kiks 2.0

Benoodled

2012-02-19T11:14:00.000+08:00

When the book Chicken Soup for Whomever Soul came up years ago, I inadvertently distanced myself from it. Self-help books are for the bored person in the city who may choose to have it and read it rather than talk to friends, unless his friends are equally wrapped up in ennui-driven money-making schemes for a hopefully brighter future.

I wondered at my friends who had it, this gremlin of a thing that simply popped and pooped - sans the watering - with possibly equally deadly sequels - for the pregnant, for the cat lover, for the butcher, for the pole-dancing mistress. How much advice can one get in a day? And whom? What if I were an ice-cracking soccer player who loves fondling his friends' nibbles while popping beer and e? Okay, I didn't say that.

Until the inevitable came.

Days ago, as the boyfriend was packing for his trip back to Kathmandu, he popped out the Campbell's Creamy Chicken Noodle Soup as a present, together with thyme that he probably bought from the Hezbollah and the plastic flowers (see photo).

The following day was dreadful. Throat sore, vocal chords ruined, feet cold, I got up from bed missing the warmth of his arms, chest and heavy breathing (and occasional snoring). Convincing myself that this ought to be a good day despite the absence of the boyfriend, I placed the plastic flowers on a jar, cooked the noodle soup and turned on the TV.

The first sip of soup bitch-slapped me with such deliciousness and orgasmic joy. It got me virtually scratching my head on how eating it could make one's mouse-grey day suddenly bright-sky blue and filling up with colors of Nips rainbow.

Was it the soup itself or the one who gave it as a get-well gift? It didn't matter, like the fact that we are four-hours away from each other and this is another long-distance relationship I am having despite my obviously futile attempts not to have another one.

With the new boyfriend, everything seems astoundingly well in place and that unexplainably we see ourselves together for far longer than the moments of all our past relationships combined. And despite having said yes to each other on the frrrrrrrrrrrrtnth of Febrrrrrry.

Now, don't ask.

Nathan@night

2012-02-14T13:30:00.001+08:00

Tonight I will be at Nathan.

Tonight I will walk along its neon-lit street and wander not in despair or utter sadness.

Tonight I will look up at the blue-grey skies hoping that the rain clouds have gone to sleep and that I and the one whose hand I will be holding while walking will be all alone with nice weather.

Tonight I will bask in its electric glory, seek refuge in its tall comforting concrete buildings, and be guided by double-decker buses, red taxicabs and fast-walking passers-by.

As I and my love walk home.

I watch Koh Masaki because...

2012-02-09T11:13:00.000+08:00

He has a story to tell.

He makes me feel complete.

He has the full package.

He delivers.

And while most non-porn gay movies have sad, tragic endings, gay porn does not.

Everybody goes home happy. Others creamed.

I'd rather have cum on my face than die at the end of a movie.

Check my favorite porn actor here. And especially, here.

Chicken soup for the soulless old bitch

2012-02-03T10:03:00.002+08:00

Last night was a classroom of old-age lessons:

a) Listen and be genuinely interested.

It is hard to think of a quick retort when you have not taken a bit of food or gulped even bad beer. Difficult to keep eye contact when your insides are planning a revolt. Then again it is your body and you just have to control it.

What you do is mentally open that old notebook of good manners you had in grade school and keep up. Keep your tact and don't let the blond-haired remarks out. Look deep inside your heart and shovel down your brain for anything remotely close to the topic the person in front of you is so excitedly talking about.

I think she noticed that I had nothing to say and was just being polite.

b) No such thing as Your School and Others.

A mere mention of another school in an alumni association's event breaks open the library of Melanisms, Eraptions and school-bastardizing.

~~Ah, the Goldilocks-dressed Povedans. The tusok-tusok Assumptionistas. The no-brainer Taft people. And the Arreneans.~~

Last year, while I was downing my bagnet in Pino's, a bunch of students from my school came in with iPads, Mac air and severals in big-branded bags. They opened their textbooks, apparently preparing for an examination. After ordering what seemed to be a feast, they started chatting away in Tagalog as if they were playing Pinoy Henyo. Except, they had a twang. While this may somehow be a normal sight in Quezon City, it is fairly new and alien to me.

Each school, like any other person, has its own character and set of values.

With that, the person is not necessarily the school. Nor is the school the person.

c) Act your age.

Old dogs still can learn new tricks. They, nay we, just have to do a bit more of stretching everyday.

Shame

2012-02-01T06:19:00.001+08:00

A checklist of January's expense -

A grey suede kid's cap
A white almost seamless top
Black tuxedo shorts
Two usual tees
A pair of khakis and two scarves
Two blue tees
A headpiece, easy-to-pack down jacket, 2 pairs of organic denims, a pullover, happy coat pyjamas, a pair of boots and several stationery
Running shoes

- at my expense.

Let this be a constant reminder, and warning, that money does not grow on trees.

And that I am not Miranda Priestly.

being the activist

2012-01-30T10:12:00.001+08:00

feeling it a la Liza Maza

At some point did Kane tell me that I should blog about my activism -

how I became it
what made me do it
to which depths of the earth have I gone to express it
why I continue doing it

The trips I have made, the places I have been to - they are but perks (and sometimes, quirks) of my work, nay, commitment. Some think my work is cool and that I get on the plane every month, taste different types of god's meals (which is not entirely true), and I am so shushal.

Not.

If I had a choice, I would rather stay and sit with fellow kababayans in Chater Road every Sunday and chit-chat about their lives and why we need to stop that i-am-just-a-maid mentality. And if go take that trip, I'd be in wet markets, small unnoticeable nooks and corners talking with shop owners, butchers and bus drivers. And young people.

I do what I do simply because I do it. And I want to do it.

And I believe in it.

People think the problems of the world are like the world itself - hard to change. But with global warming propping up and forced migration, there are indeed certain people who made these things happen.

With that, I think we too, can change things. For world peace.

Bali revisited

2012-01-28T11:55:00.000+08:00

I remember the feel of sea foam touching my naked toes at 6 o' clock in the morning, the fresh breeze that comes from the east, and the sound of waves rushing towards me.

I am torn among three places to go to for my long-awaited vacation this year - Puerto Princesa, Bali, Bangkok. I am particularly biased towards Bali for a lot of reasons, particularly maybe because it has grown on me.

While friends advised me to go see Ubud where Balinese culture can be more experienced (and where the presence of biutiful Javier Bardem can be felt and smelt), I have to admit that I have already fallen in love with Kuta.

I could walk for hours and be continually, unfailingly smitten by the sheer melding of its motorcycle smoke, those porcelain white teeth and full lips that flash big beautiful smiles, the scent of incense lit every morning as one bows and prays, the towering yet very humble penjor hanging at every corner, the rotundas filled with statues of Hindu gods, the Indonesian struggling people and what not.

Stopping by a small shop once, I asked the owner where I could go for a pee and he offered his home toilet which was just at the back of the shop. Humbled and thankful, I walked towards the end of the shop and opened the door. What I saw astounded me - rows of small nipa hut-like resting kiosks guiding me to a very beautifully-architectured house built on varnished molave wood with a Javanese roof form as its wig. With it are the owner's family preparing food, stopping to glance back and smile at me, like I was a long-time friend passing through.

A girl friend revealed to me once what she said to her husband should they be estranged at some point in their lives - We will always have Bali.

I do not intend to fall in-love with anyone there. Let my friend and Julia Roberts have it.

I just want to experience everything all over again - a place so humble yet rich, where life seemed so simple yet overwhelming.

I have fallen in love with Bali and I do not mind getting scorched again.

Kung Hei-hei-hei Fat Choy!

2012-01-23T00:33:00.002+08:00

Stationery shop along Shanghai Street

Today, the first coldest day of 2012, I let my Chinese lineage take over and I joined in the festivities of the Lunar New Year. Well, at least on the eve of it.

It is the year of the black water dragon, which according to feng shui will bring forth many opportunities for good luck and investment. And yes, even love (fireworks is what they, those Chinese masters, aptly stated).

Already, I am feeling such a special mention as men from my not-so-immediate past and present are somehow making their presence felt, especially with the Sarcastic Briton, let's call him that, making headway. But my lovelife deserves another story. Or blogpost.

For the meantime, this:

If Rome was placed on fire while Nero pranced or whatever he was doing, capitalism put Hong Kong during this time on sale and got everyone prancing. Everything - from clothes to flowers to everything round and sweet to even fish - was priced at rates one would not imagine possible.

Children's cheongsams at the street market (Jordan Road)

Goldfish, Nemo, etal for a cheap price (at Bute Street)

Nectarines

I went around with my iPhone and took shots of the world around me. Sadly, I got involved with the said world and even partook in it. The K2 and Indu Homme shop was having its clearance sale at 70% on all items, and so one simply could not refuse. I only got one, though, but for only HK$110!

I heard that the Flower Market in Causeway Bay will be opened tonight. People were prodding me to go. When I asked them if they are going, they said it would be too crowded and people there would be snooty. I laughed and scratched my head - talk about invitations.

I was advised however not to go to Shenzhen and have a massage because most of their best masseurs have gone home for the holidays, which will usually take a week. No happy endings there for sure.

Nonetheless, I am excited about the days to come. Chinese New Year is festive, much more funner even than the Anglo-saxon new year (well, at least here in HK). The fireworks will be on Tuesday and I endeavor to be there to witness the million-dollar fiery lightshow, the ooohs and waaahs of the chink-dominant crowd at the harbour, and yes, the men who will either be with their boyfriends, or just friends, or looking for like-minded men to have fireworks with that night.

==========

As it is tradition to give lai see (red pocket) every Chinese New Year, I intend to give my share of blessings. Hence, this. Thanks to Muji who offered cheap red pockets for only 10 dollars.

Lai see (red pocket)

And so it goes, dears. Enjoy the festivities as much as we can. Get what our Pinay migrant sisters always say during this time of the year:

KUNG HEI FAT CHOI! LAI SEE, TULOY TULOY!

Conquering HK

2012-01-19T00:02:00.001+08:00

This is a picture I took of the HSBC Main Building (right) side by side Cheung Kong Center. Both display awesome greatness with towering height, magnificent architecture, command of HK electricity and the world's savings.

As an activist, I admit to continue looking at them both bright-eyed. And doubting?

What's with banks, lights and gorgeous facades? What's with this little village once lived in by Jose, hidden in by Emilio and owned by the queen?

To count down towards my 10th year of consuming, loving, battling Hong Kong, I challenge myself to share with you this special administrative region through my eyes, tongue and heart.

I don't intend to be lonely planet-y. I just want to invite you to my garden.

---------

Addendum: The inspire came from Hong Kong: The Fragrance in the South China Sea, a photographic portfolio by Fumio Okada. Mr Okada is known as Mr Panorama, capturing and printing in long sheets the beauty of the Hong Kong skyline, that of Beijing, and even Boracay.

Extraordinary ordinariness

2012-01-15T21:19:00.002+08:00

I almost died last year. Or at least I would like to think I almost did.

Days before Christmas I was rushed to the hospital and sepsis, or blood poisoning, was the doctors' diagnosis on me.

Sepsis is an almost-fatal disease that could progress from a mere bug bite. Only people who are extremely aged (either in your months or 50s) and immuno-compromised could easily have it. (see December 24 post)

All symptoms, the doctors (yes, plurals) told me, pointed to sepsis. A barrage of questions was then asked - from where and if I went to somewhere rural the past two weeks to whether I was taking drugs and sharing needles. Chiangmai was where I went days before and no, I have stopped trying out recreational drugs that didn't involve needles.

In the end, sadly and quite unnervingly, they could not figure how I got it.

In those eight days, I had to endure a needle stuck up the back of my palm as I would be have to be fed with "strong" antibiotics every 12 hours. I jokingly called my medication anti-bayotics as I thought somebody was trying to "straighten" me up. But of course, the cute Chinese twink nurses couldn't get the joke.

Finally, they allowed me home leave days after Christmas. During those days, I got to watch two movies, Skyped with Canada-based siblings, drank lattes at Pacific Coffee, and online-chatted with an old flame trying to win me back. My hospital table was always full - grapes, nectarines, cherries, three roses on a vase, pocketbooks. Louie, a dear friend, gave me a down jacket as a hospital gift.

I thought I'd be happy with all the attention but somehow the depression sank in - during the first days of January.

What got me through the eight days though was something stellar that happened, something I thought would not happen.

On the night I got the shivers, I immediately called 999 and situated myself at the intersection of two small streets so I could easily be located. Convulsing violently then, I tried to will myself to sit on the gutters but somehow mind over matter was not some ordinary thing sick ordinary people like me could do.

I felt my body giving in, falling on the ground and somehow semi-consciously I expected, and dreaded, the inevitable instance of my head hitting concrete. But somehow the inevitable didn't happen.

I felt my head resting on someone's hand as I guessed the same someone telling me I would be okay. He was speaking Cantonese but somehow I understood what he was saying. The warmth of his hand and the comfort of his voice were more than enough to calm me down, at least spiritually.

In this cold, concrete city called Hong Kong, it was powerfully fascinating to experience a simple act of kindness, of selflessness. By a stranger to another stranger. When all hope could have easily escaped this perfect model of a capitalist society, where people valued money more than themselves, there was a slight glimmer that shone so bright.

