Angels in Disguise: Leavings and Goings at the Chocolate Hills of Manila

Extras: Some Engaging Evenings

2011-02-03T20:31:00.000-08:00

In this representative world of disbelief about men who actually get physically sexual with other men, the Police likewise lurk just as the primary actors. I have had my share with them, both pleasant and otherwise. I have been figuring why men in uniform possess that strong attraction to certain people. It’s in the image they project at they go about carrying themselves in that attitude in dealing with you. I grew up having good images of men in uniform, mainly because I have relatives who are Policemen, or Military Men. Apparently, they have the same lives like the rest of us in the normal population. The things you hear and see about them can get to be bothersome, but you get to realize they have certain needs to meet. As they project, they send certain signals that others get to really understand well. This leads to images in one’s mind that surges the desire to do something very physical with the object who happens to be someone who is in uniform.

From IntramurosFortSantiago

A view of the Intramuros Walls during the American Period

In fact, I met quite a number of good friends via these experiences in my dealings with those in the Police. These past years, they have actually made great showdowns in the Walls. Events which have rarely been reported in the papers. Before, they even have made use of high school students as Junior Police in their efforts to catch those who are cruising in the Walls. Thank God, I have been in good fortune not to undergo the humiliating experience of dealing with them when you are caught there out of their fanciful notions of your kind or perhaps due to vagrancy, or whatever.

Once, I saw one young man, running away from the Police who were fast running after him. He was caught. “Tang ina mo! Tsumutsupa ka dito! Pinahirapan mo pa kami.!” As they pounced at him.

“May nahuli nga dati dito na sa gobyerno raw yata nagtatabraho. Eh, may dala syang malaking envelop na puno ng pera. Tumatakbo sya para makatakas pero na julieann din sya. Siguro kinuha na rin yung pera nya......, eh, mukhang marami pa naman syang dala,” pausing as he sipped on his cup of coffee. “Nagmakaawa sya na pakawalan na sya, may pamilya daw sya, may tatlong anak, nakakahiya daw pag nalaman nila. Nilait pa sya ng pulis, ba’t daw sya nanditio kung may asawa na sya. O diba? Wala akong masabi sa nangyari sa kanya!” as I overheard someone describing one who was caught one cruising evening at the Walls.

In my early cruises in the Walls, I recall having encountered the Police as they were in search for something outlaw in the area. Nowadays, I think, the Police just opted to proceed with a thorough search in the area, as they must have been hearing complaints from some individuals, who must have thought of seeing criminal types in the Walls, almost every now and then. Or maybe, I was just being naive then, yet when I saw them coming towards my directions, I knew I had to do something to convince them that I was not among the types that they are in search for something that they thought to be outlaw. In a flash, I instantly showed them my ID, and explained facetiously that “I work with the media,” as I showed them samples of magazines that happened to carry with me inside my big bag, in order to prove them that I was just doing mere research work. Miraculously, the Police took my reason to be credible enough. I was nevertheless, very thankful. The Police even admonished me to be very careful whenever I am in the area, as it’s known to be lurking with criminal personalities. Looking back, I figured out that the Police that I wasn’t really truthful enough. They just thought I was honest enough to present myself complete with an ID, thus positively categorizing me away from their typical “criminal tag” for personalities found cruising in the Walls.

Momentarily, I knew I had to proceed. I walked along a cemented pathway towards the National Museum, where I saw the usual congregation of men who typically group together in a makeshift foodstall, the carinderia where drivers, and conductors of jeepneys, taxis, and buses have their sumptuous on-the-road meals. While sipping my coffee to keep me from sleeping, I noticed one interesting man who was with his much younger and interesting lover as well (hopefully, and apparently for the night).

“Wala pang pulis ngayon?” I forwarded the question to the couple, in the hope that I could at least catch the attention of either one of them.

“Wala siguro, nandito na sila kagabi. Ano ngayon, payday?”

“Di ‘no,” as both of them looked heartily towards each other, showing me my poor chances.

“Nung isang linggo, may natagpuang bangkay ng mama dyan sa may mga puno, sa may imburnal. Mukhang nahulog yata, ni wala syang ID,” as the foodstall owner (or manager) blurted out.

“Ingat kayo ngayon dito. Nag pagtrol na naman sila, maraming nahuli. Siguro yung isang iyon, sa kamamadaling makatakas, hindi nakita yung butas nung imburnal, sumuot tuloy sya. Siguro bumagok yung ulo, dead agad sya.....” as he narrated matter-of-factly.

