Silver Thoughts

I am now officially 25 years old. It's my silver anniversary. Twenty five years since I first opened my eyes to the world and cried because of the surprising experience. I would imagine the burning feeling of every impulse in overdrive as I was suddenly thrust into the unknown - the biting coldness of the antiseptic air on my skin, the cloying dampness and the metallic stench of blood overwhelming my nose and the harsh brightness of the room assaulting my eyes. I can only imagine the horror of it all.

And now I'm here. All 25 years worth of experiences writing this down as I again add another testament to my existence.

I am at a loss. I swirl my Merlot and breathe in the fruity notes of raspberry as I ponder on this blank space. Later today, I plan on hearing Mass to thank the Almighty for giving me life in all its beautiful imperfection. Above all, I will give thanks for all the friendships I have found and nourished in my life for they are the family of my heart.

I have always been a little theatrical on my birthdays but I guess this is pretty normal. We can't help but look back on our lives, sorting out memories that stand out and crying and laughing inside at all the funny mishaps we've survived. I look like a fool now as I recall fond memories of birthdays past and pause as I silently wish for the people I no longer have with me.

Birthdays, I now understand, are reminiscent to what I construe as the chaos of impulses when we are borne in this world. That's why, as babies, our instinct is to cry.

Now I feel the same. I'm deeply grateful for everything I have in my life and at the same time I feel a distinct sadness that punctures my very soul. My thought drifts to the man who passed away unexpectedly. To put it simply, I have lost when he died. And today, I am gripped with an overwhelming sense of longing for him. I miss my dad terribly even after all these years. The pain of losing someone never really leaves us; we just find ways of distracting ourselves eventually.

In a few hours my family will start waking up and I will summon my greatest smile as they wish me a Happy Birthday. No gifts and no sweet frills - only the uncomplicated greetings reserved for birthdays.

I will have a happy birthday.

'Good morning, Little Piglet,' said Eeyore. 'If it is a good morning,' he said. 'Which I doubt,' said he. 'Not that it matters,' he said.

A. A. Milne (1882 - 1956)

British writer.Typical of Eeyore's gloomy outlook.

Winnie the Pooh, "Eeyore Has a Birthday"

Microsoft ® Encarta ® 2007. © 1993-2006 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.

Onto the Wild

I have been writing for several years now. My old notebooks, full of verbal sketches of everyday stuff, have been gathering dust since I discovered the Internet. And whenever I write, I imagine an audience. I have realized this a few days back.

Just recently, I came upon my fourth grade Math notebook. The cover is torn and ripped at the edges and the spring bind has long been pulled out and replaced with yellow and green yarn strung to hold the pages together. In one of the heavily creased pages I read...

(former classmate's name) grabbed me at recess today and said thank you for his Math homework. He looked at me with his puppy eyes and I swear my heart just melted. I'm making his homework for whatever subject from now on. That is, if he asks.

The truth is, I have been gay since my earliest memories. And though it doesn't bother me a bit, the thought that I had to hide my feelings in a Math notebook made me sad and angry at the same time. With the type of environment I grew up in, I guess I can call myself lucky. But what about the others?

Anyway, it was fortunate that I found that old notebook. Writing those words down, I never realized I'd one day read them at this age and find that however we think we've grown up, we never go really far from what and who we truly are. These emotions that we inadvertently feel make us human, although sadly, our society dictates us as to how we're supposed to conduct ourselves. And at breaking point, we can not just let these things burst from being bottled up inside - we don't know what we might do.

And I realized I write because of this. My Math notebook was my emotional bank - where all I felt inside I deposited in words. I don't think I had a friend back then who might have understood what I felt.

So I wrote things down. I'm glad I did. I ultimately found that I am my most important audience. By putting them in words, I sorted out my feelings, removing myself from where I'm currently at. I can look a myself and say, Angganda mo! Hehehe.

But we live in a big world. And there are people out there who feel just as confused as I am. There are people out there who enjoy the naughty little things we see each day and celebrate them.

I created this blog last year. Although I have been writing for a long time now, it never occurred to me that I can establish a network where random people can glimpse each other's lives in words. This is what I wish to accomplish. A lot of gay bloggers have been doing this for years, I guess. I have just come across some of them.

I'd like to join the community. I'm somewhere deep south, where time seems to crawl like an old woman's stride and a day is measured by the nature's sounds, but all the same, I'm a pinoy gay blogger. We are everywhere.

And so from the confines of my bucolic dreariness of a life, I set sail to the unforgiving wild.

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I'd like to give a shout out to several blogs that I have been following recently:

AJ's baklaako
Manila gay guy
Noel/Oboids - a friend from UP
ruff nurse-du-jour
MisterHubs

I'm a fan. Thank you.

