Not Alone

I was single when I met Allan on the dance floor of a popular bar in Malate. I was in the middle of my law studies then, and he was an agent in a call center. I noticed him immediately; he was tall, with long hair pulled back into a ponytail and eyes that reminded me of an anime character. I positioned myself beside him, and after introductions and some playful bantering, we exchanged numbers.

I saw him again later that night (or morning actually, I left around 3). The friend I had with me already went home. He walked up to me and we talked. One thing led to another, and I found myself inviting him to my apartment.

He was a great kisser, that part I remember. The rest I don't. That's because I fell asleep while we were making out apparently.

(I was a law student cramming 300-400 pages of text everyday. I was tired. Don't judge me.)

So anyway, I woke up, soft morning light coming through my thin gauzy curtains, and saw him sitting on my red sofa a couple of feet away from my bed. I immediately realized what happened, and apologized profusely. He smiled, and said he didn't mind. He liked watching me sleep.

With any other guy I would have laughed because the line was so cheesy, but he managed to pull it off. I fell a little bit in love with him already.

I asked him if he wanted to have breakfast. He said it was already lunchtime. I looked at my watch and saw that he was right. My face reddened. The whole situation was mortifying.

So we went down to my car, and headed to Shangri-la Mall to grab lunch in one of the restaurants there. He was very charming and easygoing that the whole date passed by in a relaxed and comfortable manner. It was already mid-afternoon when I realized how much time had already passed. I told him I needed to start studying for my classes tomorrow, and he said he understood. I walked with him to the nearest taxi station.

He asked me, quite bluntly, if what just happened (or not happened) between us is a one-time deal, or if I wanted to see if we can take our date further. I didn't know how to answer. I didn't know how to explain to him that, marvelous as he was, I didn't feel like I wanted to pursue anything more. He was lovely, but at the time, I wasn't ready. And after getting to know him, I didn't want him to become just a one-night stand, which was all I could offer.

And for some strange reason, I decided to tell him all that. And he said he understood.

***

I saw him again on the same dance floor a year later. We were both still single, and he was still as handsome as ever. I asked him how he was, and he said that his parents have asked him to move to New York with them. He thought about it, and decided to say yes. I said I was happy for him, and I was. He deserved to be happy. We spoke some more, as if we were friends who haven't seen each other in a long time, rather than strangers who had one date and an (almost) one night stand.

He asked me if I came to the bar with anyone. I said I came with a friend, but he left already. He met someone he liked and they went somewhere else. I told Allan I was alone in a dark, gay bar, which was kind of pathetic. And he said "Of course not. You're not alone. You're with me."

And I smiled and punched him playfully on the shoulder. How he can pull off those cheesy lines, I'll never know.

I never saw him again. But in my head he is always that boy who reminded me I was not alone.

Photo taken here.

Why Beards are Not Important (And Also Why You Need to Listen to the Universe Sometimes)

I was smoking near the stage of a popular bar in Malate when I was introduced to Jt. I was with my friend Toph, who recognized Jt because they had a mutual friend. I made small talk and dropped a few lines I hoped sounded charming. We shared a cigarette. I found him attractive so I asked for his number. He had no problem giving it.

(Interesting aside. I initially thought Toph was introducing me to Jt because he thought we'd be a good match. I didn't realize he was actually hitting on Jt, and that he only introduced me because that was the polite thing to do. When I learned about it afterwards, I apologized, but Toph said he had absolutely no problem with it. He even said, now that he thought about it, that Jt and I would probably make a good couple. I still felt guilty, but that didn't stop me from going on that first date.)

I texted Jt, and we scheduled dinner the next day. I was late because I came from another party which I couldn't blow off. He said he didn't mind waiting, and raised the book he was carrying. We ended up in Kitchen in Greenbelt. I had chicken pandan, while he got tomato soup and a salad.

Here's the thing, I'm clumsy and awkward on first dates. I hate them with a passion. I tend to be too polite because I'm always afraid that I'd say something embarrassing. This, I think, makes me exceptionally boring.

Jt confessed later that he thought the exact same thing. He said he couldn't understand where that amiable person he met at the bar went. I told him that I was charming only because I was drunk, and that the best time to see my charismatic side is when I'm inebriated. Otherwise, he'd have to hang out with me more, and wait until I feel comfortable around him.

Notwithstanding the lackluster dinner, Jt asked if I wanted to have drinks. I said yes. A couple of glasses of wine later, I started to loosen up, and felt more like myself. We had a much better time, which led to several dates after the initial one.

At some point during that first date, I told Jt I've always had a thing for beards, which I found very attractive. Even the scraggly kind. Most people hate it because, when you kiss, it can be rough on the skin. I'm the exact opposite; I actually enjoy the sensation. It's like having a makeout session and a facial at the same time. Which means it's also a time-saver. What more do you want?

