Just like a the famous periodic comets, a true friend doesn't come around too often. When you find one, never let go. But, with the evolution of man it is always not always easy to discern true friends. One that will be honest with you. The one person you can share you inner-most secrets. The only one who can finish your sentences or read your thoughts. And without sounding corny, one that will always be there for you through thick and thin. A non-sexual bond between two people is just a powerful as a married couple.
I have TONS of acquaintances. Half of which I can probably call a friend. And half of that half are probably my close friends. But only a handful of that will I consider true friends. If you've managed to sift through my intricate sieve then you're one of the lucky ones. Or, more importantly, I'm lucky to have you in my life.
After several drunken and laughter induced nights, I'm proud and happy to have added another person in my short list of close friends. You know I would write about you and so here it is. I don't mention names in my blog, but you know who you are.
I love your philosophical advices that always seem to make me think even though the Taurus in me already decided that I was right and that's that! It's a good balance to my rather impulsive personality. I love how you try to read my thoughts and feelings and has no qualms in pointing it out. Letting me stay positive when I'm feeling down. You constantly remind me that I keep myself grounded. I love your 10,000 questions that I'm not so eager to answer directly. I love how you mimic my quirky mannerisms and manage to do it so well. I love it when you ask me if I love you, and if I say I do, and you would go, "No, no, no! You don't love me!". I love your honesty that I do question sometime, but trust is something I struggle with so please don't take it personal. You're my brother and confidante.
Try holding you breath for 10 seconds. No problem. Try doing it in a minute. It's hard but it's still doable. Now try holding your breath for 6 months. Well, theoretically, that's impossible I know, but that's exactly how I felt. I felt strangled and constrained. But lately, I can feel that I can breathe again. Slowly ... rythmically.
So how did I get into this self asphyxiation? Well, did I mention I was partially blind? Borderline stupid? And maybe a little bit of bipolar? No! I never mentioned any of which, but I was in-love. That's my final and only excuse. Take it or leave it.
Love can move mountains, but it can also create a massive catastrophic-like mess. Think of it as the flapping wings in the "butterfly effect". It starts off cutesy and ends up in chaos. Fuck you love!
Then comes the denouement. The final outcome of a dramatic and complex sequence of events. The anti-climax. The part where you let out a big sigh and say, "It's over".
My life has only been in the extremes lately -- it's as if I could never get it right. It's always a never-ending quest for that "sweet spot". There are days when I'm beyond ecstatic that everything around me didn't matter. You could blow up my car and I'd be like, "That's ok! I'm pretty sure you didn't mean to press that cute little red button." And then there's the exact opposite when I would go unleash unprovoked nonsensical rage on people for something so foolish and mundane. The thing is, when your body starts to rebel and is completely in sync with your emotions, it craves for change. Change of pace, surroundings ... people. I'm not asking too much, right?
People. As much as I like being around people, there are times when I just want everyone to disappear. Ok, maybe not everybody but just You. You're both a gift and bane. I'm not sure if I want to hug or strangle you. To love you or to hate you. To have you in my arms or on the sole of my Ferragamo's. To have you in my life or ....
What happens to light when darkness win. Does it really disappear or is it all temporary? My eyes are starting to adapt in the darkness. I've become a functioning blind that I don't even know what it's like to see things in different perspectives. If I open my eyes, will I see the truth or will I just ...
My heart skip a beat or two when I see you. My heart pumps extra blood when you smile at me. My heart explodes when you say you love me. But why is it so hard to love you back? Why do I keep rebuilding up a wall right after I destroy it? Why do I constantly find myself falling in and out of ...
Just like our relationship, this is just a shot in the dark.
My short journey has ended abruptly. No, I'm not bitter. I knew that one day it had to end; I just wasn't expecting it to end this way. Why am I so vague? I guess it's not for everybody to know. I've been trying to write for weeks now, but nothing was coming out. I've summoned every muse I can think of but the bitches are all useless. And then it hit me! I'm over-thinking again.
Instead of, "Dance, dammit! Dance!". I say, "Write, bitch! Write!". And so here I go.
I've never been to the Australian Outback. The closest I've been was watching "The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert". It was very picturesque if you're into that arid, barren, nature look. I guess I can go local and use The Great Basin or the Chihuahuan Desert, but I think that's the best part about writing, you can travel without actually travelling. Ok, I digress. Back to my point.
The first time I traveled that road, I was presented with a fork with one leading to Salvation, and the other one to Destiny. I picked the first one thinking it was the right thing to do. I felt liberated and quite happy with my decision. As a matter of fact, I was ecstatic! I was in a euphoric state that can only be induced by chemical means. Nevertheless I didn't need any chemical drug -- he was my drug of choice.
The road became potholed and the drug is wearing out quickly. In the interim, I've decided to let go of unnecessary baggage, thinking it was just weighing me down. I pretended the road was evenly paved and we'll be driving through the sunset just like in the movies. I didn't realize there still some latent potency in this drug. I saw different signs on the road telling me to turn back but I chose to ignore it. I was blinded by the barren desert and the naked mountains that I grew accustomed to. The ethereal whispers of the wind alone were enough to convince to keep going. It was my own version of Utopia. So I thought.