That simple act of kindness got me through my eight days, my depression, and the mere idea that I am mortal and ordinary.

Because it is with that that I will myself to live - for ordinary people can do extraordinary things, no matter how simple or meaningless they may seem.

picture from deviantart.com

Being Carly

2012-01-14T14:07:00.000+08:00

I am not the one with many words up my sleeve that I can simply take out at any given time.

Like this instance when tears welled up my eyes and eventually flowed streams down my cheeks.

When many times I think I do not have a lot, I see Carly and how she is.

I will keep Carly in my tabs, making sure she is looking at me in the face when I am not being myself.

???

2012-01-12T12:11:00.004+08:00

Dicky or Wesley?

Mugen likes Dicky. So does Jericho.

Whom shall I choose?

Crushing Wesley

2012-01-09T18:23:00.001+08:00

His name is Wesley and he is a personal trainer at Pure.

He has a nice body but I have not seen him naked at the showers.

He is obviously not a shrimp.

This blog post, albeit senseless, is dedicated to him.

We sometimes do things for no reason or rationale. And there's no defending it.

Picture downloaded and cropped from a facebook friend's photo album.

Buti na lang maganda ako.

Ang maganda, madaling nakakapagmove-on.

a re-quote from Ricky Lee's Si Amapola sa 65 Kabanata

The Meme Bag

2012-01-09T08:00:00.000+08:00

Following Mugen's advice in his Spaceship Adidas post, I am disclosing the contents of my bag.

A bit of history here, to indulge myself: the Bali-bag is a duffel bag I had made in, duh, Bali. After giving as a gift my faux-leather duffel bag to a friend in Manila, I have saved up my pennies for this much-wanted piece of necessity. Leather bags, they say, last longer and they age beautifully.

Here is the bag and her chicks.

Bali-bag (black, contents disclosed)

Muji in-bag (black, contents to be disclosed), Philippine passport (maroon), Topman namecard holder (brown), toiletry bag (green, contents yet to be disclosed), Pure shoe bag (red & black, contents undisclosed), keyboard not included (black)

Yes! Magazine featuring Nora Aunor (unread), Sou sou coin purse (black with white box prints), eyeglasses container (black), three-day medicine cabinet (transparent, ARVs), Nescafe coffee in can, Mentholatum lip gel, 4-gigabyte finger (in black pearl with Korean string)

Muji in-bag contents (from top left, clockwise)

Muji in-bag with white iPhone plug, paperthinks notebook (royal blue, contents undisclosed), earphone packet (deep orange), pencil case (black with brown knit design), SKII moisturizer (red), Muji soft-plastic container (transparent, contains lotion), key holder (black, from a HK Customs friend), twizzers, Eclipse mints, 4-gigabyte SD card (blue), Hong Kong coins (80 cents), Creative zen 16-gigabyte MP3 player (black), mechanical pencil lead refill, eraser (black), lighter (black), mechanical pencil (green), Muji comfort ballpen (transparent, black), Muji highlighter (pink), Muji mechanical pencil (black with silver head), Muji 0.7 ballpen refill (black)

The Muji in-bag contains necessary curios in my daily life as a person. A big must for someone who has office and personal needs that one carries from home office to meeting places to gym to dark areas.

The Pure shoe bag carries the only two things I bring to the gym - trainers and ankle socks. The fitness center I go to offers almost everything I need (for free), men not included.

The Sou sou coin purse is a gift from a very beautiful Japanese girl-friend. Kenneth Cole would have been a good option but very Anglo-saxon.

Yes! Magazine's Nora Aunor is a recent interest after reading Ricky Lee's Si Amapola sa 65 Kabanata. She was a gift from a friend who visited me in Queen Elizabeth Hospital. I haven't read her yet.

Now, tell me the skeletons in your, er, bag. The closet could be a later meme.

Hotpot

2012-01-06T14:39:00.002+08:00

Ngayong taong ito, ang aking blog ay magiging halu-halo ng mga bagay-bagay:

Corny

Malansa

May bayag

Sariwa

At buong-buo ang noodles.

Enjoy my soup this 2012.

All pictures are mine own. The last one was a Christmas present.

Stalling the date

2012-01-05T09:45:00.001+08:00

It was the most unexpected of things.

My blind date with Joe Black was foiled by the several blind dates that transpired in my dormitory aka Ward E6.

The impact of the foiled meet-up brought down a storm of mixed emotions that come with the very idea that - I am a mere mortal and that I can die anytime.

The once accepted fact of death was in actuality simply idealism. I am not ready, to be blunt about it.

Tonight, however, changed that. Tonight, many seemed to have decided, was the last night of their lives.

One danced industrial. Another kissed every single man who passed by. One decided to grow up and confessed his love for a friend. And one chose Sendong over Margiela.

These, among many others, got me wanting to do many things: dance with life, kiss a man I love, and make decisions.

Dating Joe Black ain't one of them. Yet.

(photo from tigerphilosophy.com)

Out!

2011-12-30T15:57:00.003+08:00

Today, I celebrate life outside Queen Elizabeth Hospital in the way
that only a diva can teach you how to.

By doing it herself.

So I am doing it myself (whatever that means).

Thank you, Universe.

Thank you, Queen Hippolyta.

Thank you, Diana Ross.

Food for the Hospitaled Soul

2011-12-27T20:37:00.001+08:00

You know you're well when 5 minutes after you have accepted the possibility of death you are wondering why a skintact looks like a tit, why all sick men in your ward look the same, or just how long the bandages have been stuck on your hospital door.

Ang Bakla sa Sepsis Tank (a holiday post)

2011-12-24T18:41:00.001+08:00

Opisyal na. Magdidiwang ako ng pasko sa piling ni QueenElizabeth at ng kanyang mga lalaki.

Pero hindi, hindi sa United Kingdom kung saan posiblengmakamariang-palad ko sana si Prince Henry pero dito, dito sa male ward ng QueenElizabeth Hospital, where men can be categorized into four: patients who aremostly old, almost at the sunset of their times (marami), nurse aids in pink orgreen hospital uniform, too twink for my taste (marami-rami, regular nabumibisita); doctors in their blue uniform and good hospital shoes, usuallyNikes, at pogi (panaka-naka, once every 2 days lang kung dumalaw, halos lessthan 5 minutess pa); at ang mga tall, lanky, pink-cheeked, quite-noticeablycute visitors in their Winter collection – Northface jackets, K2 pants,Fingercroxx boots & Fred Perry bags! (nandyan lang during visiting hours atginagawang rampway ang corridor ng Ward E).

Hindi ko naman sinasadyang magNora Aunor sa kanto ng Bowringat Temple Streets bago dumating ang ambulansya. Nakatawag na ako ng 999 paramagpa-admit. Sumasama na ang pakiramdam ko at hindi nakakatulong ang hitad namalamig na weather. Pero antagal ni manong ambulance driver. Naramdaman ko nalang ang eksenang binaril si Nora sa pelikulang Himala at nagkikisay-kisay naako sa kanto. Bilang isang private na person, wala naman akong pangarap magingcenter of attraction at pinandidirihan ko ang mga huling eksenang iyon bago akomapasigaw ng aking huling lucid moment – my phone, don’t forget my phone – atmawalan ng malay at magkikisay ulit.

My Toes, My Knees

Nafeel mo na ba yon? Yung gising ang diwa mo pero kiber angkatawan mo sa kung anumang command mong gumalaw sya o kumembot man lang. Deadma,deadma ever. Naalala ko tuloy si mamang child rapist na tinurukan ng blow fish toxin ni Gerard Butler sa pelikulang A Law-Abiding Citizen bago pinagLolorenaBobbit ang shutawan.

Malupit kung sa malupit ang mga doctors at nurses ng QueenElizabeth para buhayin ka sa iyong pagkakahimbing o pagka-unconscious. Matindingpisil sa neck muscle. Pagpitik ng malakas sa tenga. Pagtampal ng medyo maykalakasan sa feslak. Pagkurot sa daddy toe. Pressure points ang tawag ng mgabaklur kong friends. Sadismo ang tawag ko.

Nagkaron ako ng konting malay. Naibigay ang pangalan –Divina Francisca Garcia and where is my phone? – at nadala na sa naturang ward.

Alam kong hindi pa husto ang diwa ko nang mapagtanto kongdapat makabisado ko rin ang Dutch-British song na sabay-sabay inaawit ng mgathundercats sa kabuuan ng ward at 11 in the evening – my toes, my knees, myshoulders, my head…

Ang Bakla sa SepsisTank

Sepsis daw ang aking sakit. Blood poisoning.

Tinanong ako kung saan ako naglagi nitong mga huling linggo.Sagot naman akez – sa Chiangmai, sa Bangcock at sa Hang Kang po. Hindi ka namannagprobinsya, day? Wit, dakter. So wang possibility na mashagat ka ng lamezh?Waz, dakter. Pwes, pano mo nakuha yan? Ma, dakter. (You didn’t go to theprovince? No, doctor. So no possibility of being bitten by a mosquito? No,doctor. How the hell did you get that then? Malaysia, doctor.)

Parang rollercoaster ride ang aking fever for the past fewdays hanggang kaninang umaga ay maluwalhating naging stable ang akingcondition. Pero dahil intravenous daw ang antibiotics, kailangang manatili ako ditofor the next 5 days. Hindi rin ako pinayagang magleave para mag-emcee bukas sa PamaskongHandog ng UNIFIL, isang alyansa ng mga OFWs dito. Mas madali raw nila akongmapagaling kesa mapagbigyan ang aking request.

Ramdam ko nang magaling ako dahil tayo-upo ako sa kama, textdito text doon at nakapagcomment na ako sa lahat ng facebook statuses ng mga tunayat facebook-recognized friends ko.

Para mas maging makulay ang boring life dito sa aking bagongkingdom, inisip ko na lang na ako si Anne Boleyn na nais lasunin ang akingberdeng dugo dahil sa nais kong iligtas ang Ingglatera mula sa mga hayup namananakop mula sa Pransya. Kung mali ang historical facts dito, baguhin nyo sa Wikipedia.

Don we now our gayapparel

Walang Christmas trimmings ang ward. Actually, kahit angbuong ospital. Bare na bare. Dry na dry. Nakakalungkot.

Idagdag pa ang mga lipon ng The QEH Chaplaincy Limited nabumisita at umawit ng Christmas carols. Super flat na, kung bumirit pa eh tilangnagwawarn na last Christmas ko na ‘to sa earth. Buti na lang limited sila.

Naisip kong maglog-on sa planetromeo o GRINDR: Hi, I am Kiks,I am very patient and I am wearing checkered clothes. Wanna cum?

Epilogue

Sabi ng mga kaibigan at minamahal, mabuti na ring nasaospital ka at nakakapagpahinga. Napangiti ako at napabulong sa sarili, kunghindi lang sana sepsis ang diagnosis.

Mabuti na lang at kasama ko Si Amapola sa 65 Kabanata nanag-inspire sa aking magsulat ng tila napakahabang blogpost na ito.

At sa mga kaibigang nagdala ng aking ARVs at laptop, nagpasalubongng prutas at Xmas gifts, nagpahiram ng wifi gadget, at bumili ng ballpen atpapel, naging somewhat maaliwalas ang buhay dito sa ospital.

Hindi ako naniniwala sa isang sabi-sabi dahil tinatatpos kolang sya after the second word. Pero dito, I will make an exemption:

Enjoy it while it lasts.

Isang kilo!

2011-12-21T22:11:00.001+08:00

I was supposed to write something smart and existential today but I digressed.

Somehow I started dreaming about dried cuttlefish, hibe and tuyo. And Warorot Market came to mind. And him.

And yes, that's Liza Maza at the foreground. She got loads. I got his.

Chos. No, I didn't.

.

2011-12-19T09:27:00.000+08:00

Ang hirap maging masaya, magpakaligaya, magtatawa kapag ganitong mga balita ang naririnig, nakikita at nararanasan mo.

Tatahimik muna ako ng ilang pansumandali para sa kanila at kanilang mga naiwan.

If you can do anything to help them, please do. They deserve more than a Christmas present.

Mga Titi sa Simbahan

2011-12-16T12:43:00.000+08:00

Sa St. Peter's Basilica, maraming peter. Lalo na pag sikat na sikat ang araw.

Oh mai mai Chiangmai!!!

2011-12-12T19:33:00.001+08:00

I am now here at the more laid-back, Baguioesque side of Thailand relishing on what it has offered and yet to offer:

food

men

clothes

attitude

and this

a whole lot of this.

LECHON PAKSIW

2011-12-09T12:50:00.000+08:00

If only dreams were as simple as having to eat lechon paksiw, we could have had stars or freedom at the palms of our hands. Or right inside there already in our bellies.

But being a Filipino in a foreign land, it is hard sometimes for me to stomach the things that I see - pet dogs being fed lovingly and often lavishly as domestics are left overworked and hungry, cats being housed and kept warm as their caretakers made to sleep on top of cabinets, refrigerators or on tiled floors, pigs in consulates of labor-sending governments as their people are made fodder to piranhas and vultures.

Another one of those rants from me.

That's why sometimes, I do not intend to be political here.

The reality is too harsh to look at without branded shades.

And lechon paksiw is just too fattening.

Slutwalk

2011-12-07T09:38:00.001+08:00

Sluts walked the streets of Hong Kong saying "Na-ah, not your body to explore."

