HOY! Teehee! In spite of the holiday I've been on from blogging, I am still alive and kicking.
Sorry, just been a bit busy. With what? Work (YES!). My baby doggie (AWW!). Dating (PAK!). Basically, just living.
So, what else is up?
Updates? My last CD4 count taken last February was 449. I think it went down a bit, but I'm doing good, don't worry.
Been working for a new company in a new industry for the past seven months. Just fresh from regularization. I hope to tell you more about this soon.
Everything else is still the same. Still yogaing. Still dating my Simply Complicated guy. Still me.
That's it for now. I'm not totally back to blogging, sorry. But for now, let me leave you with something interesting I found on the net.
This documentary won a group of students from the Ateneo School of Medicine and Public Health the award of Best Video Presentation at the 2012 UP Manila - National Institutes of Health Research Forum. Watch it with me...
Tuesday, April 03, 2012
Hoy!
Monday, August 01, 2011
Simply Complicated: Workout
Were we officially a couple? Are we officially a couple?
Okay, okay, hold your horses.
I hope to successfully zoom through what’s left of my little flashback that’s taken up more than a handful and a month’s worth of entries, and answer that question by the end of this post.
So... let’s continue.
When June 1st came, I don’t remember exactly why, but I didn’t report for work that day. If I’m not mistaken, I just wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t be late for Yoga for Life’s anniversary that evening. Yep, I think that was it.
When I told the boi of my free day, his reply was an invitation for me to join him at the gym. I froze. I was a gym virgin, having never worked out before, at any gym. Mostly it was because I was intimidated of the place and the people . Seriously. Paranoid, I know. I mean, yeah, I’m pretty sporty and all, but gym… all the horror stories and visions of predators lurking in the locker room ready to pounce on any fresh meat that passes... been dreading it, been dreading it.
Honestly, I’ve been wanting to do it, for decades now, but dreading it. And here was someone offering to hold my hand through the experience. We’d actually talked about this before, under the context of sharing. He would teach me what he knew about working out and swimming, and I would teach him what I knew about Photoshop and organizing a space. Fair trade.
So I faced my fear, and agreed to the gym date. So we met and went to his gym. I was almost clueless. And here he already had printed out a workout regimen for me. Nice. So I was devirginized, gym-wise, that is. And I also saw and appreciated what passion he had for working out. He proved he wasn’t there to hang out at the showers and flirt around with guys. These were the perks of going to a bakal gym instead of all the commercialized gyms. Perfect for me. Very, very nice.
It was actually an eye-opener, that little invitation. This was turning out to be our first taste of commitment. From gym to commitment? What the hell am I talking about?
Let’s face it, here he was, inviting me into his territory, the gym he goes to, where I would see him half-clothed, sweaty, grunting, making faces, and down to his bare elements. And, I was to be enrolling for a month at a time. So it was a month’s contract not just between me and the gym, but between me and him too. I wonder if he realized that.
After a good couple of hours at the gym, we freshened up and headed for yoga together. We passed by a Yellow Cab to schedule for a couple of pizzas to be delivered at the end of the session that evening. We made it to yoga, went through the class, and Savasana’ed into the anniversary celebration of Yoga for Life, a banquet of food to reward everyone for their practice that evening. We then headed home, still together. And by the end of that day, it was clear that we would be sharing more time together.
So I’ve known him since February. Buddy-buddy since March. Love since May. Gym buddies since June. And been practically together since… sweating through gym and yoga; chatting online when time permits, talking on the phone when load doesn’t; a lot of lunch and dinner dates just anywhere, and a couple of out of town trips with yoga friends; making it through a sick period on his end (though all I could really do to ease his discomfort was bring his favorite cake and buko shake), currently going through a career hitch on mine; and even things as simple as shopping for vegetables at the local wet market, and raiding an ukay-ukay a couple of times.
Throughout our kinda-sorta-relationship, I’ve made sure there would be no pressure. No pressure for us to be together every minute of everyday. No pressure to be at yoga or wherever together all the time. No pressure to stop either of us from going out with other friends. No pressure to text every single chance there was.
But surprisingly, despite not being together all the time, not texting every chance we got, nor talking every single day, I can confidently say that we are pretty secure… even despite the technical non-relationship.
So again, the situation begs the question, are we a couple? At this point, if you were to ask me if we were a couple, I’d say officially, we’re not.
I know, I know. Why not? Why not? What am I waiting for? I’m really not in a rush to define us with a couple label. Why, because it’s just that… a label. It doesn’t define what we do have. And that’s something even I can’t put into words.
What about the early bird catching the worm? Was the worm meant to be his soul mate, or might another bird be the reward for his patience?
Someone mentioned about good guys finishing last. First, I’m flattered to be considered a “good guy”. Other than that, it’s not a race. I don’t mind finishing last, because the last means no one comes after. Yep, the last guy gets forever.
I don’t want to be pushed towards proposing prematurely just because someone else might get to him before me. Even if someone did, I know, I know, I know he’d be happier with me. Wooooow... confidence, no? Hahaha.
So there, no proposals, no courtship, no I-dos. Rest assured, we’re working it out, albeit slowly but surely. Hmmm, if you think about it, we’ve gone pretty far in the mere five months we’ve known each other... that ain’t too slow. So officially, we are NOT a couple. But there’s love. I know it. He knows it. And even if we haven’t declared ourselves a couple, it sure feels like we are. And damn, it feels good. It feels right. And that’s what’s important, right?
It seems complicated, but it's really been simple... thus, Simply Complicated.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Simply Complicated: Surprises
Am I ready to deal with all the competition?
Again, the too-cute category instantly invokes a fight or flee mode. And honestly, I would usually flee. I’m not a competitor. I was never raised to be. Inferiority complex, that’s me. But this time was different. I found myself with an unusual conviction. Go ahead... someday you’ll see we belong together. Wow. My confidence amazed even myself.
So I was sticking around for that “someday”.
And in sticking around, we were spending more and more time together.
Having met there, definitely, yoga was a staple. As he became a regular, so did we become... uhm... regular. On Wednesdays, we’d see each other there, him from school, me from work, and head home together. And on Saturdays, we’d meet around our place and go together, and after head home together.
But in all that, I made sure we weren’t a package deal. We should go for the benefits of yoga, remember? So on more than a handful of times, either he’d be there and I’d be stuck at work, or I’d be there and he’d be busy with school. No big deal. And even when we’re both there, we’d usually be in different parts of the room, only catching up when it was time to leave.
And aside from yoga, at times, I’d take leaves from work, to give myself a break and to accompany him on errands. I dunno, I felt like I needed – no, not “needed” – I wanted to take of him. But even if I wasn’t completely helpful on his errands, he appreciated me being there, and we both always had fun spending whole days together. A very good sign.
When our birthdays came, mine a day ahead, I wanted to spend it with him. Dinner would do. It was a Friday, so I suggested we meet at the mall. I’d be coming from work, and him, school. As I got there, he was on his way. Next text, he said he was there, but with a classmate he needed to shake off. It turned out to be a harder shake that expected.
I ended up waiting a couple of hours, and found myself alone, no dinner, no date, no nothing. I admit, I was a bit disappointed. It was my birthday! I had dodged other invites so I could be with him! Geesh! Instead I was home, lying in bed with my dog, munching on some cookies for dinner. Very spinster.
Ah well, no grudges. No big deal. By the next day, we were together on the MRT, on the way to yoga kissing and holding hands. No blaming, no apologies… he told me about his night out with his friends, and I was happy he had fun. Sincerely. So at yoga, we got offered a lot of sun salutations that day, a number equal to the average of our ages, actually. And after, we were able to have our birthday dinner finally, with Yogi Bear and BFF.
He fell asleep with his head on my shoulder on the long bus ride home from Makati. We took a cab from the bus stop, and I dropped him off at his place. But before he alighted, I reached into my bag to pull out a gift I got for him. Surprise! He thanked me intensely, as we greeted each other happy birthdays, and he gave me a kiss. I hoped he’d like the gift.
It was tough thinking of what to give him. But this was something I knew he needed. So I got it, and made sure he’d see a message as he opened it. I fell in love with you. Happy Birthday. The L word. I used the L word. It may have been the first time I used the L word towards him, but I had been feeling it for quite a while already.
Cheesy, I know. But it was the truth. I wasn’t saying it so he’d love me back. I was saying it because it was matter-of-fact. No more, no less.
I was thinking, even if he didn’t like the gift, I hope he appreciated the feelings that I sent with it. Napaiyak mo ako sa saya! Maraming salamat! Mwah mwah mwah! With that, I believe he was happy. And so I was happy too.
We saw each other again the following Wednesday at yoga. I ended up carrying a package of his through a dinner meeting and on the trip home. As I handed it to him as we were about to separate, he throws me the most beautiful smile and says Surprise! What the?! Apparently, what I thought the whole time was his school project was his gift for me! Grrr, I hate surprises, remember? Hehe.
