Simply Complicated: Workout

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

Okay, okay, hold your horses.

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

So... let’s continue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Simply Complicated: Surprises

Am I ready to deal with all the competition?

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

So I was sticking around for that “someday”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So was this it? Were we officially a couple?

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Simply Complicated: Competition

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This guy was not the only one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Simply Complicated: Revelations

Did the relationship end before it even started?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Should I die now?

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Simply Complicated: Reputation

Were things going to get… complicated?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Simply Complicated: Squeeze

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Sweet Break

May pasalubong ako sa iyo! Baket ka nagagalit sa akin? Nagpapakasweet na nga lang ako eh!

Him dropping the call was the most welcome thing for me. That was it. We didn’t talk nor text for the next two weeks.

Yep, I’m talking about the hubby. Do I seem harsh? Snapping at someone just because of a pasalubong? I think so too a bit, but here’s my story.

So he goes out of town, and asks me what pasalubong I’d like. He always brings me pasalubongs. Too much in fact, that when one pasalubong comes, I would still have pasalubongs from previous trips still at home. Perishables every time at that. So I declined this time.

You don’t need to get me anything.

But I want to.

No, no need, there’s already too much food at home, but thank you.

So he goes on his trip and comes back. May pasalubong ako sa iyo! And I’m pissed.

Why? I’m a quiet guy. An introvert. I would usually rather keep things to myself. So those few times I speak up, I would appreciate if you'd listen.

And I repeated myself.

No need, thank you.

But I want to.

Fine, bahala ka.

Baket ka nagagalit sa akin?
Nagpapakasweet na nga lang ako eh!
Sige na nga, matulog ka na!

Call dropped.

I felt offended. Not by the dropped call. But by the insinuation that material things equal sweetness. No. I’m not that kind of a guy, sorry.

Sweet is listening to what little I have to say.

Sweet is calling not just to say you love me... ask how my day went!

Sweet is not stopping me from putting my arm around you in public.

Sweet is not just saying you want to hug me whenever we meet. Do it.

Sweet is accepting my invitations to share my yoga time with me.

Sweet is not a “Masaya ka na?” after meeting my BFF the first time.

There, that’s why I snapped. Sweet?! These were things I had been letting pass. I was patiently letting him have his way. And this, this seemed like the last straw.

I’m sorry. I’m the farthest thing from a closet case. Fine, I’ve declared I’m Back In The Closet with this HIV thing, but even with that, I haven’t let the closet doors stop me from living. Not at this point where I’ve gotten a wake up call to treasure life more, and be thankful for every moment I get to live, laugh and love.

I was soon asking myself, why was I so bitchy? Why was I nitpicking? Why did I snap at him? It was becoming clear what the underlying issue was... I was falling out of love.

Some of you will think that I’m letting go of a perfectly good thing, knowing that an HIV-negative guy accepted me for who I am and what I had. But that’s not the end all and be all of it all.

He will not be the last person who will accept me despite my HIV-positive status. Call me much hopeful, but I guarantee that. Like I always say, if you don’t like me just because I’m HIV-positive, then you’re not worth my time anyways.

So there. Pending one final conversation... closure to be exact... this BITCH is officially single.

So, sweet ba kamo? Break.

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Temptation

In the straight crowd, they say there is such a thing as the seven-year itch, which I think means that seven years into a marriage or relationship, reevaluation of the partnership happens, and infidelity tends to step in. Okay, fine. So maybe I’m not straight enough for this to even remotely apply. But honestly, I am feeling an itch. And it’s been just six months into my relationship. So it’s a six-month itch… not even close to seven years. But already, the itch is creeping in. Heavens help me.

Ex-boyfriends of years ago have been making their presence felt again. Not really wanting to try again, but just for old times sex sake. Even the one ex with whom my breakup was far from civil has been haunting me. As in he lied to me, cheated on me, owes me money, and made up stories, to the point that I’m tempted to infect him with my HIV and some STDs just to get back at him… But then, to give him the pleasure of my sex would just be too much in his favor, so I haven’t acted upon his advances.

Some former fuck buddies are back. These are guys with whom my trysts can still stir an erection in me even after all these years, so completely forgetting these hot guys and the hot sex is completely alien to me. I’m not sure if it’s a gift or a curse that I am able to keep fuck buddies of years and more years ago. I guess I try not to be a wham-bang-thank-you-man kind of guy, and can actually build a friendship on the foundation of great sex. And great sex it was indeed.

Pozzie friends should be expected. I’ve had more than my fair share of positively romantic proposals. And if I ever did give in, it would be more than just because we were both HIV positive. These guys are smoking hot and oh so my type! Some pozzie friends, have even been crossing from the Yoga for Life line. I’m beginning to question my principle of not shagging in my own backyard.

