Commuters. A short story.

Commuters is a short short-story I wrote more than three years ago. The story was inspired by a road trip I took with Venus, one of my best friends, to Alcoy – a very rural municipality located in the Southern part of Cebu. In so many ways, Commuters is a representation of my life that year. Being 23 years old and naïve about love and relationships. Being gay my whole life but only fully acknowledging it after meeting a simple man who involuntarily twisted my world. Being young yet so grown-up all a sudden as a consequence of the painful choices I’ve made – choices that taught me the virtues of acceptance and tolerance, choices that gave a semblance of peace amidst my life’s complications, and choices that used to feel like toothache but now seem very fabulous.

Commuters
June 23, 2004

Saturday. Exactly twenty-five minutes past four in the afternoon. At the bus station, the air hangs dry and its dusts push its way into my pores, while my skin sweats with the saltiness of the day. The dusts crawl uninvited, drinks and bathes at the unseen folds of my skin. My skin has cried and dried, the stickiness never leaving though, and here we are inhaling the exhaust of the bus headed south. We could have been in that ride, squeezing with the other commuters, exchanging sweat and odor. Instead, we are standing here beside this concrete terminal station post like bookends, waiting for that next bus ride to destination nowhere.

This destination nowhere is not exactly a nowhere. It is supposed to be three hours away from the city. But then, I, and my best friend Iris here, have never been there in our less than glorious twenty-three years. We are waiting for the next bus headed south because some lady, an acquaintance of Iris’ uncle, invited us, through a brief telephone call, to her place for the weekend.

But then, what is the bearing of geography for people who are lost all their lives?

We got the next bus around five, swarming amongst men and a few women and some hungry-looking kids. It’s interesting really, these provincial people spending the next three hours either by sleeping from sheer exhaustion or by simply thinking of that homemade meal that would definitely be served as soon as they have crossed the threshold of their homes. Maybe a fiesta is happening somewhere, and an evening of dance is something that they were rooting for the whole year. The thought is so simple, uncomplicated.

It’s a more or less three-hour travel according to the konduktor. Adding or taking a few minutes from his calculation, though, might be of some use if we were traveling in broad daylight with mountain ridges or still waters on either side of the road. If it were some peak, maybe I won’t be scaling it, at least not this time if I am supposed to be back in the city by Monday. If it were a sea, maybe I would think of wading it until the waters would only be knee-high. Or, I might not go back to the shore, but instead, continue wading, with the grasses and all beneath my feet, until a wide expanse of sandbars would allow me to breathe again easily. I haven’t been to a sandbar for a long time anyway, and more than once during those younger years, I usually end up tiptoeing, holding my breath till I am fully certain that yeah, I am at the shore again.

But it’s evening, and my companion has her face against the darkness outside her window. She doesn’t care about her hair that screams with the wind, nor with her forehead and cheeks that are kissing the cold, forceful wind. If I were my mother I would have probably pulled her back or closed the window or exchanged places with her. It’s supposed to be dangerous, looking out of the bus window and things like that. But she’s inhaling her freedom, I know. And though we exchanged stories and even laughed at the naughty things that we say now and then, I know it’s the wind that screams against her face that she’d rather be with now. At this time, at least.

“When did we become so joyless?”

The question was hypothetical, but demands an article of time for an answer that neither one of us could immediately satisfy. She’s that person who knew the answer already before asking. She’s that person who asks because she wants an affirmation. Though, very so often I would think that her unrevealed answers are not usually affirmed after a question has been formed through her mouth. She would ask again, louder, and maybe she would get some affirmation this time.

And lately too, she has this habit of inventing hypothetical questions that neither of us could satisfy. I know at such times she’s grappling with her thoughts to make out the clearest sense as to why she’s throwing a question in the very first place. It’s sad anyhow – forming a very sad question as a consequence of the knowledge that it is coupled with an equally sad experience that would suffice for an answer.

Outside, the rain started to pour and I began to smile at her while she drinks the waters, which blends with the wind, the same wind that seems to be at her command. The other commuters began to close their windows, and we have to close our own after this woman behind our seat asked us to. I wouldn’t care less, really. Somehow it’s vain for a person to feel the discomfort of the rain that drenches. I would wonder what about those fishermen out there, in the middle of the sea with just their small bancas. Those lights that dotted the murky waters. A few times, yeah they have a companion who comes along but more often than not they are usually alone and it seems all the more reasonable that I open our window and join my friend in tasting the wind and the waters.

