Burners

On the day I decided to come out as a gay man to my mom, I asked my friend Mike to accompany me on the long drive to my parents’ house to what I imagined would be a turbulent confrontation. I was feeling exceptionally vulnerable at the time, between dealing with the (sometimes inhuman) demands my job imposed on me, moving out of the apartment my ex-boyfriend and I shared, finding a place to live, and coming to terms with the disintegration of my 5-year relationship. I wasn’t getting enough sleep (partly because I had no time, and partly because I couldn’t sleep even if I wanted to) so my nerves were pretty much shot. At that point, I just needed a friendly face.

To his great credit, Mike simply agreed. "When are we leaving?" he asked. 

***

Think of a gas burner.

Now, imagine that each section of that gas burner represents an aspect of your life that you consider important or essential. In most cases, it will include these four: work, health, family, and friends.

There’s a popular idea going around that, for a person to achieve a measure of success in any of these aspects, he will need to “turn off” some sections in order to focus on the others. Basically, the idea is that you cannot have everything, and that, at some point, you will need to sacrifice some of these aspects for the sake of the others.

In my case, when I was younger, I made a subconscious decision to turn off the family section of my burner. Partly, it was because I needed to find out who I was as a person separate from my identity as the offspring of my parents, but mostly it was because I’ve always been a misfit in my own family and I felt that if I showed them who I was, they would have rejected me.

Worse, they might have tried to change me.

So I became secretive and distant. It was at this point that I started focusing on work and developing close friendships with some of the best human beings I’ve ever met. Though I suffered through the motions of performing familial obligations, the idea that I might have to interact with any of them and open myself up on a purely human and personal level actually terrified me.

***

We arrived at my parents’ house when the sun was close to setting. My mom was expecting me. I asked Mike to stay in the living room while my mom and I spoke in the kitchen.

Here’s the funny thing: the emotional turbulence I was expecting didn’t happen because I told my mom I was gay. While I was in the middle of my (admittedly long-winded) confession, my mom started crying, not out of disappointment, but out of relief. As soon as I was finished, my mom admitted that she had always known, but that she did not want to confront me until I was ready to tell her myself. The relief she felt was borne out of the fact that I was now comfortable enough with her to tell her the truth.

To be honest, I’m not sure if my mom would have been this open if I came out to her when I was younger. I think her mindset was also a lot influenced by the changes our society has undergone towards its acceptance of gay people. But, still, it was a pleasant reminder that, just because I turned off the family section of my burner, it didn’t mean my mom turned off hers, at least with respect to her relationship with me.

And, while I was sitting there listening to my mom talk and cry at the same, I realized how difficult it must have been for her to keep up this illusion of not knowing. I guess she understood, intuitively, that coming out is a personal choice that she couldn’t force on me.

Which is true. I think if she forced the issue before I was prepared to deal with it, I would probably have rejected her overtures, in the same way I was so afraid she would have rejected me. And, in the same way I was grateful for her acceptance, I loved that she also understood why I needed to be so secretive and distant in the first place.

After the initial drama, and as soon as she got back her composure, my mom asked me if I was dating anyone. For the first time in my life, I answered her question honestly.

***

It was a little past nine when my mom and I finished our conversation. Mike was still waiting in the living room, suffering through an interrogation conducted by my nephew who was wondering why there was a stranger in the house.

On the drive back home, my friend asked me how I was. I told him I felt tired, but also that I was okay. Actually, more than okay. Good even. And, as the words were coming out of my mouth, to my surprise, I realized I truly meant them.

Photo taken here.

Love in the Time of Millenials

During a casual dinner in Rockwell with a few friends, my friend Monina asked, somewhat arbitrarily, “What differentiates millenials from everyone else exactly?”

I had some thoughts on the subject, and shared them with the group. In trying to sum up the defining characteristic of a generation of people (which, notwithstanding the countless articles on this matter, is still a daunting if ultimately pointless exercise), I explained to Mon a theory I’ve been developing.