The Slutwalk campaign, which started in Canada April this year, has reached Hong Kong with its first walk last Sunday, December 4. Around 200 people turned up which was a good show of support for a campaign where women should not be treated lowly simply because of what they wear or do.

True, there is really no excuse to sexually harass, abuse or rape a woman. Regardless of what she wears, what she does, how she looks, no one has the right to do bad things to her. Or in our case, him.

Kathlin, a volunteer from the US

Angie, the Slutwalk organizer

Owen, a friend and no, he is not gay

NSA

2011-12-04T09:46:00.001+08:00

And he entered me with great precision.

I raised my buttocks just enough for his shaft to go through.

Large, smooth, long. Unusual for a Filipino but not unthinkable.

As he slid through, his palms glided on my back like melting butter on hotcake. He closed his eyes as he opened his mouth and touched mine.

We kissed passionately, this Filipino and I.

It has been half a century since I last bedded with a Filipino. To speak the language of love in a language I am most comfortable with, I am most emotionally at peace with.

There was no savagery in the next moments that will come. Everything was sweet, passionate, just right. No ecstasy or pill could have such an emotionally gratifying, physically transcending impact on what we had at that time.

We parted ways knowing only each other's names. He was going back to China and I to my home.

We left no trail - no eight-digit numbers, no emails, no long kiss goodbye.

As we connected, we parted. With great precision.

FOOD: Mantis Prawn

2011-12-02T18:05:00.001+08:00

One of the best things that Malaysia ever offered me is this - mantis prawn dish deep-fried in coconut flower water and topped with briskly-beaten egg cooked to hairy-crisp.

I forgot my name at some point and then looked at the guy looking at me with lust.

Or was it the mantis prawn I was eating he was lusting for?

--------------

It pays to have a friend loves to eat and drive you around town.

The Coconut Flower Restaurant, where this dish can be found, is somewhere in Port Klang. Far away but worth the gas.

On this red-ribboned day

2011-12-01T09:11:00.001+08:00

Yesterday was my period.

I went to the Kowloon Bay Integrated Treatment Clinic to have my blood taken for tests and a visit with my favorite doctor on earth.

I found out that my CD4 count is going up (646 from 412). My T-cells still below 74.

My cholesterol is a wee bit high but not as much as before. As for my sugar and triglycerides, they seem to have gone down.

I still have a record of 1 for syphilis while I am both negative for gonorrhea and chlamydia.

I went home with loads of Christmas presents - four-months supply of Kivexa and Kaletra - which will keep me filled until my next visit in March 2012.

I wish everyone is as lucky as I am. Or privileged to have such an access to relatively good health service.

Succor, an undocumented migrant worker in South Korea, died of complications brought about not by his being HIV+ but because he could not access public health services in Seoul.

My friend Freeda had to bear several months with lymphoma not because he is HIV+ but because the public health services in the Philippines have so little to provide. And every clinic or hospital is becoming privatized.

An acquaintance from Canada was refused at a blood-letting activity not because he was HIV+ (he was actually negative) but because he was gay.

HIV = Gay = Bad bad bad person

Today is World AIDS Day.

One should not only call to stop discrimination and stigma placed against people with HIV/AIDS and gay people. One should also call on their governments to raise state budget for public health services and public awareness on HIV, sex and health.

And such a government action is not socialist. It is just right.

Miserably longing for home

2011-11-27T13:12:00.001+08:00

The following article is about Succor, a Filipino migrant worker who was diagnosed HIV+ and died of complications in South Korea. Having been undocumented in Seoul for more than ten years, he chose to work and live in almost complete quiet for fear of being arrested, detained and deported back to the Philippines.

Being undocumented in South Korea is a criminal offense, albeit arguably. Becoming one deprives you of many social services that should be allocated or given to anyone who is in need, i.e. health service, counseling, legal advice, etc.

Abroad, there are many undocumented - migrant workers who, by virtue of the unfair and unjust working conditions they are subjected to, become undocumented.

This is one of their stories.

Miserably longing for home
Frank Hernando
November 24, 2011

An article for 6para

It is fascinating to be reminded thatyou are approaching a subway train interchange through traditional KoreanMusic. One familiar music is from a haegeum or the Korean two stringed fiddletaken like a phone ringtone from the 9^th part of Eol sshi ku ya, aclassical Korean piece played by Kim Baek-Chan. Every time I hear this music, it quickens myawareness of where I am physically at the present time and feel the comfort ofliving in a large metropolitan city. Seoul has become my home after living herefor seven years. But it occurred to me one day that when I heard this familiarsound, it awakened in me an uncomfortable feeling. It must be a sort of anxietygenerated by collective consciousness rooted in the miserable longing for home.Whenever I hear the music, someone who told me that he, by all means wanted togo home comes to mind.

His name is Succor, a Filipino migrantworker in South Korea who, like the few ones can be considered a gold medalistin overstaying in the country for more than ten years. In his mid-forties helooks young, happy and enjoying the comfort of a middle class life. He is muchloved by his friends both women and men because of his gregariousness anddeveloped his affinity with men belonging to the LGBT group. I got to know himfrom the Filipino community in one part of the city and as a pastoral counselorto migrant workers, I would not know what to expect from day to day or fromnight to night when most migrant workers are either in their workplaces or aresleeping. Most undocumented migrant workers work on night shifts and so theysleep during the day.

One evening, I received a call fromSuccor telling me that he is in the hospital and is accompanied by a friendnamed Placate, because he is feeling so sick and has some renal problems. Irushed to the hospital after work and saw the two guys sitting outside theemergency room with a paper bag and a backpack beside them. They told me theywere admitted yet because they have not enough money for admission deposit andthat nobody would serve as guarantor for this hospitalization. I didn’t haveenough cash too and a bank passbook was deposited to the hospital so thatSuccor can be admitted. He was eventually admitted and laboratory tests werescheduled for him. While waiting for the doctor’s diagnosis, he told me that hereally wanted to go home to the Philippines. Initial arrangements were made,but travelling to the Philippines would entail him enough energy to manage thefour-hour flight and doctor’s permission. Few days later, the diagnosis cameout. He has lymphoma and is HIV positive.

The doctor’s diagnosis came as a bigblow to the hopes of Succor, Placate, the pastoral counselors and close friendsfor a restored health and continued stay in the Korea or a happy reunion ofSuccor with family and friends in the Philippines. Hopes were high, but withthe seriousness of the illness, we entertain the possibility of death, whichSuccor and all his friends should accept as a reality. The attending physicianrecommended that Succor be transferred to a general hospital where he would getbetter medical treatment. We followed the recommendation and moved to thebigger hospital. Placate packed the bags for the transfer and we settled thehospital bills for a swift transition. The admission took too long in thebigger hospital and we have to wait for our turn, but the presence of Succor’sfriends who would crack jokes from time to time has helped time fly unnoticed.

The critical point in Succor’s life hascome after two days in the second hospital, he got high fever and bleedingprofusely and he could no longer rationally communicate. Phone calls were madeby Placate to family members in the Philippines informing them of thesituation. Prayers and expressions of support and assurances were said bypastors and friends, and Succor nodded and would experience calm for fewminutes and then restless hours would come again. The doctors panicked as ifthe hospital is catching fire every time the restless period comes, tryingevery way possible to save a fragile life. We sang hymns and read biblicalpassages from the Psalms to help assure Succor the nearness of God and preparehim for whatever may befall him in the coming hours. Some of the friends gavewords of encouragement like going for a good holiday in the Philippines, athanksgiving party for his recovery and many more. All of these were said totell Succor he is at home and he is with his family and there is nothing tofear.

The final hour has come for Succor. Thedoctor has removed all the things that entangled his hands and body. Gaspingfor the final breath and let go. It was a great loss for all the friends andtears roll down for the dearest friend. Placate couldn’t resist the tears butin solemnity bid goodbye to a departed friend. The pastoral counselors made asigh of relief for the peace that finally came after the fiercest struggleagainst the power of death. The fear and doubts that were once on Succor’s facewere no longer there, but his body has been bruised not by the disease hesuffered but by the needles and tubes that pierced into his skin. Now the painhas eased and gone. The life of one who has worked so hard to give a betterlife for his family is over. Succor will be finally home. He will no longer complainof discrimination in the adopted country nor the penniless days when he is outjob and most of all no more condemnation for what he chose to be.

Thefamiliar music from a haegeum still sounds in the subway train in Seoul,reminding me of the nights when we have to do pastoral care visits to Succor. Miserablylonging for home?

Kiks on Air

2011-11-24T11:27:00.001+08:00

At meron nang radio program ang mga OFWs. At bakla ang anchor. Ako.

Pero hindi ako ang star. Ang OFWs, of kerz!

Nilalandi ko lang ang mga issues para naman di masyado heavigat kapag lumanding sa mga dense-fez at hardened cheeks ng mga erring recruitment agencies, negligent authorities at anupavez.

At dahil digital radio ang moda, mas malinaw ang boses at walang hissing sound. Walang ahas sa paligid, TSE!

Recorded mostly ang episodes, kahit ang Sunday program. Kinakailangan dahil late night ang airing pag weeknights at medyo malayo ang studio. Pero eeffortin natin yan. Ang mag-LIVE. Lalo na sa Christmas! PAK!

All for the love of migrant workers. And their families. And their adult-age sons.

At dahil, yet again, digital radio ang moda, pwedeng mapakinggan sa internet. Kaya hindi lang dito sa Hong Kong, kungdi sa Pinas and all over the verld!

Medyo mahal pa kasi ang digital radio gadgets at nameeen, di pa afford ng mga domestics natin, anez? Hallur, ang presyo ng isa ay 200HKD, katumbas na ng isang sakong bigas. Or half of it.

Kaya naggi-give away tayo. Ng digital radio. Pero dito lang sa Hong Kong. (Gudlak na lang sa Fed-Ex!)

So yun na nga, walang(ka)hiyaang pagpa-plugging na ito. Kung me kamag-anak ka sa HK or anywhere sa mundo, makinig at pakinigin mo sila sa:

DBC 05 Radyo Migrante

(aired every Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, 11PM-12MN HK time)

DBC 05 Pinoy Tambayan

(aired every Sundays, 8PM-10PM HK time)

YUN NA!

Mama

2011-11-14T08:31:00.001+08:00

Call me mama.

Not the one at the kanto.

More like the one at the brothel.

Except I don't own a brothel. Nor I condone the world's oldest "profession".

I am now coming to terms with the many facts that:

One, I love pinoy gay boys, only but as children or younger siblings;

Two, I am the cross between the old g-eneration who likes straight men and the young g-eneration who like to think they are straight-looking and like their own; and

Three, I am not looking for anything fancy right now.

The beauty with aging is it makes you realize things endlessly - how your immaturity shocks and awes you; how the number of men you bedded, kissed and left are almost no different from the men who bedded, kissed and left you; and coming down to it, minus the emotional attachment and investment, sex is sex and there are equally greater things to sit down and talk about.

But not the thought of switching gender preferences.If the world were an oyster, most of us gays would have turned vegetarians.

Now, I fly to Kuala Lumpur.

Kiss Mama goodbye.

Being Hong Kong

2011-11-09T10:13:00.002+08:00

McDull (the one in bronze)

Last night I declared myself a Hong Kong person.

As an exchange meet between (South) Korean and Hong Kong students was being wrapped up, someone from the Korean camp said they felt a bit sad that Hong Kong people still do not have an identity to speak of in the midst of a fastly-developing capitalist society.

I let the 26-year old boy speak. I was not there to correct him about his views on capitalism. In my head, Occupy Wall Street protesters are shouting death to a rapidly self-destructive and murderous capitalist lot. However, I made one point.

Hong Kong is a new society.

Only almost 15 years of having been handed over to China after a hundred years of British colonization, the Hong Kong people continue to shape their own identity.

Hong Kong, as an infrastructure, already created a niche as the world's international financial hub. Its people, however, are left behind. While divorce and sexual liberalism are a no-brainer, talks about homosexuality in an "ordinary family" is unheard of. Foreign domestics are widely considered as outsiders while the anglo-saxons are deemed the higher beings. Value is placed on anything monetary while anything social or societal should be kept within the four corners of a Korean telenovela.

I once regarded Hong Kong as a photocopying machine. No originality. They lacked the creative juices to create something unique and some lazy poops would simply resort to copying verbatim from graphic magazines. Pathetic.

I would have blamed them but I never blame people.

Somehow, it is pitiful that a people as warm would be turned into cold-blooded cash-hungry cash cows by a dollar-eyed system. Pampered and made to think that convenience is more worth-worrying about than democracy, equality and justice.

Not anymore.

I have heard them talking. I have seen them marching. I have walked with them. A whole lot of them.

Food Orgasms 2: Bali Food

2011-11-01T18:06:00.001+08:00

Now that I have grieved the death of a possible career in mistressism, I am now turning to food.

ayam betutu

kepiting (crab)

mie bakso (Kuta beach branch)

mie bakso (Sanur beach branch)

sate ayam

Not that I am stress-eating. I am just relishing the taste of immediate past.

*Not in the picture - babi guling

At One Moment

2011-10-31T11:50:00.000+08:00

When I saw you look away, I knew it had to end.

When I heard your moans drifting away, I knew I had to stop.

To stop dreaming about you. About us.