* * * * * * * *

I had the chance to be caught finally while cruising actively one very ordinary evening at the pathway between the two flyovers going to Divisoria to Sta Cruz. The place, just over the Bonifacio Monument in front of the Post Office, was absent with the usual number of cruising people. Still, I convinced myself there must be somebody around to provide what I wanted right there and then. Hungry then for something very exciting, I was studying my pace, and the setting, when someone of small built approached me.

“Anong ginagawa mo dito? Alam mo bang bawal na dito ang ginagawa mo! Halika!!!,” as he demanded that I approach him. “H’wag kang tatakbo!!” as he aggressively demanded me.
I surrendered myself as I saw a gun pointed at me.

“Pulis ako. Patingin ng ID mo!!,” as he poked the gun at me to prove his seriousness in his assigned task, at least for the duration.
Upon showing him several of my Ids, he decided I was the otherwise of what he thought of me earlier (I surmised).

“Bawal na dito ang tulad mo! Umuwi ka na! Makita ulit kita dito, babarilin kita!” I recall him warning me, after he asked money for a cup of coffee, which I immediately gave him just as to get out fast of the sickening end scene of my anticlimatic encounter with the Police.

“Sabi nung isang nakilala ko dito, hinuli daw sya ng pulis. O di syempre pa, naglalakad lang sya dyan,” as he pointed to an area made up of fully grown up trees opposite and near the National Museum and the Finance Building. “Isinakay sya sa patrol. May kasama yung humuli sa kanya sa patrol. Siguro tatlo pa sila doon sa loob ng patrol. Hay naku, yung tatlo, isa isang nagpatsupa sa kanya, at yung isa, inuring pa sya. Sabi naman nya, type daw nya yung pang apat na titingin tingin lang habang nagbabati sya. Ang tahi tahimik nya, animal kung makatingin. Ano, saan sya dinala? Dun daw sa may bandang San Marcelino. Tapos syang ganunin, pinakawalan sya at winarningang umuwi na kundi......”, described by someone I met. I thought this guy was perfect for that night. Those figures I have in mind of those “raucously silent” policemen, as they took turns in taking advantage of that nameless guy, remain clearly etched as I look forward to something similar, yet painlessly noncommittal, if ever something like it happens to me.

* * * * * * * *
Likewise, I have grown aware of the observation that the Police are largely secretly scared of Medical Doctors, primarily the practitioner type you usually meet in hospital emergency wards. The Police don’t really relish being brought to the hospitals to be treated by them. A doctor friend, who himself cruises in the Walls, pointed out this observation to me. Apparently, the Police dislike, though not typically shown as they’re supposed to be outwardly brave, those emergency situations where the wounded, injured, or hurt from their brethren are brought for immediate surgical attention by medical doctors. Those doctors, or even nurses, medical technicians, and others whom I have known cruising the Walls, the theatres, or elsewhere in the Metropolis, confirm this observation. These doctors gladly take their revenge upon remembering how the Police failed to give them favor or just mere understanding in some earlier incidents where these doctors have been caught in flagrante derelicto, so to say, doing their own thing. The Police are sure to receive “mishandling” causing undue pain from these medical practitioners.

I stood waiting at the Western Police District Office in UN Avenue where my friend was “billeted.” He, together with some other brave men, were unfortunate to be caught by a fleeting Fierra jeepney (was it red, or yellow? I couldn’t recall) with the Police during one of their sweeping drive against whatever was deemed illegal that night. My friend tried to flee away by crossing over the island in front of Mehan, where I saw him feigning an act like he was waiting for a jeepney ride leading to Sta Cruz at that unholy hour. He could have stood beside me on the spot where I correctly sensed I was safe (all lights were on at the waiting shed where I acted as if I was buying Halls, they just ignored me after taking a hard long look at me). Meanwhile, the projection that was put on by my friend didn’t register clearly, I saw him being fetched by two men looking like the Police from the Fierra.

Thankfully, my friend didn’t struggle physically unlike those others I saw. They tried to flee away, but awfully fail. Of course, you don’t want to be bothered by Police scenes like this, which most of us in the Walls, call ‘vagansya’, sounding like vagrancy or just plain Police-strike on the “innocent.” Among those chased after by the Police include five men looking like the Police themselves. I couldn’t discern the grit and madness of struggling it out against these men in uniform (who could easily be our targets, the other way around, in the Walls). I understand the Police are themselves caught cruising actively in other global places like in New York, or in London, where I got to read interesting new snatches of how they struggled it out against the discriminating legal system against all of us.

