PANGANORIN

Mic Test

It was February 2023 the last time I posted something here—and it was an open letter to my ex. I’ve thought about deleting it so many times because, honestly, it makes me cringe to my core. It was unhinged. But deleting it would also mean denying it ever happened—and that moment, messy as it was, needed to happen for me to grow.

A lot has changed since then. Oh! Before I continue—don’t worry, I’m doing great. If you’ve been following me since 2015, you probably know I only write when I’m not okay. That’s not the case this time. I just feel like writing. I’ve got the urge to share some updates—something I can look back on a few years from now. This might be a bit of a rollercoaster, so buckle up and bear with me.

Let’s start with the most recent and significant realization I’ve had about myself. It happened just a few days ago.

Ahem… Mic test.

I met someone during an event I was invited to for Pride Month. I was there as a tattoo artist—yup, I do tattoo art now! Told you, a lot has changed in the past two years. My main goal was to build connections, not meet someone in that way. But then I noticed this guy talking to my friend. He was charming as hell, with piercings and this little creature—Labubu or something—I didn’t even know what it was, hanging from his bag. His messy hair matched his boyish face, and his smile? God, his smile drove me insane. And here’s the wild part: all of this registered in just a few minutes, before I even realized they were walking toward me.

My friend introduced us, and for the sake of this story, let’s call him “Nigel.” Fast forward to the two of us talking—about everything and nothing. Honestly, I sort of forgot I was even there for work. For the first time, I was grateful no one was lining up for a tattoo. I was just having a great time talking to Nigel.

Somehow, the conversation shifted to dating preferences. He said he’s not into anyone too young or too old. When I found out he’s just a year older than me, I wanted to say something—but I stayed quiet. Just listened.

Dude talks a lot. And you’d either find that annoying or endearing—I felt the latter. So I kept asking him questions, wanting to know more. It felt refreshing, like a breath of air after being submerged for too long. I’ve been so busy this past year building my career that I forgot how good it feels to just talk to someone.

After the event, our group decided to grab some drinks. When we sat down, I secretly hoped Nigel would sit beside me—and he did. But then, after a few minutes, he moved away because he couldn’t handle the smoke. And I had this thought: “Buti na lang nag-quit na ako sa yosi at vape,” as if I was trying to impress someone.

It was a fun night. Later, a few of us went for coffee—Nigel and I included. That’s when I really got to know him. We had so much in common, and sure, a few differences too. But by then, I knew—I found him attractive. I wanted to get to know him more and see where it could go.

We called it a night around 5 AM. On the way home, I realized something: I’m still capable of feeling. Of being kilig. Of being open to the possibility of something romantic. I honestly thought I was numb after what happened in my last relationship. I thought I’d never feel this way again.

Now? Nigel and I still talk. No expectations. We just chat from time to time. And if you’re wondering if I plan to pursue him… I don’t really know. I’m choosing to be present and cherish the moment. Who knows how long it’ll last—or if it even will?

But for now, I’m okay with just feeling this. And that’s enough.

the road is painted

with red lights and yet I am

just in case any of you would like to date me

I

Crossroads

(a) While I am having my buffalo wings at Fred’s, you ask me if it tastes good. I give you a what-the-fuck stare not knowing that the mouth-watering food is stuck in my mouth and you – despite of my unvoiced comeback – give me a too-cute-to-ignore smile. We share the next order. (b) It is 15th day of the month and it is Friday, I do not want my patience to be tested so I decided to walk from Ayala to Boni instead of dealing with an exaggerated traffic jam along exaggerated EDSA. I am wearing my white long sleeves I bought in Johor Premium Outlet which slowly turns into gray – I hate it. On the road, you wave your right hand and call me “man in gray sleeves”. I stop for a minute before I realize that you are offering me a ride. Who am I to say no to a kind and handsome man? Fuck the traffic, I am on it. (c) I am upset in every aspect of my life and I usually start dealing with my problems by lighting a cigarette. I am standing near the lone shrub forced to be in a circular form and you are standing next to me. We look at each other as if we understand how fucked up our lives are. We light another sticks and start counting the stars. (d) I am searching #ElliotAlderson aka Rami Malek on Twitter and I see your post about him. I hit the like button before I send you an eggplant emoji. I do not mean to flirt with you but it ends that way. Thanks to Mr. Robot. (e) For a change, I blog about my ideal relationship and you are now reading it. Would this be an odd way to finally meet my half? 