As I got home, I opened up the gift, and it was something I could definitely use, and even better, something that would surely remind me of him. I spied a little card at the bottom of the package. Thank you for being there when I needed you. =) Love you too! Happy Birthday! The L word? From him?! And, hard as it is to admit, I broke down. Argh, I still get teary-eyed every time I read it till now.
So was this it? Were we officially a couple?
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Simply Complicated: Competition
Should I die now? Of course not. OA lang ako.
So yeah, people were noticing the chemistry between us. They were seeing a lot of us as a package, arriving and leaving yoga a lot together. Sometimes, during dinners and get-togethers with friends, he would be my plus-one. And on more than a handful of times, I’ve been asked whether we’re a couple. I have to be honest of course and say that technically, we’re not.
But the path we were treading was far from perfect, or ideal for that matter.
On one occasion, after a yoga session just on heels of our being introduced, some were going for dinner, and some were going home. I thought we were heading home together. But he got cornered by someone else... actually the same guy who was molesting him at the dinner some nights back. Before I knew it, they were walking together to the dinner place. And seeing he didn’t even look back to see if I was coming or where I was, I bade goodbye to the others and headed on home.
On the bus, I got a text from the boi. Sabay ka ba maya? Darn, so he looked for me? Should I head back? Geesh. So I replied that I was already on my way home. We sent each other Ingats. So everything was fine, right? Sort of. I found out after that the guy he was with took him home. Whose home? Well, the guy’s status message after which read, Perfect na sana, lakas lang humilik, should tell you what happened.
In all actuality, this guy was pretty persistent. The next yoga session, despite the fact that I had arrived with the boi, the guy again marked his territory. As in I was seated in front of the boi while we were joking around, and the guy actually squeezed himself in between us and immediately put a hand on his leg. Ohhhhh, okay. I backed off.
After yoga, the guy tried to whisk him away, offering him a ride home. Assuming “home” was really home, I should hitch too, so I did. Very third wheel of me, I know, I know.
With the boi in the passenger seat and me at the back, I was witness to a courtship ritual. Actually, from the turn of the key, the stereo flipped on with Cee Lo’s “Fuck You” at the top of the playlist. Wow, all planned out? Double entendre quips. Caresses here and there. And attempts at convincing the boi not to head home yet. Ahm, excuse me, am I not in the car? But at the end of the trip, I had managed to keep my food down, and found myself on the MRT... with the boi... having been dropped off at a station.
This guy was not the only one.
It wasn’t alien for people to be talking with him while caressing his strong arms and bulging chest. Don’t get me wrong, he would never shoo people away, enjoying the attention. But on my end, I’d be rolling my eyes into the back of my head thinking, excuse me, he’s a human being, not a piece of meat.
Sometimes, at yoga, guys would call him over to take the place next to them. In all fairness though, I appreciate how, when that happens, he looks back at me with a face that says What do we do now? I just nod at him to give him the go ahead. We’ll be back together after yoga anyway.
And then the boi has a circle of friends he would hang out with. Out-of-town trips and parties. He tells me about plans, an FYI short of asking permission. Trips and parties, nothing bad about that. Supposedly. But hanky and panky were there hanging out with them. He told me himself when I asked him if he was going to be good at these things. He couldn’t say yes outright. He said I shouldn’t expect, for I’d just be courting disappointment. Rather, I could hope. I appreciated the honesty.
But I think my bigger concern with this group of his would be vices. Fine, I can drink a lot too. Drugs, only time I’ve done it was one session smoking a joint of marijuana. First and last time. But the boi wasn’t averse to these things at all… claiming he knows his limits. But then there’s a reason why the ABCDE of HIV prevention has D as Don’t Use Drugs or Alcohol... because it clouds your judgment.
That being said, mix alcohol, drugs and hanky panky, and you’re flirting with trouble. Yes, even if I’m NOT a trained HIV counselor, I know that. I’ve made sure I’ve done my part reminding the boi of that fact, and repeating time and time again that he stay safe. I just hope this circle of friends of his be real friends - be better influences and keep him safe too.
So a lot of people were interested in him. As in, a lot. And since I was hardly trying to fence him off, it wasn’t unusual for the boi to turn into a free for all.
Nope, all these things were still not a big deal. We weren’t a couple anyway. Special friends, maybe. But not a couple. Yet. So as long as he was safe, I was fine. So it was probably the drugs part that brought me the most concern.
But otherwise, certainly, the too-cute thing was certainly turning into something to deal with. Like I mentioned before, the very first time we were introduced, I instantly put him into my too cute category. Too cute meant too out of my league. Too cute meant too much competition. And the world itself seemed to not even try to debunk my theory.
So should I fight, or should I flee? Am I ready to deal with all the competition?
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Simply Complicated: Revelations
Did the relationship end before it even started?
Saturday was yoga day. Sadly, the boi was a Wednesday yogi. I man the Yoga for Life attendance files, contact numbers included. I was tempted to take advantage. So even after my rePUTAtion being broken, I swallowed my pride and texted the boi inviting him to Saturday yoga. I even offered that we go together. Time tick-tocked away as I waited anxiously for a reply.
All he said was that he’d try. As Saturday morning rolled by, I followed up if we were going together. We could meet at the MRT. No reply.
So I went on my usual itinerary, taking a bus to Makati. Lo and behold, the boi suddenly texted asking where I was, saying he was running late just approaching the MRT. Yikes, but I was already on my way. But of course, I hopped off the bus.
I headed for the nearest MRT station. Ideally, I would ride the MRT back to his station, and enjoy the entire ride with him. But, I stopped myself. I had other plans. Let’s not be totally easy-to-get. I suggested we meet at the destination station, Ayala. Wooooow. Hard-to-get. LOL.
So I got there ahead, and exited the turnstiles and waited patiently. I think it was a good 20 minutes. He got there and looked around for me as I was walking towards him. Fine, I admit, I was a bit thrilled to see him, and more to be with him.
Focus. Focus. This is not a date. This is just a walk... to yoga. This is yoga time.
After yoga, our Yogi Bear insisted we hang out with him before his next yoga class. So we had a snack together at a mall food court. Nothing fancy. I believe I had siomai and a drink.
With much time to spare, the tambay time quickly turned into getting-to-know time. Everything from personal, school and family, to HIV, safe sex and fetishes... oi, this wasn’t an interrogation. This was one huge round table with everyone sharing.
So I got to know a lot about the boi. One thing that struck me was that he was no angel. He’s been around. Yes, sexually. My rePUTAtion heaved a little sigh of relief. Very, very interesting.
One other thing that struck me, was that our birthdays were both coming up... just a day apart from each other. Fate... almost. So we shared the same zodiac sign. Big deal? What if we shared the same animal sign, too? It was creepy.
Were we the same age? Unfortunately not. Which, based on the cycle of the Chinese zodiac, meant we had an age gap in a multiple of 12 years. Age GAP. It’s a wonder that I’m attracted to him. I used to really prefer guys older than I was. But in hindsight, I was attracted to the maturity, which, as I learned the hard way, does NOT come with age. So it was not a wonder after all that his age didn’t matter.
Soon, Yogi Bear needed to leave for his class, and I was left with the boi, still basking in all the revelations. We headed for the MRT together. I put my arm around him as we walked. No resistance. Nice.
Getting to the landing, he said he was staying behind. He was going to a friend’s place in the area. His smirk told me it was a date. Hehehe. No problemo. I said I’d go ahead.
So before we headed off our separate ways, he looks at me with these puppy dog eyes, leans in and pouts his lips. I got it. And I obliged. I leaned in and gave him a smack on the lips. Yes. In public. I smiled. He smiled.
Don’t get me wrong, this wasn’t necessarily a big deal, the kissing in public thing. I kiss BFF in public. I kiss Yogi Bear in public. I kiss my favorite doctor-slash-advocate in public. And so many others. It’s just something we’re not shy about, being the liberated gay bunch. No... big... deal.
Okay, fine. I had a smile on my face the whole way home. I was happy, not just with the kiss. You know how you’re attracted physically to some people, but once you start getting to know them deeper, it changes things make-or-break? With getting to know him, I liked him just the same, if not more.
With that, I texted him reminding him to stay safe on his date... in all senses of the word. He knew what I meant. And I couldn’t stop myself.
Stay safe... Like kita. :-) Send.
Beep beep. Haha stay safe too. Like din kta! Lambot ng labi mo. :)
Should I die now?
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Simply Complicated: Reputation
Were things going to get… complicated?
So the next time I saw him was the following Wednesday. Yoga for Life day again. No biggie, nothing unusual, I was just yogaing away. After the class, in one way or another, we found ourselves planning to head home together. I can already hear you saying HMMMMM.
But no, this was still no big deal. No hangover from the hand-squeezing that happened. None at all. It was all just common sense. We lived within 15 minutes of each other, so it was just logical for us to head home together.