“Just exactly how well acquainted are you with this woman who has invited us to spend tonight and tomorrow at her place?” I asked my friend. “I know I asked you this before, it’s just that, you know, we don’t know her at all or you don’t know her at all. Except that she’s your aunt, supposedly, but you practically don’t know her, that’s it, and why, really, didn’t we give it a second or more thoughts before jumping onto this bus.”

“Because we could never stand living another minute in that city.” She said, in that same questioning smile that at most opportunities is rather elusive, though this time her answer is affirming.

“But we are not yet lost, aren’t we? This is the farthest that I’ve been in the last few months.”

She chuckled. “No, we’ve traveled far enough lately, haven’t you noticed?” Again, that questioning smile that weigh me down into submission.

“So we are once again venturing into figurativeness!”

She laughed aloud this time. “That’s a nice way of putting it. I love the sound of it. Venturing into figurativeness. Traveling in mile stretches now, whereas for weeks we were traveling in stretches of time and bizarre experiences.”

And as if reading my observations all the while, “The mountains, those lights dotting the waters, the rain kissing my lips, venturing into figurativeness. We really are, I suppose, venturing into figurativeness. I can’t seem to get this phrase out of mind.” She was staring into the night when she said this.

I said, “Good, the rain has stopped. What time are we supposed to arrive? I am starving, and I am not venturing into figurativeness this time. I am literally starving.”

It’s a three-hour travel and it’s forty past seven in the evening but I am beginning to doubt now if it really is just a three-hour ride. After all, it has rained and we are traveling at such careful speed that this trip would now seem to take forever.

“What do you suppose has happened to Gayle now?” I teased. ”It’s been two weeks you know, you think you might just have to call her sometime, maybe tonight? We still have some signal.”

“What do you suppose has happened to your Jeff now?” She whispered wistfully and all I could do was shrug and look at the ceiling. And I know she’s looking at me now, with the playfulness that I have missed for a very long time.

“What?” I asked.

“What what?”

“Never mind.”

“What would you think if we’ll just spend sometime here, in this nowhere, a few days more and go back to the city later? What do you think?”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Maybe. But really, why don’t we?”

“We’ve got work, by the way.”

“We can always request for a leave.”

“We haven’t got money. Or clothes at the very least.”

“We can always worry about that later. Anyway there’s always a bus heading back to the city, so if it is no longer practical for us to stay, then off we go.”

“Were you thinking about this just now, or were you planning this already?”

“Actually, I thought I might want to surprise you. Guess you’re surprised now. More than surprised, perhaps. Thrilled.”

“Thrilled, my ass. We are going back tomorrow, that’s it.”

“We ought not to. How are you and Jeff now by the way?”

“Don’t change the topic ‘coz definitely we are not staying beyond tomorrow. As for that last question, you know my life completely and you know that we’re through.”

“But you’re not through with him.”

“You’re not yet through with Gayle either.”

“I don’t deny that. Two weeks is too short a time to be really through with anyone. Especially if two years of your life were spent with them.”

“And we promised not to indulge in those anymore ‘coz they’re through with us much as want we to believe otherwise.”

“Suppose we meet our potentials somewhere here.”

“Not likely.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Meeting other people is the last thing on my mind right now.”

“Because of Jeff?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Okay, okay you got me there. But I just don’t want to spend too much time and energy thinking about that now.”

“The last that I’ve heard of him is that he went south. He might be here somewhere. We might catch up with him, we wouldn’t really know.”

“What are you trying to tell me exactly?”

“Nothing. Just possibilities. I would still insist that we stay on for a few more days, though.”

“You really are stubborn, do you know that.”

“We both are. That’s why we are here now, and not in the city.”

“This trip seems to go on forever.”

“We should be there in a few minutes.”