Speaking of backyards, I even have a neighbor in my list. As in the guy lives about a block away, in a house that I walk past every single day. Hey, it’s not my fault that he followed me home a couple of times and mustered up the courage to talk to me the next chance he got. But man, a block away? Who are the people in your neighborhood? I now know one of mine. How much more convenient can it get?

Strangers, of course. Buses, the MRT, the mall… good thing I’m not even really into bathhouses, gay bars and other more rampantly sleazy places. And then the internet. Oi. Fine, my fault for still having my accounts on personals sites up. But even without those, even Facebook is becoming a potential cruising place for me. Argh.

Unfortunately, fidelity has never been one of my strong points. I mean I have managed to be completely faithful to some guys I was with… okay, fine… I think I’ve done it twice out of seven. But those two periods I was able to do it, I did under my own power and choice. But, mind you, it was never easy.

I’m not blaming any of these male stimuli for being hot. It’s my fault for giving in to seduction. And until now, I have never regretted having sex with anyone. It was my choice every single time.

It’s just me. I love sex. I absolutely love sex. I love giving pleasure. It fulfills me. I gain pleasure from giving pleasure. And to a point, I let it define my role in life. Who doesn’t want to be of service to others? Some do it through charity. I just happen to do it through sex among other things.

So I really hope the boyfriend knows what he got himself into choosing me as a partner. I mean, yes, he does know every mince of past that I have. He knows I’m HIV positive. He knows I’m a slut. He knows I have the sexual charge of five grown men. He knows I have kinks others can only imagine. He knows it all. But the one thing that makes the story different is that he chose to accept it all. Darn.

So I’m trying. I’m trying extremely hard. It’s not frickin’ easy. At all. And the boyfriend hinting he’d be open to letting other guys into our relationship is not helping my noble cause. Argh.

We all know I’m no angel. So just wish me luck on my huge endeavor. May I make it through my six-month itch. And the seven… And the eight… And… And as Eva Eugenio once sang, O tukso, layuan mo ako.

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Honeymoon + Wedding

The year 2010 wasn’t so bad. Status quo, I think. As 2010 slipped away, it left me wondering how 2011 would fare. Or more like how I’d fare in 2011. Hmm. Aside from the usual family thing we have on January 1st every year, I started the year of with a planned trip to Tagaytay, primarily for our Yogi Babe’s wedding, but at the same time an out-of-town trip with the Hubby. A wedding and a honeymoon. A honeymoon and a wedding.

Sunday morning, I was lugging my backpack, a shoe bag and my yoga mat, on my way to Greenhills to meet the Hubby. I waited outside a Starbucks. In almost perfect timing, he passed by after a couple of minutes, had me load my stuff in the trunk, and hop in as we proceeded to the parking area. From there we walked back to Starbucks and chatted over drinks.

Why Greenhills? Hubby and I were going to mass. It was a Sunday, after all. He had invited me before to attend mass with him so I could see him play, but I’d never gotten the chance to. I knew it was important for him, so even if I’m not really a staunch churchgoer, I was there. Watching him on the organ while the choir sang was entertaining. If not for the couple of cute boys on the choir, just seeing him move, a la Cecile Licad at that. And he was so proud. I was happy he wanted to share that experience with me.

After the mass, around noon, we forewent lunch to get on our road trip. A stopover along SLEX to buy ice and reload the toll thingy, and we were off. Traffic wasn’t bad, considering most were going the opposite direction, on their way back to Manila. The next stop we made was at Paseo de Sta. Rosa for lunch. Poquitomas, not a very attractive name, but the food not bad at all. After a go at the buffet, we took a little stroll around the picturesque grounds. And full with gastric and scenic delights, we resumed our trip.

I think it was about 2:00 pm when we got to the house in Tagaytay. It was his aunt’s place, which he borrows sometimes. We’d actually spent a weekend there together already once last year. Our little love shack, if I may say. We unloaded our stuff, and settled in. We were both tired from the trip, but after a while just laying in bed, talking, tired but unable to doze off, we decided we’d just head on out and take in the town.

We headed off to find dinner, ending up in a quaint restaurant called Greek Taverna. Just two tables were occupied, again perhaps because everyone had left the little vacation town as the holidays drew to a close, and were on their way back to the real world already. But we appreciated the quiet. We ordered some pasta, lamb and skewers, all the while taking snapshots of ourselves documenting our little meal.

We went to get coffee at the nearest Starbucks, but the lines were too long. We did however chance upon a holiday bazaar, where we each bought a warm and fluffy animal cap - him a pig, since he was born in the Year of the Pig, and me, a goat, only because there was no horse, and not even for an Arian, which I am not. It wasn’t too late yet, so we thought we’d visit the wedding venue, an ocular of sorts, armed with a printout of a map, just so we could study the route which at that point we were both unfamiliar with.