“Young people tend to frame life experiences through its impact on their personal happiness. Which is why, say, when you’re talking to them about a job, the issues they usually raise is a general discontentment, or a lack of passion, or a feeling that the work they’re doing is not what they are supposed to be doing. And when you frame this against the concerns of older professionals working with millennials, the criticism that usually crops up is the typical millenial’s propensity to quit and move around. What about reliability, they would ask. What about faithfulness?”

***

When I was younger, my friend Percy once told me that he didn’t believe in long-term relationships. He explained that, once the initial thrill (“kilig”) of the romance is gone, he gets restless and moves on. He mentioned that there’s no point continuing the relationship because the people involved tend to stay the same, or worse, stagnate.

But what about love, I asked.

“It dissipates.”

“Then maybe you weren’t really in love in the first place.”

“Maybe, but who are we to say what love is or isn’t,” Percy argued. As far as he was concerned, he loved the people he was with, fully and completely, until he didn’t love them anymore.

***

When I was still living with my parents, my mom and I would sometimes find ourselves around midnight in our kitchen, while we’re both trying to scrounge up some leftovers because we were feeling hungry. And most of the time we’ll sit down and talk. Sometimes she’ll open up about her relationship with my dad.

And she’ll talk about promises kept and promises broken, and happiness and loneliness and sadness. But always, she will mention obligation, and responsibility.

“Your father is not a perfect man. God knows he is not the best husband. But he is responsible, and kind, and he is a good father.” And though she never said it, she obviously held a lot of love for my dad, even if the love has been re-forged and concealed by disappointment and some bitterness.

She mentioned that she tried to leave once, but that she thought about how it would affect her kids and decided not to. What was left unsaid, but was clear as day, was that she thought about how it would affect my dad too.

***

When my ex broke up with me, he said it was because he was not sure if he still loved me. What we had in the beginning is no longer there, he explained, and he felt we owed it to ourselves to look for something more.

But what about devotion, my mind asked. What about keeping promises? What about loyalty?

And if I was brave enough to voice my thoughts, he might have answered, “What about happiness? What about romance? What about passion?”

Ultimately, what about love?

And in remembering I think of two souls imagining love as two flames, one burning brighter than the midday sun, and another flickering, trembling, a light in the darkness.

Photo taken here.

How to Become Disillusioned with Finding Love

Watch Hollywood romantic movies.  Believe that everyone has a one true love.  Etch into your soul the conviction that you will find that one guy who will inevitably accept you for everything that you are.  Who will love you unconditionally and without question.

Create a list of the qualities the love of your life must have. Set high standards.  Reach for the stars.  He must be tall, handsome, brooding and mysterious.  Intelligent and quirky.  Wealthy.  He must go to the gym regularly. He must have dimples dotting his face when he smiles. His hair must fall a certain way all the time.  

Envision showing him off to your friends and telling them how you fell in love with him because of his lovable personality, or because of how good a person he is.  How you fell in love with the way he laughed.   Or touched your hand.  Or played with your baby sister. Or any other quirky little habit that remind people of how cute he is. Subtly insert a few anecdotes that show how great in the sack he can be.  

Know that you don’t need to tell them how impossibly handsome, intelligent, and wealthy he is; they would see that for themselves. Imagine seeing your friends’ eyes widen with envy.

Stamp down any notion that there might be something wrong with you.  That’s impossible. Remind yourself that you are perfect, or as close to it as anyone can be.  You deserve this, and you deserve someone like him. Cosmopolitan said so, and it can’t be wrong.

Go out on date after date after date.  Constantly be disappointed. Rejection, both rejecting and being rejected, makes you cynical. Build up walls. Surround yourself with the emotional equivalent of a moat. Insult people, and point out how they can never live up to your standards.  Stop dating. Or date with the knowledge that these people will only prove why you are better off single in the first place.

