The Angel

Took the last flight on a Friday night caught between the last days of summer and the beginning of fall. Made a brief stop at Minneapolis and, while waiting, I got a text message from an unfamiliar number telling me it was you. You were there at the airport as I made my exit and we found our way at the parking lot looking for the rental. We drove for miles beneath the midnight sky, across the vast Bay Area, against the settling fog and the twinkling lights of distant buildings, until we passed the shadows of the mountains and the distance between houses became as wide as the longing in our hearts.

The world is in chaos down below.  Too many buildings rising, too many cars passing by, too many people walking.  The humidity almost makes me want to add a bimpo  as a fashion accessory.  I had conditioned myself before to expect that it would be crowded, but it's more crowded than I imagined it would be.  A couple of days ago, I met up with a high school friend and she asked me, "For good na ba ang uwi mo?"  And I said, "For better or worse."  Till death do you part?  Well, that's the goal.

When I read about a TV actor who came out recently, I was gladdened--especially when I learned that he has a long-term partner and adopted children. I thought, that's promising. I've read of others, stories of another era, of guys being in long-term relationships, but eventually, in the later years of their lives, opting to open the relationship to others. I've always felt discouraged and disheartened by that. The way people seem to take so lightly their commitments and relationships. I know that some subscribe to that. As an acquaintance had told me not long ago, cheating and third or even fourth parties are the most common causes of breakups in gay relationships--so why not just have an open relationship? And I thought: what if you have an open relationship and you fell hard on your side dish and he wants to be exclusive? Well, that has never happened, he said. In the long run, you'll get bored with each other. Oh. You don't have to be gay to have that r...

I was reading something last night when a short story popped into my head. The memory--and the story--came out of nowhere, like remembering something I didn't know I've forgotten. The story itself was like a long soliloquy. One man, at the beginning of fall, ruminating about the crowd that has fled the summer haven in New York to go back to their respective, somewhat dreary lives. He observes a couple who lives on the beach, the same way he has observed them for years. A little bit far and distant, but longing, sometimes plotting, to be part of their lives. One rainy night, he decided he needed some spice, something he didn't have so he'd be forced to ask them, strike a conversation and, perhaps, get invited inside--it was raining hard, after all. He had imagined what the inside of their house looked like, how the conversation would go; perhaps some drinks and an introduction, but nevertheless a gateway, into the life of the couple that, for so long, he had admired. ...

A few minutes before boarding, they told us that our flight will be delayed for a couple of hours because they found a gas leak on the plane and we had to change planes. I didn't know whether it was a good or bad omen. I looked at the bright side thinking that at least they discovered the leak while we were still on land, instead of thinking that I will be stuck in the airport for more than ten hours. Twenty hours later, I was at NAIA terminal 1, lining up at the immigration for my passport to be stamped. I had to remove my jacket because I started sweating profusely. I didn't know if it was because of the heat or the excitement, but my hands were cold. My heart felt like it was about to explode, the way it beat rapidly and furiously. I couldn't believe that I was in Manila again. I couldn't believe that I had come home. It took me awhile to get my two checked-in baggage. I had the time to sort of settle down and let the feeling sink in that I was really back, that ...

We were the fifth in line and I only noticed it after the weariness had worn off and the second one took off.  It was close to midnight and we had been taxiing for a few good minutes before the turns and maneuvers on the tarmac made sense to me.  I thought we were simply going in circles, further delaying a flight that's already five hours delayed.  Until I noticed the lighted paths and the arrows, pointing us where to turn and where to go. Go straight, turn left, go straight again, turn right, then pause.  Gather strength, maintain momentum, race through the tarmac, and with such force, take off.  The first few seconds of being airborne feels wobbly when we try to find our balance. I looked out the window and the lights from houses and buildings were twinkling and, as if, floating; an illusion from the mist and the recent rain.  It was a spectacular view and I sat there staring at it for awhile. That's how it is.  We cut ourselves from the jet w...