I admit, we made stopovers on the way, at a drugstore and a couple of convenience stores. We looking for... lube. We were on a honeymoon, weren’t we?! Depressing how the drugstore and the first convenience store didn’t have any water-based lubricant, so much so that I actually felt I had to buy out the stocks of the second convenience store just to make sure. Supply and demand. Supply and demand. I demanded.

Anyhoo, we didn’t actually make it to the wedding venue that evening. We didn’t get lost, but we gave up. The only resolve was realizing that it was much farther away than the map suggested. Oh, well. We’ll find it tomorrow. We went home, washed up, relaxed, and put the condoms we brought and lubricant we bought to good use. Mmm.

Come morning, I awoke first and started preparing early. It was the wedding day itself, but I was dressed down in shorts and a sleeveless shirt. Nope, not for the wedding just yet, but for yoga. Yep, Yoga was part of the wedding itinerary.

Hubby dropped me off at Hacienda Isabella, where the wedding and all the other activities were to be held. Yep, he just dropped me off. Even with the other Yoga for Lifers there, he drove off without even getting introduced to them. He’s shy. Discreet somehow about what we have. Truth be told, of all my friends, he’s only ever managed to agree to BFF to meet us as a couple.

So with the Yoga for Lifers, we walked in and took in the sights. From what areas we had access to, it was amazing. Sprawling lawns with flourishing trees and charming structures all around. And to realize we were going to do yoga outdoors on the grass in the morning sun and cool breeze was amazing. It was an exhilarating practice, along with some of the other wedding guests, about twelve of us if I’m not mistaken, that left us energized for the day ahead, and the bride de-stressed hopefully from the wedding jitters.

Feasting on a well-deserved breakfast of eggs Benedict, I hitched out with the Yoga for Lifers, and got dropped off at the house where Hubby was waiting. He had had breakfast as well on his own. I showered and rested a bit, after which we hit the road again, to get some Good Shepherd products for him to take home, and have a hearty lunch of kare-kare at Sanctuario.

Back home, we laid in bed a bit. As in, a bit. It was twenty minutes, maybe, before I realized I had to start preparing for the wedding ceremony. I needed to shower, dress up, and pack the rest of my stuff so everything would be ready, as we planned to head back to Manila right after the wedding dinner. Nope, Hubby wasn’t coming with me to the wedding. He’s shy, remember? He was just really there to spend the rest of the time with me.

So I hitched to the wedding with one of the Yoga for Lifers, just to save Hubby from the long drive so he could just relax at the house. Now the wedding was to die for. The ceremony itself was heavenly, less religious than usual, but solemn and romantic nonetheless. Perfect. Simply perfect.

Drinks and finger food by the pool, a raid of the photo booth, and a hangout at the wish quilt, and I got a text. Hubby was in the parking area. I rushed over to keep him company, but he ushered me back in, saying that he’d just hang out and wait. How could I? He wasn’t there just to be my driver, ya know. But he convinced me he was okay waiting, and I hesitantly headed back in already planning my early exit.

I tried to enjoy dinner as much as I could, and the great food made that easy. The guests all sat at long tables dining on pasta, skewers and veggies, capped off by a slew of desserts, from fruit salad to strawberry crepes. But then I really couldn’t get away from the fact that someone was waiting for me in the parking lot. Mmm.

The programme started, and as much I would have wanted to go up to the couple and thank them for the wonderful evening, they were too enthralled in each other and in the speeches their families and friends were giving, that I decided against it. So I sought permission to go from the Yoga for Lifers instead, as BFF volunteered to accompany me to the car. Again, BFF is so far the only one privileged to see us as a couple. A hug and a kiss goodbye, I packed myself into the car and we drove off.

In the car, I did get the vibe that he wasn’t totally okay just waiting it out in a parked car. But he did know he made that decision. Besides, he was able to go for a spa day while I was at the wedding. So after a while, we were all good again.

We had dinner again along the SLEX, but still, in a whiff, thanks to the traffic-less streets, we were home around 11:00 pm. What a way to end the holidays, and start the New Year. It was a tiring trip, but I dare to speak for both of us when I say that we had a lot of fun. Enough warmth to cut through the Tagaytay chill. A honeymoon and a wedding. Not bad. We haven’t gotten a lot of opportunities to go out of town together, so to start the year off with this one should make the rest of 2011 one hell of an adventure.