Watch Hollywood romantic movies only so you can make contemptuous comments on the stupidity of their plot. Smile patronizingly at friends who believe in a one true love.  Remind yourself that it doesn’t exist.  That it couldn’t exist. That its existence would imply that there might be something wrong with you.  And that couldn’t be true.   Convince yourself that you like being alone.  No, that you love being alone.  That you don’t feel lonely, and that whatever hole you feel in your life can be filled up by friends and family.  Sleep at night with the nagging sentiment that you are missing something, and hope for the best that things will be better in the morning.

Whatever Gets You Through the Day

I was a freshman in law school when my friend Mike was accepted by a university in Australia for a master’s degree. He took up Finance, under a scholarship program given by a prestigious international organization. He had a boyfriend before he left, but they broke up because they both thought that they’ll be incapable of maintaining a long-distance relationship.

We’ve been close friends for a while, so we maintained contact, although mostly through chat. We spoke with each other about two-three times a week, and discussed everything and anything under the sun. Mike was usually tipsy, if not outright drunk. It was in Sydney where he discovered his fondness for red wine, especially the cheap kind that comes in a box.

Our conversations usually start with him sending me a private message just so he can complain about mostly inane, random stuff.  I barely listened, since I was also caught up in my own worries then.  Our conversations never really felt like actual conversations.  It was more like we were delivering monologues, and the other person was just there for the ride.  We both spoke, and neither of us listened.

I didn’t notice the inordinate amount of glasses of wine he consumed, or the constant stream of complaints he made.  I also don’t think he noticed how tired I was back then, how frayed my nerves were, how wrong everything seemed to be for me.

But the fact that he was there was a comfort, even if he never really understood, or cared to understand, what I was going through.  And it was a few years later, when he came back, when I learned that he felt exactly the same way.  It didn’t matter that I wasn’t truly listening, or that I had my own concerns to worry about. The important thing was that I was there, and that was what he needed at the time.

(He told me he was suffering from a crippling depression, and could barely function as, well, a normal human being.  In one instance, he did not bathe for three weeks, and was only forced by his roommates to do so because they could no longer stand the smell.) 

And it’s funny because, to be honest, I wasn’t being a good friend at the time.  But neither was he.  We were both very selfish, and way too caught up in our own problems.  But it didn’t matter.  I was there when he needed me, and he was there when I needed him. And at the end of the day, that was enough for both of us to get us through those tough days.  

The First Morning I Did Not Think About You

photo

It was a typical morning. I woke up, late as usual, the sun already near its zenith, its rays streaming through half-open blinds, the day as hot and as humid as it can be. I forgot to turn off the TV. A Discovery channel host was talking about whales, his voice a deep, monotonous drone.

I stood up, my head slightly aching from oversleeping, my thoughts still a blur, my knees, wobbly and unsure.  I staggered to the door of my bedroom, and headed downstairs for a bite. I was hungry. My stomach was growling in angry, desperate need. What my brain still failed to register, my limbs automatically addressed:  I needed sustenance.

I stumbled onto the kitchen and saw my younger brother in his pajamas, eating cereal, his hair unkempt and looking like it was badly in need of a bath. Much like I looked I suppose. I stared at his bowl, and hungry as I was, realized I still hated the thought of having cereal so late in the day. I asked Manang Cely what was for lunch. She didn't reply, but I heard bustling outside, and the familiar clangs of pots and pans. I settled myself at the table, and held my head in my hands. My brother ate in silence. 

"What time did you get home?" I asked him.

"Just this morning."

"Mom and Dad already awake?"

"Nope. They were still asleep." My parents never really imposed a curfew on us, especially on weekends, but they did like it when we got home before they woke up. 

"Where did you go?"

"Nowhere. Just out with friends."

"Malate?"

"Yea."

"How was the crowd?"

"It was okay. Typical. Not a huge crowd, but enough to be fun. Why didn't you go?"

"I was bored. I figured I'd just watch television, play PS2 and sleep." 