This much I know about myself.  I’ll never be able to get around the kitchen without a recipe book.  The most that I can cook is rice and anything fried.  Even frying something gives the possibility of getting it burnt (well done, to be nice about it.)  I’ll never have the aesthetic and the capability to keep a house looking clean, interior-designed and decorated.  On that note, I know I can never maintain a house clean for more than a week.  Things will be messy before the week ends.  I’ll never be able to iron clothes properly. They always come out like they’ve never been ironed at all.  I’ll never be able to do my own laundry.  I’ve tried before but it’s exhausting and back-breaking.  I’d rather wash the dishes.  It’s probably the only thing I can do around the house.  Aside from fixing defective light bulbs or leaky faucets.  I have two left feet when it comes to household chores.  I’ll never have the patience to shop for clothes.  It will always irritate me.  And I’ll never care m...

I have to write this down, because the opposite tends to happen after I’ve said or written it.  Everything else had come true, except for the last one. There were many things she said about me, how I am not of the journalistic kind.  I’m not the one to write down facts, but make up stories.  That I could spend hours lost in space, because my imagination always runs amuck. You seem to be in the middle of a big decision in your career.  You’re one foot in, one foot out.  I see travels within six months, out of the country.  Any relationship you have now or will have within the next two years will be trial relationships.  It will never last.  When you’re 30 or 31, you will meet someone and that will be the one.  The in-laws will not be welcoming to you, but you won’t care and it won’t matter to you. That was the end of October last year.  The seasons have ended by January.  I did quit work and did go out of the country last Decem...

The closet is empty, except for what I will have to wear this week.  It took me two hours, two small boxes, and one luggage bag to pack up my life.  I don't have a lot of things and I don't need a lot of things.  I can always get by with the minimum. July has always been a month of transition, at least for the last four years. Whether it's a new job, a new position,  a new account, or a new house, the first month of the second half of the year has always been marked with change, a move to something different.  Of course, there have been changes in other months, but last Saturday I realized I have been working for four years already.  It's nothing to crow about really since most people my age would have been working 6 or 7 years already.  Most people my age have done something greater or better, moved up the corporate ladder or traveled the world.  I never dreamed of climbing ladders. Maybe traveling the world, but that's a different story. ...

For tonight I can sit back and relax; the week is over, I've drank a bottle of wine and I've just uncorked another. I've finished a movie and poured another glass. There was something in it that struck me, a recollection of places and things, of people and circumstances. It made real what felt like a shadow already, because it's so far away and it felt so long ago. There was always something in the moment that distracted me. Or maybe I have adjusted, not with life, but with the convenience this has afforded me. There's something missing, however; this feels like a pause towards something I'm colliding into. I know I will have to go back, maybe not now, but in due time. Because there's nothing here for me, but a kind of happiness that seems superficial and popular. If I had wanted something to happen, it would've happened already.  When dogs were chasing me and guys were disrobing in front of me. I knew what I was here for and it was not for those. Th...

I woke up dazed on a bed with my hands on my face, dizzy and disoriented, as if I had just arrived from somewhere.  There was a knock on the door and I heard a voice, it was a sound familiar to me and yet I could not discern the words.  I knew, somehow I knew, that I had to go out.  I walked over to the bathroom to fix myself; I stared at the mirror, not quite sure what time of the day it was.  I seemed to have gone back in time and yet I knew that it was not a past, because the bedroom and the bathroom and all the things around me felt new.  And the face, my face, seemed older; but in a suit--something I was amused to be wearing--I had looked mature, almost wise.  I was still wearing glasses, but it was not the one I had been wearing for years. I stared at my reflection for awhile.  It felt like I was asleep for a long time and I had just awaken.  Awaken from my slumber and I knew that this time, this is the right life.  The old one, somet...

I've been asked on separate occasions randomly through the years what it is I'm looking for in someone.  Most of the time, typical of my silent nature, I am dumbfounded.  It seems so cliche to seek all the niceties one would want in someone.  Kind, generous, respectful, etc.  And it seems tired to say tall, dark, and handsome, a nice pair of legs, toned body, with a high-enough EQ to match his IQ.  They all seem like a checklist of an idea of a perfect partner.  Something that I've never really given much thought of.  Though it appears to me that people do have a sort of mental checklist of who they would want to be with. Consider a friend, who in fits of dateless nights, would chat me up talking about the guys he had gone out with and why none of them worked out.  Most of the time, none of them had fit with his idea of THE One.  And the ones he had been interested with were, at most, only mildly interested in him.  It becomes a matter...