Incidentally that evening, our Yogi Bear, BFF, and other Yoga for Lifers planned to have dinner somewhere in our part of the metro. So logical again, we hitched a ride and joined them for dinner at a local ChicBoy.
Seats were taken around a long table. The seating arrangement? Nope, we weren’t dinnering as a pair. Hell, we weren’t even sitting beside each other. I didn’t even try to elbow my way there. I’m not that type. Truth be told, someone else’s hand was all over his thigh... almost the whole way through dinner. Ohhhhhkay. I’m not reacting. No reason for me to react. I’m an observer. So I observed. And I observed that someone was aggressively interested in him. Geez, the guy didn’t spend much effort trying to hide it either. Deadma. Good job to him, I thought.
The next thing I know, the topic of the conversation went my direction. As is, I’m not comfortable having the spotlight on me. To make it worse, I was being outed as the slut that I potentially could be. Okay fine, true as it all was, it’s not exactly something that I would like a new acquaintance to know. Let alone a new acquaintance that seemed... uhm... interesting.
Geesh. Thanks ha. Ang linis nyo lang teh eh no? And these were supposed to be my friends?! The friends-make-laglag-friends principle is one I don’t really subscribe to, sorry. I don’t know what face I was making, but I guess I kept my evil eyes at bay because the person who started it was and is still alive. I’m pretty sure though that my eyes rolled into the back of my head a number of times. And I was fake laughing. Tact, anyone?
It was embarrassing. Frustrating. Irritating at the most. But fine, que sera sera. And indeed, sira went my reputation. I reminded myself that I spelled my reputation with a capital P-U-T-A. Ah well. There goes the norm of making a good first impression. Instead of having my best foot forward, my filthy ass led the way. Nak nam puta.
So with that, the little hope or dream or whatever spark I had for the guy fizzled out. I was thankfully first to get dropped off, as I could not have turned invisible soon enough.
And with that, the relationship ended before it even started... or did it?
Saturday, July 09, 2011
Simply Complicated: Squeeze
I apoligize for being so quiet. Too quiet. I've been busy. With work. And with family. Okay, fine... and with my personal life. It's been a case of I-want-to-tell-you-all-about-it-but-I-don't-want-to-jinx-it. But right now, I'm afraid that I've been saving too many details in the memory card in my brain... so I decided I'd tell my story. Or start to. So allow me to backtrack... to when it all began.
It was February, (hahaha, what?! i told you i would backtrack didn't i?!) and Yoga for Life was celebrating the love month with a series of partner yoga sessions. Basically, you do yoga in pairs. You get into more intense stretches and positions with the help of your partner, and vice versa. And you get the challenge of going into a deeper state of focus, having to interact with someone in your personal space. Sound interesting? It is.
So basicaly, as much as I wanted to have my actual partner-hubby at the time there, he just wouldn't have it. No way in hell. Fine. I will go alone... and be a broken record explaining why I didn't have my boyfriend with me. Screw you all.
So it was a packed class on my first partner yoga session. And I looked around the room wondering who I was going to get paired up with. I had a few that I was eyeing. Crushables, you might say. Mostly shorter guys. Yeah, I tend to be attracted to short guys, because they tend to be more chunky... CHUNKY in my bitch-tionary is short for chubby-slash-hunky. Basically, I’m tall and lean, I’m borderline-twink, so I prefer guys who are more built that I am, albeit a little extra or more to love. And shorter usually means the weight is packed into a smaller frame... ergo, chunky. Mmm.
But then of course, partner yoga pairs you up with someone closer to your height. Lucky me, I got paired with the young, tall, lanky, straight guy. He wasn’t bad looking at all, don‘t get me wrong. A number of others were eyeing him... but he wasn‘t rowing my boat. Oh well. I was there for the yoga anyways, so I got down to business.
At the end of the class, we were okay. We worked hard, I could say. It probably helped that there was no sexual tension going in either direction. We were all about the yoga. And then of course, I got approached by some saying how lucky I was to have him for a partner, and how envious they were of me. And I was like, yeah, whatever.
So after class, I got introduced to some of the other guys, including one of those I way eyeing. Acquainted, and that was that. I looked him over and thought... mmm, chunky, more hunky at that... but cute. Too cute. Yes, some guys fall into my category of too cute... and I fall into out-of-my-league mode. As in this guy is too cute to be interested in someone like me. So on that note, I drop it. Done. Acquainted, and that was that.
As fate will have it, we both live up north of the metro, so we headed in that direction together with our yogi bear. The MRT was packed. No poise whatsoever, not that I needed it. Yogi bear got down first, leaving the two of us. He was getting down next, a station before mine. Dito na ako, he said. Okay, I replied, Ingat ha.
Simple, right? Yes. But only until his hand slid down the handrail to where mine was, managing to squeeze the fleshy part at the base of my palm, before he stepped out of the train. What the hell was that?! I stared at my palm, and my brain went haywire. Was I imagining things?! I admit, I was giddy, but didn’t want to assume anything. I was left speechless. And confused. It couldn’t be. No.
And with that, were things going to get... complicated?
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Yoga Loca
It’s been almost four months since Yoga for Life started. Personally, it’s become a habit. Seriously. As in I haven’t missed a class since July, if I‘m not mistaken... except that one Wednesday session they cancelled due to heavy rain. I super duper look forward to yoga every Wednesdays and Saturdays. I actually have a yoga mat of my own now at home... shhhhh! So am I officially yoga loca?
I am now a true believer that Yoga is an excellent form of exercise. It’s non-competitive, so anyone of any fitness level can get into it. The only person you’d need to challenge is yourself. It’s very physical, but it’s about the mind and the spirit as well, so much so, that a strong mind and a robust spirit can bring the body to do things it never before could.
And I think Yoga for Life is a notch above any other yoga. Really, the sense of community is there. From complete strangers, there has grown enough camaraderie within the group. And the liberty with which lines like, “What are you doing here today? Aren’t you a Saturday boy?” and giggles brought about by a solemn chant concierto get thrown around tell me the group is getting tighter.
But regardless of how regular the regulars have become, newbies show up every so often and get the full benefit still. Probably the fact that yoga is such a personal practice helps, in that the camaraderie isn’t as directly important to the practice as self-discipline and self-awareness are. It’d just be abonus. So the degree of fitting in shouldn’t necessarily help or hinder either way.
As part of the group behind Yoga for Life - them more than me - it’s not a heavy thing for us, and it’s still a lot of fun every time. Last Wednesday, while lazing around our yoga mats, we were happy to realize that it’s become stable, and attributed our first quarter of “success” to the fact that we’re working together well as a team and actually taking the work out of “working together”. Yes, that definitely helps. And the good vibes we carry stand a good chance of rubbing off onto the others.
Recently our Yogi Bear and Babe requested some feedback from the participants, both regulars and newbies. I actually was given a piece of paper to write my feedback, but being considered as part of the team behind it, decided otherwise. Me no buhat sariling bangko. But for the others, here’s what they had to say:
• “Yoga for Life has been and still is a life and attitude enhancing experience. It makes you feel part of a community.”
• “It was nice, relaxing and de-stressing. Time worth spent.”
• “There really isn’t much I can say. I am just glad that there is a venue for me to de-stress with the little time that I have. It would be nice though if there are more sessions during the week.”
• “Yoga for Life is a wonderful positive influence in my life. Thanks!”
• “Yoga has helped me to start thinking about the healthy lifestyle and actually start living it. It gave me more focus especially when a normal day turns into a stressful one. It is a very good way of detoxifying...”
• “I feel more relaxed. My headache gone after the session. I enjoyed this.”
• “Since I started yoga, I never had fever. I used to have low-grade fever daily. I never felt so lazy or lethargic since. I feel rejuvenated. It makes me feel whole.”
• “Yoga for Life as a program has been helpful in dealing with daily stress facing and living with HIV. It helps that the community is so normal, even in the reality of HIV. It’s very healing and positive.”
• “All my stress and all the hard thinking has vanished because of this yoga. Love it!”
• “For me, yoga is good for my health and I feel good after doing it. First time I attended this class I told myself that I love doing Yoga for Life.”
• “Relaxing, can ease tension. Looking forward to the next session.”
• “Enjoyed this more than I expected. Twice a week yoga is becoming something I look forward to and prioritize each week.”
Even I couldn’t believe all the good feedback. But considering we used a secret ballot method, then they could’ve well given what violent reactions they had as well. I therefore conclude, yoga is good, good, good.
And yoga has been picking up elsewhere as well. Who else is into yoga? The boyfriend... Wait, did I just say boyfriend?! Whoa... Fine. The boyfriend has started working out as well with a trainer, and yoga is part of his regimen. I’ve invited him to Yoga for Life, but we‘re still working out some details.