At around eight thirty, the bus conductor informed us of our stop. The darkness immediately became familiar once we stepped off the bus and the bus moved on with the few passengers remaining. We are facing a school now, and beside it there is supposed to be a trail that would lead to the house where we will be staying until tomorrow, unless Iris would press on with her stubbornness. The house shouldn’t be difficult to find, she’s been told, only a short walk from the road. Beside the house is an old cottage, and beyond it is the beach. Right now, I thought I might want to walk in the sand, with the evening seemingly so fragrant and cool. The place hasn’t been rained upon recently, I thought, and the skies are calm, a sight that has eluded us while we were still on the road.

“Iris, maybe we should explore the beach tonight after we get settled. Or who knows we are no longer invited after all, and we would have no other choice but to stretch out at the beach until we catch the first bus ride to the city tomorrow.”

Iris nodded, as she shone the flashlight along the trail. There’s not much need of it though, we seem to be very accustomed to the darkness. Ahead, we could make out the form of a house, in its yard a small cottage that seems to have known many stories and exchanges among folks who have used this same trail for years.

Something about the night has changed though. Ahead of us, I could now make out the sight of a man, someone important to me. I could see now that he’s wearing the perennial black shirt and the certainty of that stride as he approached us is something that I have always known, yet had taken for granted, failed to appreciate but now.

Iris cut into my thoughts. “Perhaps you now know the reason why you ought to stay here for a few days more.”

Once upon a time sa life sa tatay ug ang iyang anak

tatay: anak, paliti kog softdrinks
anak: coke o pepsi?
tatay: coke...
anak: diet o regular?
tatay: regular...
anak: bote o can?
tatay: bote...
anak: 8 oz. o litro?
tatay: punyeta....tubig na lang
anak: natural o mineral?
tatay: mineral...
anak: bugnaw o dili?
tatay: lambusan ta man ka aning silhig ron...
anak: lanot o tukog?
tatay: animal man seguro ka!!!
anak: baka o baboy?
tatay: layas!!!...layas! !!...
anak: karon o ugma?
tatay: karon na!!!
anak: imo ko ihatud o dili?
tatay: patyon ta ka karon!!!
anak: tuk-on o pusilon?
tatay: pusilon!!!
anak: sa ulo o tiyan?
tatay: pisteee!!!
anak: ok-ok o ilaga?
tatay: aaaahhhhh... .buang!!!
anak: kinsa...ikaw o ako?

Jessie's institutional targets for fiscal year 2007-08

1. Go to the gym again. Gotta be beautiful inside and out. And diet. Performance indicator: 30 lbs. weight loss. Probability of success: High.

2. Learn how to dance gracefully. Must learn the basics of standard and latin ballroom dancing. Must ooze with sex and masculinity on the dance floor. This goal is not realistic but miracles always happen in Hollywood. You just wait and see.

3. Read at least one book per month. The last book I've read was Anne Tyler's Back When We Were Grownups and that was way back in July. There was a time that I could manage one book per week, but considering the many tasks that must be squeezed within each seven-day stretch, this target should be appropriate enough.

4. Watch the Miss Universe 2008 beauty pageant in Vietnam. Considering my impending state of joblessness, this goal might not be realized. In this case, I must be able to watch the pageant live within my lifetime.

5. Save. Pursue a taxi-free life, unless the taxi fare may be justifiably charged somewhere else.

6. Engage in great sex more frequently. That which also involves the heart, the mind and the soul.

7. Compile a portfolio of published works, among other outputs of my professional career. Apply for jobs abroad. Do not kiss asses because such part of the human anatomy is reserved only for either spanking or rimming.

8. Draw. Sketch. Write. Watch old movies. Sleep at least eight hours each day. Nurture thy heart and thy body with these simple pleasures.

9. Buy a good camera and capture everything. The extraordinary and the mundane. The colorful and the neutral. The happy and the sad. The ecstasy and the agony. The machines and God's natural gifts.

10. Go to the beach more often. By accomplishing task No.1, going to the beach should no longer be an ordeal but a kinky pleasure.

Mwah!