My brother nodded, then finished his cereal. He left soon after to catch up on his sleep. I riffled through several newspaper sections, and settled on Lifestyle, reading an article Tim Yap wrote.  He was still writing for the Philippine Daily Inquirer then. 

Manang Cely walked in with a bowl of hot tinola. I immediately tucked in.

Then I remembered you. Right at that moment when the spoon, filled with steaming clear broth, hit my lips.  Rather, or more accurately, I realized I forgot about you first, and then only remembered you.

What a shock. After weeks upon weeks of moping, of listening to sad, lonely, love songs, of waking up to the deep, precious pain a young man getting over his first love can manage to inflict on himself, I woke up to a morning where you weren't the first thing on my mind. And outside of the overpowering relief, I realized how funny it was that moving on would come at a moment so utterly, absolutely mundane. While at a table, eating tinola for breakfast and/or lunch, my hair a mess, smelling like something the dog just brought in. How unimaginative. How banal. How anticlimactic.

And still, I felt happy, and finished my meal in unanticipated felicity. Though lacking in theatrics (perhaps a lightning bolt or two in the background would have been nice), I exulted in the unadulterated joy of knowing that I have finally, completely moved on.  

Moving on, is a simple thing, what it leaves behind is hard.

~~David Mustaine~~        

People are Made Up of Stories

Image taken here.

Dear Fickle Cattle,

I'm a new fan of your blog.  I haven't even browsed through each tab and entry yet.  I just saw a link from a friend in FB to your blog and I became an instant fan after I read your open letter.  Honestly, I cried, I could relate to it so much.  I hope you don't mind my telling this story. 

I realized I was gay towards the end of college in UP Diliman.  I was supposed to have a secret wedding with my girlfriend at the time since we both thought she was pregnant.  When we found out that she actually wasn't, it was such a relief. Afterwards, we decided to take things more slowly.  During that period, I tried to find myself, and slowly realized my inclination towards the dark side of the force. (I'm not sure how I feel about comparing homosexuality with the dark side, but I'll let that slide for now -- FC).  It was a very emotional stage in my life when I realized I was gay.  I didn't know who to turn to. 

During my years of experimentation and struggle, I met this guy named T.  I instantly felt a connection with him though he had a very different view of gay relationships compared to what I had.  Basically, he thought that having a relationship which no one would acknowledge did not make any sense.

Knowing that we could only be friends, I contented myself with the friendship he had to offer.  Eventually, I met two more of his friends.  The four of us became close, and our friendships made me almost forget that I liked T as more than a friend in the first place. It helped me move on. 

Eventually, T realized that he did like me more than as a friend. By that time however, I realized I was already falling for our other friend A.  When we realized that T was falling for me, A and I decided not to tell T of our relationship to protect him from unnecessary hurt. 

This was a mistake. Our other friend B decided to put our story in his blog, thinking no one would ever read it.  T eventually did, and everything became a big mess. The relationship, the secrecy and the eventual unintentional disclosure created a rift between all of us. 

I decided to distance myself from all three of them since I felt that I started our falling-out. Consequently, we grew apart.

A lot of things have happened since.  But, even with all that has changed, I still long for the kind of friendship I had with them which I have never experienced, and probably would never experience, again.  When I saw your post, An Open Letter to an Old Friend, it reminded me of my friendship with T.  I feel like those are the exact same words I would've told him, given the chance.  He was my best friend and I regret crossing the line that caused our friendship to end.

Since coming out in college, I never had any gay friends other than T, A and B. But I already feel like the possibility of our friendship being rekindled died out years ago.  I'm not even sure if I'll ever meet friends like them.  At some point, we tried, all four of us, to rekindle the friendship we had, but we only found out that we've become strangers to one another.

I've always been proud of my sexual orientation since I came out almost a decade ago.  My workmates know of it, I joined a frat in my attempt at law school and even told my batchmates that I was gay.  I guess I don't allow myself to be defined by my sexuality.  But, you know what, sometimes I wish I had allowed myself to be so defined.  I wish I had given myself the chance to embrace my sexuality.  Had our friendship not met such an early demise, I'm sure my life would've been much more colorful.