He’s been ranting about how much difficulty he’s been having at yoga, which he attributes to his fitness level. As you know, he’s built with a little bit extra as of the moment, which really shouldn’t be a problem. At Yoga for Life, we’re always given options that adjust to our respective fitness levels, so one of these days I’ll try to teach the boyfriend (naks talaga!) what I’ve been learning from our yogis. He’ll get a private session with me... with extra service maybe. Hehehe.
But for those I cannot give private lessons and extra service to - hehehe - the invitation to Yoga for Life is still open. On Wednesday evenings, it’s at 7:00 pm at the 28th floor conference room of the Medical Plaza Building on San Miguel Avenue in Ortigas. On Saturday afternoons, it’s at 2:00 pm at the Echo Yoga Studio in Century Plaza Building on Perea Street in Makati. See you there!
Also check out our Yogi Bear’s new program under the Echo Yoga roster, which aims to immerse liberated men into yoga. Every Thursdays and Saturdays, he leads men stripped from the usual workout outfits and down to their skivvies, into a deeper and more fabulous appreciation of yoga. Check out Yoga Loca at the Echo Yoga website for more details.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Bitch Finds a Bastard
You already know that I’m the self-named, self-confessed, self-admitted B.I.T.C.H. I might just be the only person who has no problem being called a bitch. I’m the personification of the old Alma Moreno joke, who when called out, “Hey, BITCH!”, would reply with much annoyance, “Don’t you dare call me ‘Hey’!” So, as the Bitch, it is appropriate that I find my bastard. And I found my bastard.
He’s young. He’s short. He’s dark. He’s hairy. He loves to nibble. He’s jumpy and very excitable. He loves me unconditionally. He hates taking baths. He’s one hot dawg. Oh... what? I really was talking about a dog... as in he walks on all fours.
A colleague at work had puppies that she needed to give away... to anyone who was willing to give them a good home. Four puppies each needed a home. Easy a decision as it should’ve been, I had to think about it seriously.
I’ve always been a pet lover. I’ve had fish, turtles, fortune lobsters, cats, dogs and even a monkey. And my last pets, and I could say my favorite species, were rabbits. But it’s been 2 years since my last rabbit died. Almost perfectly timed with finding out I was HIV positive. I guess it gave me time to take care of myself first.
But it was time. I took a chance. Let’s give him a codename. Let’s call him mah little Bastard. Because he is... he is Bitch’s little Bastard. Just in case he’s in any way covered by R.A. 8504, let’s keep his real identity for him to disclose for himself.
And August 21st, the little Bastard came into my life. He was born June 10th, making him around two and a half months when I got him. He’s a mini-pinscher, with a little mix of shitzu. So in the question whether he’s a pure breed or not, he isn’t. But that don’t mean he ain’t the cutest.
He doesn’t exactly look like a mini-pinscher or a shitzu. People have said he looks like a Yorkshire terrier. He actually reminds me of Tintin’s dog, Snowy, just tinier and in a different color. He’s black, with brown bits on his legs, his snout and his eyebrows. He’s not exactly classy looking. I would actually use the word “scrappy” to describe him. He really looks scrappy. But just right. I’m not classy myself. I’m scrappy, too.
So there. Officially, this is my first dog. My own dog. A dog who I’ll be bringing up, my own style.
So for the first time ever in my pet history, this dog stays inside the house and sleeps in my room. He ain’t gonna be eating bones and just leftovers either. But most importantly, health-wise, karir kung karir.
Well, it was partly a condition laid upon me by my colleague who gave me the little Bastard. But more importantly, I cannot overlook the fact that I am now immuno-compromised. So the little Bastard’s health can and will directly affect my own.
So, two weeks ago, I brought the little Bastard to the veterinarian, luckily just a couple of blocks from where I live. It wasn’t his first trip to the vet, as he’d began his shots even before he was given to me, but it was mine. He had a little booklet that was a record of the vaccines he’s gotten... funnily similar to the booklet I have for my ARVs.
The poor little thing got the second dose of his vaccines, which the doctor said was a 5-in-1 thing, all with a little whimper. It was a combination of vaccines for DHLP - short for Distemper, Hepatitis, Leptospirosis, and Parvovirus - plus Corona Virus, if I‘m not mistaken.
Interesting. I never knew dogs could get hepatitis. I’m sure it’s different from the hepatitis I have, but I could’ve truly said that I can sort of relate.
By next week, he’ll get his next shots, which the vet says will be a 6- or 7-in-1. I’m not exactly sure what six or seven those are. Also soon, he’ll get a follow-up for his deworming, and start on his rabies shots. I’ll probably have to get a rabies vaccine as well, just to make sure. I’ll ask RITM about it.
I really wasn’t sure how my mom would take the little Bastard. But thankfully, she’s fallen in love with him. She’s been able to whip out her grandmothering skills, probably seeing him as the first ever grandchild she’s been longing for. She loves feeding him, keeps him company during the day while I’m at work, telling me all about his antics while they’re home alone, and even going online to research on dog care. And mind you, my mom isn’t exactly all that techie, so that’s a real effort for her.
It’s really not hard to fall in love with the little Bastard. He lives by little bundles of energy, and is a sleepy, lazy pup in between... quite like myself. He’s also extremely perky and pesky, in an adorable way. And he’s extremely smart. It took just over a week to potty-train him, although he does still have the occasional accidents every once in a while. He also knows this early how to “sit” and “come”, and he has this funny way of putting his toys away by his little bed, which my mom says takes after my obsessive-compulsive side. Hehe.
I guess the worst part of it is that the little Bastard is really taking up my time. I can’t just stay out all the time knowing that he’s home waiting for me. And my mom is taking advantage of that fact as well, using him as a way of convincing me to come home early every time I have plans. Argh. But he’s not exactly cramping my style completely. I am still able to stay out late or go out on weekends, either for yoga or the occasional dates.
He’s not keeping me up late either. Mostly, he’s sleeping when I am. Or if he is awake, I don’t know what else he’s doing... he’s really quiet and doesn’t disturb my sleep. Though he is becoming my third alarm clock, as he now knows the morning routine. My cellphone rings, my wristwatch rings shortly after, and soon he starts licking whatever body part I have hanging off the bed, trying to wake me up to let him out of the room. Even on holidays. Hahaha.
So there, this is my little Bastard. Just over four months old, and barely a month under my care, the little Bastard right now has earned his special place in my heart. One other reason to try to stay healthy and live longer. Yes, this Bitch has found his Bastard.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
The Burn
My body’s been aching a bit these past few days. Hot. Burning hot. Why?
A room full of people. People grunting. People moving. I found myself surrounded by lots of hot sweaty bodies, with just a thin rubber mat separating me from the cold marble floor. I was in motion, with a single voice telling me what position to take, to tighten up, to relax, to breathe hard. From being on my back with my legs reaching for the sky, to being on all-fours with my ass up in the air, until I was lying motionless on the floor, breathing heavily, heart pounding, sweat dripping from every pore.
Whoa, wait a minute. Before you go jumping to conclusions... I was just talking about... gasp... YOGA.
So it was in May that talks began on having yoga sessions for HIV-positives. Paulo Leonido, a certified yoga instructor and advocate, came up with the idea. With the help of some other Positivism friends, we fleshed it out. Another certified yoga instructor and advocate, Charmaine Cu-Unjieng, joined the team.
One problem we foresaw was that people wouldn’t want to attend something in which they’d automatically get labeled as HIV-positive. So to address that concern, instead of it being exclusively for HIV-positives, we decided to open it up to anyone who was interested. HIV-positives. Advocates. Our medical allies. Affected family. Friends.
So two weeks ago, the very first Yoga for Life was held. I invited some of the pozzie posse for the pilot session, and packed a change of clothes for myself that day. Of course, Murphy’s law took control. I got stuck in a one-to-sawa meeting at work, and despite cabbing to Ortigas, I was not surprisingly late. I snuck in, but was too ashamed of my tardiness that I decided against joining the session.
I just sat at the back with my favorite doctor friend who was playing GRO-slash-host for the event. While we were quietly chatting (like that’s possible, right?), trying not to disrupt the concentration in the room, I watched intently as the participants went through the motions. There were about 14 or so people there, most of whom I didn’t know. What I did know, though, was that not everyone there was HIV-positive. Cool.
BFF was there. I’mNotDyingI’mLiving was there. Some others who I knew. Others I didn’t. And I didn’t even have to know them. Nor their HIV-statuses. It was a don’t-ask-don’t-tell environment. It was a non-issue.
Seeing everyone in action, those who were doing well weren’t necessarily the ones who didn’t have the pozzie-secret. Interesting. And as for me, just sitting there watching all the contortion that was happening, I was left sweating. And panting. It was daunting. I was scared. I was suddenly relieved that I didn’t join.