Jessie's labyrinth

A long time ago, in the Underground Realm, where there are no lies or pain, there lived a princess who dreamt of the human world. She dreamt of blue skies, soft breeze and sunshine. One day, eluding her keepers, the princess escaped. Once outside, the bright sun blinded her and erased her memory. She forgot who she was and where she came from. Her body suffered cold, sickness and pain. And eventually, she died. However, her father, the king, always knew that the princess’ soul would return, perhaps in another body, in another place, at another time. And he would wait for her, until he drew his final breath, until the world stopped turning…

This fairy tale is the premise of Guillermo del Torro's wondrous and dreamlike Pan's Labyrinth. The story unfolds through the eyes of Ofelia, a young girl who finds solace in the worlds of her fairy tales. In her ordinary world, the world that she inhabits with her pregnant mother and unborn brother, there were pain and discontent. In her mystical world, she is her father's long-lost princess, but there are beasts and monsters that she must face and tasks that she must endure before she could reenter her old serene kingdom.

No work for me today because it's a holiday and finally I had the guts to refuse work. I afforded myself the opportunity to be lazy. And of course, Pan's Labyrinth is one of my lazy day's pleasures, together with the Tori Amos CDs that I had been playing since I woke up around 10 this morning.

I love movies like Pan's Labyrinth - those that showcase dreamplaces and wonderlands that are so much different from the earth that we have come to call our home. That is why it's always dangerous when I pop in a Lord of The Rings disc in the player because I simply abandon the rest of the day in favor of Peter Jackson's amazing 10-hour adaptation of Tolkien's middle earth trilogy. I love all three X-Men movies. All six Star Wars episodes. Even the Chronicles of Narnia and Harry Potter. Blah blah blah.

So for today, I think of myself as Ofelia. Yes, the 26-year old, gay guy version of Ofelia in Pan's Labyrinth. Just for today, or I could keep the Ofelia character perhaps for the rest of the weekend. Whatever. Hahahaha. For one, I sense some parallelisms between Ofelia's more accessible world and my own real world because mine is also a bit scattered these days, it's everything but organized and serene. There are no fascists who are carrying guns and ammunitions, but there are Nazi's waging their blitzkriegs of workloads (hahaha, don't ever let me further explain what I am saying here).

And then there is my alternate world - one which doesn't have fairies or fauns or giant toads, but that which has kind and funny and committed guys finding their true love in the unlikeliest places at the supposedly most inconvenient time. In Jessie's labyrinth, there are no talismans or hourglasses, instead there are are white and red roses, chocolates, soft candle lights, teddy bears and whatnots. Dream on. Dream some more. Just don't forget to wake up.

The wisdom of the decorative lamp

It's 2.44a.m. I should already be asleep by now. It is perfectly human to do so. It is biologically required. I should remind myself next time that sleep is a mandatory human behavior and being vampirically awake should never ever an option.

Whatever.

Yesterday was supposed to be an ordinary day. I was hoping that it would be. I was planning for it to be mundane. But something happened. There was a trigger. A soft one. But chilling.

And so I wrote this dreaded letter. For over two hours, I labored to piece together the words that should encapsulate my five-year worth of drama. There was sadness. There was pain. There was anxiety. There was excitement. There was a spark of adventure.

It's 2.50a.m., my clock says. I should get some sleep. but not until I say something good, heartwarming, positive. Yes, I received an email from best friend Jean, that she's already in Toronto with her Ilana, and the spaces around her are everything that we only see on TV or in the movies. I asked Jean to take pictures and write something that I could post here. And all she could say for now is this:

"The sun doesn't work at all! Naa sun but you can't feel the heat. Mura ra sha decorative lamp."

Wahahahaha. So funny, Jean. I feel so good for you. I love you, Jean!

And I am feeling good for myself too. Beautiful adventure, here I come. Weeeeee!

This heinous thing called Love

Things I have so far observed about this emotional blah blah blah called love. Or things that I have noticed about myself, only that I accuse love as the unwitting culprit. Whatever.

1. Love transforms a person into a fictional hollywood character. The person in love loses sight of reality. He abandons the earthly fact that reliable or believable relationships involve numerous ups and downs and transpire over a certain period of time - weeks, months, years, decades if you wanna be more dramatic, centuries if you are aspiring to be one of the vampires in Anne Rice's mythology.