Soon I got bored and the drug definitely wore out. I just kept going because I still believe the road will lead me somewhere. It did. I was given a second chance with the same fork on the road with the same set of signs. I chose Destiny this time.
There is definitely lesson learned in all this. First, get a GPS. Second, heed to the signs on the road. They're there for a reason. Third, if you think you're lost, take the first exit you can find. And lastly, say "No" to drugs!
Seriously, I'm in a better state right at this very moment now that I purged all the negativity in my life.
525,600 sounds a lot more than 365, yet it's actually the same. But, in the spirit of the musical Rent, how do you measure a year? In daylights, sunsets or midnights? Inches or miles? Cups of coffee perhaps? Laughter or strife? If you know the song, then you know it's only measured by love. No, regretfully, this post is not about love. That would've been an ideal post. Hmmm .. maybe one day.
A lot of things have happened to me last year. Some of them I painfully regretted, but thankfully it was nicely counterbalanced almost at the same time. I met new people -- great people! I found myself in an unfamiliar territory and eventually made tons of adjustments. Everything was necessary and believed to have contributed to my personal growth. But, all that good stuff was too good to be true. When things are surprisingly going your way, it will eventually fuck up right on your face. It hasn't yet. But the masochist in me is almost welcoming the pain and suffering that is yet to come.
The first two paragraphs was written about a month ago, and it stayed on my Draft folder until my prediction comes true. It did.
So, let me start with a cute and a I-promise-you-theres-a-point-to-this joke:
One day a man was teaching a redneck about logic.He starts with the simple question, "Do you own a weedwhacker?" The redneck replies with a yes. "So that means you have a yard?" Yes. "So you have a house, I assume." Yes. "And do you live with a wife and kids?" Yeah. "So that means you're straight.
"Later that day the redneck is talking to one of his friends. "Today I learned all about logic."His friend asks him what logic is and he replies with the same first question. "Do you own a weedwhacker?" No. "You're a queer."
If you didn't get it, then I promise you, you never will. But, that's my whole life in a very bad gay joke nutshell. It's just the way it is. People use some weird logic to justify someones sexuality or theirs. But my question is, why do people bother? If you're straight, then good for you. If you're gay, then that makes both of us. Do we really need to dwell on that line that divides it? Really!
Now I'm back to regret. So, how do I measure a year? Not with inches or laughter. Or coffee or strife. That would've been too easy. Mine is self-reproach.
Poignant. Poetic. Prolific. That's what you are. Your voice excavates in my soul and releases emotions that were in indefinite hibernation. You tore down the wall that took me forever to build. I'm naked in your presence.
There is no Andy. Andy is a pseudonym for someone who I'd just rather call ... well ... Andy. No he's not Andrew either. He's just ... you know ... Andy. So, why an open letter to Andy? Why put it out on the interweb for everyone to see. Because I'm a punk. I'm Priscilla Queen of the Prissy Desert. I'm Prudence McPrude. I'm just ... a fucking mess!
I'm praying to God everyday to make it go away. I pray to make everything feel better. I pray that I'll just wake up one day and I'll be back to my so-called normal life.
Cue the violins.
Everytime I see you, there are no words to express how I feel. I feel happy, sad, torn, confused, terrified, jealous and mad all at the same time. Yet, you only see me smiling. I pretend that everything is ok. As if there is no blood oozing out of my skin from the dagger that stuck in my heart. God! That's some morbid shit right there.
Love is my perpetual nemesis. I hate love. How can you love love, when love hates you. Did that make sense?
Foreword: A person that is very dear to my heart inspired me to start writing again. Seeing him, speaking to him, listening to him, feeling his palpable presence is enough to break the levee that held back all the emotions.
Growing up, we all hear the usual rants. "You're not old enough to do that!". "You're way too young for those things!". Or just the simple, "Grow up!". We deal with it at face value and take everything in stride. But subconsciously, we do want to get older. We want to be able to do certain things our way. We just want to grow up already.
Upon reaching the pinnacle of maturity -- or at least, we think we're grown up -- we catch ourselves saying, "I wish I was young again". So, what is it really? What is the deal with this dichotomy? Is it just simple human nature? Human nature in which we have no sense of contentment?
I've always been drawn to people who act more mature than their age, and we're not just talking about 5 years difference. It's more like a quantum leap from their real age. I guess it's the unconventional way of thinking and/or reasoning that I find extremely attractive. When you're speaking to your contemporaries, you don't find the need to slice and dice your words because you're all on the same page. But for someone who is completely your junior and fluently speaks your vernacular, it immediately becomes intimidating.
And it takes a lot to intimidate me.
Upon meeting this guy, I knew immediately he's smarter than he sounds. Very well versed and eloquent. I enjoy speaking to him, but mostly I listen. I pay attention to everything he says. But then the more I listen to him, the more it gets clearer that he's not aware that he's thinking and acting far too advanced for his age. Makes me come to some conclusion that he might miss a lot of wonderful things and regret about it 10 years from now. It made me think about my own childood.