Meanwhile, I prayed and was thankful, I had the chance to cross from Mehan to the island on the other side, just minutes before the Police began indiscriminately frisking away those outlaws there at the Walls. On hindsight, I actually thought and “sniffed” the Police were coming.
I asked around where the Police could have possibly brought my friend. The men who looked like the Police kept an eye of suspicion at me. One by one, I saw some of those who were caught leaving the jail, sheepishly in gait, as if to ran away the pointed eyes of onlookers at the UN Avenue Police Station. One guy was cursing, “Putang ina, putang ina.” Another one has just stopped crying. I waited for four hours until 4 am when I finally saw my goodlooking friend at the United Nations Avenue Police Station. He was already very sleepy, and he then, thanked me for taking the trouble to wait for him.

“Uy, ang bait nya, hindi nya ako iniwan. Nandito pa sya,” as he teasingly remarked his grateful attitude for my wait for him to be finally out of jail.
“Yung isa, ang lakas ng loob. Nakitaan ng picture nya na nakapose sya ng hubo! Sa Saudi raw sya nagpakuha ng ganoon. Laking hiya tuloy nya. Ewan ko kung ano’ng mangyayari sa kanya,” my friend narrated to me. With that, I knew my friend and the others were physically inspected of their personal belongings, including contents of their wallets and pockets. Those caught were interrogated, and some men went out to pay grease money in fear that they would be undergoing more forms of harrassment.

It’s a Saturday then, so those caught couldn’t be charged as per procedures, I guess, so they had to wait, theoretically until Monday, a prospect usually unacceptable to anyone. My friend just talked it out, and paid something like over a hundred pesos. He was allowed to go after a particularly interesting Policeman took fancy. Nevertheless, he was never physically hurt. We eventually became good friends,

* * * * * * * *

Monday May 14,2001, Philippines
OTHER STORIES Augusto Villalon Spaced Out
Mehan Garden bites the dust
Fusing sight and insight in Lamarroza’s THE OVERWORKED theory landscapes about Filipino horror vacui is no cliché after all. The theory is about the Filipino fear of empty space graduates with honors in that explains our predilection for filling up every square centimeter of available space with something. Sometimes it really doesn’t matter what fills the space so long as it is not vacant. The space in question can be a living workshop and the room, a printed page, a cramped jeepney hood, an embroidered barong tagalog,