II

Breakfast in Bed

You are no longer part of my 3 AM thoughts. Today marks the beginning of turning my fiction writings into a reality. Anyone can trace the blissfulness in me despite of not being able to sleep last night – or perhaps, I just cannot sleep knowing someone I love is sleeping next to me.

It’s 6 AM now and I realize I spend the rest of the night by staring at your childlike face. My left thumb glides down from your lips to your chin – unhurriedly, trying not to wake you up but you grab my right arm and place it on your limbs. I am hoping that I did not wake you up so I breathe your name, yet your silence continues. Your unconscious move turns me on – making my right hand grasps your behind until you finally wake up.

I ask you, “Breakfast in bed?” and you nod. My lips meet its pair as I wrap my arms around you. Your cold hands on the length of my hard sex – an invitation to bury myself inside you.

III

Daydream

Our wayward hair says “you guys just had sex”, yet the eagerness in us to make our own bucket list ignore the fact that we are both tired. I get the pen near the lampshade and you pull the drawer to find a clean piece of paper. I write “BUCKET LIST: YEAR ONE” on the top of the paper and he writes our initials below. We start writing our dreams and promises.

IV

Silent Conversation

There is nothing more fascinating than one table and two occupied chairs. We are facing each other as if it is our first time to go out for a coffee date. The black, marble ashtray serves as the centerpiece and we beautify it with ashes and cigarette butts. I ordered your favorite latte and you ordered mine – a method we prefer to be in to know each other well. After our first sip goes the smiles and laughter – maybe we either hate it or love it. We are clueless clowns. We keep our impression within ourselves and let our actions to answer any puzzlement we have in our mind. I hope you read my eyes as they spell “I love you” to yours.

Our silence has the audacity to fill our hearts and minds with thoughts we would love to share to each other before we end the day. Indeed, this is not the usual coffee date that other people may think. That’s the thing, we both hate clichés – love is the only cliché emotion we entertain.

V

Little Things

We play rock-paper-scissors and whoever wins has the privilege to choose a film that we are going to watch. You know I am good at this and you hate it. It is already our nth time to play and the victory is still on my side. I know you are mad at me so I pick the film you prefer to watch – a little surprise, baby. Anyway, I owe you nth cups of extra rice.

VI

Memories to Keep

I am with you and you are with me. Let us overcome our fears together and turn them into moments we would love to reminisce when we get older. Life is not always choosing the good ones. Sometimes, we discover and learn more when we opt the other way around.

For instance, you are afraid of heights while I am fond of adventures. Then let us go for a hike – holding hands – and appreciate the concealed wonders of nature. At the peak, I will be your token and you can have me in any way you want.

January

When all hopes and dreams are getting bigger –

Believing that the path I am taking is better.

I am full of visions; I am even stronger –

And I trust myself as I go further.

February

When life offers a different road,

and the options become bold.

My heart says stay; My mind shouts fly!

I spread my wings as my heart cries.

March

When all I know is there is no turning back,

even deep inside me, I feel solely black.

Still, I trail the chosen track;

As I keep my eyes on the clock.

April

Tick-tock! Tick-Tock!

I start counting; I soar to rock.

I work hard; I surrender everything.

And guess what on the finish line – Nothing.

May

When the road I take becomes clearer –

I begin considering “What ifs?” and “I’d rather…”

My hope dies; one dream shatters –

And a believer turns into a quitter.

June

Acceptance heals a part of me –

Making me feel new-fangled and free.

I stand up once again for another fight,

as I trust myself that everything will be alright!

July

I get a new job in an underemployment line –

I become contented; I turn out to be fine.

A better version of myself is all I can see;

I feel His grace embracing me.

August

A month of heartbreak filled with challenges

turns my life into sudden changes.

When sweet suddenly becomes bitter –

As we give our farewells to our beloved father;

And losing my job five days after.

September

When I have nothing but questions,

and all I feel is six degrees of separation.

One says everything happens for a reason.

I say tell that if you are in my situation.

October

When I start to lose my faith;

And my heart is full of hate.

Dear God, I want is to understand my fate;

And back my life to its normal state.

November

When the feelings become worst,

and I can’t help myself not to burst.

This time, I have certainty –

That life fucks the hell out of me.

December

When I try to look back from January to November,

I realize there is nothing to remember.

Oh! What a year it has been!