Growing up, it was difficult to act a certain way because I need to abide to my parents rules and the society that we belong. A lof of "kiddie stuff" was out of the question. That was already inculcated in my head. I was programmed to do certain things and speak a certain way when in public. But Junior high was the end of the rope. I couldn't take it anymore. I rebelled but not in a conventional way. I didn't do drugs or become a delinquent. I reprogrammed myself to live my life the way it should be or at least according to my peers. I didn't compromise my studies nor my proper upbringing, but at the same time, I refuse to be alone and be an outcast. I had to relearn how to speak to people using colloquial terms, change my demeanor to be socially acceptable. And by socially acceptable, it meant anything that make my new found friends happy. It was hard work but I royally succeeded.
Coming back to this person. I see a lot of potential in him. He knows the value of money, education and family. Which to me, is all you need to be out there with the lions, tigers and bears. I just wish he would tone down a little bit and enjoy youth as youth should be. It's ok to be a little bit more smarter than most. It's ok to be a little bit more mature than your friends or co-workers. It's ok to set certain goals that is a bit more complex than others. But in my opinion, if life is taken too seriously, it becomes bleak and monochromatic. And who really wants to live in a black and white world?
There is no shortcut in obtaining one's goals. Everyone should go through the vast intricate maze that is life.
One of my co-workers is having a baby pretty soon, so everyone agree to make this "baby book". You can put well wishes or baby tips. On my part, I thought of making my own ABC book. I did a similar book for my niece when she was growing up, but this far more elaborate because it rhymes.
For girls:
A is for the Armani top and my Alaia skirt B is for the Balanciaga bag that matches my Burberry shirt. C is for Cavalli and the new Chanel tote. D is for my simply divine brand new Dior coat. E is for the Elie Saab dress that goes well my red Escada shoes F is for Fendi or Ferragamo? Oh, what to choose? G is for Gucci and Galliano too. H is for the Hermes Birkin bag. Red or Blue? I is for Issey Miyake. I just love his Asian flair. J is for my classic Jean Paul Gaultier mohair. K is for my Karl Lagerfeld driving gloves. L is my lovely Lacroix skirt that everyone loves! M is for my vintage Missoni knit dress. N is for Nicole Miller. Haute couture no less! O is for Oscar dela Renta with his classic design. P is for the Prada mules that is hard to find. Q is for Question. Is there a designer that starts with the letter Q? R is for Ralph Lauren. An American designer through and through. S is for Stella McCartney, please don't compare her to her famous dad. T is for Tom Ford. He started his own line now, aren't you glad? U is for Ungaro and his pret-a-porter collection V is for the Versace gown that always deserves a reaction. W is for the Weitzman half boot that everyone should own. X is for X-Factor. In the fashion business, the word is well known. Y is for Yohji Yamamoto and his Asian twist. Z is Zac Posen, his cute bags you can't resist.
For boys:
A is for Armani and it's affluent style B is for the Burberry coat that’s ever so versatile C is for Calvin Klein and Comme des Garcons D is for Dior who can't do anything wrong E is for the Elie Tahari exquisite sweater vest F is only for Ferragamo shoes. Forget the rest! G is for Gucci and it's gorgeous leather. H is for Hermes ties that makes you look dapper I is for Issey Miyake. His cologne smells sweet. J is for John Varvatos that brought couture to the street. K is for Karl Lagerfeld. His style is timeless. L is for the Louis Vuitton tote you'll love to get for Christmas. M is for the Marc Jacobs jacket that you've been longing for. N is for Neiman Marcus. It screams expensive right from the door. O is for Oscar dela Renta with his classic design. P is for the Prada mules that is hard to find. Q is for Question. Is there a designer that starts with the letter Q? R is for Ralph Lauren. An American designer through and through. S is for Sean John and his sleek trendy line. T is for the Tom Ford sunglasses that is one of a kind. U is for Ungaro and his pret-a-porter collection V is for Valentino suits that always a deserves a reaction W is for a Wolfgang Joop sping coat that everyone should own. X is for X-Factor. In the fashion business, the word is well known. Y is for Yohji Yamamoto and his Asian twist. Z is for Zegna. His luxurious designs you can't resist.
Ok, so I'm still crocheting. So what, right? But why am I justifying it anyway? Why am I explaining it to you? Why do I have to explain it to you or everyone else?
I'm gay ... I can get away with it ... flawlessly.
That's what I thought.
Ever since I started my new hobby -- which by the way made 4 scarves already, thank you! -- I've noticed that I had to explain to people who gasps at the sight of me with my needle and yarn, that men crochet too. I even catch myself saying "there's a lot of straight men who crochet" every single time. And sometimes, I do all this as if I'm defending myself in a courtroom ... in DC! Any other time, I could care less because I'm gay and I can get away with it.
This morning, my niece wore the scarf I made for her the other night. It's a rainbow of colors embellished with buttons, beads and Swarovski crystals -- don't ask. Before I dropped her off at her school, I gave her a very simple instruction.
"Do not tell people that your uncle made the scarf, ok? Not a lot of men crochet."