Mehan Garden bites the dust - Spaced decked out for a fiesta. Less Out has never been acceptable. More and much more is really what we’re talking about. The horror vacui bug has bitten Manila Mayor Lito Atienza. First, he proposed to transfer the City College works, botanical prints of Manila from the former PNB and Kasalikasan sculpture building on Escolta to Mehan Garden. Now he plans to put up the "Park and Ride" building, a public transportation waiting shed cum shopping area cum parking building. The project is expected to eat up the remaining open chunk of Mehan Garden that the City College will leave behind.
Say goodbye to one of Manila’s endangered open spaces. It is endangered no more. It is on its way to becoming history. But Mehan Garden has history. Originally established in 1858 as the Jardin Botanico,
Mehan Garden was the first
zoological and botanical garden in Manila. In 1913 the Tuesday
park was renamed Mehan Garden
after John C Mehan, the park superintendent. For those who have forgotten,
Mehan Garden is the open space off Plaza Lawton
(across the Manila Post Office), bounded by Taft Avenue, the Metropolitan
Theater and reaching close to the Manila City Hall. It is a great location for an inner city park.
Recent years have not been
kind to the place. Today Mehan Garden is down and
nearly out. Everyone has forgotten it, leaving it to
become a poor excuse for a
public open space. Nobody really goes there, but then why should anyone go since it is not a pleasant place to be in? Trees valiantly try to
grow in the polluted area. Unkempt grass struggles for
life amid a sea of cracked concrete. Plastic bags litter the area. There is absolutely
no human life in the area. It is desolate. The only sign of life in the area is at the Manila car pound, where
traffic-violating vehicles are towed and sometimes
abandoned. Haggling over fines is the prevailing human activity around there.
A colleague observed that "The Mehan Garden is the armpit of hell; half of it is a construction site for the City College of Manila, and
the other half is a graveyard for abandoned cars. Mehan
Garden looks like the Belgian
Congo after the Belgians fled."
Obviously Mehan Garden is not much of a place. It could become a place again with a good scrubbing, minimal refurbishment and some
maintenance work, a small effort to return a
much-needed park for Manileños to vent their pressures amid greens rather
than more concrete.
Architecturally significant
Mehan Garden is not an urban
desert. It is surrounded by
architecturally significant buildings. The acknowledged Sunday
centerpiece of the area is
the venerable Metropolitan Theater, a beleaguered 1930s masterpiece of decaying Philippine art deco
architecture. The Park and Ride building obstructs the
view of one of its more important facades.
The Office of the Ombudsman
(formerly MWSS Building) on
Arroceros Street is another
noteworthy prewar building in
the Mehan Garden area.
Closer to City Hall, the
abandoned GSIS building is
waiting for the proper
architectural reuse. The
Arroceros Forest Park around
the corner from Mehan Garden
is a precious green space
that, God forbid, should fall
prey to Atienza’s urban
horror vacui.
After publicly stating his
pro-conservation stand and
acknowledging that it is only
through preserving its
heritage spaces that Manila
can ever hope to regain its
prominence, Atienza toppled
the Jai-alai building, an
architectural icon, and is
now burying the green of
Mehan Garden under concrete.
His acts show a cavalier
attitude toward heritage
spaces and open areas in the
congested city.
If Manila is trying to win
back the glory that has gone
to Makati, building Park and
Ride and the City College in
Mehan Garden is not going to
do it.
With the Park and Ride and
City College, say goodbye as
well to one of Manila’s most
historic sites. Their
foundations will disturb what
is acknowledged to be
Manila’s richest
archaeological treasures. The
National Museum has declared
the area an archaeological
site, but budget constraints
have prevented its
large-scale excavation.
Mehan Garden, located at the
center of the area stretching
from Puerta Parian of
Intramuros to the Arroceros
Street banks of the Pasig, is
on the site of the old
Parian. The Parian is the
area where Spanish
authorities quartered the
Chinese in colonial days,
making sure that when they
were shut out of Intramuros
at night, they still remained
within cannon shot.
The foundations of the Parian
are surely still under the
Mehan Garden grounds. Not
only that, the many
unexcavated archaeological
artifacts buried beneath the
grounds may piece together
still-unknown chapters of the
history of Manila. Getting to
ultimately excavate for
archaeological artifacts
depends, of course, on
whether anyone thinks it is
important to have a better
knowledge of the history of
Manila.
Pride of place
Knowing more of his city’s
history might just fill the
desperate need for the
Manileño to feel pride of
place for his city. In cities
like Paris, the
archaeological excavations
that reveal centuries-old
foundations, ruins and
artifacts from the city’s
past have become museums
popular with residents and
tourists.
In contrast, we in Manila
build over a rich
archaeological site. There
goes history and pride of
place for Manila residents,
not to mention improving the
quality of urban life.
There is a growing concern
over the disappearance of
historical sites that vanish
in the name of progress.
Mehan Garden is one such
endangered site.
The City College should go
somewhere else. There are
many empty structures in
Manila that are waiting to be
reused. In fact, the college
is now in an Escolta building
that is ripe for preservation
and adaptation. The excuse
for moving the college out is
that the existing building is
structurally unsound, a
standard finding by engineers
not sensitive to adaptive
reuse.
Why not fix and reuse the
existing City College
building?
How about decongesting Plaza
Lawton? It has suffered too
much over the years. It was
sliced up by flyovers, then
lost its landmark Insular Ice
Plant to the LRT. Now a Park
and Ride Building will scar
it some more. The Park and
Ride is a needed facility for
Manila, but there are many
other locations where it
could fit without destroying
what little is left of a
Manila landmark and precious
open space.
Jai-alai buildings can
disappear and City Colleges
can take over open spaces
like Mehan Garden because of
the lack of a comprehensive
legal framework that protects
registered heritage sites and
cultural landscapes. The
Jai-alai issue proved that
without any legal framework,
there is no way to protect
our national patrimony.
The Heritage Conservation
Society of the Philippines is
leading a lobby for the
Senate and Congress to pass a
landmark law that will
preserve our built heritage
and cultural landscapes.
©2001 http://www.inq7.net/ all rights reserved

5. Some Nagging Personalities

2011-02-03T19:26:00.000-08:00

Index:
A CoastGuard Man
There were eight of us!?
First meeting at the Theatre
A Binondo based Ad Guy
Two college teachers
We had the same name
A cousin of an action star

One rainy night, I opted to be in search again of something familiar. Bringing with me an umbrella, I decided to park myself for a jumping start at the Central Post Office. Motivated largely by the past evenings when I had good chances of meeting interesting strangers, I looked at every face I got to face that night.