Honestly, I’m a yoga virgin. Even if I do believe I am pretty fit, I haven’t really been active lately. Nothing more than the walking between transport hubs and work and home. Gym? Nope... too scared... and insecure. Back in school, I used to play soccer, volleyball, tennis and table tennis. I used to bowl and jog, too. I even used to dance, so I think I can be pretty flexible. But lately, ugh. Yoga was the farthest from my mind before this. Oh, maybe sexercise counts?
So after that first session, being one of those who kept inviting people to join Yoga for Life, I was sort of pressured to participate. I gotta walk my talk, right? So last week’s session, I vowed to be there. And not only be there, I vowed to yoga-ize myself.
And so I did. Despite raising my hand when our yogi Charmaine asked who were yoga virgins, I tried my best to keep up. In the middle of the first part, I found myself sweating profusely, worse than I’d seen anyone do in the pilot session. I was worried. I took time to look around, and was relieved to see others were sweating as well.
Poses. Stances. Holds. Stretches. Points. Flexes.
From something as simple as inhaling and exhaling, to something as difficult as being on your back trying to swing your legs over your head into a shoulder stand. Very Kamasutra. Honestly, that was the hardest part. During the pilot, I saw them try to do it, and I said to myself, “No fucking way.” But last week, I wouldn’t let the session pass without trying it. I get challenged too, ya know! So I got as far as trying. I didn’t quite get there, but I got to the next best option, having my legs up in the air. Whew. I’m a proud boi!
By the end of the session, the meditation part, I couldn’t help but appreciate the time we were given to just lie on the mat and rest every part of our bodies and even our minds. It was a good way to end the hour-long yoga session.
I was warned by BFF that my body would ache into the next day. The following morning, I proudly reported to him that I was a-okay. I, of course, spoke too soon. By that evening I could feel the burn. I was reminded I had muscles I’d forgotten I had. Abs. Shoulders. Triceps. Quads. It was a burn. But it was a good burn. I missed having this burn.
So there. I lost my virginity yet again... my yoga virginity. I’ve pretty much recovered from last week, but not in time to join the weekend yoga session. But as of this writing, I’m already on my 2-hour fast and looking forward to having my second yoga session in a couple of hours. Is it really good for me? Feels like it. Well, I’m now officially physically active. And I’m happy... as always!
And am I ready to ache again? Bring it on! I yearn for the burn! ROAR! Yoga for Life, here I come!
Yoga for Life sessions are held every Wednesday evenings in Ortigas, and Saturday afternoons in Makati. If you’re interested to join us, you may contact our yogi bear and babe, Paulo at comradepaw@gmail.com, and Charmaine at charmaine.cuunjieng@gmail.com for more details.
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
LG... Life's Good!
I have a new phone.
I... have... a... new... phone!
It shouldn’t be a big deal, but the last time I had a new phone was two years ago.
Wawa... I know, right?
Back in my college days, my first ever mobile phone was a Nokia 636. It was back in the day when text messaging was still non-existent. It was when there was still no such thing as pre-paid. It was when persons on one cellular service provider could still not contact those on other networks. It was when the biggest perk was that Donita Rose was on my network too. Okay...
So that was like ancient history already. I needed to have my subscription cut because I couldn’t say no whenever my classmates asked to make calls on it, and I couldn’t explain to my mom why my bill was costing so much. Sigh.
Surprisingly, that was the first and last time I owned a Nokia phone. Nokias just always seemed so blah for me. It was such a turn off to me that everyone has one, especially during the days of the 5110s and 3210s. I recall that whenever the signature Nokia ringtone sounded off, everyone would have to check their phones to see if it was theirs. So since my first and last Nokia, I’ve had instead – in chronological order – a Bosch, a Motorola, a Mitsubishi, a Panasonic, an unfamiliar Chinese brand, and finally, a Sony Ericsson.
I’m not really the type of person to need updated phones. As long as it’s user-friendly, it’s good enough. The Bosch, I gave to my mom because my sister gave me a Motorola for my birthday. The Mitsubishi, I needed because my Motorola battery conked out. The Panasonic I bought when my Mitsubishi fell from my bag somewhere. My little Chinese phone, I bought when I got a second sim. My tiny Panasonic, I had to retire when I could not find a replacement for its busted charger. And the Sony Ericsson came free with my post-paid line.
The Sony Ericsson was my first ever phone ever which had a camera. Too bad I lost it to a pickpocket just months after I got it. So I got demoted back to my Chinese phone, while I was still tied to my two-year contract that came with the Sony Ericsson. It was the longest two years ever, during which I felt I was paying for someone else’s phone. And just this month, I was scheduled to renew my contract, and thus was again eligible for a new phone. Finally!
So as my final errand some Tuesdays ago, I dropped by the friendly neighborhood outlet of my phone network to claim the prize for my loyalty. Initially, I was looking to go back to a Sony Ericsson because I really liked the last one I had for that short time that I had it. Sadly, they didn’t have any available. They were offering me a Nokia, which I still didn’t like. Samsungs were available, but Samsungs never really caught my fancy. I asked if there were any other options available, of which there was just one.
It was a slide-type, which I never imagined I would go for. Aside from all the features that I had with my Sony Ericsson, this had some pluses. It had upgradable memory, an FM radio, a free headset, plus a 2 megapixel camera. Whoa! Compared to the Sony Ericsson’s VGA camera, this was really more than enough! I didn’t need to give it much more thought. It had me at “hello”. So now, let me introduce to you, my new phone… it’s an LG this time!
Nope, I wasn’t paid by LG to promote their phone. No, no, no, I’m not bragging about it at all either. Trust me, the phone that it replaced was already begging to be put to rest. It was no longer charging properly, and was the most basic phone you’d ever see. If someone stole it from me, I seriously think he would take pity and return it to me, and probably even give me some money to jumpstart a new-phone-fund. Sigh.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not ashamed of it. It’s the cutinest rootinest phone I’ve ever had. It was the most basic phone ever, but it certainly got the job done. But by now, the battery no longer charges fully, I’ve lost the headset that came with it, I’ve cracked the outer screen and replaced it with a fraction of a CD, and all the peeling and the scratches are hideous. But I loved this phone. Two and a half years with it was no joke. I don’t think you’ll find another one like it.
So if I’m not just out to rub my new mobile phone in your face, why exactly is this story in this particular blog? Well, this is my story and this, my blog. But other than that, if you think about it, my getting a new service phone meant that I needed to renew my contract with the network provider for another two years. Still not getting it?
I renewed my contract with the service provider for another two years. Ergo, I do NOT plan on dying out anytime soon, not in the next two years at least. Neither do I plan for this to be the last time I renew my phone contract. Hehe.
That should give you a basic idea of my state of mind right now. I will need to pay for the monthly dues on this phone bill, aside from the rest of my bills as well, so I do plan on continuing to work. Having a phone means I will be communicating, and thus, I’m not planning on isolating myself or disappearing from the face of the earth anytime soon. I’m going to be living… and I will be living a productive life at that. I plan to keep on keeping on for as long as I can, and not let this HIV thing mean the twilight of such a big thing called life. Roar!!!
So with that, on to more phones... and more years to come! LG... Life’s Good!
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Pushing the Limits
Sigh. Remember the days. Those innocent days. The days when nice hair did the trick. The days when a deep voice sent your mind reeling. When beautiful eyes could melt you on the spot. When a sweet smile could make your jaw drop. When a gentle touch sent chills down your spine.
I remember those days. Those days are gone. I’ve dared to push past them. And past many of my limits, too.
Let’s just say I moved onto bigger things. My eyes would no longer be content with just hair, eyes and smiles. I remember the time when peeping into the sleeves of guys sitting across me in a jeepney and seeing their hairy armpits was one hell of a turn on. Then, when that wasn’t enough, I wanted to see guys in sandos or tank tops. And then I wanted to see more... bare chests.
From there, I liked seeing a guy’s treasure trail leading down into his pants or shorts. Then I came to savor every time I got a peek up the legs of a guy’s shorts. Remember those tommy-tommy days? And then I needed to see a guy in underwear or swim trunks, complete with the bulge and the pubes. And then even that wasn’t enough. I wanted to see them buck naked.
At first, of course, I would only get to see guys stripped down to the flesh in pictures. And then they were naked in pictures, having sex. Detailed sexual encounters were not far behind, be them in verbal or written form. And boy, could I picture every scene in my head. And then the pictures and stories merged, and I got to watch sex on videos. I didn’t even have to imagine anymore.
And from just watching them, I wanted to be with them… I wanted to be them. Seeing wasn’t enough. I wanted to touch them and be touched. I was mimicking what I saw in pictures and videos. And yes, I came to a point where I thought and believed I could even do better than some pictures and videos that I had seen. Oi, you’d be surprised…
Truly, I barely left anything to the imagination, and barely anything of me was left to the imagination either. I was pushing my sexual limits further and further. I would say I almost had no limits. I was just so game for anything. I dared. I enjoyed the dare.