When I felt your body getting cold and dry despite the attempts to make me feel unalone, I felt lonelier all the more.

I had to bid goodbye. Without having to say it.

The first day of my new year starts without you.

The Last Bite of Oscar

2011-10-29T19:17:00.000+08:00

Oscar came today but he didn't come.

But I did.

All I wanted was just to blow his candle and leave.

Besides it is my birthday.

And he left me something to nibble on.

Swollen

2011-10-27T18:30:00.000+08:00

I just wanted to get laid.

It has been days.

As I am without ring, commitment or anything, I went to my usual.

He smiled as soon as I got in. I did not take bother and showered.

He followed me, caressed my chest and introduced himself.

Chris.

We started kissing.

In the middle of it, he sighed.

A few minutes after, it was my turn.

Breaking ourselves from a long lock, we both acknowledged that it was the best and most passionate we both had.

We promised to see each other again, even if it were only for that - kissing.

He has a boyfriend. I have Oscar on Saturdays.

With a very-red, swollen lower lip, I gave my number.

He kissed me back.

Did I just get laid?

Being Mother Teresa

2011-10-19T23:43:00.001+08:00

I have been had. By a money boy.

He came to my hotel room, smug and fit. Hitam-manis or beautifully dark. Like Royce's or Cadbury's 65%.

Well, he told me he needed reimbursing for the taxi fare that he spent.

100,000 Indonesian rupiahs.

Okay, that is only 100 HK Dollars. But it is still money. My money.

I took out a hundred from my pit-bag (the bag you clip with your armpits when you walk inside a posh mall) and put it on the bed. I asked him to leave.

He said he was horny and he also wanted to pleasure me.

My libog instantaneously killed by talks of money was not even remotely resuscitated by the simple sight or taste of his big Balinese cock.

Just when he was nearing climax, I stopped, faced my laptop and asked him to leave.

He came. He said sorry. And he left.

---------------------------

I told a friend everything.

He asked why I still gave the money. I could have just lied and told him I am penniless.

I told him that somehow I felt sorry for the man and gave the money. Even without the sexual favors. And that it would be the last of it.

Heart of gold? he retorted back.

Yes, a la Mother Teresa.

Dahling, MT's white garb is as white as heaven. Yours has cum stains.

Dialectics of Dilemma

2011-10-15T17:23:00.001+08:00

Down with capitalist greed! Fuck imperialism!

To occupy or be occupied.

That was the question.

After two mass actions, one at the American consulate (in front of the St. John's Building and near the Peak Tram) and the other at the Exchange Square (near the phallic IFC2), I was torn - whether to go see Oscar or not.

It would be the most extreme of actions - one an act of indignation, the other of submission. While both are passions of mine, politics and sex, I choose not to have them intermingled. Or confused. At the same time. Or right after the other.

It would be the height of bipolarity, so to speak.

At the end, I decided not to be occupied. I was too preoccupied with a lot more important things.

Owen was one of them things.

Photo taken from here.

Kara-plant-an

2011-10-12T14:15:00.000+08:00

I saw this on facebook. And I agree.

I am even throwing in a few "asexual" friends of mine.

Nga naman, hayup lang ba ang may karapatan?

Bali butts

2011-10-08T10:20:00.003+08:00

Sneaking into the toilet of my host here in Sesetan, I planned to make the most silent bomb attack.

Thing is, my butt was just not as cooperative.

And that is when I realize we are like our butts.

We are tactless sometimes. We talk shit. Often, we're full of shit.

Some of us talk like the loudest farts. A few others (I hope they die early) whisper the foulest.

And yes, only cocks can shut us up. Or, okay, pacify.

Cruising Hong Kong

2011-09-24T23:34:00.001+08:00

A facebook friend asked me: Where are the most happening in Hong Kong?

You mean, gay bars and discos?

No, cruising areas.

Anywhere.

Where anywhere?

Anywhere.

In bold, irritated letters, he replied back: SAAN NGA?

Kowloon Park (Tsim Sha Tsui area). Alexandra House and Prince's Building and IFC2 toilets (Central). Times Square - both inside and out (Causeway Bay). Lan Kwai Fong (Central, day or night). Langham Place (Mongkok). And Mongkok. Star Ferry (whether at the port or on the boat). Any McDonald's branch. Sa daan (on the street). Sa MTR (any station, any train). Kahit nga sa rally (even in rallies).

Basta kahit saan may lalaking titingin sa yo ng malagkit, ngingiti at... Yun na.. and that is literally... Anywhere.

Now, let's play it...

Quitting Oscar

2011-09-19T18:56:00.000+08:00

I left the bathhouse quiet and feeling my lower lip still fresh from a fight.

My eyes, having adjusted finally to my rimless glasses, looked straight ahead although nothing registered on my head.

I was walking aimlessly towards Nathan Road and somehow my feet brought me to Miramall where I was welcomed by the familiar stockroom smell of Muji.

I smiled wryly.

Today, I met Oscar. I pursued him as soon as I knew he was in.

Locker no. 1 was occupied. The smell of his cigarette still lingered in the toilet cubicle. And he was there, back facing me, at the showers.

My cold sores took time to heal and we did not see each other for two weeks.

Our lips were the first ones to excitedly touch, not parting, as if centuries separated. Everything else, like the caresses, was condiments, almost negligible.

Feeling, enjoying what seemed to be the longest, most sensual kiss with Oscar, I opened my eyes to look at him.

As his tongue was there for mine to engage with, his eyes were not.

He was looking away. Somewhere. As if nothing happening that time was registering on his head.

And possibly, on his heart.

I lifted my upper lip up before I faced and kissed Oscar goodbye.

Klearxos

2011-09-09T14:21:00.002+08:00

Muntik ko nang makalimutan ang pangalan nya. Buti na lang, facebook friends kami.

Kapatid nya ang may-ari ng hostel na tinuluyan namin sa Athens noong 2009. Sya ang nakatoka sa midnight shift.

Katulad ng ibang mga Griyego, mabalahibo sya at may angking kashubisan.

At kapag ganitong isang linggo na at wala akong maisulat kahit andaming kaganapan sa mundo, bumabaling na lang ako sa aking pogi folder at nagpo-post ng mga tulad nya.

Ginataan

2011-09-05T17:17:00.003+08:00

Kung ikaw ay isang lutong pagkain,
ikaw ay ginataang sitaw at kalabasa para sa akin.

Ang lambot ng iyong mga labi parang kalabasa

Ang iyong mga daliri parang sitaw - luto'y tamang-tama

Ang iyong lasa inalamangang kakang-gata

Nakakapangiliti sa puwit - siling hinahanap ng dila.

Ikaw ang sarap na aking babalik-balikan.

Hanggang Sabado ulit? Paghahandaan ko yan.

Food Orgasms: Bulgogi

2011-08-27T21:21:00.000+08:00

Korea.

Where every ride is an experience

(even that Turkish man offering you ice cream)

Where men matter, regardless of race

Where Jang Geum's well still brings you tears

Bulgogi

Yet in the land of Jang Geum and Jumong one will never forget this scrumptuous delight called bulgogi - beef grilled into perfection, dipped in a special type of sesame oil with unknown herbs and sugars, wrapped with a bit of lettuce kimchi and steamed sticky rice in probably the most aromatic Korean perilla leaf - that becomes the ultimate source of one's orgasmic happiness.

And everything becomes a blur, including last night's best corporeal encounter ever. For all that matters is that - bulgogi in your mouth.

Dicky

2011-08-22T18:53:00.000+08:00

Isa sya sa mga personal trainers ng Pure Fitness.

Hindi ko alam ang Chinese name nya pero Dicky ang tawag sa kanya.

Nakita ko na rin ang dicky nya. Sa shower room. Hihihi.

Dahil paminsan-minsan, masarap magpost ng picture ng pogi sa blog.

HK EAT: Char Sui at HK$19

2011-08-19T15:50:00.010+08:00

Char Siu Fan (Barbecue Pork Rice)

Not everything about Hong Kong is good, this being one of them. But I digress.

CHAR SIU (pronounced cha-siw), or barbecued pork, is the ultimate in Hong Kong deliciousness.

Sold in hole-in-the-wall restaurants found everywhere in the territory and sold at a price so reasonable, this Cantonese delicacy is a must for every living person visiting Asia's international financial hub. Marinated in honey or maltose, different types of sauces (light soy, dark soy, Hoisin) and sesame oil, this piece of meat is packed with almost tosino-like goodness.

Its version can also come in the form of char siu pao, a very close relative of our siopao asado. And do try, these paos are best served with chili paste. Ngayon, naiintindihan ko na kung bakit chili paste ang binibigay with the siopao instead of that sweet sauce (which is the original companion of Peking Duck, another whooah! Hong Kong yumminess.) Tatambling ka sa sarap!

At only 4.50HKD apiece!

(composing myself after making that tumbling comment)

The best char siu shop is that workman's lunch spot at Shanghai Street, close to Jordan Road. Their char siu is cooked to perfection although their siu yok (HK's lechon) with garlic sauce and roasted duck with plum sauce are just as spectacular. I once brought Kane (of the kanesulfur blog fame) and his friends there when they visited us beckies two years ago. Another blogger-friend by the name of E chose to eat at McDonald's instead and miserably lost the opportunity to plunge in such a mind-blowing experience called char siu.

One does not need to know Cantonese to order. All you need to do is point. Or ask for an English menu. if you're in a restaurant. (when asking for an English menu, say: yingman menu-ah, m'goi.)

There is so much to see, and eat, here in Hong Kong - THIS, being one of them.

P.S. Forget about gaining weight with HK food like char siu. You can always lose them when you go back home.

OVERHEARD: Si Manang sa Jollibee Hong Kong

2011-08-14T20:46:00.003+08:00

Si Jollibee at si Lola (courtesy of Flickr)

Minsang bumisita sa Jollibee Central (ang nag-iisa na lamang na branch nito sa Hong Kong) upang kumain si Valeria, isang bilugang kaibigan, bibo kahit may idad, at may-asawa na ulit.

Sa kanyang pagpasok, kanyang namataan ang isang matanda. Dali-dali nya itong nilapitan at niyakap ng pagkahigpit-higpit.

Manaaaaaaaaaaang!

Tumingin si Manang sa kanya.

Matagal na tayong di nagkikita. Kumusta ka na? tanong ni Valeria.
Okey naman, malumanay na tugon ni Manang.

Parang isang matagal nang kakilala, pinisil ni Valeria ang braso ni Manang habang papalapit sila sa counter.

Saan nga pala tayo huling nagkita?
Dito.

Nangiti si Valeria. Hindi pa rin sya nagbabago, naisip nya sa matanda.

Eh saan ka na nagtatrabaho?
Dito.

Natigilan si Valeria.

Umalis ang matanda at nagsimulang mag-imis ng mga mesang may napagkanang chickenjoy at jolly hotdog.

Trabahante si Manang ng Jollibee.

(Manang's picture to follow. Valeria. due to kahihiyan, did not allow me to post her picture. Valeria is not her real name.)

STATUS CHECK: Borderline-Happy

2011-08-10T14:40:00.007+08:00

Me as Fig Newton

Everything about me right now is clinical. Or is that the right word?

Eyes

They say that the eyes are the windows of one's soul. Unfortunately, for mine, they need Plexiglas.

Last week has been hell-like with me enduring dizzy spells and headache bouts 3PM every single working day. I was literally devoid of human capacity to produce concrete output of spectacular significance simply because I was almost immobilized.

I dreaded the idea but I had to concede to a suggestion to see an ophthalmologist. I saw an optometrist instead. Sadly, he gave my eyes a bad reading and consequently gave me a wrong pair of lens. I had to see another optometrist who corrected the glasses and gave me this reading.

For distance
Right: -0.5, 95
Left: -1.0, 105

For reading
Right: +1.0, -0.5, 95
Left: +1.0, -1.0, 105

Price of two pairs: 930HKD

Yesterevening I got my glasses and now, finally, I can even see in the dark.

Kaletra, a most reliable friend

HIV

Today I braved the Hong Kong crowd and the grey weather with new glasses on. It is my check-up day and I had to look, feel and smell good. I had shaved my head days before and I made sure that my pimples have been massaged to sleep. The Integrated Treatment Clinic will surely be packed with hot, tanned and HIV+ men that I had to blend perfectly in.

Nurse Pang had told me everything I needed (and wanted) to hear:

CD4 count is 411 (from last quarter's 627) - obviously lower albeit immaterial, said my nurse, since my CD4 percentage is higher than the last. I don't know what this meant except that she told me it is good.

Viral load is under 75 which means below detectable level. Another good thing.

I am borderline with everything else. My HDL (good cholesterol) needs to be boosted up while my LDL (bad cholesterol) is borderline-high. I was also borderline-high in some tests but I have forgotten what they are.

I got my three-months supply of Kivexa and Kaletra and an additional Sebizole shampoo for my crowning glory.

Price for everything: 90HKD
60HKD for quarterly check-up
10HKD for Kivexa
10HKD for Kaletra
10HKD for Sebizole

Wallet

Of course, I had to celebrate.

UNIQLO was still closed when I passed by it and so I decided to check Piago, a two-floor supermarket located in Telford Plaza. The supermarket was obviously Japanese as they were the only one selling Calpis side by side all his sisters and brothers, not to mention the spate of foodstalls right beside the cashier - Mos burger, an okonomiyaki corner, Hokkaido ice cream shop and Mazazu crepes.

