Much Ado About Nothing
A few weeks ago, a former officemate who was here on vacation called me up with all the urgency of a woman in labor. Hoy, sino yung latino?
Huh? I could not place who he was referring to.
Yung sa facebook mo na comment ng comment.
Oh. Wala, neighbor ko.
He went on and on, asking about the details, and being so disappointed that there weren't so many, at least none of the salacious ones he wanted me to dish.
He's not alone. Over the course of days, a few others would buzz me in YM or wherever and ask me about the latino. I wondered, if maybe I should get a recorder for my standard reply. I was jogging, his dog ran after me, he ran after his dog, I kept shouting, "My balls, my balls," which until now I don't know why those were the words that came out of my mouth. That was the only time I've ever seen him, although he added me up in Facebook. But that was it.
Although it seems many find it hard to believe, that me with my raging and oppressed hormones can choose not to encourage an available affair.
It may be atypical to be shying away from such things, when others would be so proud to flaunt their conquests. When almost every gay blogger had hooked up with a seemingly perfect specimen of Adam and how these love affairs or semi-love affairs reached their orgasmic climax or puttered out in the end; it would be so easy to join the charade. The comparing of black books, you've-got-your-hot-guy-and-I've-got-mine kind of thing. But I've got none of it, none of those things. I don't see why I have to fuss about the latino guy, because there was nothing to fuss about. If anything, it was one of those happy coincidences of meeting another gay guy just around the block. There were no hot, sweaty nights and I doubt there ever will be.
In one of my conversation with same officemate, I told him that I wasn't really looking. He's right to point out that maybe I'm hungry. Hungry for love, for intimacy, for a whole other things that I cannot eat. But I recognize the difference between gratification and satisfaction. And maybe, I'm shooting for the latter. A junk food can only satisfy you so much, but a filet mignon, cooked medium-rare, is worth the wait.
It's pointless to be making such a big deal over nothing. It only makes my hair longer when I've always liked myself bald.
Huh? I could not place who he was referring to.
Yung sa facebook mo na comment ng comment.
Oh. Wala, neighbor ko.
He went on and on, asking about the details, and being so disappointed that there weren't so many, at least none of the salacious ones he wanted me to dish.
He's not alone. Over the course of days, a few others would buzz me in YM or wherever and ask me about the latino. I wondered, if maybe I should get a recorder for my standard reply. I was jogging, his dog ran after me, he ran after his dog, I kept shouting, "My balls, my balls," which until now I don't know why those were the words that came out of my mouth. That was the only time I've ever seen him, although he added me up in Facebook. But that was it.
Although it seems many find it hard to believe, that me with my raging and oppressed hormones can choose not to encourage an available affair.
It may be atypical to be shying away from such things, when others would be so proud to flaunt their conquests. When almost every gay blogger had hooked up with a seemingly perfect specimen of Adam and how these love affairs or semi-love affairs reached their orgasmic climax or puttered out in the end; it would be so easy to join the charade. The comparing of black books, you've-got-your-hot-guy-and-I've-got-mine kind of thing. But I've got none of it, none of those things. I don't see why I have to fuss about the latino guy, because there was nothing to fuss about. If anything, it was one of those happy coincidences of meeting another gay guy just around the block. There were no hot, sweaty nights and I doubt there ever will be.
In one of my conversation with same officemate, I told him that I wasn't really looking. He's right to point out that maybe I'm hungry. Hungry for love, for intimacy, for a whole other things that I cannot eat. But I recognize the difference between gratification and satisfaction. And maybe, I'm shooting for the latter. A junk food can only satisfy you so much, but a filet mignon, cooked medium-rare, is worth the wait.
It's pointless to be making such a big deal over nothing. It only makes my hair longer when I've always liked myself bald.
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