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Yoga Loca

It’s been almost four months since Yoga for Life started. Personally, it’s become a habit. Seriously. As in I haven’t missed a class since July, if I‘m not mistaken... except that one Wednesday session they cancelled due to heavy rain. I super duper look forward to yoga every Wednesdays and Saturdays. I actually have a yoga mat of my own now at home... shhhhh! So am I officially yoga loca?

I am now a true believer that Yoga is an excellent form of exercise. It’s non-competitive, so anyone of any fitness level can get into it. The only person you’d need to challenge is yourself. It’s very physical, but it’s about the mind and the spirit as well, so much so, that a strong mind and a robust spirit can bring the body to do things it never before could.

And I think Yoga for Life is a notch above any other yoga. Really, the sense of community is there. From complete strangers, there has grown enough camaraderie within the group. And the liberty with which lines like, “What are you doing here today? Aren’t you a Saturday boy?” and giggles brought about by a solemn chant concierto get thrown around tell me the group is getting tighter.

But regardless of how regular the regulars have become, newbies show up every so often and get the full benefit still. Probably the fact that yoga is such a personal practice helps, in that the camaraderie isn’t as directly important to the practice as self-discipline and self-awareness are. It’d just be abonus. So the degree of fitting in shouldn’t necessarily help or hinder either way.

As part of the group behind Yoga for Life - them more than me - it’s not a heavy thing for us, and it’s still a lot of fun every time. Last Wednesday, while lazing around our yoga mats, we were happy to realize that it’s become stable, and attributed our first quarter of “success” to the fact that we’re working together well as a team and actually taking the work out of “working together”. Yes, that definitely helps. And the good vibes we carry stand a good chance of rubbing off onto the others.

Recently our Yogi Bear and Babe requested some feedback from the participants, both regulars and newbies. I actually was given a piece of paper to write my feedback, but being considered as part of the team behind it, decided otherwise. Me no buhat sariling bangko. But for the others, here’s what they had to say:

• “Yoga for Life has been and still is a life and attitude enhancing experience. It makes you feel part of a community.”

• “It was nice, relaxing and de-stressing. Time worth spent.”

• “There really isn’t much I can say. I am just glad that there is a venue for me to de-stress with the little time that I have. It would be nice though if there are more sessions during the week.”

• “Yoga for Life is a wonderful positive influence in my life. Thanks!”

• “Yoga has helped me to start thinking about the healthy lifestyle and actually start living it. It gave me more focus especially when a normal day turns into a stressful one. It is a very good way of detoxifying...”

• “I feel more relaxed. My headache gone after the session. I enjoyed this.”

• “Since I started yoga, I never had fever. I used to have low-grade fever daily. I never felt so lazy or lethargic since. I feel rejuvenated. It makes me feel whole.”

• “Yoga for Life as a program has been helpful in dealing with daily stress facing and living with HIV. It helps that the community is so normal, even in the reality of HIV. It’s very healing and positive.”

• “All my stress and all the hard thinking has vanished because of this yoga. Love it!”

• “For me, yoga is good for my health and I feel good after doing it. First time I attended this class I told myself that I love doing Yoga for Life.”

• “Relaxing, can ease tension. Looking forward to the next session.”

• “Enjoyed this more than I expected. Twice a week yoga is becoming something I look forward to and prioritize each week.”

Even I couldn’t believe all the good feedback. But considering we used a secret ballot method, then they could’ve well given what violent reactions they had as well. I therefore conclude, yoga is good, good, good.

And yoga has been picking up elsewhere as well. Who else is into yoga? The boyfriend... Wait, did I just say boyfriend?! Whoa... Fine. The boyfriend has started working out as well with a trainer, and yoga is part of his regimen. I’ve invited him to Yoga for Life, but we‘re still working out some details.

He’s been ranting about how much difficulty he’s been having at yoga, which he attributes to his fitness level. As you know, he’s built with a little bit extra as of the moment, which really shouldn’t be a problem. At Yoga for Life, we’re always given options that adjust to our respective fitness levels, so one of these days I’ll try to teach the boyfriend (naks talaga!) what I’ve been learning from our yogis. He’ll get a private session with me... with extra service maybe. Hehehe.

But for those I cannot give private lessons and extra service to - hehehe - the invitation to Yoga for Life is still open. On Wednesday evenings, it’s at 7:00 pm at the 28th floor conference room of the Medical Plaza Building on San Miguel Avenue in Ortigas. On Saturday afternoons, it’s at 2:00 pm at the Echo Yoga Studio in Century Plaza Building on Perea Street in Makati. See you there!


Also check out our Yogi Bear’s new program under the Echo Yoga roster, which aims to immerse liberated men into yoga. Every Thursdays and Saturdays, he leads men stripped from the usual workout outfits and down to their skivvies, into a deeper and more fabulous appreciation of yoga. Check out Yoga Loca at the Echo Yoga website for more details.

