On wearing the veil

Saturday afternoon I saw a woman in a niqab get on the metro at the Boni Avenue station. My first thought was, it must be damn hot in that dress, and then the collective angst of the Western world over Islamic clothing came rushing in and I was promptly knocked into a catatonic state, a condition which lifted only when the rocking movement of the metro starting up again threatened to throw me off balance and onto some irritable stranger. Having recollected my composure I tried to thresh out a personal opinion on the matter, nevermind the fact that I may not exactly be entitled to one seeing as I am neither Muslim or a woman. And my take on it is that the veil is misunderstood by those who view it from a perspective that is so infatuated with individuality it is willing to pay with privacy as currency.

Modernity has gone GaGa over self-expression, self-definition, self-actualization, and a host of other similarly vain enterprises, all premised mostly on differentiating one's (physical) self from everybody else. On this altar to the self, the self is sacrificed" split right up the middle to bare the heart and all its dark secrets, photographed and uploaded and "liked" on Facebook, dissected and reassembled to form an ideal simulacrum, a unique simulacrum that screams look at me I, I am special. And everybody else looks on in admiration, agrees, and tries to create for themselves such an idol.

When everyone is obsessed with looking good, you can see then how the veil seems like a horror. How it makes women drab and shapeless. How Communist-ly homogeneous everyone ends up as. They say it is the ultimate hindrance to liberation, when what they actually mean by liberation is staking out a place for the self in the public eye.

But I say, how comfortingly anonymous it must be. I think that similar to how anonymity is allowed on the net, the same freedom should be accorded in real life. Even in the most public of places, it must feel reassuringly private behind the veil.

I was so engrossed in this chain of thought that I forgot to get off at Shaw Boulevard; I got off at Ortigas instead and walked back to Starmall to wait for my friend. To while away the time, I window-shopped at the different stalls in the food court. I made it all the way around before finally deciding to get Earth & Sky iced tea at the Deliciously Done, Food and Drinks store. Earth & Sky because of the high school nostalgia it inspires and Deliciously Done, Food and Drinks because of the implicit promise borne in their nomenclature name. I should have known that satisfaction would be unrealistic. The iced tea turned out to be Nestea, diluted with ice so much it must have been illegal. So much for nostalgia and a drink deliciously done. I contented myself with a stick of Phillip Morris 100s. Extra long for extra pleasure.

On ignoring angels

I would like to think that I am a good person. Most of the decisions I make are made in favor of the greater good. If I can help it, I choose not to hurt other people; and when I can, I choose to help. At least that's how my credo goes. In reality, I frequently disappoint myself.

This morning as I am leaving the metro station, I pass by an old woman sitting on the steps. I normally don't give alms but today I've brought some bread for breakfast. I stop in midstep and look back at her. Her gray hair, like her dress, is faded and dusty. The bronze, wrinkled face is impassive. What little emotion she has left escapes in the slight quivering of her thin lips. She is hungry. But I am walking too fast and my momentum is too strong. Irresolutely, I walk on, torn. I feel my heart starting to harden. In my head a debate with conscience.

For I was hungry and you gave Me food.

I remember what it is like to be hungry. My heart blooms with pain. I start walking slower. It should be very easy to just turn around and walk back to the woman, but it's not. I think of what I'm planning to have for breakfast when I get to the office. Maybe I'll buy myself a carton of milk from the convenience store down the block. Maybe a rice treat from that street vendor further along. I can't stand the guilt. I turn around. There is a river of people walking down the steps. I make my way up slowly, looking for her. The old woman is gone.

For I was hungry and you gave Me food.


It's not everyday that you get to see angels and I foolishly let this one go by. Walking the rest of the way to the office, I felt sad. I resented myself for not being good enough, for all the thoughts that ran through my head before finally deciding to do good. And then I remembered that God forgives, and that angels will always be around.

On the bus this morning

My favorite kind of sex is the Princeton rub. For one thing, it's safer than penetration. More than that, there is something so aggressively masculine about the sensation of another man's member pressing against mine that drives me nuts.