I’m painting a picture of myself as such a daredevil right now, but believe me, I could’ve been worse. I could’ve pushed myself even more. When it comes to places I could go to, my limits were hardly ever pushed. When it comes to seedy and blatant places, I’m a wimp.
I have never been to a gay bar. Neither as a client, nor as someone who works there... just to make that clear. I just always thought that, unless I had money to “ipit in the singit”, it would just be a feast for the eyes, and it’d just leave me with blue balls and a heavy puson. Aside of course from the fact that I feel it’s going to be a waste of money.
I have never been to a bathhouse, or gay club, or whatever you call these F-, Q-, and E-type places. I always worried about being labeled as the new putahe of the place. Yeah, pretty paranoid, I know. Not knowing who I’m going to be groping with in the dark doesn’t help either. And again, there’s the fact that I think it is an unnecessary expense.
I’m proud to say that I’ve been to a massage place once. I already knew I was HIV-positive at the time, so I knew my limits. Plus I went with a friend, so I wasn’t going to be there cruising or anything. I was told that it was actually a legit massage place, even though it’s clear that staring at others’ nakedness is acceptable in the wet area, and the sauna has so many dark hidden corners very inducive to doing steamy stuff. But I was really just there for the massage. And that first and only body massage ever was great. Fine, I admit, I ended up giving a blowjob to the friend I went with, but honestly, 99% of the time there was spent just relaxing. Okay, fine, 90%.
Dance clubs are a different thing. Yeah, I’ve been to a couple. I don’t think sex is supposed to happen there, but, especially if it’s somewhere in Malate, it becomes pink and seedy nonetheless. I mean, yeah, people are there dancing, but you’ll notice that some guys’ eyes are dancing around more than their bodies are. Minus points for the paranoid and anti-social like me, and the taunting of my claustrophobia in these places doesn’t help either.
So far, I think my limits with motels are those which I pushed to the limit. The privacy they afford does wonders for introverts like me. I’ve been to a lot of them, especially prior to my finding out I was HIV-positive. The first time I was actually able to step into a motel was back when I was 17. I know. Menor de edad.
It can be awkward going into a motel as a same-sex pair, but several years ago, I realized that females going in with their boyfriends have much more to “lose” in terms of dignity than I do. I’m not sure if it was a turn for the better or the worse, but no longer was I ashamed to be seen walking into a motel with another guy. People working there know what happens behind all those doors. And hypocrisy and judgment were not part of their job descriptions. See, that’s how far south my mentality has gone.
So really, my limits have been getting pushed. Some of them, at least. I have dared. But I tend to question myself. When should one stop daring? When should one stop pushing his limits?
At this point in my life, post-HIV and all, I’m starting to notice I’m not pushing my limits – sexual limits, specifically – as much anymore. Of course, it helps that I’ve pretty much pushed all my limits already. And in all that pushing, I hardly have any regrets. I can almost confidently say Been there, Done that to most things. I may have tried almost everything at least once... sans of course sex with the opposite gender. Okay, I’ve tried at least everything that fits my principles. O diba, I have principles daw?!
So maybe I’ve stopped pushing my sexual limits. Why? It’s not because I’ve gotten too old for it. And neither is it because I’m HIV-positive. I could have sex if I wanted to. But that’s the thing, I no longer want to. I’m beginning to realize I no longer need to. I mean, I want to have sex, but allow me to be cheesy and say I want something much more meaningful this time. Okay, that really sounded cheesy.
Basta, it feels like I’m beginning to see that I no longer need to prove anything to myself. I don’t need to be constantly daring myself and pushing my limits... not sexually, at least. That’s not a bad thing, right? KJ ba? Baka kunin na ako ni Lord? Don’t worry. I’m still me... complete with all the fetishes, kink, fantasies and horniness. I’m just taking more control. I’m daring to limit. And I’m limiting the dare. But for life’s other dares, just keep ‘em coming! Push on! Push on!
Saturday, June 27, 2009
The Real Man
Come to think of it, Fathers’ Day came and went this year with hardly a hint of a fuss. Had I not gotten the call from L that day and heard his son in the background, I could’ve possibly completely forgotten about it. I know I seem like such an ungrateful son to have only greeted one person and it wasn’t even my own dad. But that's just how it went.
Growing up, I didn’t really have my dad beside me. His profession required him to be out-of-town most of the time. He did, however, show up around once a month if I remember right. During those once-a-months he’d come home, I would run out to meet him and hug him around the waist, my little arms unable to wrap around his fully-developed beer belly. Yep, my dad was a Pale Pilsen person, and he was a real man.
I remember the lingering scent of a smoker, as well as his signature smokers’ cough that filled the house every time he was around. I don’t even wonder why I never felt the need to get hooked on cigarettes. Yep, my dad had his own carbon footprint, and he was a real man.
I’m a bit ashamed to admit that I used to sleep in the same bed my parents did. And waking up beside my dad without his shirt on, I would wonder why there were stray hairs around his nipples, which I’d try to tug at, eventually waking him up every time. Yep, my dad walked around without his shirt on, had armpit hair, nipple hair and a full mustache, and he was a real man.
But of course, my dad was a real man in all the other senses of the word.
He would go hang out with his drinking buddies out on the street corner, usually coming home so drunk that on some occasions that he’d fall asleep right on top of our school books, and on one really bad day, he pushed my mom around and left her in a heap on the floor right before our very eyes. Yep, my dad was an alcoholic, and he was a real man.
He was always right. He knew how to use any product ever manufactured, even better than the manufacturer. And not even the scientific knowledge that we, his children, would bring up was enough to overturn his own know-how. Yep, my dad was a know-it-all, and he was a real man.
He was one hell of a driver. He had a habit of running female drivers off the road, and honking them to jitters. He hated being overtaken, and loved cutting in. Yep, my dad was king of the road, and he was a real man.
He was a man of few words. When I told my mom that I was gay back in 1999, she actually forced me to tell my dad. So I did. I admit it scared the shit outta me, but hearing him say Just let him be in a matter-of-fact way just shocked the hell outta me, too. Yep, my dad seemed void of emotions, and he was a real man.
So my dad may have seemed like as much of a real man any man can ever get. But it took a real man to put my dad down... he succumbed to himself.
In late 2003, my dad felt the need to once again be a real man, as he ignored advice from his doctor-cousin to go for a checkup. By the time he couldn’t bear the pain, which was when he finally went for a checkup, it was too late. He was diagnosed with terminal stage cancer.
Of course, being a real man, he still didn’t follow everything his doctor said. Yes, he went in for chemotherapy, which would seem to say he still wanted to live. But he still ate what he wasn’t supposed to be eating, drank what he wasn’t supposed to be drinking, and did what he wasn’t supposed to be doing.
The fact that he outlived the 10 months he was given didn’t even help. He just became more stubborn. I felt how it was to have a child... and a brat at that. He couldn’t see that we were just trying to take care of him. He wanted to live, but wasn’t willing to make the sacrifice.
I remember thinking to myself, Is this what it takes to be a real man?... If it was, then I was rather relieved that I wasn’t one.
Finally, his moment of humility came as he was lying helpless in the hospital. With his wife and all us kids around, he confessed that he fathered two other sons with another woman, both of whom shared our family name, as well as our initials. Oddly enough, we were far from shocked, having known about it since years ago. But the way he said it... the first ever time I may have seen him cry... was a breakthrough. It redefined what I knew of what a real man was supposed to be.
Sadly, about a week after that, we were awoken by the dreaded call that rushed us to the hospital. Other than the doctors trying to resuscitate him long enough for us to get there, it was too late. My dad had died.
Time flies, and it’s been almost five years since. I still will openly admit that we hardly had a real relationship, and still think that he was an arrogant, stubborn ass most of the time. But hell... I had to get some of it from somewhere, right?
Remembering my dad and my own challenges today, I will have to say that I got more than my tolerance for alcohol, my thinning hair, and my skin color from him. If he could see me now, I don’t exactly think he’d be proud, but he can definitely rest assured that some of the better points of his “real man” legacy may just have rubbed off on me.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
First Hello, Last Goodbye
On most Sundays, I’d just stay home and rest. But this particular one had me anxious. The kind of anxiety that only unconsciousness could stop.
But... I was on a mission.
I was to meet a fellow pozzie for the first time. Not the kind of eyeball you would expect. I would be meeting him... at his own wake.
I’ve been chatting with an old friend abroad, and someone to whom I had disclosed my HIV status. I just really trusted this guy enough to tell the truth when he asked how I was doing, but was relieved as well to know that he and his partner had been getting tested as well. Negative, thankfully. Yep, I had had sexual contact with them both when they were still in the country years and years and years ago.
It was late April that he asked for advice, saying a friend of his had a CD4 count of less than 100, but whose HIV test result had not been released yet. A CD4 count of less than 100? I remember thinking, AIDS?! At first I found it odd that his CD4 got measured before an HIV screening, but apparently a low CD4 count can also happen in cases of autoimmune diseases like lupus and in organ transplantees.