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Owned

Okay fine. I’m going to say it. I’m going to try to say it.

I dread having to admit it. But this being my journal, I can only say it because it’s the truth.

I’m... gulp... seeing someone.

Da bitch is owned.

He’s someone who found me online... yet again... on one of my personals sites. I held off on meeting up as long as I could, but he was persistent. I told him I was HIV positive. He still wanted to meet. I ran out of excuses.

We eyeballed at a local Starbucks, drove around a bit, and he brought me home. He snuck me into his house, got me comfortable, got me in bed, and got it on. This was last year. And that was that.

I couldn’t see him anymore because the time came when I was supposedly in a relationship. But that’s not to say that he wasn’t trying to see me. But I knew I couldn’t and I shouldn’t, so I didn‘t.

Of course, my relationship ended. This guy was still keeping in touch every so often. So June this year, he texted asking how I was and how my relationship was going, I decided. Fine I could see him again. No more reason not to.

So we’ve been going out since June. He immediately made clear that he couldn’t commit to anything just yet. That we could take it slow and just enjoy what we had. I honestly didn’t think I could commit either. I was at a point where I had come from committing myself to a relationship that turned out to be physically unsatisfying. So I was itching to just cruise the meat market, really. So taking it slow and just having fun was just perfect.

So yeah, we were dating regularly, once, sometimes twice a week, but not exclusively. I was dating other guys. I was sleeping around. I even had a bus buddy and a sex week, remember? What other things he was doing on his end, I didn’t really need to know. I didn’t ask. But he wanted to know what I was up to. I didn’t see any reason to keep him from finding out. And then it happened. He arranged for us to have a serious talk. Uh-oh.

To put it simply, he wasn’t happy. He was jealous. He was sad. He was disappointed. I could even say he was pissed. He was certainly reconsidering what we had. But what did we have? Technically, nothing. But introspect told me I wasn’t happy seeing that glum look on his face. So his sudden display of these emotions was, for me, a call to rethink where whatever we had was going.

So who is this guy? Well, he’s older than I am. Taller. Fairer. Built with a little bit extra, which is fine with me.


The bad news?

He’s a pessimist, putting himself down, especially when it comes to what we have. Lines like “Ayaw mo naman ako i-hug eh” after a perfect date piss me off, regardless of how little it’s meant. I just think it’s uncalled for, and there’s no right response to something like that.

Sexually, he’s more vanilla than I’d really like. But it’s something we can still work on and are still working on. No biggie.

He’s got a temper. He sometimes won’t let bad service at a store or a restaurant pass. He voices out getting pissed at rowdy kids at the mall. He barks at promo people who pester him. Believe me, even I have been on the receiving end of that temper already. Not the best way to start a date.

He’s paranoidly discreet. He takes a lot for him to give me a smack in his quite tinted car. He won’t hug me in public, not even in a bromantic way, and sometimes stops me from putting my arm around him. He’s even threatened to walk out if he hears any of my pozzie kids call me “mom”. Seriously?


The good news?

We have common interests. He’s an architect, and I’m a frustrated one. I match his educational and professional background in design with my fanaticism with the Lifestyle Channel. I sort of understand property development, have engineering somewhere in the back of my background, and know that ottoman pluralized is not ottomen.

He misses me. A lot. And very easily. Maybe too much. We’re still together and he already says he’s going to miss me. I know. Cheesy much.

He worships me. Not my most preferred role, but it’s good for a change. Still getting used to it. He knows everything about me, from my indecencies to my HIV, but still proudly declares something to the tune of “My boyfriend is a slut!” Oh, I’m fine with that. Not like it’s a far-fetched idea.


At this point, we’re still “together”. After that serious talk we had, we sort of honeymooned, spending a weekend in Tagaytay, albeit just sleeping in most of the time. We see each other at least weekly. He calls me his boyfriend. He uses the word “love” liberally. I admit I’ve used that L word as well. Gah! Cheesy! So not like me.

So there, that’s what’s been happening. I am owned. Or at least I’m letting myself be owned. Let’s see how things will go from here.

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Stupid Love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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It's Complicated

I’ve been barely half a year, I think, on Facebook. I know, right? When Facebook was gaining popularity, I was still trying to get a hang of Friendster. And thus, my being a late bloomer with respect to Facebook. But already, I know, Facebook statuses are deadly. One little peep, and practically the whole world knows.

Papi and I have been witness to that. And not in an entirely good way, unfortunately. It's been... uhm... complicated.


In a Relationship with Papi

Like I mentioned before, this status started out as a little game for us both. I mean, yeah, I was attracted to him, but we weren’t committed at the time, but agreed to have fun and link openly on Facebook. After that, was the only time we had our first date. And the relationship status suddenly became more real than what it used to be. That was back sometime in September. And the rest was history.