And since I am a certified Nippon lover, I was deeply enthralled. In the end, I chose and I bought.

Asparagus at sale price - check!
Figs at sale price - check!
Limes at sale price - check!
Salmon at sale price (10HKD) - supercheck!!!

And then the inevitable came, a Gakken Mook Vol. 5 with a Gakkenflex TLR Camera DIY Kitset.

The Gakken Mook with a Do-It-Yourself Gakkenflex TLR

Despite being borderline-poor, I just had to buy it.

Note: Second picture was taken from the HK Association of Pharmaceutical Industry. Two others are Kiks' own.

Eating junk

2011-08-09T18:12:00.001+08:00

The stock market crashed and the global economy is going for a double-dip.

It reminded me so much of today's lunch:

Eighteen pieces of McDonald's chicken nuggets
dipped in four types of sauces

Two stacks of deep-fried and salted McDonald's French Fries

McDonald's paper mat with nutritional information at the back

The stocks are like fast food meals one gets in a McDonald's restaurant. Looks tasty but is not really good. Everything nice said about it is imagined. Or simply, just said.

-----------

Most of what capitalism feeds us is junk and somehow we enjoy.

They too have been honest enough to tell us the truth.

We just have to know where to look for it though.

HK RENT: Lucky Me

2011-08-05T13:48:00.002+08:00

Matter is anything that occupies space and has mass.

Applied to Hong Kong, this territory has the scarcest of space and thus demands a large mass of rental cash for just a square foot. Thence, where one stays for a short visit matters greatly, especially if you're on a tight budget.

The best of course is always to (be allowed to) crash in at someone else's flat, possibly a friend, real or not. This cuts one's expense by half, allowing you to waste it on shopping, food or bar visits. Backpackers' loges do exist here and are quite cheap but you have to be as big as the 2010 Tooth Fairy or Stone Cold or Peter Fever for security reasons. Unless gusto mong ma-Chungking.

Chungking Mansion is a good place to go for an Indian meal or currency exchange - but not to sleep at night. Not because they have South Asians or Africans or Arabs. (They are the finest people I know, please.) Not because the facade looks filthy, dingy and crawling with cockroaches. (Almost every inn-building facade along Nathan Road looks that way.) Not because you won't see Tony Leung or Takeshi Kaneshiro or Faye Wong. (You can see them at Wong Kar Wai's Chungking Express. In DVD.)

But simply because it is not a place for the faint of heart. So many stories, so little space.

I have had women friends who booked a room there or at Mirador Mansions and I immediately rerouted them to Lucky, that building in the corner of Nathan and Jordan. At least, one can be assured of cleaner bed sheets, a 24-hour security and a steady supply of Chinese and Thai male masseurs (available at Planetromeo.com)

Consider this: Chungking Mansion's cheapest would be at 50HKD a room (single). The sole advantage of it is that it is in the heart of Tsim Sha Tsui, HK's shopping district (second to Mongkok, of yes.) Amenities are scarce, you share the the toilet and bath with other unknowns and you share the bed with, sadly, your own luggage. The room is too small that all you have is the space you're standing on between the door and the bed.

Well, they may have many possibilities of a good lay but I doubt the integrity of these lays. Baka magising ka na lang na wala kang puri, pera at passport.

Cheaper rooms are available, too. In the New Territories. Or Tsuen Wan (where Panda Hotel is). I say good luck to that!

p.s. No, I don't own stocks in Lucky. For as long as I can remember, most of our friends who have visited HK have been booked there. And it is so close to Jordan MTR. And so close to Temple Street. And so close to sushi-for-the-poor Ichiban. So close, I live almost near it.

HK EAT: Let's talk Pizza

2011-08-03T10:04:00.000+08:00

As I have become virtually a travel agent and adviser to my friends, both baklur and bilat, as well as an inn keeper/reservist (taga-book at reserve), shopping companion and consultant, I might as well make use of what little knowledge I have about Hong Kong and make good use of this blog.

Honestly, there is so much more to see in this minutiae of a territory than those things one learns from his travel book. It does pay to know someone here (or anywhere one would intend to go) to give you advice in which areas in those commonly-visited places to go to and how to get there. A big extra if s/he offers company although you can always decline (unless you find him so irresistible that you decide to explore him instead, well at least for the next 3 hours.)

So with that, I am introducing Paisano's, a pizzeria in the heart of Hong Kong. Why pizza? Why not?

The pizza is so huge and so good that it will be enough to sate your fix. Priced at 40HKD a slice, larger than any pizza slice I know, Paisano's offers a wide variety of pizza from their very own Paisano's pizza to The Godfather and Cheese. The pizza can be selfishly, ravenously devoured or shared with an equally hungry yet clipped-stomach friend.

Other Italian favorites like calzone and lasagna are likewise available.

I heard about it from some hungry Filipino friends who decided to take something different aside from their usual although not-usual-to-me-dahil-masarap-but-will-tell-you-all-about-it-in-succeeding-posts Sunday meals. I first saw it in Sai Kung which I think was their first branch. I had my first order and bite at Central, on our way to Volume, a gay bar which will be relocated near Zoo, another gay bar.

To know more about Paisano's, google. I do not intend to state any further. They have their own website.

Nomi

2011-08-01T13:54:00.004+08:00

Para akong hinayskul crush sa kanya.

First time kong masilayan sa University Hotel ng UP Diliman at kinilig na ang aking inner bakla self.

Borta (big). Makinis (smooth). Masarap ngumiti (smiles).

His name is Nomi, a Filipino-American representing a Filipino migrant organization to a conference that we were organizing in Manila.

Aktibista rin si Nomi. Like me. When we got to talking one time, nang hindi ko sinasadya at sadyang pinag-adya lang ng panahon (kahit walang materialistic basis), nalaman ko ang kanyang past and present. I was not really particularly enthralled in political sharings until him. He was passionate about his work with fellow migrants, the Filipino youth, the domestic workers in the Bay. He was so passionate I could almost taste it.

His passion he translates into rap - one of which I am posting here from youtube. Sa aking pakikinig sa kanyang rap, I got to thinking about my blogging and what I write here. So much is happening with the world that one just has to take enough courage to take a step beyond the inch of his nose, kahit gaano pa kahirap.

So is there future between you and Nomi? I was self-asking.

Para mo na ring tinanong kung buhay pa ba ako sa panahon ng susyalismo. One thing I am sure of right now is, he inspires. (giggles)

This Blog Is Under Construction

2011-07-30T09:37:00.000+08:00

While I attend to the needs of Hong Kong society (the migrant workers first and foremost), read this.

Otherwise, hire construction workers.

Symphony of Lights

2011-07-27T19:39:00.000+08:00

Masarap tumambay sa Tsim Sha Tsui.

Kapag naghahapon na.

Kapag malapit na ang alas otso.

At magsisimula na ang Symphony of Lights.

Kasi masi-symphony ka.

By the likes of him.

Weng-Weng

2011-07-26T17:05:00.000+08:00

A president in his speech yesterday proudly mentioned that it was his no "wang-wang" policy that helped alleviate poverty in the country.

I wonder how that and several other points he raised (in between coughs, stammers and other distractions) could have in fact helped the Filipino people ailing from abject poverty.

Prices continue to rise.
Filipinos continue to find jobs abroad.
Human rights violations continue to happen.
Corruption continues.

Today, the Philippine stocks weakened.

Mean Tongues (One of not-so-many Fazha series)

2011-07-20T23:30:00.004+08:00

Tatay had his way with words. Case in point: my story of phallic proportions.

But so do we.

-----

When we knew that Tatay had children from another woman, some of us got hurt really bad. One did not have a nervous breakdown but our half-siblings would have if they heard what he had to say about this violation of first family rights, if such exist.

Cut to the chase, we somehow got settled with everything. Nanay might have known it all along and kept the issue to the two of them. She died happily many years back and so we thought, if Nanay was okay with it, forgave our father and went on with her life to the next, maybe we should too (except the last one, of course).

One time at dinner, we were having our usual conversations. It was a good evening with soft December breeze coming through the window panels and seeming to enjoy the menudo with us. The exchange of banters was as usual mean but caused laughter in the dinner table.

And then, my Diche, the eldest of all men and the first gay in the family, out of the blue spilled:

Tay, kailangan mo nang ipakilala sa amin ang mga kapatid namin sa labas.

Tatay looked at him and smiled. We were heart-warmed by the comment, feeling it was a concern straight from his heart, this brother, the one whose words would have caused my half-siblings' nervous breakdown.

And he went on:

Baka tsinutsupa ko na'y kapatid ko na pala!

Tatay this time stopped. We too stopped. For a moment there, time stood still and earth just stopped. Even the winds seemed to have kept their breath and did not dare move.

(Of course there is no such thing as rationalizing in my blog so I will just move on...)

After what seemed to be the longest three seconds of our lives, Tatay eventually broke into a smile. And we laughed. As loud as we can.

We don't have jilters or two-timers in our family. Just bitches. ;-)

Fazha is what we call our Tatay in the last years of his life.

To My One Man

2011-07-18T08:38:00.001+08:00

Tatay in D&G leopard-prints

Tatay would not have wanted it any other way.

Rufino, my Tatay, my father, died at the age of 83. He succumbed to an illness associated with smoking albeit I believe, and he would too, that they are completely unrelated.

What my sister thought was a simple prayer book that Tatay was reading in his hospital bed was in fact a novena on having a happy death. Although a feeling of cheat should have been there, we did not allow it as we somehow knew that he couldn’t wait to go. He was expecting it and I am pretty sure he was expecting us to expect it too.

Tatay died in his favorite sofa at home. He died a few hours after he was discharged from the hospital. I just got back at my friend’s house when I learned about the news. I instantly went on Skype and chatted with my brothers and sister everywhere – Ate (sister) and my two brothers were with Tatay in Canada, my two other brothers living in different parts of Manila (one was in Valenzuela, another in Pasig, me in Quezon City).

Three computers were turned on so we in the Philippines would be able to see our beloved Tatay. It was almost like e-burol or an online wake. There he was, Tatay, in front of us, almost an arm’s reach, framed in glass, yet was physically not there. Surreal was a word that came to mind although grief was too powerful a feeling to entertain such vocabulary at that time.

There were laughter and crying in the next two hours of that Skyping. Our family is a mean, happy bunch and sorrow is not something we usually welcome at meal time. Just a preview of how it is like to live with my crew – Tatay and Nanay, both very good cooks, would always pick on each other’s dishes during Saturday lunch. Either one’s tinola was too oily or the other’s noodles were soggy or tasteless. No swears are thrown into the dinner table, just mean streaks and sly banters that sharpened our tongues, and our appetites. Amidst all that, every serving plate would be wiped clean and all of us six children would be filled and brimming.

I would have flown to Canada but Tatay reminded us to spend our money or more worthy things. He would soon be dead and there was no use looking at a lifeless body. Besides, he wanted it swift – no viewing, no wakes, an immediate cremation to ensue after he breathes his last and, most importantly, to be with our Nanay, our mother, at the ossuary back in the Philippines.

We are never good at grief but Tatay did know how to make one cry. He is such an upstager.

I phoned the hospital where he was and we talked. Instantly, I was jovial, excitedly talking about my days with Kuya Ronald and his family, how I would have a new permanent bridge, and how I was excited to see Kuya Rommel in Pasig and how I would be Sharon Cuneta or a feistier Flordeluna when confronted by our evil aunt, and everything beautiful, nasty and yes, happy. I asked him about Amaya and other television soaps he loved to watch and how he should recover soon.

He responded with slurs. Slurs that my sister translated in between what seemed to be her suppressed sobs. Slurs that were to be Tatay's last words to me.

Upon hearing them, the chest that I have been trying to hold like Samson had caved in. My heart felt like being gripped hard and strong with a big man’s hand. Either my windpipe was blocked or I forgot at one moment to breathe. My body trembled and my hands shook. Tears were now welling up my eyes and the breaks in my voice were simply too difficult to gulp down. I pushed myself to reply back:

I love you too, Tatay. I love you very, very much. No missing here. Magkikita pa rin ulit tayo, diba? (We will still see each other soon, right?)

My Tatay died on June 26, a day before the 20^th death anniversary of my Nanay. They are together now.

Reasons to Stay

2011-06-13T23:46:00.002+08:00

Everything I said about Manila I take back:

that every movement costs you a dollar but hopefully not a life.

that every second is like an effed-up taxi meter, and

that the only place safe to go is out of it.

While there is every reason to leave this "God-forsaken" place, much to my pleasant surprise, there are indeed reasons to always go back:

Filipino-style spaghetti cooked in UFC banana ketchup, Reno liver spread, Eden filled cheese and TJ hotdogs

Heinz shirt

Rowan

Me and Rowan

The men of my kind I have not mentioned. Maybe that will tilt the balance.

Finally

2011-06-10T15:37:00.000+08:00

Nung makita ko 'to, alam kong nasa Maynila na ako.

Kung pwede nga lamang yaong mga keke ni Miss Chuniverse ang makikita ko, walang pagtatangi kong sasabihing:

Hindi. Na. Ako. A. Alis.