I am not the sort of person who takes ample of time to compose myself with a desirable courage which is merely a product of alcoholism so I can do whatever I think I am not capable of doing if I am in my normal state. More often than not, after having three to five bottles of 500 ml beer – well, actually, any alcohol beverages – I know there is a 90% chance that I am going to throw up anytime, anywhere. The other 10% is a chance that I might fall asleep then wake up with a sore head and a dry throat which usually happens – but tonight is more than different, I mean I am already taking my fourth beer yet I am still feeling okay, not really fine, but you know, I think all is well. Perhaps the song that the DJ is playing – Charlie Puth’s rendition of We Can’t Stop – makes my soul alive, focusing only on the beautiful lyrics of the song particularly to this line: we run things, things don’t run we. Hell yeah!

I almost forgot that I am with my date, Jose Sanchez, whom I have met eight months ago. He pulls my left arm and nods his head, asking me to dance with him. I am not a good dancer, actually I do not dance – but f*ck it, his burning eyes and gorgeous smile will not make me say any disapproval response. “Let’s finish our beer first.” I command for I suddenly feel agitated, not a good idea. “Bottoms up?” he whispers in my right ear, his cold lips touching my helix. I have nothing but silence in me. We toss our beer and finish them quickly.

We are somewhere in the midst of the dance floor and Jose starts moving his head, then his broad shoulders going sideways, slowly, sexy. He raises his arms, and rests them on my shoulder. Our eyes meet, our smile collides. We both sing the song as we sway our body. 

“And we can't stop And we won't stop We run things, things don't run we Don't take nothing from nobody Yeah, yeah It's our party we can do what we want It's our party we can say what we want It's our party we can love who we want We can kiss who we want We can sing what we want”

Before the song ends, he leans his forehead on mine and the tip of our nose kisses before our lips. It is tender and full of passion. I wrap my arms on his back, his right hand on the nape of my neck while the other is on my behind. The music stops, the crowd goes silent and we stop kissing. People are staring at us – it is awkward at first until someone cheers us and everyone does the same thing.

The manager gives us free drinks – so yes, it is my fifth beer already. I am not quite sure if I can still manage to finish another bottle of beer, all I know is that I am with Jose and he is going to take care of me. He never gets drunk, or maybe I have not seen him getting drunk.

We stay outside the club and sit on the gutter near the entrance door. I lit a cigarette and share it to him, not because we only have one stick left but because just like everyone else who is in a relationship, we enjoy sharing things. The only fact that makes us different is that we are not in a relationship. We are not a couple but we know we are more than friends. He does not find putting a label in a relationship necessary – that is only what I think.

I lean my head on his shoulder and he wraps his right arm around me. He hits our cigarette before he murmurs, “Why, Luis?” his voice filled with curiosity, his words come out with smokes. I close my eyes and bravely I ask, “Jose, please. What are we?”

The silence between us becomes louder – all I can see is darkness, all I can feel is his warm breath, and all I can taste is fear. He does not want to talk about it, and my search for a right answer goes nowhere.

One day, I just wake up without uncertainty. I wake up without him beside me. I wake up with tears, and it is killing me.

Chapter Six

Confessions

“You don’t need to assist me next time, I’m not a lady.” I mumble as he opens the restaurant’s door for me. It is not that I do not like such action; the truth is I find it really cute – too cute that I might collapse the next time he does it. He really does what he wants. Whatever I say seems to be just nothing but gobbledygook for him especially when he starts grinning like a rock star. I mean it. He is too good looking that every makeup artist and stylist would definitely love to transform him into different attractive characters – it is killing me. He is killing me.

He removes my coat and hand it over to the blonde waitress without saying a word. I told you – he does what he wants. As if I never warned him, but the problem with me is that I just let him do all these things.

“Would you prefer the same place, Dr. Thompson?” the blonde waitress asks him politely as if they really know each other. Perhaps, he is a regular customer here. Also, I think she likes him. Who would not fall for Dr. Too-handsome-to-date-me Thompson? I am such a lucky bastard.

“Yes, please.” he answers without giving an eye contact to the poor waitress. “No. I prefer to drink outside.” I oppose and this time, he agrees. Finally, I feel the power I suddenly lost when I first met him.

We sit on barrel-like chairs outside, facing each other yet my eyes are roaming around the resto – appreciating the aesthetic of this old-fashioned zone.

“No one ever tried to oppose…” he mutters but I interrupt him. “Well, I just did.” He gives me again a smile that makes my subconscious dies for three seconds. He cocks his head on the left side and he rubs the nape of his neck with his right hand. I roll my eyes intentionally to hide my feelings.

“Why would you?” he asks. Instead of answering his question, I lit a cigarette and blow few smoke slowly on his face. He closes his eyes before he grins. “Are you trying to piss me off?” he continues and I shrug as a response.