I do have some friends on Facebook with whom I’m not yet open about my homosexuality. Classmates from high school, classmates from college, former officemates, and a cousin even. It’s not like I still claim to them to this day that I’m straight. It’s more like I never told them that I was gay because I had lost touch.

So was I afraid of what they’d think? Not really. I am gay, for heaven’s sake. My mom knows it. My dad knew it. I’m pretty sure my siblings know it. So really, it wouldn’t really matter who else found out. But even with that revelation splashed all over my Facebook profile, no one ever dared ask about it. At least, no one that I would’ve expected to wonder about it.


Single

Papi and I have really still been in the getting to know each other stage. Lately, we’ve been discovering a lot of stuff about each other. But on one fateful Monday, the discoveries took a bad turn. Without going into details, let’s just say Papi and I had a bit of a confrontation. Nothing violent, just laying all the cards on the table. We were able to be open with each other about things and I appreciated his honesty, which left me feeling sorrow instead of anger.

The first person I talked to about it was Jinjin. I thought I could tell him because he was my friend, unlike others who were friends of both Papi and I. Tearing the friends we shared apart was never an option for me. I just won’t have it. So I turned to Jinjin, who was completely supportive as I poured my heart out.

Next person I told was E, who was absolutely and positively thrilled at the news. Why was he so happy? As much I’d like to believe that he had a hidden crush on me, he doesn’t. Hahaha. It was more like he wanted me back onto the meat market so he’d have a slut buddy around for his adventures. It pisses him off that much that I’ve been such a good boy and that I’m useless when it comes to cruising and excitement. So the prospect of having me back in the dating scene left him giddy. Such a sweet friend, isn't he? Hehe.

That evening, BFF wanted to meet up, but I declined saying I needed to rest. I just wasn’t in the mood. I wasn’t ready to cry on BFF’s shoulder either, since he was of course Papi-approved. I just didn’t want him to have to take sides. Even W felt something was wrong just based on our quick chat. By the time the evening was drawing to a close, I had Nina singing I Love You, Goodbye, as I changed my Facebook status to “Single”, with tears rolling down my face. BFF may have been the first to see the development, sending me a message of sympathy late that evening.


It’s Complicated with Papi

The next day, I took the afternoon off from work. I promised to take W to RITM for his first consultation with the Doctor. Had I not promised, I would not have wanted to go to RITM. It reminded me too much of Papi. Nor would I want to see any of our common friends there and have to explain what happened. And most of all, I didn’t think I was ready for the risk of seeing Papi himself.

W and I needed to retreat to the back office while waiting for his appointment. Getting there, I greeted everyone I knew, as one of my “kids” pulled me into a smaller room saying he had a surprise. And a surprise it was. I felt the world just stop. Papi was there.

I wasn’t angry. I was indifferent, or at least I thought I was trying to be. I tried to give him a look that meant, “Don’t worry. I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. You be okay.” But he pulled me towards him in a tight hug. I know it shouldn’t have been the case at that moment, but it still was heaven for me to see him, honestly, and I hugged back, thinking it might be the last time I could do it. But he wouldn’t let go.

I was really a bit confused at that time. Was it pity? Was it his way of making sure I didn’t make a scene? Was it me, or was he wooing me back? And was I giving in?

One thing I’m sure of is that that afternoon spent in the RITM was no different from any other. Papi and I hung out together and with all of our friends there. It was as if nothing had happened. And it was nice actually. I mean, we didn’t really have time on our own to discuss stuff, and never really settled anything definitively, but I think it was the foundation of friendship we had built that allowed us to be civil. Oh, and I got a quick smack on the lips before we parted ways. Hmm.

When I got home, I changed my relationship status on Facebook once again. It was complicated indeed, being that we hadn’t really gotten the chance to talk much. The good thing about it was that no doors were closed. And we will talk eventually. So I dared to click “It’s complicated with Papi”, subject of course to approval from his side. I was surprised to find the next day that he confirmed my status.

It felt pretty good that he still was open to be publicly associated to me, even though it was technically still under the premise of complications. It will be a lot of explaining to people who will notice our status. But let it be suffice to say that all is not over. We’ll work something out, not to worry.

So there. That’s what’s been happening. In Facebook relationship status terms, going from “in a relationship” to “single” to “it’s complicated” in a span of 24 hours. Not all good. But not all bad either. I’m still a bit sad somehow, but happy about how things have turned out so far. Labo ba? Basta. Uhm… it’s complicated.

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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.

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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.

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Layo-genic

It’s odd. The guys who have been interested always seem to be in another continent, another country, or at least another group of islands. It’s like fate is playing a huge joke on me. A joke that’s not really that funny.