Have my Birdy

2011-06-04T23:08:00.000+08:00

Facebook-statusing my sleepiness at work one time, my Bangcock boys flooded me with comments, all saying:

Have my Birdy.

Robust. Smooth. Rich. Extra black. Strong.

I knew they were talking about this:

I wish they were talking about this. Or this. Or this.

Funeral Talk: Man Sandwich

2011-06-01T08:56:00.000+08:00

A funeral can never be that boring...

Cambodia Queen: Hi Kiky. how are you. My uncle died. The funeral is coming to an end. My cousins’ friends are here. Fine looking men. I'm at a funeral listing after them. I can't help it. Fantasies of being in the middle of a man-sandwich.

Moi: You should get a man sandwich!

CQ: Others are in mourning at the funeral and I'm busy moaning in ecstasy last night with the local police man from this area. He was at the funeral.

M: And did he sandwich you?

CQ: And god yes he did. God, it was wonderful!

M: Spare me nothing but the sweat. LOL

CQ: My uncle was a police man., so during the funeral a lot of police have been around. He (the policeman) and I got talking. We both knew that there was something we had in common. We spoke late into the night. He invited me to his home for dinner. So I thought my uncle is dead life goes on and so I left the family and went with him. My family didn't notice me gone!

Moi laughs.

CQ: We had dinner at his home. We got talking and I told him I am gay and told him he is a very attractive man. Then he kissed me. And my body went into

Moi jaw drops.

CQ: Heat Mode. God I needed him. And I pushed my tounge into his mouth. My hands started to explore his body and before you knew it I was down on my knees preparing my mouth for his love muscle. He had me on his bed fucking me for hours on end. God, I needed his manliness.

Moi laughs.

CQ: God I feel fucking great. I'm in total lust. I need him to arrest me and hand cuff me and make me his love slave. (sings Diana Ross) If there’s a cure for this, I don’t want it. He is here at the funeral in uniform looking all authoritarian and I'm in total fucken lust at my uncles funeral.

M: Haha, you should do it again.

CQ: I'm definitely going to follow this one up. Hot police kak. In every hole I have. I want to be his prisoner of love.

Oh and did I mention, Cambodia Queen is from the blessed minority. And this time, he truly was blessed.

On Love, Activism and What One Should Not Buy in Muji

2011-05-30T09:44:00.001+08:00

At the corner of Nathan and Kimberly Roads stands Miramall. There resides a family of urban chic shops that one could, but not necessarily would, die for. One of those shops is one of my happy places in Hong Kong - MUJI.

Not a week passes without me coming over to visit this 30-year old Japanese store, smell the roughness of Indian cotton and real fabric, feel cow leather and hard plastic with my calloused fingers, dream of the much-coveted Muji book that is now priced at HK$550, and wish everything were mine.

I wish it were that simple.

Nothing in Hong Kong is ever free. Freedom stops at the moment you step out of its airport's arrival hall. You pay for food, for transportation, for a place to crash, for literally anything. Even for sex - one has to either enter a sauna, buy an iPhone to get that Grindr app, or install an internet connection before hooking up with someone online. A friend gets his at Kowloon Park - but then, he had to buy his own set of running gear. Or Arena swimsuit (white please) and tanning lotion.

Friend and famed drag queen Tiara, twin sister of La Chiquitta, chose not to fall in love while she was here. She reasoned that she won't be here that long and with that couldn't afford a broken heart.

Tiara Ferrari

True, Hong Kong is a transient area. People come, people go. They don't stay long. Neither do most love relationships, sadly. Long distance ones are high-maintenance - for the heart and for the pocket. Everyday you are apart it feels like walking in limbo, you don't know where he is, what he is thinking, or if he is doing someone you know. And hoping that you won't fall for his bestfriend who is drinking muscato with you right now.

Open relationships, on the other hand, do not even come close to the definition of a relationship. What else do not fall? Fuck buddies. Friends with benefits. No strings attached bedmates. One night stand groupies. Orgy mates. Friends.

Not that I am jaded. I'm not. I would like to fall in love. But not yet. My intimacy packet is still full from my 2010 experience and its battery life possibly outlasting even Energizer bunny.

So where is the activism in all this?

I am an activist and finding someone to be physically and intellectually and forward-lookingly intimate with in Hong Kong is like finding a caped crusader in a world of mortals. Yes, sex comes easy and love is possible. But zeroing in on that right one who may not wear his briefs over his pants but has the same passion as you do and would go to the edge of the earth with you is impossible. Okay, to be more scientifically sound, has a very low probability rate. Finding him and keeping him is altogether an entirely different issue.

To prove this point, a Hongkee friend who works in an environment-focused NGO ispluked to me that he just wanted a friend he can be huggy-buggy with, chit-chat with, occasionally have sex with. No politics involved. Just plain lovey-dovey all the way to moon.

I wish I am Elphaba and can defy gravity.

Elphaba

Oh, the drama in the search for Adam. Or the frog prince. Or your own Leandro Okabe. Even gay activists have the blues and no amount of Oscars, Wallaces, Terrys and other nameless non-relationships can redden it. Wishing he were sold in Muji? Far-fetched.

Besides, who would fall for someone who is called Mamma in public?

Ah yes, Marvin did.

Ni-Chome Talks: Bless us

2011-05-22T09:38:00.002+08:00

Humada ang mga bakla sa araw ni Buddha.

Three little beckies entered Ni-Chome with shades on and objectives differing according to their brands.

Mr. Pleaser would not waste time. Like his Ray-bans, he aimed to be a top sell and would cater to anyone, nigh, everyone wanting to try him on. Mr. Mini-With-A-Big-Top would be like his Topman shades and just top one man. He was already getting there with his panda-looking pilot from Bremen (but not quite there yet, he retorted.) For Kiks, he was wearing his H&M and decided to go S&M.

Of course, I am kidding!

Now, do they sound like big Beyonce sluts from Manille taking over Ni-Chome and the world? No, they don't. They are!

But somehow, Buddha did not want them to have it their own way. With his Alain Miklis on, he waved his hands, wiggled his tummy and shook his booty to effect his birthday wish on these three beckie-hos.

Fifty minutes passed yet nothing had happened. There in the strobe-lit common room sat three little ngurls chit-chatting their frustrations away and were focusing instead on how funny they all looked seated beside each other with nothing but their palms cupped on their privates.

Clock struck six and something happened. A flurry of men were now entering this little piece of lust heaven like demi-gods carrying swords honed and crafted by Hephaestus. And a battle ensued.

Several hours after, when the dust has finally settled, they recouped on Skype.

Mr. Pleaser: I only had one... but was he the ONE!

Mr. Pleaser and his Neo had discussed plans to meet again. Where? He wouldn't tell.

Mr. Mini-With-A-Big-Top: I had none!

Later that week, panda-looking pilot from Bremen called and advised him to find a bigger flat. They might have to move in together real soon.

As for Kiks, he came. Oscar came.

Buddha, bless us.

Moving on

2011-05-21T07:26:00.002+08:00

I have never really revealed much of myself here.

While I would not consider my post topics superficial, they have all been simply lying on the surface, like apples falling from Netwon's tree with me just picking them up, biting a bit or two, and continuing to munch if I liked it.

Like delicious food on my tongue. Beautiful scenery in front of my eyes. Beautiful, delicious men in front of me, or under me. Thing is, will they be enough to satisfy me, to bring me to another dimension, a higher level of happiness, complete me?

Garlic-fried shrimps from Satay King

A building's back, along Tak Hing Street

Siege, a ngurlfriend

Just this morning, I finished watching a very beautiful short from Blakrabbit's blog. The video entitled The Places We Should Have Gone, made by Philip Wang for Wongfu Productions and shot in Taiwan, tells of a woman going through a break-up.

Her words were spartan, her movements little. Yet they were enough. At least for me.

While I don't want to be the broken-hearted girl, I may have to move on - carrying all this superficiality and, I guess, trying to munch the bigger apples of life.

Wallace Stick 2

2011-05-18T12:14:00.003+08:00

Ito si kuya ng Pure na aking kinababaliwan ng ilang buwan na.

Si Wallace who carries a biiiiiig stick (GASP!)

Mongkok

2011-05-12T09:40:00.000+08:00

Mongkok is Hong Kong's Divisoria meets Cubao meets Escolta meets Greenbelt.

Shops abound for anyone who has the interest, compunction and the developed need to simply purchase. From computer geeks to pro photoenthusiasts to imeldifics to brand-conscious monsters, this place has it all for them.

Sim City. Mongkok Computer Center. Sai Yeung Choi. Langham Place. Giordano Concepts. That Esprit factory outlet that has sadly lost all its charm. Fa Yuen Street. The ultra-long avenida of the Women's Lane.

Pinoy tourists always have a field day just by being here.

Too bad, Mongkok's youngsters are not as fashionably fab as those in Shinjuku. And their street shows flat.

But who cares? Mongkok Heaven is defined by shopping. And yes, sometimes eating. And yes, sometimes sauna hopping. Ooops!

A Gayman's Two-Minute Rant

2011-05-01T10:06:00.002+08:00

Nasa kalagitnaan ako ng pagdadalamhati - kung pababaklain ko pa ba ang blog na ito o hindi na.

Sinasabi ko ito habang pinagpapantasyahan ko ang isang pandak na Indonesian na hitik na hitik ang bunga. Hindi ko nga lang magawang lumandi dahil I am trying to be politically correct - ang mag-Elias sa El Filibusterismo albeit type na type kong mag-Maria Clara.

Nakaka-Sisa naman kasi itong ASEAN at ang mga local NGOs na kinabog ang traditional politicians of our Pearl of the Orient Seas for being so ultra-bureaucratic, overly-corrupt and uber-inefficient. Ilang araw na lang ang aming event ay andami pa ring changes mula sa initial agreement. Koronada sa pagiging fickle-minded dahil pabago-bago ng statement na kulang na lang maging isa syang pathological liar na kasalanan pa namin kung bakit di namin sya naiintindihan.

Is it an issue of cultural difference? O iba lang syang mag-Inggles? Nakakasakit ng bangs!

So in the midst of prospective lelaki in this city called Jakarta, hindi ko magawang makapagbooking dahil booking pa lang ng venue namin ay hindi pa rin ma-final.

Imagine two weeks of stress caused by organizing a simple two-hour program. Imagine-in mo! Kahit si kuyang buong buo ang noodles ay hindi ko ma-imagine dahil sa pre-occupation sa event na ito.

This is the longest nine days of my life. I can't wait to go home and see Oscar again.

For the mean time, pag-iisipan ko muna kung bakit mukhang corset o Petron ang ASEAN logo.TSEH!

Giordano in my mind

2011-04-29T22:10:00.000+08:00

Somewhere in the heart of Hong Kong Island is a shop that whets the Filipino consumer's appetite:

a) rates of their apparel go hell-low (a shirt at 10HKD)

b) their staff speaks bad Tagalog but worth an A for a-ffort ("Pili na, kapapayan! Mulang mula!")

c) they play the cheesisest Sex Bomb songs

As my Filipina kapapayans are setting their sights on best finds, I set my camera phone to no-flash, no-sound mode and focus it on something that is whetting my appetite...

One reason to come visit that Giordano shop on a Sunday. Only on a Sunday.

Pagbilhan nga. For take out.

Going Garuda

2011-04-28T09:23:00.002+08:00

I am now scrimping on whatever source of positivity my weakening hands could get hold of: brownies, calamansi pulp, pastillas de lecheng gawa sa gatas ng kala-BAW!

I am flying to Indonesia today with nothing but hopes that everything there is ready and we have nothing else to worry about.

Sadly, that is all I have - hopes. And these newly-gained calories.

What else is there to be happy about when I get there?

a) food. Beef or kambing rendang, tempe (the one made from soy), mie bakso, cendol, martabak manis, krupuk, and a basket full of chili pepper.

b) men who like men. They are everywhere: in hotel lobbies, across the street, by the restaurant, online! Like their South Asian counterparts, they populate almost every online gay site. So apparently, religion is irrelevant to the growth of our species.

c) culture. The mystery of the Wayang, their shadow puppets, has engulfed me in recent years. Not to mention their epic-long cultural dances, their colorful dresses and performance costumes, and their simply being good-natured.

As I am going to embark on a trip that will not involve men, I will stick to choices A and C. The tentativeness of this trip, the fact of the very purpose of our travel dwindling, has gotten my hands full that I could barely check my manjam account.

Quemerese, I shall go there with the political will to effect change and achieve the very aim of this trip.

And with my trusted pastillas in tow, of course.

Be REBORN this way!

2011-04-24T00:00:00.002+08:00

Watched it Good Friday and decided to delay-publish.

Happy easter, everyone!

(Weird Al, you're a genius!)

Looking forward to summer

2011-04-20T10:03:00.002+08:00

I just wish I can pause this week, think and reflect:

On Wallace having lost his hair to Delilah, the barber, and eventually his charm on me. On Oscar being complicated. On all of them whose names I have forgotten in time.

On Roberto not thinking about his children back home. On Rosella thinking about her children, her husband and everyone at home. On Rufino whom I miss so much. On Ignacia whom we all miss so much.

On how life has been like since 2004. On how life may have been if not for that one night in 2004. On how I should not be thinking about it at all.

On Hong Kong with its towering heights, needful things and sometimes suffocating indifference. On the Philippines with many of its beautiful yet penny-less people.