Thanks for taking the time to listen.  Sometimes, talking to a complete stranger makes it easier to open up.  Your blog brought to the surface a lot of emotions that I've been bottling-up through the years. 

Following your entries, 

R 

A Conversation About Friendship Between Friends

Image taken here.

"It's not that I didn't like him.  I did. Like him, I mean.  But finding someone to be friends with is a lot like finding someone to fall in love with, you know?  Sparks are important.  Even with friends.  Otherwise, you'd be friends with someone whose company feels a lot like work.  And really, that's not something I want to get into right now.  I just can't be friends with someone who feels like a lot of work."   

"But don't friendships, like all relationships, require work?"

"They do, but not at the beginning.  You have to start with a spark, that's how it begins."

"It sounds eerily similar to the notion of finding 'The One', don't you think?"

"Not really.  The difference here is that sometimes you're lucky enough to find ten, or a hundred, people you can have friendship sparks with.  Or none.  The idea of a friendship spark has yet to be destroyed by movies and romance novels and converted into a pseudo-religion which requires 'faith' and waiting for the 'One True Love'.  It's just a true thing, for me.  You can't be friends with everybody."

***

"Do you believe that friendships last forever?"

"Not all.  Maybe some.  People change, and whatever connection or spark you had once can disappear. It's the same with love, you know what I mean, the romantic kind.  They can disappear.  Even if you never want them to, the possibility is always there."

"But aren't friendships supposed to be different from that?"

"It is, in a way, but it's also the same, at least for those types of friendships defined by something more than just a similarity of traits.  I'm not a big believer of the idea that friendships aren't supposed to be work.  They require work, just like everything else."

"But I thought you believed in sparks."

"Yes, but only at the beginning of a friendship.  What comes after will be defined by the level of commitment you put into the relationship."  

***

"Have you ever regretted being friends with anybody?"

"No, not really. You?"

"I can't think of anyone offhand."

"Well, the Zen way of looking at friendships that fail to work would be to think that everything, and everyone, has a time and place.  That there's a reason they came into your life, or left."

"That's not a very helpful philosophy."

"I know, I'm just saying."

"Mature though."

"Yes."

"But practically pointless."

"Well, not entirely.  It doesn't help with fixing friendships, only at accepting loss.  And at the end of the day, that's the most that we can do, you know, to deal with the reality of the present. We accept what is lost.  We pick up the pieces and move on."

Riddles

It was the glance I think, which summarized our relationship. Half-imploring, and remarkably opposed to the seemingly cool and confident words coming out of your mouth. And I realized how to say what needs to be said can sometimes be the most impossible thing in the world. To say the words directly requires the acceptance of responsibility, and the idea that one is responsible for the truths one speaks can be daunting. It requires one to be sincere, and in some instances, to be vulnerable. And who wants to be vulnerable? It just opens you up to pain. So we spoke in a language that operated in two spheres: "How was your day? The food is lovely," to mask the words we refuse to speak aloud, but which we also hope would be understood. (I love you. Never leave me.)

We spoke in riddles to disconnect meaning from our mouths, instead hoping for a relationship that transcended language, that transcended spirit, that transcended us.

Three Stories

“I left him because he was cheating on me.”

“How did you find out?”

 “You just know.  It's...I can't explain it. The way he seems so fidgety when I catch him surfing on a computer late at night, or when he tells me he's visiting his parents and it felt like a lie, or when he's just uneasy around restaurants or public areas. A lot of small things really. They just added up into this one huge thing. Then I checked his phone messages and found out for real.”

“What did you do?”

“I told the guard at my apartment building to never let him up. I then called him and told him I was breaking up with him because he was unfaithful.”

“And?”

“Well, it’s not as easy as I’m telling it right now. It hurt like hell at the time, and I had to grieve in my own private way, but I needed to do it you know? For myself? In the end, I realized my dignity was more important.”