“What are you thinking, Tom?” He really uses his billion dollars mind, or maybe it is just obvious that some thoughts are running on my mind. He gets my cigarette and hits it. It is just sexy and unpredictable. I want to kiss him.

Before I say a word, the blonde waitress suddenly appears, asking our orders. “You know what I like, Martina.” Bo says. So her name is Martina, such a lovely name. “How about you, Mr. Andrew?” Martina asks. How the f**k did she knows my name? I frown at her, trying to process her words. A wall of silence suddenly appears between me and her. “Sangria. We’ll take sangria instead.” Bo answers in my behalf. Martina leaves as if she is unaware with my reaction, or she is just a well-trained b*tch.

“I told her to address you properly when we’re on our way.” He explains to remove the mystification on my face. I lit another cigarette. I do not exactly know what to feel or how to retort with all of these, or maybe I am just thinking too much. But why does he have a contact number with blonde Martina?

At that moment, it is clear to me that I am not yet answering any of his questions. I am uncertain if I should spill a concern that is bothering me. Martina comes back with our drinks and I do not give her a glance. I am not being mean but I just do not feel being nice.

“Enjoy the night, Misters!” Martina says before leaving us alone with awkwardness. I do not know if it is only me who thinks that we are obviously dating in this Thompson’s Tastes restaurant – what a weird name for a bistro. Wait… Thompson’s Taste?!

I look at – uh, my date, whatever – with puzzlement. He shrugs his broad shoulder and tastes his drink.

“So you own this restaurant.” I just say these words. He lights a cigarette, and return the smoke on my face. Just like him, I close my eyes… but there is no trace of smile on me but with questions.

“Would you prefer the same place, Dr. Thompson? Does it mean you’ve been bringing… dating guys… yes, GUYS, here?” I ask and there, he grins again.

He drops the unfinished cigarette on the floor and gives me okay-I-am-going-to-say-something-that-would-give-you-a-peace-of-mind stare.

“First of all, I don’t own this restaurant. My dad continues the ownership when my granny passed away few years ago. Yeah, maybe soon I’ll be the owner. Secondly, yes I have dated my ex girlfriends here – three of them, to be exact. And to inform you, brave man, it is my first time to date a man here…” Oh! Ex girlfriends, and now he is dating me – coming from his own mouth. I love listening to these lovely words. He moves forward so I cannot look away and just focus on his handsome face. He then continues, “…Lastly, you’re driving me crazy and I want to f*ck you, hard, really hard, whenever you try to man up for something. That is just impressive.”

He beats my expectations. My subconscious and my inner Elpis know how much I love to give up my virginity to him but part of me is raising his eyebrows as a sign of rejection.

“I am not a s*x slave.” I respond as I straighten my spine. I drink my sangria like it is a shooter.

“Want more?” he offers.

“Yes, please.” I answer and he quickly waves his hand to get Martina’s attention. Blonde Martina returns with a bottle of red wine.

He half-fills my wine glass while staring at me. I know he is staring at me even if I only pay attention to my drink.

“Is that one of the issues you were referring earlier? If yes, then you have nothing to worry about. What I said is just an expression to let you feel how much I’m into you.”

“Dr. Thompson…”

“Please, just Bo.” He insists.

“Dr. Thompson, I find you really attractive and it is a strange feeling for me. I never felt this way the fact that I just met you yesterday. And yes, that’s one of the issues…”

“Make it clear, Tom.”

“I have no idea what I am dealing with. And I’m afraid I might… lose you if we do it.”

“What do you mean? Chill. I am not dating you because I want to have s*x with you. But yeah, of course, I’d love to do it with you. But I can wait. I am here to know you.”

“Likewise… but in terms of s*x, I might fail to satisfy you.”

“I’d love to please you instead, Tom.”

“I’m uncertain about that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know what I want.”

He frowns at me, waiting for my next words.

January 22, 2016 is the date where Eastwood will be my new home. Far from Makati where I used to live for almost two years. I am not sure if this excites me but just like everyone else, I am hoping for better outcomes in the days to come. 

I do not know if it is only me who think that we are not supposed to celebrate New Year’s Eve, but I do hope that it is only me. It is just me. It is just me who consider the fact that we do not know what is ahead on us – even if we prepared for it, and no matter how positive we foresee our future.

It is bullshit – plain bullshit. And we, clueless clowns, are celebrating it as if we are fully aware that everything will be in its proper place – only to find out that we celebrated the year where our life will be fucked up.

No one can blame me if I see things like this. Perhaps, I can only blame myself – but I choose not to. No. It is not pride. I just value my hard work. The fact is there is no one to blame, if you really want to know.