On gay love and how it becomes economically charged, the intolerance of certain religious, and staying faithful.

On the fact that my summer happens in July when I was used to having it in April.

I am looking forward to summer. But right now, let me think and reflect.

(photo taken in Athens, November 2009)

Ang Pasyonista

2011-04-19T10:09:00.000+08:00

Paano ba inoobserba ng mga migranteng Pilipino ang kwaresma?

Sya si Nida, isang domestic worker at member ng isang simbahan dito sa Hong Kong. Sya ang gumanap na Hesus sa pagbabasa ng Pasyon Ayon Kay San Mateo. Mala-Aria ang moda ng mga lola, tita at ate sa buong panahon ng kanilang malikhaing pagbabasa. Ginawa nila ito noong Palm Sunday and I heard, IT WAS STELLAR!

Holy week na ngayon pero nagtatrabaho pa rin ang mga lola mo. Ito ang kanilang pasyon.

What Oliver Said...

2011-04-17T23:29:00.000+08:00

While waiting word from Oscar, I went to Oliver.

Kaya lang...

(taken at Oliver's Super Sandwiches tindahan in Central.)

Sweet Dynasty

2011-04-15T00:57:00.007+08:00

Steamed Rice with Eel in Black Bean Sauce

Fried Vegetable Wonton

Almost Bite-Size Char Sui Pao (mini-siopao asado)

Tau-fu-fa (aka Taho)

Pag ino-overdose ka ng emote, hindi masamang tumigil at sumamyo ng mga bulaklak.

Pero kung nasa Hong Kong ka, deadma na sa flowers at lumafs na lang ng literally isang balde ng napakasarap na taho.

Ang Pinanggalingan ng Taho

Matatagpuan ang Sweet Dynasty sa Canton Road (malapit sa Macau Ferry Terminal sa Kowloon).

Ako, si Lea

2011-04-12T09:35:00.003+08:00

Wala mang katiyakan ang muling pagsasama
Natutunan na niyang mahalin ang pangamba
Natutunan na niyang mahalin ang paghihintay

Wala mang katiyakan
Naroroon si Lea, naghihintay.

Orally, ito ang music sa aking post kay Oscar.

Expecting Oscar

2011-04-10T22:30:00.002+08:00

6:00PM, one Saturday in February.

He was humming an old traditional Chinese opera song as we swayed slowly inside our dimly-lit room. His big arms were cupped around me while my head was laid securely on his warm, hard, hairy chest. Before we opened the door and separated ways, we locked our lips in a deep, passionate kiss long enough for his scent to linger in mine. And possibly, mine in his.

Several minutes before that, we were simply ourselves along Ni-chome’s towel-less corridors. When our eyes met, we acknowledged each other with silent bows, closed eyes, short, almost indiscernible moans, and finally the kiss that only our lips knew, could not forget and somehow would always look forward to.

5:30PM, one Saturday in April.

Are you waiting for him? a friend in the sauna asked last Saturday.

No, I said as I snuck a peek at locker no.1 which remained empty.

That’s his favorite locker, I remember the same friend telling me months ago.

Waiting aimlessly in the dark, I watched guys fool around – muscular bottoms, goateed tops, a few Filipinos in their brown skin, one hairy Mediterranean Sea man. One able-bodied chequa snatched me and made me feel his heat. Who was I to resist? I was simply a goldfish in an aquarium waiting for a hungry fisherman to hook me out of the water.

7:00PM, along Tsim Sha Tsui.

I called my only-into-friendship-but-blah-blah-blah-ad-infinitum friend:

Now, I know how it feels like to be in a brothel, in one of those massage parlors.

Hindi sya dumating? (He wasn’t there?) He asked.

I felt like Kim and Ni-Chome was my Miss Saigon.

He laughed.

On my own, pretending he’s beside me…

Eponine?

I laughed.

10:24PM, tonight.

I touched my lips as I traced back my moments with him through previously-written blog posts. And laughed after remembering what only-into-friendship friend said last Saturday:

Ikaw na si Epokim. Epokimo blue!

Ni-Chome Talks

2011-04-05T23:36:00.004+08:00

Mr. Pleaser was graphically demonstrating over Satay King spring rolls and garlic-stricken shrimps how he sucked each of the eight men he encountered in Ni-Chome tonight. Of course, he was telling everything in Tagalog. Otherwise, the whole restaurant would have had their ears on us (with cumspits flying everywhere).

He was telling: I am time-bound as Mr. Mini-with-a-Big-Top (another friend of ours) had to go back to one of those far-flung stations in Hong Kong Island to retrieve his fixed merchandise, a pair of pants. I barely had an hour!

I almost spewed my half-chewn soft-shell crab. Everybody laughed.

Mr MWABT, who was awaiting word from a boyfriend-hopeful from Grand Alemania, did not lose time waiting for our friend in the said sauna. Since there was no commitment (yet), he decided to top a straight-looking local only to find out that the latter screeched far worse than a Japanese woman in porn-heat.

I-who-will-not-fall-but-am-into-friendship-yet-wallowing-because-Indonesian-pogi-has-a-boyfriend, the third friend in a seemingly Sex and the City dinner set-up, willingly (well, not really) told of his escapade with a Thai guy whose wang was as thick as the glass he was drinking from. He has not been to Ni-Chome for a long while as he was only, clearly, into friendships. This Thai guy, I believe, was someone he met on Planet Romeo.

I only spilled a bit of myself and Ni-Chome tonight. They knew I frequent the place and have developed some good friendships along the way. They all agreed that it was a good place to relax, watch TV, and do soul-searching - as long as they do not touch Oscar The Wild, my Sabado guy, or fear the wrath of a gay man scorned.

CHOS!

With plates white with nothing but crumbs, we left the restaurant happily. Only Mr. Pleaser wasn't - the hickey on his neck was just so telling.

Snake Charmer

2011-03-25T15:23:00.001+08:00

For now, this is how I think of you.

After I saw you playing with Wallace. And his stick.

Wallace Stick

2011-03-23T14:47:00.001+08:00

There you were, Wallace, in all your glory - carrying your weights like they were cattle of Geryon.

I steal glances in between my bench presses and plank on elbows, always in awe of the complete package of a man that is you.

It is hard not to keep these eyes to myself whenever you are close by. It is as if we have a connection: me that little slave girl in the New Zealand teleflick Spartacus: Blood and Sand and you Manu Bennett. Or me Little Red Riding Hood ready for your slaying, you Big Bad Wolf!

My gurlfriend Louie sees you disgustingly differently though. Like you were a steroidozoid gone awry. A Neanderthal. Some King Kong.

If you were, I bit back, I would be your Naomi Watts.

Oh sigh, I feel like I am back in my P.E. get-up once again. With white socks up to my knees and shorts small enough to fit a nursery tot.

Alas, Pure Fitness is my high school and me its student.

And you. You, Wallace, are my love.

no-fly zone

2011-03-21T17:01:00.001+08:00

when the united states prodded the united nations security council to go (war) headstrong with libya, i was honestly smug about it. i was half-expecting the us to get their hands dirty simply because: (1) they hate qaddafi as much as he hates them, and (2) they enjoy intruding into other people's lives.

now, when my ex suddenly went online this morning and chatted "hi" on msn, i was not smug. he is here in hong kong for two nights, the longest a flight attendant from continental air could stay here. he wanted to fix the payment scheme with his mobile number and buy a wooden cane for his ailing father. he then asked me to lunch.

while walking calmly towards the corner of nathan and austin roads, the kiks inside me was scrambling for things, words, how-to's: how should i really feel about him? should i look angry? or would i smile? how should i welcome him? do i hug him? kiss?

with my invisible hands virtually holding nothing, he popped out. there he was.

what i thought to be a very tense lunch-out turned out to be alright. okay, more than alright. sizzling vegetables, deep-fried soft-shell crabs and pickled-lime sodas accompanied an equally hearty conversation. we both accepted the lack of drama in my life and the overdose of it in his. there were jabs of sarcasm about generally anything and i knew the two of us have finally gotten back into the zone. genuinely.

he has settled the payment scheme using a new credit card and got a good cane from yue hwa. there at the corner of nathan and jordan roads, we bade each other goodbye. our chests pressed to each other as we hugged, he said: it would be alright to contact you again when i come next month, right?

i looked at him and smiled.

somehow, the no-fly zone over kiks' territory has been lifted.

for those who have it and yet are still depraved and denied

2011-03-08T13:48:00.001+08:00

Because woman's work is never done and is underpaid or unpaid or boring or repetitious and we're the first to get fired and that we look like is more important than what we do and if we get raped it's our fault and if we get beaten we must have provoked it and if we raise our voices we're nagging bitches and if we enjoy sex we're nymphos and if we don't we're frigid and if we love women it's because we can't get a "real" man and if we ask our doctor too many questions we're neurotic and/or pushy and if we expect childcare we're selfish and if we stand up for our rights we're aggressive and "unfeminine" and if we don't we're typical weak females and if we want to get married we're out to trap a man and if we don't we're unnatural and because we still can't get an adequate safe contraceptive but men can walk on the moon and if we can't cope or don't want a pregnancy we're made to feel guilty about abortion and...for lots and lots of other reasons we are part of the women's liberation movement.

No words could have described better the situation of women than the women's rights manifesto of the National Organization for Women.

That is why the International Working Women's Day remains relevant. It remains important.

No Room

2011-03-03T17:52:00.004+08:00

Sad, ironic and scandalous.

When I learned that one church in Hong Kong was becoming divided on whether to keep a migrant shelter in its premises or not, I was mortified. I simply do not understand the logic behind kicking out a shelter for distressed women migrant workers in order “to give chance” to other non-governmental institutions or marginalized sectors.

Okay, they did not say they were “kicking them out” but rather “let us just vote on whether they should stay or not”.

It is as if the migrant shelter have been squatting in the church premises for a long time, causing them so much sleepless, nightmare-full nights and putting the lives of many people – either those in the shelter or the ones in the neighborhood – in grave danger.

On several occasions, the shelter’s management has presented how and why they should stay in the church. They talked about how the church has been instrumental in establishing this shelter, how the many thousands of distressed women who have stayed there in more than 20 years found solace and refuge there, how being in the church helped in fortifying security for them. Aside from the convenience it provides (given that the shelter is close to a regional court, the police station and the public hospital), the church has somehow made these problem-stricken, violated and abused women feel a little bit of heaven there.

Sadly, some people in the church don’t want them anymore.

I wondered at first if it were a Chinese versus Filipino thing. But the idea, that many of the people staying in the shelter were not only Filipinos but Indonesians, Nepalese, Indians and Thais among many other nationalities, came to mind.

If it were simply an NGO office, I would not have cared a wilt. One can survive on a laptop these days. But it is these women – who simply because they are domestic workers in Hong Kong are not allowed by law to take a job when they have a case and would have to pay for everything should they pursue their case against their abusive employers – whom they are depriving of a second home, of a shelter, of a helping hand, of the chance to fight for what is rightfully theirs and redeem their dignity.

The idea that these people in this church are convincing others to boot the shelter out does not leave a good taste in the mouth. Their sweet words are nothing but poisonous palliatives.

I never like the idea of a church being divided on a supposedly non-debatable issue. And should that day happen, even if the votes for the shelter to stay prevail, I would never look at these people, this church in the same way again.

They are nothing more than those who told Joseph and Mary, “No room in the inn.”

(I made the short video for the Bethune House Migrant Women's Refuge. The shelter was named after the deceased daughter of a Filipino social worker in Hong Kong. The song used, "I Will Remember You", came from Sarah Mclachlan's 1999 album Mirrorball.)

Permit to Bareback?

2011-02-25T14:25:00.000+08:00

With its new, out-of-this-world ordinance requiring consumers to show a doctor's prescription before buying a condom or any contraceptive, is Barangay Ayala-Alabang now the new breeding ground for un-gloved love?

Is it going Greek?

Read news here. Photo taken from here.

one night only

2011-02-22T00:48:00.001+08:00

Overheard in a straight man's bar:

Gay man: I only have one wish.

Straight man: What?

Gay man: That all vaginas close even for one night.Para patas.

Straight man's mouth gapes open.

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Phew, Puey

2011-02-19T16:30:00.001+08:00

So you build your name from working very hard. Not to mention the talent that you have.Only to be ruined by what you did. So much for promise - yours is destroyed by a twit.

I wonder what the other fashion designers in the Philippines have to say about this.

Photo from Kat de Castro's official Twitter account.

champurado't tuyo

2011-02-17T17:03:00.003+08:00

o lalaking katalik, ngiti mo'y sintamis ng asukal

halik nama'y, lintik, sing-init ng bagong lutong pandesal

ang iyong bisig, parang malagkit

nangangabig ngayong umagang malamig

IKAW na ang aking champurado, ang aking masarap na almusal.

a game where they give you one thousand to spend

2011-02-16T17:15:00.001+08:00

Poverty is the state or condition of having no money, goods or means of support. Example, the many Filipinos in the Philippines who cannot afford to leave for another country to find a job that can sustain them and their families in this, to quote many people, almost-God-forsaken country.

Say you are one of those many Filipinos lucky (or well-oiled) enough to depart for the land of the Filipino dream - the United States of A. Despite having graduated with honors to become a doctor, you chose to study BS Nursing in order to get that job in San Francisco with the hopes of getting a green card soon.