***

“When I found out about it, I honestly didn’t know what to do. At some point, I felt like I wanted to kill him.”

“But why did you stay?”

“Because I love him. And he reassured me that at the end of the day, I was still the most important person in his life. The others were just flings. Random encounters.”

“You believed him?”

“Well, yes. I know it sounds silly, but I really do.”

“Ok, I respect that, but how do you feel?”

“I feel hurt a lot of times, especially when I don’t know where he is, or why he isn’t texting, or when he says he’s out with friends. I also feel paranoid and insecure. But I love him, and the idea of him leaving me…I can’t stand it.”

“How about the idea of you leaving him?”

“Honestly, it never even crossed my mind. Well, maybe once or twice. But mostly, I just feel grateful he’s there.”

***

“Cheating is only cheating if it is against the rules in the first place. When you both accept the idea that it is impossible to be in a monogamous relationship in the first place, without either or both parties straying at some point, then the easier everything will be. You just have to make allowances really.”

“That seems awfully cynical.”

“And true. Honestly, for me, I wouldn’t really mind if my husband strayed as long as: a) I never catch him, b) he doesn’t get some girl pregnant, and c) he doesn’t come home with some venereal disease and infects me with it. Ignorance is key.”

“I think you just broke through the cynicism meter here.”

“Well, guess what? I’m not kidding. And frankly, I’m content and generally happy. At the end of the day, it works for me. And really, that's all anyone can ask for in a relationship. Whatever works for you.”

“But what if you find out?”

“Well, I’m keeping my fingers crossed that never happens.”

Photo taken here.

Clarity

It was a few weeks since I last had any contact with Chad. I was making it a point to avoid any type of communication with him since our relationship was less than perfect at the time. Not that it was ever perfect mind you; in fact, I would have settled for normal if I could. If I'm being totally honest, our relationship was, in a word, toxic, characterized by passion and love, with no real substance to ground us. The perils of youth one could say, although that assumes only the young are capable of doing stupid things, and I have far too many examples of stupid things adults do to disprove that point.

It's always difficult, I think, breaking up. Most people assume it ends with a discussion, with the parties mutually agreeing to stop seeing each other. Sometimes there are tears, or harsh words, or things thrown, but the common idea is that everything happens at that one point, as if something that important could be so easily and neatly summed up and discarded in a half hour. As if the relationship you just had with that one person was nothing more than a footnote in your otherwise perfectly normal life.

But the idea doesn't take into account the slow deterioration, the unraveling of passion, the almost imperceptible, but unmistakable, disintegration of affection. If the relationship wasn't working in the first place, the cracks will show, and the lovers will grow distant, and things will start to fall apart. But the initial process is barely recognizable, until at some point the couple realizes that they are at a place neither of them had thought they could ever come before. And the breaking up, especially with a person you love, is rarely just a one time deal; most likely it's a process that will take a while to stick.

Breakups are rarely simple, at least in my experience.

In Chad's case, we didn't really break-up, since there was nothing to break in the first place. What relationship we had was in one of those gray, blurry areas that mimicked all the symptoms of a "real" relationship, only that it wasn't. We can be postmodern about it, and say that it had no label, and it would be true, because what we had was really, well, undefinable. I hate admitting it, because it makes the relationship seem so trivial, but it was true, and maybe it really was as trivial as it seems.

So I think I was already starting to settle back into my usual routine, with sudden pangs of pain here and there (it is impossible to just walk away from a person you love I think, even if you know it's what's best for you), when I got a text message from him. It started with the usual pleasantries (How are you? I miss you. What have you been up to?) and ended with an invitation to meet up. I didn't reply, because I didn't know what to say. I knew what I wanted to say and what I needed to say (and the gap between what I wanted and what I needed was oceans-wide), but I had absolutely no idea what I would actually say. So I waited. I figured I didn't need to decide right then.