Birthday Jitters

My mom told me I was born 15 minutes past 5 in the morning after a whole night of labor. In her own words, Mura ko'g mamatay (It felt like I was dying). Can you imagine where all that pain can be channeled to, right after my birth?

My name. See, my first name's JOY. Yes, J-O-Y, down in my heart, deep, deep down in my heart.

She wanted to turn the painful experience around by giving the baby a name as far removed from pain as possible. Don't say painless or anesthesia. She also wanted something beautiful. (Right! Labeling starts from birth. This is worth years of therapy had I turned out straight.)

Well, I guess my name sums up all the beauty in me, nowadays. Hehe. All the beauty in the world reserved for me has been used up on that fateful day on my name. Remember A thing of beauty, is a joy forever? That must have been where she got my name from.

I personally find it funny. Reserving all Freudian meanings, I sometimes feel like my life has been an expounding journey of my name. So what's in a name?

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I'm harboring all these thoughts as my birthday looms in the horizon. Yes. Looms, as in an imminent or menacing event that's threatening the peace in my world. I have always found birthdays overrated (excluding my 18th birthday when my UP friends surprised me with 18 candles and 18 wishes after I took my bath and was just in a towel - their very thoughtful way of telling me I can have my debut, too).

Back when I was a snotty kid, every birthday was a cause of dread. Everyone had their best celebrations after the holidays. I can still remember my classmates and I comparing notes about what we had for Christmas, telling each other tall tales about how our fireworks and bomba (the Kawayan or bamboo version of a bazooka) are more powerful and louder than the others. And when everything starts to die down, and the new toys were all set aside once again, the news of my birthday is being spread around faster than the Bubonic plague. I always panicked.

Unlike other families, our family celebrations are concentrated unintentionally every December. I have two brothers (I'm the middle child, the unica hija) and their birthdays are four days apart, the 5th and the 9th. My parents also celebrate their wedding anniversaries (they wed twice) on the 15th and the 20th. Of course, there's Christmas and New Year. You know what's next - my birthday.

Just when people feel that they somehow have overspent for the holidays and start to scrimp on things that they need to buy, my birthday comes near. This is especially true in our family. After 6 independent celebrations warranting at least a simple feast, my birthday always feels wanting.

I remember one birthday I had, I guess I was 9, one girl friend of mine offered to make me a simple Pineapple Upside-down cake. If not for that delightful gift, I wouldn't have had a birthday cake that year.

The same thing goes every year after that. When I was in college at UP, thousands of miles away from home, my mom sent me a gift check so I can get several dozens of donuts for my friends. I wanted to die!

I have always cried on my birthday. Not just because we never seemed to have enough, but even when I was already working and earning my own money, I couldn't shake out the heavy feeling I seem to carry every year.

Is it just me or is this normal?

All the small things seem to get unnaturally complicated. I remember one time when a friend forgot to greet me (I haven't thought of inviting this friend out, by the way) and we bumped into each other doing errands somewhere. My friend and I were talking and five minutes into our conversation, I felt sure he doesn't have an inkling about what a special day it was! I gave him a quick excuse and left. Several days after, I made sure he never forgets my birthday again.

I'm not normally this bratty but it seems like my birthday brings out my inner bitch. Which brings me to my birthday this year. Now that I'm back home and most of my friends have gone on their lives without me in their daily orbits, my annual emotional nadir is fast approaching. Looking deep into myself, I find that I personally do not feel overly excited about birthdays - they seem to happen at least once every year anyway, but the thought that even if I wanted to have the party of year, or my parent(s) finally decide to give ME the most lavish celebration I can think of, it remains wishful thinking.

Honestly, it's not a big deal. It's just my birthday.

I'm crying again.

Who's happy?

I am happy.

I am a living contradiction. I gravitate towards people who can appreciate simple and clean fun and at the same time able to discuss the finer points in life. I like dirty ice cream and tuna waldorf salad. I like gadgets but I dislike their exhorbitant prices. I write a lot and almost always hate what my pen and I produce. I sing songs I coulnd't possibly deliver well. I constantly bear the thought of my intellectual superiority and suffer the agonies of an otherwise average looks. I am easily discontented but I'm always able to extend patience to whoever and whatever needs it. Im sorry, I am never patient.

I hate waiting. I hate agonizing over things which practically I do every agonizing day. I hate commercials, infomercials and whatever-mercials. I hate soap operas. I hate GMA (the TV station). I hate activists, leftists and all the street urchins. I hate the weather. I hate waking up. I hate hating, it consumes me and I get tired. I hate getting tired. I hate heavy traffick. I hate buses. I hate tricycles and all its kinds. I hate motorcycles. I hate running. I hate getting tired of walking although I love walking. I hate pretentions, subterfuges. I love to hate people. I love to hate things. Im a very hateful person.

But Im happy. Go figure