And you did.

But what if, five years after, you lose both your job and your home and you only have 1,000 US dollars in your pocket. What would you do?

_._._._._._._._._._._._

I chanced upon SPENT, this not-really-a-game game about being able to live for a month with only a thousand dollars in the United States.

Apparently, it is an idea of the Urban Ministries of Durham that aims to raise awareness on the conditions of millions of people living in what is still being desired and perceived by many Filipinos as the greener pasture.

While one is not mandated to donate to them or do anything extraordinary, it is a worthy five minutes to check out and see how it is to live vicariously in the US. With money enough to buy milk, honey and possibly some more.

Play it here.

orgasms of the mouth - bibingka

2011-02-11T23:58:00.000+08:00

Bibingka.

Natatakam ako ngayon sa bibingka.

Hindi yung may latik. Kungdi yung inuulingan sa ulo at sa puwitan. Yung lumalabas lang kapag sumasapit ang -ber months. Yung divorcee ng puto bumbong dahil hindi naman sila talaga bagay in the first place.

Kung si Joema ay nangangasim para sa manggang kalabaw mula sa Pangasinan, ako ay naglalaway sa bagong lutong bibingka na may maraming Queso cubes, isang buong itlog na pula na pinaghiwa-hiwa, papahiran ng Star margarine at bubudburan ng asukal na puti at ginayat na nyog.

At kakainin ng alas diyes ng gabi. Kasabay ng tsokolate-eh kung may tablea o kinapeng tutong ng kanin.

Maghihintay ka muna ng ilang sandali pa. Yung hihintayin mong lumasa sa bibingka ang dahon ng saging na pinagbalutan nito habang unti-unting magiging tama ang init ng bibingka.

At saka mo sya titinidurin at isusubo. At doon na sasabog ang major experience na parang New Year. Ang tamis ng asukal na humahalo sa magkatunggaling alat ng itlog at keso, sa tamang-tamang nilutong bibingka na singlinamnam ng ma-texture na nyog.

At unti-unti mo syang ngunguyain. Nanamnamin ang bawat pagnguya na parang sana'y hindi matapos ang gabi. O maubos ang bibingka. At kahit pa nalunok mo na ang lahat, padadayuhin mo pa ang dila mo sa paligid ng iyong mga ngipin, sa gilagid, sa ngala-ngala na parang nilalasahan pa ang alaala ng unang subo ng bibingka.

Na magpapaalala ng medyo malamig na simoy ng hangin sa may Quiricada matapos ang maiksing pagbisita kay Nenet na nagtitinda ng bibingka sa may Bambang. Sa ingay ng mga batang kalyeng naglalaro pa rin dis-oras ng gabi habang me panaka-nakang kumakaripas na taksi sa lubak-lubak na daan tungong Abad Santos. Ang sabay-sabay na paghiga sa kama matapos kumiss kay Inay at iswitch ang ilaw.

At gagamitin mo na ang kamay mo sa pagpahid ng huling slice ng bibingka sa tira-tirang asukal at nyog sa dahon ng saging bago ito isalang sa kanyang huling hantungan.

Matapos ang lahat, bubuntung-hininga ka at ngingiti ng ubod tamis. Dahil masarap buhayin ang mga alaalang nagpapakiwal sa dila, nagpapapiga ng laway at nagpapakagat ng loob-gilid ng pisngi.

flight of fellatio (the sauna sabbatical)

2011-01-30T23:33:00.004+08:00

If your private parts could speak to your lovers,
what would it tell them? What would it ask for?

from one action card in the Kama Sutra board game

When I decided to take my sabbatical leave from the bathhouse, I was listening to my private parts. To my armpits, to my nipples, to my asshole, to my penis, to my tongue.

I was listening to them as I was wiping every other part of my body after I took my final shower last night in what they, my private parts, once considered their second home. My armpits were telling me that they could hardly breathe anymore and needed more space. My nipples, who were most vibrant of all, were as coolly indifferent as my penis. My tongue was the only one feeling dreamy after a stint with Oscar, Raymond and Ting. As for my asshole, he remains to be one.

While it was difficult for me to take heed, I did not want an Egyptian walkout or uproar in my anatomy. I am a slave to my body and I have listened to their every wish. They are my id and I take pleasure in what elates, excites or induces them to react violently (note: without inflicting harm to me or others). Ever since that first chartered trip to Rainbow, they knew there were more places to visit, more horizons to explore, and more territories to conquer.

However, after eight years, uncountable bathhouse visits and a few hundred encounters, the kiks expedition must come to an end. I shall try to share my stories though, much like Homer telling of Oedipus' travels or Mcvie of his own.

I asked myself just now should I slip from this rest, I spilled inadvertently: the spirit is willing, but the flesh is not.

Or

2011-01-28T22:11:00.001+08:00

It is hard to write about something without feeling the guilt that comes with it:

Whether it is that great sexual encounter with Oscar a few days ago.

Or knowing about the plight of the undocumented migrants in Mexico.

How the Japanese appreciate one's ability to utter prolonged, low, inarticulate sounds in the dark.

Or the terror Sutini felt while her lips were being cut by her employer with scissors.

The indifference Hong Kong people show towards one another.

And their distaste for Mainland people.

This heady feeling I am experiencing now.

Or the dark humor that comes with being HIV positive.

The enjoyment of a tram ride.

Or the guilt of not anymore feeling for someone you once loved.

Where I stand right now, it is hard when you know you have lost the ability to decide and accept what comes after. And when doubt turns inward yet you lose the ability to question.

I am at a crossroads. I am deciding whether to simply live. Or live.

a story of phallic proportions

2011-01-23T10:13:00.002+08:00

In gaylife.about.com, an average penis size is 5-7 inches when erect. Its average circumference would be 5 inches around. And as stated likewise by wiki.answers.com and some researches in the 1990s and even by a condom company, there is no relation between one's ethnic background and his penis size.

So there I was with my Tatay one cold winter morning. Me standing beside him as he laid aimlessly on his hospital bed in St. Michael's.

It has been a good 13 years of being apart - me in Hong Kong and him in Canada. So when he had that massive stroke in December 2007, I knew it was time for us to finally meet.

While we were not particularly close to each other, we did not have major issues except for my activism. He did have issues with homosexuality before but I guess having lived with my older brother who turned out to be much more of a Diva than a Kuya, he finally got to succumb to the possible notion that we got "it" from him. Something of course he would likely deny as there is no scientific basis to it.

So again, back to the scene. Me this time with Mike, a Canadian boy I was dating at that time. Him beside me while we were staring quietly at my Tatay. All the rest of the family were also there showering Tatay with love and attention.

Ever the eagle-eyed, he noticed my left hand tightly locked with Mike's right. And he uttered:

Malaki ba ang titi nyan? Pakakasalan ka ba nyan?

Everyone was taken aback - they could have died at that very moment. Mike, not understanding a word of Tagalog, was bewildered at the way we all looked. Me, wanting my Tatay to recover and live for another 80 years, kept the answer to myself.

Don't worry, Tay. He definitely has a ring down there. And the size? Enough to make me grinning for days.

He eventually heard this from me months after. And he smiled. For days.

Machete on my mind

2011-01-20T14:46:00.000+08:00

Jericho and Kiks were simply thinking aloud one winter morning:

Paano kung si Dwarfina ang umuukit ng kahoy na magiging si Machete?

AT ANO ang una nyang uukitin?

ang pagkalugod sa pakikipagtalik

2011-01-09T17:00:00.003+08:00

ikaw na ang pinakamasarap na adobong natikman

kung paanong nanuot ang iyong sarsa sa aking kalamnan
sumasamyo sa kanin ang dinurog na bawang
ang tamang halo ng toyo't sukang ating pinakuluan
lumalasa sa lamang nasa aking lalamunan

kinurot ng iyong paminta ang aking nagsusumamong dila
habang unti-unting natutunaw ang subo-subong taba
abut-abot sa langit ang bawat pagnguya
nitong luto ng diyos na iyong inihanda

o adobong intsik di kaylanman mawawaglit
hindi mapapanis sa isipang nag-aalumpihit
kung paano sumirko, sumabog, sumirit
ang ating mga lasa sa loob ng aking bibig.

ubos man na ang pagkain
binaunan mo pa ako ng halik

o adobong intsik

hindi ko na muna pupunasan
kahit pa may makahalata
sa aking mga labi ang makasaysayang mantika.

Makati as Food, as Sin

2010-12-28T23:03:00.000+08:00

Makati it was that got me decided to run for at least 30 minutes every day. And Sentro. And Fely J's. And okay, that minishop at NAIA 1.

Tofu Sisig


Corned Beef Sinigang

Sardinas Something

Suman at Mangga na may Latik

Inaertehang Kamote Q at Banana Q

Plapla sa Fely J's

Ginataang Sitaw at Kalabasa

Dilis Rice

Asado Siopao at Rootbeer

Except for the last meal, hindi lang ako ang kumain ng mga ito. I had friends (not in the picture).

Exorcising the Demonios

2010-12-21T08:35:00.002+08:00

One learns to philosophize at the age of 36.

When he starts noticing the wonders of youth wearing off his facial skin and shocked at the sight of a 63-year old bayot in front of the mirror.

When he feels the love handles in his tummy not getting any tighter despite the endless runs in the park and all other cardio-vascular activities that may include sex in the beach and a blow job.

When he suddenly experiences pains in certain sections of his body: from the tendons to the lower back, from the wrist to the neck. Ito ba ang tinatawag na rayuma, Inay?

I do not intend to rummage through my recent past and reveal oh-too-strikingly how I have been ravaged by time. In a gay-eat-gay world, one can be consumed by the market value he holds in a sea of younger-looking, taller, more-able, bemuscled kin who would savagely devour anyone worthy of being a prey. And wishing he still has that marketability. To be a prey.

Sex is a word that has become a verb and later on a way of life for many of us. To borrow Miranda Priestly's words, some of us live on it. And what a price to pay to keep getting a score - one simply has to read posts in the Filipino gay blogosphere to get this hint.

But at age of 36, I hope I am way past that. Or will be.

Dates inside the dark corners of the gay sauna only last an hour at the most. One night stands coming from online or bar-to-bar encounters may be a bit extended albeit not yielding fruitful results. And let us not talk about sight-seeing in public trains, gyms or supermarkets.

Now, where am I getting at here?

Siguro ganito lang: am I getting too old for play?

okonomiyaki

2010-12-16T13:52:00.003+08:00

What little joys I miss in Kyoto now I find in Hong Kong: okonomiyaki, takoyaki balls, yakisoba.

Kulang na lang yung Mga lalaki sa 24 Ueno. (only realizing after na nasa Tokyo nga pala ang Ueno.)

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Getting Fucked

2010-12-08T08:51:00.002+08:00

Due to several fuck-ups in the office, at home and everywhere in Hong Kong,
this post can only be uploaded tonight.

For more chos-ness.

Pag-uutay-utay sa Diskriminasyon

2010-11-30T00:15:00.002+08:00

Kelan ba nagsimula ang diskriminasyon?

Sabi nila, nung nagkaron ng konsepto ng private property ang mga tao, nagsimula na ito.

Nung panahon daw ng slavery, walang problemang magjekjekan ang mga lalaki kasi superyor sila. Mababa kasi ang pagtingin sa mga babae – mga paanakan lang at walang maitutulong sa pag-unlad ng lipunan.

Noong panahon ng monarchy, maraming pwedeng gawin ang royalty (katulad ng orgy sa palasyo, lalaki man o babae) na hindi nila keri kung mahihirap ang gagawa.

Noong World War II, okey lang si Hitler sa homosexual relations sa pagitan ng mga Nazi soldiers (although nabago ito after some time) habang pinapatay naman ang mga nahuhuling baklang Hudyo at iba pa.

Nitong recent times, isang baklang kaibigan ko mula sa High School ang hindi pinapasok sa isang bar dahil nakabihis syang pambabae. Bakla ang may-ari ng bar.

May kinalaman ang salapi, o ang pagmamay-ari nito, sa usapin ng diskriminasyon.

Kaya siguro maraming mga baklang nagpupursigeng kumita ng pera para makabili ng condominium units o basta maka-akyat lang ng career ladder para makaiwas sa diskriminasyon.

At sa mga di maabot ang pangarap na bituin, tumatahimik na lang. Nagpapamhin. Nag-aasawa ng babae. Pumupunta sa bathhouse?

Treading the economic path was an easy way for many of us to escape discrimination. Sadly, some of us end up discriminating others, even our own.

And still, marami pa rin sa atin ang discriminated. Minsan, dahil bakla tayo. Minsan, dahil Pilipino tayo. Karaniwan, dahil mahirap tayo.

Maraming pwedeng gawin para solusyonan ang diskriminasyon. I guess, isa na don yung kanta ng Buklod na ni-revive ni Bamboo – na kailangang baligtarin ang tatsulok para tayong mga nasa ibaba ang nasa tuktok.

O diba, parang simpleng inverted pink triangle lang?

Hindi madali. Pero pwede. Pwede.

This is my contribution to the second project of theorgy.

Fierce

2010-11-18T23:30:00.001+08:00

Ano ang gagawin mo kapag me nakasalubong kang tinaguriang fashion warriors sa Cubao?

Magpa-picture.

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