I led Mark down the unlighted path behind F- Hall. 

"You seem to know your way in the dark quite well. I bet you've brought a dozen other guys here. It feels weird being here with all these plants around." He can't seem to shut up. I think the dark is making him nervous. "Are you sure the guards don't come here?"

I stop, turn around, and kiss his mouth shut. I encircle his lower back with my right arm and press him towards me. I can feel his hard-on through the thick roughness of our jeans. I push against him. Mark groans and I kiss him harder. I wedge a knee between his legs for better balance. We're grinding against each other now. He unbuckles my belt and pulls down my zipper. I'm wearing my black bikini brief. He grabs my bulge and squeezes. Oh yeah. He drops his shorts too and now it's cotton against cotton. Smoother. Softer. Warmer. Mark raises his arms and I pull his shirt off. His nipples are erect in the cold night. He runs his hands up my chest and takes off my shirt. We pull each other close. Chest against chest. Skin against skin. Hardness against hardness. I can't stand it. We rock together harder, building into a frenzy that stretches out into unbelievable minutes until we finally melt into each other.

Frot is wonderful. Today though, I discovered that buns against buns feels just as good. The bus I take in the morning is always very crowded, possibly worse than the metro. And unfortunately for me, by the time it gets to my stop, it's always already very full, so I have to do my best to slip myself into any crack or crevice I can find. This gives me a lot of opportunity for physical contact, a tiny reminder that I am alive... Anyway, this morning I found myself back to back with a short skinhead in skintight black jeans. Getting on the bus, I did not have much opportunity to cruise him since I immediately turned my back to him but after a few bumps on the road, boy did I start paying attention. His ass felt firm and plump against mine. I could feel the sloping down towards his cleavage and it was warm, oh so warm. We spent all of the thirty-minute ride bumping asses (subtly grinding maybe?) and I almost could not resist turning round and squeezing his cheeks for all they were worth. I'm glad my sister was with me or I would have found myself in a very embarrassing situation.

Update: In a wicked coincidence, I saw bus boy on my way home last night! Was that some kind of sign? I suppose if it happens one more time I'll have to make a grab for it. You know what they say about threes...

On being spontaneous

So of all the things that I am pretentious about, being spontaneous ranks way up there. There are many reasons for this:

1. Being spontaneous is sexy.
2. Being spontaneous is Tao.
3. Being spontaneous is dangerous, and
• Dangerous is sexy.
• Dangerous is fun.
4. Being spontaneous is awesome, and
• Barney is awesome.
• Barney is sexy.

All of which leads me to conclude that being spontaneous will make me more like Barney (sans the suit): funny, HOT, charming, confident, and HOT. So Barney doesn't really have anything to do with this but Neil Patrick Harris is my ultimate man-crush and I'm random like that.

So this story is about last weekend. Friday night my friends and I are at M- to celebrate a friend's birthday. This is a wine bar and though the wine isn't that good, the wait staff iscute. As the party is winding down at around 1am, Neil asks me, "So, you want to come with me to Tagaytay? Ella and Lee are still there." Tagaytay. Lee. More alcohol. Count me in.

2 hours, 5 calls, and several text messages later, we are in G- and both our phones are dead. No idea where Ella or Lee are. We settle for a plate of hot pancit bihon instead. Then we drive home. I spend the rest of the day sleeping. Saturday night, I am at R- with college dorm friends. It is someone else's birthday. Tonight, we are drinking beer, not wine. As the party is winding down at around 12am, John asks me, "So, you want to come with me to Malate? I'm meeting some friends later." Malate. Boys. More alcohol. Count me in.