It was midnight when I texted back. And though it broke my heart to do so, I told him what I needed to say, my head slowly, but inexorably, dismantling the fantasy of the conversation I wanted, dreamed to have.

Photo taken here.

Intimacy

We were drinking in a popular wine spot in The Fort a few months ago when my close friend Ioannis, obviously inebriated and uninhibited, referred to sex as a "sport". To be fair, the sentiment wasn't completely out of nowhere: once you mix adults, alcohol and conversation, thoughts naturally seem to flow towards this more "primal" direction. But the statement was still interesting on several levels: Did he mean that it was competitive? Physically taxing? Something only a group can do?

When we asked him to elaborate, he said that he didn't mean it in the sense that it was a competition, only that the acceptance of one's inherent sexuality should be something fun and exhilarating. He underscored the idea that sexuality should be celebrated, not restrained. He found it unusual and unnecessarily restrictive to continuously dampen one's "natural" needs, simply to conform to an arbitrary societal standard. He said that we are all in charge of our own happiness, and that sometimes the bravest, and the most important thing we can do for ourselves, is to acknowledge the things that make us happy and to do something about it. He pointed out that if we refuse the things that make us happy, then what's the point of being alive?

We concurred, if conditionally. The idea sweeps at other ideas in too general a manner, and certain circumstances and factors must also be taken into consideration, but we did agree that he raised a valid point.

Afterward, he fell asleep on my other friend's lap, drunk and oblivious to the world. Ioannis has a lot of endearing qualities, but he is definitely not the classiest person when intoxicated. In fact, I consider it a minor victory that Ioannis managed to keep his shirt on while he was so obviously sloshed.

(Although, to be fair once again, I think that alcohol can sometimes bring out a person's brilliance. The lack of inhibitions it induces does not only refer to emotional inhibitions, but also to intellectual ones. I wouldn't be surprised if someone discovers that some of the world's best ideas were thought up during stages of extreme intoxication. In fact, I seriously think that someone should do a study on the relationship of alcohol and philosophy. I'm sure that a lot of the greatest philosophers in the world are non-classy, hardcore drinkers).

A few weeks later, Ioannis gets a boyfriend, whom he loves dearly. When asked about the status of their relationship, he said that they had an "open" one; that is, they are allowed to have sex with other people, subject to a few ground rules. When I asked him to elaborate on those rules, Ioannis said that he was okay with his boyfriend having sex with someone else, but that he would not be able to stand the fact if the connection between the boyfriend and the other person transcends sexuality and enters a more intimate and personal sphere. He said he can stand sexual indiscretions, just not emotional connections.

I didn't really understand what he meant, but when I asked him to elaborate further, he said he also couldn't explain it. Rather, he gave examples, such as "holding hands, kissing, going out on dates". He still believed in sex as a sport, so he felt that one could engage in it without any emotional investment, but as soon as it becomes more than sex, he said that he feels that that is where he should draw the line. When I asked him how he would know when, as he defined it, the relationship of the boyfriend and the third party becomes more intimate, he said he doesn't really know how, only that he would know. Sex can be just sex, he argued, but once it mimics the symptoms of love, then that is when there would be problems that would arise.

I still didn't understand, but I let it go at that. I have resolved, not too long ago, to try not to judge the decisions my friends make in matters of the heart. Is it possible to separate one's emotions when engaging in an act that is physically intimate in nature? I'm not so sure. In my head, it seems improbable, but I've been wrong before. Whatever works I guess. Whatever gets one through the day.

Photo taken here.

Love Evolution

Before JT, I've never actually been in a long-term relationship. The nearest I can think of was my first, which lasted a year, but it was so riddled with drama, break-ups and make-ups, that I'm not even sure I can call my partner at the time my "boyfriend". He was more my lover I guess, precisely because the relationship we had was rooted on more, uhm, primal concerns. 

