Sounds like a gym workout, doesn’t it? I’ve mellowed down a lot, and have been finding myself resorting to every excuse there is to get out of a sex meet, but definitely, hearing HIV seems to douse most guys’ libidos most effectively.
So the road to disclosure hasn’t been as bad as I expected. But it’s still all baby steps for me. My next milestone would be being able to come out to my sister, which honestly, right now, doesn’t seem too far away. It certainly helps to have a full understanding of my condition, so helping others understand me and HIV won’t be too hard. But again, baby steps, baby steps. For now, I'm still Back in the Closet. Hopefully, someday, sometime and someway, I’ll be able to come out to the world, and with them realize that... my deepest, darkest secret is really no big deal.
Thursday, November 06, 2008
License to Drama
Since being immersed in the world of HIV more than six months ago, I’ve been lucky enough to be given little chances to try my hand at counseling – talking with others who are dealing with HIV. Some who are about to get tested, some who are waiting for results, some who’ve just tested positive, some who’ve just tested negative, some who are concerned about medications, and some who have been living with HIV. I can’t say I’ve seen it all, but I’ve seen a lot. And I think it’s dealing with the emotions which is the toughest thing.
I’ve said before how the HIV bomb being dropped on you can be a really daunting thing. It is, it is. But does it give you all the right to be a bottomless supply of depression and negativity? Is HIV a license to drama?
Well, let’s be realistic. To some extent, it is. A string of days crying, feeling lost, not knowing what to do, worrying about how it will affect the rest of your life, being angry, wallowing in paranoia… all common things. Sometimes they come in phases, one after the other, but if you have it really bad, they hit you with one big blow. Again, common, but I repeat, only to some extent.
So when does it become too much? I think you just gotta listen to yourself. If you’re in the dark about HIV, then do something about it. Read up. If you’re worrying about how it will affect the rest of your life, go to a fortune teller. How your life goes will actually be all up to you. If you’re angry because someone infected you, then go ahead and point your finger. It took two to tango, didn’t it? If you’re paranoid, get over yourself. The world doesn’t revolve around you.
Sound harsh? Well, that’s usually what it takes to snap you back into reality. You need to get over all the negativity. It’s all just going to cause you suffering, which is totally unhealthy and unnecessary. You need to get it all out of your system and realize that it’s not the end of the world. Life goes on. And open your eyes and see that so many people are willing to help you through this new phase of your life.
How bad can it all get? I think the worst would be someone who tests positive for HIV and is unwilling to get the help needed and has lost the desire to live. Someone who thinks "I wanna die! I wanna die! I wanna die!" Who isn’t going to die? We’ll all get there eventually, with or without HIV. For this person, some higher being might appear before him and say, "Your wish is my command." Zap. The End. To state the irony, this person might actually die just waiting for his death, which is a sad life.
A close second may be someone who is about to get tested and can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t stop worrying, or worse, can’t stop crying about it. It’s taxing to have to point out that they haven’t actually tested positive yet. Suck it up! Take responsibility! You wouldn’t need this test if you didn’t take the risk, would you? And if I was caught on a particularly bitchy day, be prepared. You’re getting tested for HIV. I already have HIV. Wanna trade places?
I know, I can be tough sometimes. But sometimes, that’s what it takes. The world is even lucky that I’m not the confrontational type, and am content with merely letting thoughts like this brew in my twisted mind, or go no further than my fingers doing the walking.
But nonetheless, the reality is that HIV should no longer be regarded as a terminal illness or a killer disease. HIV is still a big deal. But it can be dealt with. We can still work. We can still love. We can still laugh. We can still live.
Your license is hereby revoked. So go on, quit the drama, and live.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Bitch Hunt
I was catching up with one of my poz friends this past week over the phone, and I was telling him about the day I spent at the RITM. He asked me if I met a guy of this certain name. I said I wasn’t sure, but that I thought I had heard that name while waiting.
Apparently, this person is an officer of one of the so-called HIV advocacy groups. Yes, one of those that I may have referred to in earlier posts. Then my friend tells me this person reads my blog... oops, sorry, "monitors" my blog... and even prints it out. I thought to myself, "That's flattering... I think." He assured me though that they didn't have any problems with this blog, except again that they didn't want their health professionals, personnel and institutions linked with HIV. Hmm, my instincts were right. I knew it was all too good to be true.
So I then made a joke out of it, saying that if this person happened to read my entry which put me at the RITM the same day he was there, then he'd just have to guess which one I was out of the lot. Then my friend says, "Oh, they know..." Baffling enough, right? But the way he interrupted his own statement baffled me even more.
"They know what?" I asked. It took him a full minute of silence to answer. He said, "They know who you are."
I asked, "How would they know?" At this point, I knew he had backed himself into a corner, and I was just playing the scene out. He paused again, and just said, "In the HIV world, there is much transparency." Wow, I never thought it would be possible to use the words HIV and transparency in one sentence.
Consider this: T, who I've been in touch with for years, has seen every inch of me in pictures, and knows all about me and this blog, started off oblivious to the fact of who I was upon meeting. So how could this person, or his organization, who I do not know, have not met, and have never been in touch with, know who I was?
My first theory, my friend is exaggerating. Is he trying to spook me into stopping this blog? Why? I'm hoping this isn't what "friends" are for.
My second theory, someone is ratting me out. Of my HIV acquaintances, some know me personally, but do not know about my blog. And adversely, some know about my blog, but do not know me personally, all contact being confined to e-mail and chat. And there are a select few, who do know me personally AND know this blog that I do. Most, if not all of those in the overlap group, know what I hold against these so-called advocacy groups, and at least respect my views. So who is the mole? Who is selling me out?
My third theory, this person and his organization did their research. Based on the information I've put here, primarily the patient code in my earlier posts, they may have been able to dig up my records. Something very creative, but a possibility I've expected. Now, over and above fielding Republic Act 8504 repeatedly on us bloggers for mentioning the HIV treatment hubs, HIV doctors, and HIV medical personnel, shouldn’t this be the case over which R.A. 8504 truly has jurisdiction? Where did my medical confidentiality go?
Now, if there is any truth to this witch hunt that is being launched against me, let me just say to these so-called advocacy groups, don't waste your resources on little old me. Go do something more... productive. Maybe revisit your mission and your vision, and reevaluate what kind of advocacy you truly want to evoke.
Well, well, well, turns out I'm not as stupid a newbie as you thought I was, huh? Too many theories? Well, I wasn't the one who first started to make such a big deal out of things. And unless someone fesses up, the heavens hold everyone's karma.
I'm not afraid. Because I'm not the witch. Very fitting that I've dubbed myself the Back In The Closet Ho'... I'm the B.I.T.C.H. And I'm ready for the Bitch Hunt.