I've never been to Malate before. I found it quite exotic. Maybe that was just the beer goggles. Nevertheless, as I stared drunkenly out of the windows of the cab, I felt - I felt awesome. John doesn't have any cash with him. He cooks up a plan where he just waltzes in while I distract whoever is at the entrance by paying. I don't argue. We walk up to the entrance and he stops to talk to someone. I walk past him. I am in. Free. The next thing I know someone is grabbing my hand and pulling me upstairs. John introduces me to his friends. I am busy staring at the go-go dancers. I can't help but feel sad for how dehumanizing their job is. They don't even bother to look at the crowd when dancing. One of them is staring straight ahead at the glass window as he slowly gyrates. Appreciating his own reflection, maybe. Trying to think he was somewhere else, maybe. Anyway, soon my ADHD kicks in and I forget all about... The next thing I know I am on the dance floor with a bottle of something, dancing like I've never danced before. Literally.

I don't remember how long this goes on for, or who I even dance with (I remember a cute foreigner in a wheelchair). And then it is 6am and suddenly O- is empty and the sun is way too bright. As I walk out someone knocks down a bottle of beer, the contents of which end up on my jeans. Thank you, I say. He doesn't look back.

Also, I leave with someone and we hook up and I feel like a slut, like a cheap cheap slut. He's not as good-looking as I thought he was. I don't particularly want to have sex but I've left with him, and I'm in Malate (i.e. I have no fucking clue where I am or how to get home) and he's from Paranaque and we're on a jeepney heading for Baclaran. Then we're having breakfast at Jollibee (hotdogs), and then we're checking in.

I take a shower and then lay on the bed. It's cold in the room and the bed is soft. I want to sleep. We kiss instead. His lips are cold and his lips are soft and his lips are wet on my nipples. Wet on my cock. I pull him up for a kiss and then up some more until his dick is level with my mouth and it's my turn. I like to suck but I'm not finding this enjoyable so I push him off of me and onto his back. It's hardness and against hardness now. I aim lower. Do you want to put it in? He puts a condom on me. For a second I'm afraid I'll go soft. I've never topped before. The last time I tried to wear a condom I couldn't get it up. But this time is okay. I'm still hard. He drips some lube on my dick and massages it up and down. I moan. Is it good? He lowers himself onto me. I don't feel anything. I don't know if I'm inside. But it's warm, and the room is cold. There is an intense look of concentration on his face. Go slow. What does it feel like? What? What do I feel like inside of you? He just moans and grinds his ass into my crotch. I start to fuck him in earnest. I feel myself sliding in and out of him. My eyes are closed and all I can see is black and me sliding in and out of him. Slow, then faster. Yeah, fuck me faster. I sit up and pull him in for a kiss. And then I can feel myself cumming and then he's cumming too. 

We fuck. We cuddle for a while. We fall asleep. We wake up and check out and say goodbye. I don't think I want to see him again. He seems like a nice guy. It's a shame we met like this. 

Then again, Tao.

On getting lost

I have been spending a ridiculous amount of time with Ella this past month. We've been acquainted for a while now and we've even hung out a couple of times but we were just that - acquaintances - until three weeks ago when we got really drunk liberated ourselves from our inhibitions and I came out to her and she spilled her heart out on the deal with her and Neil. I love Neil (as a friend) and Neil loves her (as more than friends) so much so that he's been courting her for n number of years already, where n is greater than the number of years I was infatuated with Erica but less than the number of years I loved Rina. That's three girls in one paragraph and we all know that this blog isn't about girls so moving on...

Ella introduced me to her colleague Lee last week. Lee is cute in a boyish kind of way and shorter than I am (I like that). Best of all, Lee likes me, or so Ella says. I added him on Facebook yesterday and we started chatting. Part of that goes:

16:45 Me: It's so hot I want to pop open a can of Beer Below Zero and take a bath in it.
16:47 Lee: Okay, game! My officemates and I are drinking at the bar down the street later.
17:03 Lee: We're off to get wasted now. It was nice chatting with you!

So I decide (foolishly?) that that was an invitation and head off to Makati after work.

20:00 I ask my trusty side-kick to drop me off at the Salcedo Park, if for no other reason than that I have no idea where exactly Lee's office is and I think it seems like a good start. Actually, I do know what the street is like. It's got a 7-11 at the corner. Unfortunately, upon walking into a random 7-11 and asking if there are any other branches nearby, I discover to my dismay that they've put up stores on every other block of the CBD. I decide to walk in ever-widening circles around Salcedo Park, hoping to stumble upon the right street.