2. Love moves in mysterious ways. There will always be some kind of mystery tantamount to the conspiracy theories of Fox Mulder when one recalls past actions done in the name of love. Probably because those past actions defied physical laws like the law of gravity. Or simply because the actions were so stupid and oh so scary.

3. Love is a beautiful dream worth sleeping for. I know I am the prince. I know I am the knight in shining armor. And somewhere deep in the forest... somewhere in those mountains, vast lands and kingdoms... wala lang. Char char lang. Ahihihihi.

4. Love is constant. Over time, a person changes because of love. A person changes his attitude towards love. A person reacts differently to the positive or negative impacts of love. In fact, there are several documented cases on persons who just one day refuse to love for widely popular reasons and psychoses. But love shall remain constant. It will forever hover above us with its strange gifts and complicated wisdom. Char again.

5. Love is a strange feeling that only begins when you open up your heart and let somebody in. This must be one of the most heinous thoughts on love. It's so bloody corny. It's so shamefully melodramatic. It's so reminiscent of that Jose Mari Chan-Regine Velasquez song "Please Be Careful With My Heart." It's so ... me.

Gosh.

Computers, relationships and the tops and the bottoms

Last Saturday, I went home past 9p.m. I had coffee at Bo's SM with a very very close friend, someone that I grew up with. She is leaving for Canada today, taking the 11:00a.m. flight, to be with her girl. I am so happy and excited for Jean and Ilana. But oddly, I was depressed somehow. Depressed for myself. All my friends are going somewhere. All my friends are going to be strangers. Hahahaha.

And so I ended up redecorating, redesigning and refurnishing my blog. Three days later, I am still at it. In fairness to the technology, it somehow killed the depressing thoughts that plagued my beautiful mind. Hihihi. It temporarily annihilated the energies that are usually reserved for ceaseless whinings.

Yesterday, Monday, I spent 9a.m. until past 8a.m. facing the computer monitor, going through the motions of balancing the gazillion figures in the excel spreadsheets, navigating the keyboard as if it were some perfect guy's body. I took a taxi cab instead of the jeep because I had a valid excuse - I was tired and I deserved a comfortable ride. Arrived safely, had dinner but instead of killing the rest of the time by sleeping, there I was again with my computer-related whatnots. When I did finally dose off and woke up seven hours later, I discovered that I failed to turn off my computer, and my screen was oh so filled with YM messages. Then I checked the Yahoo! main page only to be confronted with this devastating news (if this would actually qualify as news, if devastating is really the perfect adjective for this piece of information):

It’s the relationship you spend more time on than any other. It has deepened even during the past few years. When things go wrong, you become enraged and tearful and attack inanimate objects—but you’re willing to spend hours making things right. Obviously, we’re talking about your relationship with your personal computer. Consider this: In a survey earlier this year, 64 percent of Americans say they spend more time with their computer than with their significant other. Meanwhile, 84 percent said they were more dependent on their computer than they were three years ago.

This world is really becoming crazy. And I am becoming crazy. I am already very crazy.

Oh well. I have nice online friends anyhow. And besides, people don't acquire any of those sexually transmitted diseases by engaging in cyber porn, right? Even if our eyes are already very bloodshot because we are feasting on many tops and damn too many bottoms. Ahihihihi.

The Horse Whisperer

Way back in college, around ten years ago, we were tasked to review Robert Redford’s screen adaptation of Nicholas Evans’ bestselling book, “The Horse Whisperer.” It was for our Humanities class, one of my favorite subjects then although it was just a minor. The film was shown in Ayala Center and I watched it with Jean, one of my best friends, who, by the way, is moving to Canada in two days to be with her beautiful Ilana.

The Horse Whisperer is one of those movies that are very dear to me. I am not about to launch one of those movie reviews, but briefly, the film is about, hmmm, I think – healing. Annie (played by Kristin Scott Thomas), a strong-willed mother, abandons her magazine editor job to bring Pilgrim, her daughter’s horse, to the vast plains of Montana, to a man known to heal psychologically wounded horses. Annie hopes that this would also heal her daughter Grace (played by a very young Scarlett Johanssen), who was emotionally devastated and physically disabled because of the accident. There, Annie met the horse whisperer, Tom Booker (portrayed by handsome Robert Redford)...