But it begs the question: Is it time to consider a long-distance relationship? Layo-genic ba ako?

It’s one thing to be a loner, a whole other thing to be ready to grow old alone, and a completely different story to give up on relationships altogether. The first and the second, I think I’m there. But to give up on relationships is just totally unlike me. I don’t learn my lesson that easily.

It was very unfortunate that the very time I was about to declare myself ready to get back onto the relationship bandwagon, was the same time I found out I was HIV-positive. And this readiness to get into a relationship isn’t like a switch that I can just turn on and off at a moment’s notice. I still continue to long to be in a relationship, in spite of HIV.

And this HIV thing hasn’t been all that bad, admittedly and surprisingly. I mean, yeah, I’ve been turned down, possibly used, led on, told white lies, left hanging, and dropped like a hot potato because of it. Sounds like torture for a pitiful pusit. But that’s all normal in the big scheme of human relationships, I guess. Let’s just say it’s a reassurance that things are still as they always were.

Neither is it the case that HIV is like a small penis that one needs to make up for in terms of other aspects like a huge personality, a mind-blowing performance, a great sense of humor or a big bike. It’s more like... uhm... a missing scrotum, or a third nipple maybe. It’s not usual, but is still something one can live with.

So on the other hand, I have also been fortunate enough to have met people who were willing to look past the pusitness of things. People, HIV-negative ones, who knew that one’s HIV status was just a single facet in the gem of what makes up a person.

So where are these guys? Why am I still single? Well, like I said, everything is still normal. So the relationship potentials of these guys are still under the mercy of chemistry, timing, and, as I’m beginning to realize repeatedly, distance.

I can’t say confidently that I’m good or bad at long-distance relationships. For me, it can go two ways: Absence-makes-the-heart-grow-fonder good, or Out-of-sight-out-of-mind bad. My first boyfriend actually worked as a Hosto in Japan, and I think I saw him off twice before we had our fallout, mostly because of the profession he was in. The reality of it was that I would always be in competition with his clients and customers.

My third boyfriend, meanwhile, needed to go to Canada for a time. And it was his time there that just wore our ties out, as he got really possessive and paranoid. I thought I was sane about it, but I just did not understand why I suddenly needed to always defend myself and pamper his insecurities, when it was his own decision to go. Eventually becoming a daily habit, it just tired me out too much and I broke it off even before he got back.

So I haven’t really had much success in the long-distance relationship arena to speak of. But noticeably, there are some couples who are able to handle relationships across oceans and seas, especially with the technology these days that makes keeping in touch a breeze. I still always thought LDRs were difficult, and unnecessary, considering the so-many-men-so-little-time mentality.

Granted, I still haven’t found it that easy to find guys who are open-minded enough about the HIV thing. They’re there, but it can feel like looking for a needle in a haystack sometimes. A treasure which, when found, carries a huge weight and millions of pogi-points to the guy’s advantage. And no one said the haystack would be easier to find than the needle it hides.

Now – if ever I do consider getting into a long-distance relationship – I want to make sure I’m not just going to do it because I’m kapit-sa-patalim already. It’s should not be like it’s a last ditch effort. I’m not going to settle for anything less. I want to be sure I’m doing it for the right reasons. And with the right person.

But what if? What if the guy for me just really wasn’t fated to be just steps, a jeepney-ride, or a bus-ride away? What if I wasn’t meant to have proximity with Mr. Right at my advantage? Am I indeed ready for a long-distance relationship? Layo-genic nga ba ako?

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Tang-in-Emo

This will be an emo post. Consider yourself warned.

I always pride myself with being a natural loner, not needing anyone to complete me. I guess it’s still true. But, man, I can’t deny I’d love to have five fingers to weave into my own, along with the hand and the arm and the rest of the person of course.

Okay, I admit, I’m miserably single right now.

Initially, when I decided to get tested for HIV, other than the fact that I just wanted to know, it was supposed to be my turning point – my turning point towards getting back on the righteous path again. Relatively righteous, that is.

You see, ever since, I was a serial relationship-guy. Note that I didn’t say “serial monogamist”, because I’d be a hypocrite to claim that. I mean to say that I’d been getting into relationship after relationship since my first boyfriend back when I was 21. I don’t really know if I fall easily or just can’t pass up the chance to get to know a guy better, but I preferred to be in relationships rather that make the rounds and sleep around. As such, I felt I never gave myself time to just hook up as hooking up is meant to be.

So after my last relationship back in 2007, I decided I’d give myself a break. I made the conscious decision not to jump into the next possible relationship right away. It was a commitment in itself... to myself. I meant it so badly that I got myself a ring – a symbol of my commitment to myself – an ode to singlehood.