20:15 Still walking in circles. I wonder why I didn't get his number.

20:30 I get the genius idea to ask Neil where Ella's office is. I find out that it is in the opposite side of the CBD. I give myself a congratulatory pat on the back.

20:45 I find the right street. Suddenly I am attacked by apprehension seized by doubt. What the hell will Lee think of me suddenly showing up? It isn't like he actually invited me to show up. But wasn't his message to me something of an invitation? I decide that a cigarette will steel my resolve.

20:55 I walk into the bar. No one's there.

Was I relieved? Or disappointed? Neil texts me:

Neil: So did you find the place?
Me: Yes, but they've already left.
Neil: Awww. So what's going to happen to you now?
Me: I don't know I might just decide to die of sadness. Either that or I go home. I'm still weighing my options.
Neil: Right. I don't believe they're not there anymore.

I can't believe even my best friends are always suspicious of me.


PS. If you were in Lee's place, what would you think about my showing up?

On flirting

It is very easy

to escape into head-land into

the realm of frenzied imaginings

where thoughts flow, thoughts rush,

desire pours down in a torrent.

The imagination flies away

carried away on a naughty smile.

It is easy to get lost

very easy to get lost get

your head stuck in the clouds.

Calm down.

Come down.

-Head-land, Enrico S. Ponce

I like flirting. I like flirting both as a prelude to sex and as an end in itself. Sometimes I think I enjoy flirting more as the latter. There's a certain satisfaction to be had in the anonymous connection shared for the few seconds it takes to pass each other by on the street.

I used to want to be a ninja. Maybe I still do, but not as much. Anyway, when I still whole-heartedly considered it my ambition in life, I embarked on a self-study quest. I tried to learn how to throw shuriken, stand still for hours on end, and be very observant of what was going on around me. I failed miserably at the first and second tasks, but the last, well, it led me to discover my passion in life - watching people. So maybe I still can't spot the guy concealing a gun in his jacket on a crowded MRT but I sure as hell can smell out the PLU in that crowd. So there, now you know that I wasn't digressing. I was just trying to provide some build-up. Because yes, I'm random like that.

It starts with a cursory inspection, upon stepping into the train. Most days, I am out of luck and everyone else in the car is either 1) a sweaty laborer or b) a woman. On my not-so-lucky days, there are cute, albeit uninterested, guys I can content myself with appreciating. And then sometimes the stars align and lo and behold. Magic happens.

I just love how, like two magnets, our eyes are drawn to each other. Only for a few seconds, but a few seconds longer than is really necessary. And then he looks away, demure daw kasi. I stare on, defiant, challenging. I know he feels me watching him, and he can't help it. There. He's looking at me again. I raise an eyebrow. What? A faint faint hint of a smile. Then I look away, watch the buildings float by outside the window. Now he's the one staring. I can feel it on the nape of my neck. It's my stop. I glance at him and throw a naughty wink. Goodbye.

First Time

I can remember my first time only vaguely. I was fifteen years old, a junior in high school. It all started after class hours in the computer room. I don't recall any feelings of fear or anxiety. If anything, I must have been excited. Even then, I jumped into any new experience I could.

A. was sat on one of the open computers. I pulled an empty chair and sat beside her. She told me about what she had been doing recently. A. and I had experimented before but what she was telling me now was different altogether. She opened a website and showed me hers and I was blown away. The audaciousness of the idea excited me. We played around for a while and then the teacher came to close up the lab.

I couldn't wait to get home and try it out for myself. I quickly signed up for my own account and then I was at it. Seven years later and I am still at it. I've had not a few partners. Some of these relationships barely lasted a day, others for years. You could say that I am still learning the ropes and looking for what I really want.

This however, will be the first anonymous blog that I make. There are things about myself that I am afraid to tell to the people closest to me. Or it could be that this is a performance where I can bare my innermost heart without having to show my face. Or I could just be lonely.