The ending of The Horse Whisperer is not happy at all. It is bittersweet. But still inspiring and I guess I may have to affirm, once once once again, that I will always be ultra-hollywood when it comes to love and romance.

Annie: I envy your mother. I do. It must be great to be her age and to be at that point in your life when you have no more guess work. No more impossible decisions to make. And anyway, it doesn't matter because all the worries and all the wrong turns that you made are as valuable and as cherished as the things that you did right. Oh, it must be such a relief. Must be such peace in that.

Tom: Well, i don't think that you have to wait to be her age to find that kind of peace.

Annie: Yeah, but how would you know unless it was all behind you? Do you have it?

Tom: Sometimes. Not all the time. But sometime. Wakin' up in the ranch everyday. Knowing what im supposed to do that day. Knowing im home.

Annie: I wake up in the morning and i don't know a damn thing. And the more i try to fix things, the more everything falls apart.

Tom: Maybe you should let 'em fall.

Annie: No, I can't.

Char!

Knowing is the easy part. Saying it out loud is the hard part.

Annie and Tom. The Horse Whisperer.

Annie: Is this how it's gonna be now, hmmm? You dont speak to me. We dont speak to each other. Well, Im speaking to you now so say something.

Tom: No.

Annie: Why?

Tom: I cant get in the middle of this.

Annie: Well i am afraid that you are in the middle of this.

Tom: He's a good man, Annie.

Annie: I never said he wasn't. I can't change the way i feel.

Tom: You gotta figure out what you want.

Annie: Do you know what you want?

Tom: I do know what i want. And im trying real hard not to get lost in this. I never expected to feel this way again. Annie, this is where i belong. This is who i am. Is this what you want?

Annie: Yeah.

Tom: Are you sure?

Annie: Yeah.

Tom: Can you tell that to your family? To Robert? To Grace? If you had the chance to go home and change things, would you?

Annie: You can't ask me that. It's not that simple.

Tom: It is.

Liking you is tender

Liking you is tender

Liking you is tender.
It means that I enjoy drinking the moments spent with you.
It means that the voice of your eyes and the gaze of your smile linger with me long after you go.

Liking you is innocent.
Because I am softly hurled back to my younger self despite my age and my wisdom.
Because it makes me carve hearts and arrows in the aged barks of trees in my playground.

Liking you is romantic.
There are flowers and violin players in the sidewalk cafeteria where we eat.
There are streams and brooks and swans in the noisy roads that we travel.

Liking you is pretty scary.
There is no certainty to the amount of sensible words that might get lost when I get to see you again soon.
There is that nagging and sometimes numbing thought that you’re already seeing me differently from now on.

Liking you is not loving you.
Liking you is making you that beautiful exception among the bright stars in the sky, the mosses in the stones and the moist morning grasses in the vast field.
Liking you is waiting for that season when loving you would already be alright.

September 8, 2007


Bohol Bee Farm, Panglao Island, Bohol

It’s a nice Sunday, my Baby

It’s a nice Sunday, my Baby

It’s a nice Sunday, my baby.
How about if we take
a nice long walk somewhere?
Some place where
there are lots of trees
and soft grasses
and we could chase each other
like the little boys we once were.
But instead of swapping toys
and sharing sweets and cotton candies,
we would just smile to the sun because
of our many hugs and many kisses.

It’s a nice Sunday, my baby.
How about if we
just spend the day in our couch
and watch some old movies?
You know that I am such a sucker
for those Hollywood romances.
You know that I love
to be teased by you
when I go gaga over those corny lines
and mushy happy endings.
We could call the pizza guy
and in a little while
I would just adore the heaven that is you
as you walk towards our door,
in your boxers and skin,
to fetch our delivery.

It’s a nice Sunday, my baby.
How about if we just don’t leave our bed
as I have in my mind
some pretty interesting stuff
that we could both enjoy
beneath the soft white sheets?
Yeah, I feel a bit lazy today,
and you know how crazy I become
when I am lazy and you are also just inches away.
Let us enjoy this day, my baby.
Let us see the beautiful world from our bed,
through our bedroom window
where the graceful morning light
is shining through.

September 9, 2007



Naval, Biliran