Between that time and the time I got tested, I was literally slutting around. I had regular fuck buddies who kept me busy, more that I’d ever been. I admit, there were times that the potential for a relationship came up, but I treated those as mere temptation, and brushed past them soon enough.

It was in 2008 that I met one guy who caused me to consider getting back into relationship mode again. And based on mere potential, I decided that enough was enough. I felt I’d exhausted the meat market more than I needed to.

And so, to mark a turning point in my life, I got tested. I dreamt of offering myself completely and purely to the guy, and living happily ever after. Indeed, a turning point it was. But not in the way I’d imagined, as I tested positive for HIV. I needed to tell this guy, in order for him to get tested, but that was practically the end of it, as all he could give was support, and his interest in me died down.

Of course testing positive threw me off a bit, I admit. But I never strayed too far from the desire to get back into a relationship again. And there have been a lot of guys who I thought I got along well with... well enough to imagine having a relationship with them.

Of course, at this point, one primary requirement would be that they know my status. It’s part of me now. Package deal. I can’t say that it’s been the deal-breaker in all cases. But at times when it’s not, I can’t help but think it’s just pity that’s taking these guys over. All the more when they eventually fade away. Am I lucky that I have HIV to blame?

There are a few, though, who I have perfect chemistry with, and who have absolutely no problem with my HIV status. But sadly, we seem to always be... uhm, geographically-challenged. Sigh.

So with all that, I’m still miserably single. Okay, maybe not miserably single. Just single. Inggit lang ako, bakit ba?

So now, my dilemma. Now I’m not speaking of anyone in particular, okay, mostly because there is no one in particular to speak of. Consider this an open letter.

Considering that you love someone, you’d like to see him or her happy. Seeing him or her happy makes you happy. You want the best for that person you care for. But what if you don’t feel that you’re the best one? What if you know that person will be happier with someone else? Can you be truly, truly happy for him or her?

‘Tang inang pag-ibig yan, o.

Okay, emo ends here. Hehehe.

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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.

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The Good Catch

Since finding out that I’m HIV positive more than six months ago, I’ve been able to meet so many pozzies. It’s true that we come in all sizes and shapes, but most if not all, are presentable, personable and attractive. Add to that the fact that I’ve met so many who are happily in relationships, so much so that it leaves me wondering whether, and worried to some point that, I won’t be single for long.

So I dare ask. Is having HIV directly proportional to apparent relationship potential? Does being poz have anything to do with hotness? Is it just me, or is the Pozzie a good catch?

Don’t count on anything scientifically proven, okay? I know this will sound like I’m blowing my own horn, or whatever else there is on me to be blown, but just have fun and hear me out.

HIV is primarily sexually transmitted. So unless the pozzie got it from infected needles (a likely story...), a blood transfusion (a possibility...), or from birth or breast feeding (yeah, right...), he or she is definitely getting some action. And let’s face it, getting some action means you are, on some level, sexually attractive.

Multiply that by the amount of action he or she gets. The more action, the greater the risk. The greater the risk, the more likely for one to catch the virus. And the more action he or she had been getting, the greater the chance he or she is God’s gift to man, woman or whatever-kind.

Ok, so maybe Pozzie-ness has some relation to hotness, but of course not everything is about the physical, right? So how do Pozzies rate on the personality scale?

Having the HIV bomb being dropped on someone is a daunting thing. Trust me, I know. And as we all know, people handle changes in their lives in different ways. Though for me there wasn’t really much negativity, the truth is, it’s very common for one to feel depressed, angry, paranoid, lost, or numb. But I think all that, though normal, is just a phase. Eventually, I think once we’ve gotten all the drama out of us, we end up being stronger, more emotionally stable, more mature, and more appreciative of the little blessings that life presents us.

Strong? Emotionally stable? Mature? Appreciative? Aren’t those exactly the adjectives that everyone would want to describe their relationships with?

What about other aspects? If we’ve been able to tell you that we are HIV positive, then the communication routes should be no problem. If we can tell you that, we can probably tell you anything. It’s also probable, we’ve learned our lesson, and won’t go around looking to hanky and panky with anything and everything that moves. Also highly likely is that we will love you even more for accepting us for who we are, despite what we have.

So there, I’ve presented my case. Of course, the success of a relationship will depend further on chemistry, timing, and fate. And neither does this mean everyone should go out and catch the virus, just to prove they’re a good catch. I’m just trying to point out, that there is so much more about us Pozzies, over and above the virus.

So for everyone in the world, consider finding yourself a Pozzie. If not for a relationship, a friendship at least. I think we do that well, too.

Oh, and by the way, I’m single... and available. Oops... hehehe.

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