So at the time, it wasn’t confirmed just yet, but I gave him all the information needed in case some bad news came in. But sadly, shortly after, it did. In May, his friend had been hospitalized with a number of infections like meningitis and tuberculosis, just some of what are known to be opportunistic infections.
Though I didn’t know him personally, I had been able to text the guy to introduce myself, in case he needed to talk with someone in the same situation. I had also been able to get in touch with his sibling who was taking care of him, sharing my own story of living with HIV. I reassured her that people with HIV have been known to recover from such infections. But alas, last week, I received the news that he had passed away. He was, like me, just in his 30s.
So Sunday, I dropped by his wake. I was anxious because I’ve never been comfortable being at wakes, in addition to this one being that of someone I really did not know personally and one that I was going alone to. I know, paranoia again. But I was hell bent on meeting his siblings, as well as representing his friend who could not be there.
Getting there, the sibling I was in touch with was not around. I introduced myself and chatted a bit with the dad. He expressed how happy his son would be to know that his friend sent a representative, and it was really touching for him to acknowledge that. He told me about how his healthy and athletic his son was, and how unlikely his demise had been.
I was not rambling about anything HIV just yet, as I didn’t really know who knew what. I waited quietly for the sibling I had been in touch with to arrive. The ambience was light, apparently upon request of the deceased. After about half an hour, I finally shook the hand of the person I was waiting for.
Apparently the immediate family knew the truth about the condition, but as to who understood, the only ones I am sure who did so were his siblings. We talked in lowered voices amidst the other guests and relatives, but I was pleased that the siblings were really opening up about the situation. They were open-minded and it was evident that HIV was not an issue for them in their brother’s death. I never heard any judgment.
As I understood from his sibling, this guy may have already had an inkling up to a year ago that he had it, but didn’t take action. As such, he may have found out too late. It still scares me a bit to realize it was just a month since confirming he was HIV-positive that they lost their brother. But the battle is far from over. The virus hasn’t won.
As I shared with them my own story, which is nothing compared to what their brother went through, they shared with me that they realized how much more advocacy is needed for the issue of HIV. And that was one thing that they, as well as some friends, were willing to be part of. It’s ironic that this person’s fight against the enemy will probably be more vigilant after his death.
After staying for about three hours, I mustered up the courage to leave. It was raining hard outside, which just helped set the mood to get my mind to process all the information for the day.
If it indeed was true that this person may have known that he possibly had it up to a year ago, I think the lesson to learn here is that there are certain attitudes to dealing successfully with HIV. You may be athletic, strong and healthy, but your body can only take so much. You either eat your humble pie and get the help that you need, or you continue to act like a superhero and beat the hell outta the virus. Either way, you gotta acknowledge that there is an adversary. It’s when you take the deadma approach that this virus can really get the upper hand.
So there, I didn’t know how much I can say without endangering the privacy of the family, so thanks for bearing with my lack of details as I tried to tell my story. I was his last eyeball. Our first hello was also our last goodbye. Condolences to his family, and may he rest in peace.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Please Say A Prayer
Guys and gals, I just received word that we just lost one of our kind. After suffering from multiple infections, a pusit just bit the dust. But of course, he is not just a pusit. He is someone’s son, someone’s brother, someone’s friend, someone’s lover. May God bless his soul.
I hope to be able to get in touch with the family soon. Although we do not know him personally, please take a moment to say a little prayer for him. Thank you. Updates later.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
I Am Me
I apologize for that last outburst. I never planned on revealing who the person is, even though this person volunteered that information in a subsequent comment. It just didn’t matter. To make the long story short, we’ve been able to patch things up and move on. Let’s just all pretend that the Left Behind entry is a prequel to the bigger issue, the Right Behind. But hey, don’t get me wrong, my ass is well-proportioned, okay?
So with all that prior ruckus, was there anything to learn and share? Hmmm.
When I was chatting with this person and writing that entry Sunday night, I’ll be honest, I was really in a bad mood. It was a bad end to a great weekend, as well as a bad start to the week ahead. So I was pissed. And though I am usually a very patient and subdued person, I chose to go the other route with this. I was harsh. I was sarcastic. I was a bitch. I didn’t need this person to tell me how bad I was. I heard myself, and just shook my head and said I’m such a bitch. I AM SUCH A BITCH.
I was just being myself. I’m not sure how accurate I am, but I imagine people reading what I wrote and saying, geesh, this person is sick with an incurable virus, maybe he should consider being a kinder person. Should I?
I remember sometime last year, when E and I encountered a new pozzie. This new pozzie was in a pretty good place to start with, as his family and his friends knew about, supported and accepted his condition. But for some reason, he still fell into a mode of self-pity and depression. E and I were there to support him. Yes, support. *evil laugh*
Being the B.I.T.C.H. and E we were known to be, we employed the method of cariño-brutal, or tough love. Less cariño and more brutal, actually. Even as this new pozzie was giving up, swearing off getting treatment and wanting to wait for the virus to just run its course, we bashed him. We got tired of showing him the good side of things, and stopped trying to convince him, and just chose to mock him. Isn’t it just fate that B.I.T.C.H. and E, when put together, make B.I.T.C.H.-E?
New pozzie was pissed to say the least. I think he went as far as hating us for not being more supportive. He said, as fellow pozzies, we should have been kinder. But geesh, E and I just knew patronizing him could do nothing if he didn’t help himself. So fast-forward to today, I think it worked. This now not-so-new pozzie is now a friend, and is in an extremely positive mindset, moving on with life, and even sharing his story.
Lesson learned? Suddenly being HIV-positive does not necessarily make us suddenly kinder, just because we’re supposedly in a tough chapter of our lives. Not even with fellow pozzies. Neither is it the case that we are bitchy at times because we have HIV. We are bitchy at times, because that’s the way we always were – even before the virus.
Maybe it’s part of the Life-Goes-On philosophy I encourage with HIV. HIV does not change who I am. I am not HIV. I am still me. And as with life, everything else – yes, even bitchiness – goes on.
But it’s not one-sided, okay. The world around us goes on as well. So don’t treat us like we are HIV. Love us not because of the virus, but because of who we are. In the same way, you are also entitled to hate us. But hate us not because of the virus, but because of who we are.
I am not HIV. I am me. I am B.I.T.C.H.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Not so Christmasy
Oh, shit. Four days to go till Christmas.
It’s never been a day or a season I look forward to. Ever since I had the maturity – or should I call it angst – to look beyond the decorations, the gifts and the food, and into all the emotions that are wrapped up with it, I’ve come to realize how the holidays have usually been a lonely time for me.
I know I’ve always regarded myself as a loner, and as being strong and secure, but Christmas is a time that magnifies all my insecurities, all the loneliness, all the self-pity and all the hurt. I can honestly say that I’ve cried myself to sleep on more than a couple of occurrences of Christmas.
I can’t say I’ve always been single whenever Christmastime comes. But memories of the few years that I’ve had someone special beside me during the holidays end up being tainted with doubt when the relationship ends because of infidelity, mostly on their part.
Last year, my first Christmas after my personal vow of singlehood, I remember getting the most greetings ever, mostly from the guys who I was playing mistress to at the time. But knowing that they needed to sneak off and could spare just a few minutes from their normal lives to drop me a line, and when these guys would need to go back to their wives, girlfriends, partners or boyfriends, I realize that the numbers didn’t count. Eventually, I’d be alone again.
This being the last weekend before Christmas, I’ve been attending party after party the past few days. Fun? Yes, definitely. And though I am usually nothing more than a wall flower, the happiness overflows in my heart when I see other people happy. Creepy to some extent, I know. But deep inside, I’ve been feeling the loneliness skulking in.
From my late father, I inherited a penchant for booze. And though I don’t really do much of it, nor am I addicted to it, I’ve been treating myself to my fair share of the drinking the past few days. But as much as I’d like to try to drown my sorrows away, it’s like the heavens have taunted me again. I do not get drunk. I’ve gotten as far as tipsy and sleepy, but never ever gotten puke-mad-don’t-know-what-I’m-doing-can’t-remember-what-happened unconscious. I don’t know if that’s a good thing. I want to forget the loneliness. I want to be numbed of the pain. But I wasn’t meant to be that lucky.
This will be my first Christmas after finding out I am HIV-positive. How much worse will HIV make it? Only time can tell.
So far, sans the HIV part of it, Christmas seems to be a time when everyone is already busy with their special someone. And as I’ve learned, third wheels will get left behind. Even just seeing strangers everywhere I look paired up walking hand in hand just leaves me sighing and trying to shake the loneliness from my mind.
Apart from that, it seems to be a time when people seem to be wearing new clothes, sporting new looks, and of course looking damned good, and it’s been such a torture to try to keep myself from having any part of that pie. I’m just afraid it’s going to get too complicated. Or maybe I’m too proud to admit that I’m needy. I don’t want to run the risk of having something end up as a fling just to tide me over the holidays.