It's different with JT because, well, he's my friend. I mean, technically, he's more than a friend, but what I mean is that our relationship is based on the same values that a true friendship is rooted on: trust, loyalty, empathy. The attraction is there definitely; I find him really handsome, and I'm hoping he reciprocates the admiration, but more than that, I like him; his personality, his laugh, his values. The things that make up his person, I love. I guess what I'm saying is that when I say I like him, I like him both in a physical manner, that is, how he looks, as well as in those other aspects that make me enjoy his company. 

A friend told me that she thinks that love is a "decision"; that is, that you have to wake up everyday deciding to continue to love a certain person. I told her I disagreed. I said love is a feeling, not a decision. To say that it's a decision is to dilute its unique quality, its rarity, because the thought implies that one can just decide to fall in love with anyone, in the same way one decides to buy a shirt or a car. Love requires a mixture of conscious action and serendipity; certain circumstances must arise, certain elements must fall into place. To say otherwise is to make love as mundane as, well, everything else. And love is anything but mundane.

She never agreed with me, although I pointed out that maybe what she meant is that love transforms into some thing not as easily described or defined as what it was in the beginning. It's still love I think, but it manifests itself differently. After three years of being in a relationship, I told her that the relationship I have with JT evolved, from something that seemed totally based on superficial reasons: looks, having fun, sexual compatibility, to something not as easily described. I told her it was much like my love for my family: (seemingly) inevitable, and forever.

Photo taken here.

Significance

I was reading through some old posts in my Facebook account when I came across a note, which I thought is still an accurate description of what I am feeling right now. I remember that my impetus for writing that note was an anecdote from a friend of mine about this group of friends he met who liked hanging out because, as my friend told me, they thought of each other as insignificant. The term they actually used was basura (garbage) and my friend told me that, for them, the tie of friendship was based on the fact that no one thought much of anyone else; therefore, because they accepted each other's inconsequentiality, no one was more or less important than anyone else. The fact that you are accepted despite your insignificance meant that the people who accepted you are your ‘real’ friends. I assume this is so because they thought no one else would want you.

And I thought this was the saddest thing, to have friends who never believed in you, but who were your friends precisely because they found you trivial. What would that mean for a person’s self-worth I wonder? How can one go through life thinking one is worthless?

Feeling worthless is not an uncommon emotion I think, although it is a tragic one. When you get to a point where you become incapable of believing in yourself and in your capacity to better yourself, then you become a shell of a man (or woman). What is life without the hope for something better? What can one look forward to, aside from death?

So I wrote this note, quoted below, which I realize is a response to the idea that a ‘real’ friendship can be based on disrespect. The idea sounds like an unbelievable notion, but apparently a lot of people have friends like these. And when you truly think about it, and when you consider all the battered wives, or disinherited gay sons and daughters, you realize it’s not really such a surprising thing. Some people get power from making another feel worthless. It’s a sad fact, but a true one nonetheless.

On Friendship

Life has been very mechanical lately. Automatic. Predictable. Far from mindless, but really really boring still.

Notwithstanding that statement, I've been having wonderful discussions with some of my friends recently. Realizations mostly, life directions, epiphanies. About greatness and love and strength of character. It feels interesting, like I'm part of something big. Like the universe has plans for me or something.

The wonderful thing about my relationship with my close friends is that it's based on mutual respect. Not convenience, not affection, not circumstance. We seek out each other's company, that's the thing. I mean, for me anyway, it's very rare that you meet people that you really respect. Whose presence makes you feel bigger, more important. And not in the superficial way that money or fame makes people important; more like this: it's as if by simply talking to them, you take for granted that you can achieve the impossible. Move mountains. Change the world. It's as if idealism is not an abstract concept, but a lifestyle.

I don't know if it's the same with everybody else, but that's how it is with me. That's the common thread with all of my close friendships. Na hindi kami basura sa mata ng isa't isa (That we are not garbage in each other's eyes), but something else, something brighter, larger. At this point indescribable, just a sense of something real, almost tangible. Extraordinary maybe, or maybe unreal.

Photo taken here.