Anyway, a month later, I invited him to stay at my place for the weekend. We were getting serious, and I wanted to see if we can take it further.

Friday night, I picked him up at his office. I have this compulsive habit of rubbing my fingers on his chin while I'm driving just because I'm weird like that. I don't even realize I'm doing it sometimes. Jt didn't really mind, so the habit was reinforced. This time I realized something.

"You have stubble on your chin."

"Sort of. I think. Yes. I guess," he answered.

I looked at him briefly, narrowed my eyes, then stared back at the road. "Are you trying to grow a beard?"

Pause. "Yes."

"Why?"

"You said you find it attractive."

"Yes, but only on guys who can actually grow one. Yours is just some weird stubbly thing."

"I know. Beard-growing is not in my genes."

"Obviously. You don't need to do that. I already like you. You don't need to try too hard."

I smiled.

He smiled.

And then it hit me.

I'm in love with this guy.

My brain went into overdrive. He waited for me for almost an hour on our first date, just because he liked me. Notwithstanding our mind-numbingly boring first dinner together, he gave me a second chance. He lets me rub my fingers (which might have touched god knows what) on his chin, just because I want to. He knew he couldn't grow a beard, but he tried to anyway. For me. What more can you ask from someone?

This was it. Silver platter. Boyfriend on a plate.

I realized the universe was telling me something.

I told him I love him the Sunday after.

Photo taken here.

People like us

I used to frequent a small, dark bar in Malate when I was much younger. Its name was inspired by the Filipino word paminta which in gay lingo (I'm not fluent, that's the extent of what I know) meant a gay man who acted like a straight man (no, the bar wasn't called "Pepper"). Let me break it down for the lesbians and non-homosexuals: paminta's first two syllables pa-min sounds like pa-men which means parang lalaki or "like a man". Boom. Gay lingo 101.

It was fairly late in my life when I got introduced to the local gay scene. I was lucky, I had two best friends, both gay, who were with me. We were all quite innocent then; the idea that two guys can kiss publicly (or privately honestly) was alien to us.

The first few times we went to Maria Orosa in Malate, we never realized that most, if not all, of the men there were not straight. First, because we were young; second, because we were inexperienced; third, because we were blind (that's a joke). We actually kept on going to Orosa because it had Cafe Breton and we loved crepes, as well as this small quaint coffee shop that housed artwork. We rarely made it past midnight. We had dinner, coffee, and conversation. That was it.

One night, I was with Ioanis and we stumbled upon the bar I just mentioned. Well, not really stumbled; it was right next to Breton. What I meant is that at some point, we started talking about the bar next door.

"Why are there so many guys in that bar?" I asked. Ioanis said he didn't know but he pointed out that that one boy; a dorky, skinny, chinito guy in a white shirt and glasses, was cute. I had 20/20 vision so I insisted he wasn't. Ioanis said of course not, "he's cute kaya." I said that this only confirmed his weird taste in men.

We left the cafe a little later. Ioanis didn't want to go home yet, so we sat on the sidewalk and goggled at guys. We discussed the merits of each guy's physical attributes, rarely agreeing on who was attractive and who wasn't. I said that this makes perfect sense: the universe does not want us to ever fight over a guy obviously because it puts a lot of premium on our friendship. Ioanis agreed. We were also incredibly delusional.

Across the street there was this one guy; bald, muscular and moreno, who caught Ioanis' eye. While I was off yakking about random stuff, Ioanis apparently was flirting. It took a while before I realized he wasn't listening to me. I asked him if he was tired. He said he didn't want to go home yet and that that guy was looking at him.

I asked, "Which guy?" Ioanis discreetly pointed with his eyes. I looked at the guy then said "I love you, but that is not something to be proud about." I was a mean kid.

Ioanis said he's going to cross the street anyway. I admired his balls. "What if he's straight?" I asked. "I mean, I still love you, but between the two of us, I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who can fight." Ioanis bristled. "I know tae kwon do kaya," he said. "Yea, but you're also short and skinny," I insisted. "Look at that guy, he's huge."

Ioanis ignored me and crossed the street. I stayed on my side. My older brother's anecdotes about bar hopping crossed my mind. I remember him saying that he always had a steel pipe stowed in his car's trunk "just in case." I assumed this was the type of situation he meant. I saw an empty bottle of SanMig Light, picked it up and followed Ioanis. I've never been in a bar brawl before, or a brawl in front of a bar, but I figured I was going to go down fighting.

Imagine my surprise when the guy walked up to Ioanis and smiled. Smiled! It was like the heavens parted to make us realize that the whole freaking street was filled with people like us. You could almost hear a choir sing in a far off place. It was the most glorious epiphany of my life.

Of course I exaggerate, but it was life-changing nonetheless. For the first time, we had people we can pattern ourselves to, or mold our lives around. At a young age, most people have their family and friends. We had them too, but we also had Malate. It was amazing.

Photo taken from here.