So for now, only solitude will surely remain by my side. I’ll be constantly reminding – and convincing – myself of all the pros of being single, and if I’m lucky, when I go to bed tonight, I’ll wake up to find out it’s January already. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have to whip out – Gasp! – my License to Drama. Just wish my sanity luck... please.
P.S. On a good note, POSITIVISM.PH is up and running! Check it out! Thank you, Hotbox and Synthesis! Congrats, Bossings! We've only just begun...
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Remote Control
I got the chance to hang out again this weekend, this time with a group of my fellow pozzies. It was funny to observe how liberating it must’ve been for everyone to be able to talk openly about poz stuff, being in the privacy of a poz-friendly household.
We talked about everything from our diagnoses, poz histories, medications, side effects, experiences, and love lives. But there was one particular topic which caused sweat to form on my brow. Sex.
I’ve never claimed to be clean, innocent, or angelic – not even vanilla – when it comes to sex. Threesomes, orgies, all the way sex sessions… I can say that I’ve been there and done that. I may just have done everything imaginable, and classify under extreme kink. That was then. But now it’s a different story. HIV made it a different story.
But why can’t I go back to it? Technically, I could, right? Yes. Technically I could, under the premise that I’d play it safe this time, everytime. So, why haven’t I?
I realize, it’s a matter of control. Ever since, I’ve always been a bottom. Submissive. Passive. I practically never made the first move. I needed to be controlled. I needed to be dominated. I aimed to please a master. And please I did.
I was, and still am, the type who goes all the way. Whatever the master wanted I would give. And that’s what guys liked about me, I guess. I almost never said no. If they wanted to do me bareback, fine. If they wanted me to swallow, I would. If they wanted to see me get gang banged, I just tell them to form a line. If they’d make me take a double, I had no reason not to.
It was all about control. I needed to give up control to whoever I was with. Apparently guys like that.
So at this poz time of my life, I can no longer go back to the guys, or the games, I used to have fun with. These are guys who know I would give everything. I can no longer give everything. I could no longer give up all control. I now need to be in control.
For now, I will probably opt for a guy who knew I was poz, or was hell-bent on using protection. That’s as much as I can control. Because honestly, if temptation arises, I can’t be 100% sure that I’d resist the temptation to go all the way. The urge to please without question still whispers in my ear. I just might forget to use protection. I might just lose control of the situation.
So do I ever expect to be totally in control? I can’t promise, but I can try to get there step by step. I can no longer afford to be totally controlled by the guy or guys I’m with. But I am still not ready to claim full control over myself. I want to be in control of myself. And I want something beyond that.
I need something bigger than myself to be in control of me. And that’s HIV. I need it to fill my default thoughts, so there will be no possibility for me to consider anything else but safe sex. I need it to control me, sexually, that is. It will be my Remote Control. I emphasize “will”. Future tense. I’m not there yet.
So for now, I’m trying, trying, trying to stay in situations that I have the most possibility of controlling. And try I will, until I’m ready to give total control of my sex life to HIV. And when I get that point, I’m absolutely NOT passing the remote.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
House, Not Home
It was Wednesday night. I had spent ten hours at the office, making money to pay the bills. I took an hour-long bus ride home, standing in the aisle the whole way. Instead of taking a tricycle in, I took the ten-minute walk home, meaning to save fifteen pesos, which could buy me two cups of rice for lunch the next day. And all this for what?
I walked into the house, and changed from my work clothes. I hadn’t even eaten dinner, or sat down at all, when my mom started bombarding me with things she needed me to do. Things that weren’t really urgent. Things that could wait till I at least sat down.
Peace and quiet helps an introvert like me recover from a long day. And it was clear she didn’t care enough to give it to me. So I raised my talk-to-the-hand hand to shush her, and went on to have my dinner.
Then it started. She started sighing, and clutching her stomach in alleged pain. She told me that if I’d come home one day and she wasn’t there, I’d probably find her in the hospital. Then she asked me if I had medicines. Mylanta. I shook my head.
And what did I do after all this? Absolutely nothing. It was happening again. She was acting up again. Craving for attention. The attention that’s been lacking since her favorite son left the country. The same attention I was deprived of since childhood.
She’d done this before, lying in bed, claiming she “almost had a stroke”. Complaining that half her body was numb. I’m not stupid. You don’t almost have a stroke. It’s either you do, or you don’t. That time, I turned my back for two minutes, and the next thing I know, she was out of bed, all dressed up, ready to go to the mall. Retrogression at its finest. Imagine how my eyes rolled.
So this time around, I was already in The-Boy-Who-Cried-Wolf mode. I was eating dinner, not giving her even a glance. I had my eyes glued to the television and was letting everything from her go in one ear and out the other.
Hospital? I don’t know what psychic powers she used to see that coming. I knew she was acting when she asked me if I had medicines. I never stocked medicines and she knows it. At least not until I started on ARVs, and that she doesn’t know. And of all medicines, Mylanta? What for? Gas? Indigestion? Hell.
I admit I was so tempted to shoot her bad act down by telling her, “I have HIV, and you’re complaining about gas?” But like always, I just put my poker face on and kept quiet, making sure I locked myself in my room as quickly as possible, safe from the attention-starved monster. It reminded me why she doesn’t deserve to know I have HIV. Because she doesn’t really care.
In times like these, I usually call my sister. Because no one else would believe my story. Because only she knows my mom and the craziness she’s capable of.
Good thing she was home, and I was able to vent. We share the same wavelength, and vent as we do to each other, we never fail to find humor in all the insanity that life throws at us. By the end of it all, I was laughing again, smiling again.
I slept soundly through the night, and rushed through my morning routine so I could leave for work and escape any residual craziness at the house. Yes. This is my house, but it is not home. My room is my home. My bed is my home. My friends are my home. My sister is my home. My solitude is my home.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Movie Review
It’s been a good week. No biggie. Nothing extremely good, nothing extremely bad. When the weekend came, no real plans. A former buddy of mine sent me a message inviting to have “fun”, but of course I had to decline, under the alibi of “dating somebody”. I find that excuse to be most effective for me right now. I cannot just tell them that sex, orgies and slutting isn’t my thing. That would be the surprise of the century. There would have to be some reason for me to mellow down this much. And there is a reason, and you guys know it. It’s just not that easy a reason to blurt out.
Saturday morning, I got a text message asking if I’d like to go watch a movie that afternoon. It was someone I had encountered online, but never met before. A movie? Innocent enough, right? It would be overly assuming of me to think this was more than just a movie. So I agreed. He even told me he’d invite another guy along, which to me, made it much safer and easier to get away from, should anything more happen.
So I left the house braving the rains and got to Greenhills just on time. We met. He looked good. We needed to walk right into the movie, so we didn’t have much time to talk before that. Not much talk inside either, as we seemingly concentrated on the movie. Silence. But it was comfortable. There was only one incident of attempted physical contact inside, when he put his hand on my knee in the latter part of the movie. It was a bit unexpected, I wasn’t sure if he was being cheeky. Not that I didn’t like it.
We walked out when it ended, and he asked that I accompany him to the mall to buy something. Sure. I had nothing against it. At least I wasn’t just sent off, right? He asked if I had plans that evening, to which I said no. Then he told me he wanted to see the other movie that was also showing. I didn’t get it right away, but he wanted to see it that evening too. Hmm, two movies in one night. Well, it’s been a while since I’d watched one movie at the cinemas, let alone two. So, I agreed. And on we went.
Still no talking. Probably because it was another good movie. But the previous attempt of his hand on my thigh went… further. He caressed my knee again, held my hand, and kissed it. I didn’t know a proper way to stop it. I’ve never needed to. Needless to say, groping in movie houses is improper. And needless to say, we were improper.
Ok, so it didn’t go much further, which is a big WHEW for me. We grabbed some coffee after the movie, and he dropped me off near where I live. The evening was good. I admit it made my weekend. But walking home, I realized that I was in a dilemma.
I know I have HIV. And I will tell some people eventually. But I maintain that this should be on a need-to-know basis. So who needs to know? People I had encounters with before, people I trust and people who deserve to know. It seems, definitely, new acquaintances do not need to know, unless we’ve built up enough of a friendship to deem them to need to know. But when the time comes that we’ve built enough of a friendship, it’s much, much harder to reveal my secret. Questions as to why I didn’t tell them before will come up. Especially if by that time, we’d gotten into compromising situations. I realize it’s easier to tell a complete stranger. Should I immediately assume that anyone I’m about to meet will want to get frisky with me? Should having HIV be a premise to the person I introduce myself to be?
So that’s my dilemma. It’s like trying to figure out whether the chicken or the egg should come first. I don’t have ready answers to my questions. One additional thing I’ll have to figure out. Soon. I never imagined watching a movie could be this problematic. Sigh.