The rains fell softly at the start. Soon, the drops became furious and mad, I thought of thanking myself for being able to find cover under the tall columns of the Central Post Office. The bright golden lights were on, which helped highlighted those standing around. Men, mostly vagrant types, or simply those unable to find comfortable corners to sleep for the night were lying around. I pondered on the tall columns as I tried figuring out my status. I saw a man, medium in built, possessing such bright eyes, and looking cute in his short, curly haircut, who was in fatigues. He was smoking. Actually, I earlier saw him running from one of the jeepneys plying towards Pier and as he sought cover from the strong rains. I thought why he would have opted to alight a jeep at that point. Approaching him, I felt the urge to immediately seize my chance. Opening my umbrella, I stood beside him until he took note of me, looking at me intently. I couldn’t recall how we started to converse with each other. I felt relieved I was over with the preconditions then.

“Sama ka sa akin?” as he took note of the use of my umbrella in negotiating the strong rains falling and making us wet somehow that moment.

“Saan?” as I asked though not really meaning what I wanted to say.

“Sa barko,” as he explained that he had to be back to the Coast Guard ship at the Pier beside Manila Hotel where the Presidential Yacht was then docked. Without any hesitation, I jumped at the idea of joining him at the ship.

Actually, this man belonged to the command whose main job is to guard the Presidential Yacht (I guess, they must have sold this Yacht, as we never get to hear about it these days, except during the Marcos era). I recall that we just breezed through the security as we crossed the water to be on the ship, where I saw quite a number of the Coast Guard. I tried not to talk that moment. I didn’t want anybody to be noticing me then as I was figuring out what I was doing there then in the midst of those Coast Guards who kept on a face while the rest smiled slyly at me being around. I guess they knew somewhat. They were then ready for their dinner that night. Invited to share in their dinner, I scooped some freshly cooked rice, sardines, mackerel, and fried ordinary fish - medium rare, looking pale and presented in unappetizing style, which could have been caught underneath that very ship where we stood - from a wide brown flat pan as the other Coast Guards were also getting their share. I wasn’t hungry then, yet I felt the need to share in the dinner in the hope I was not being offensive to the crew.

That particular Coast Guard was then on duty, as he explained that he had to be back after a few hours. He made my lie on his cot at the sleeping quarters. I didn’t really feel comfortable with the thought that I would be alone in that corner of the cabin. Trying to get sleep, I saw several uniformed men who came in and out just to get something out of the cabin made up of around 12 pull down cots. I figured out that they were quite casual about anything. They didn’t really talk, and they just moved around. The corner felt cold and wet, as I heard rains falling and the water below splashing back and forth. The ship was in slow, slow motion just like the rhythm of my body.

Later, the Coast Guard came, and asked me how I was then. I just smiled and noted his heavy frame as we lay side by side. He took some clothes from his cabinet beside the bed where I was lying. We just continued to talk about his duties, his colleagues, the weather, and the seeming boredom of it all. He went to the shower where he I saw him undress. He didn’t close the sliding metal door. I saw him naked as the shower was on pouring strong current on his body. Soaping himself all over, he looked like the typical man you see on TV ads selling soaps. Looking wet and glorious, his brown nakedness was discernible, as the ceiling light in the shower was bright in focusing details of the scene. He was not mindful at all, as he took his time in the shower as both his hands grasped himself fully in my sight. Fearful that somebody might just come in anytime, I controlled my urge not to make it with the Coast Guard that moment. Feasting on the details which felt so much within four steps distance, I heaved so much sighs on seeing him have fun while being keenly watched by me at a safe distance.

The next morning, the Coast Guard woke me up. I refused to join in the breakfast. I just had hot coffee as we talked about how to get in touch with each other next time. I remember to have made several phone calls to him until we finally lost touch with each other after several months. I last saw him in the papers with his colleagues, all in frogsuit, who were then in search of some lost, drown bodies due to a ship which sunk somewhere in the borders of the Manila Bay, Corregidor and Cavite.
* * * * * * *

From IntramurosFortSantiago

View of vehicles going towards the direction of the Manila Central Post Office; probably circa early 1960s

The Postal Bank head office used to be closed and unused then. The area looked abandoned particularly in the evening. Then, the extension office building of Main Post Office stood among tall grasses, and in a semblance of an unmaintained garden. An old medium sized truck used to park for a long time just right on the other side of the road of this unkempt building. The kind of men who gathered there in the evening simply represent those types whom everyone meet everyday.

There was an instance amidst the tall grasses where I made it together with about eight different men who came one after another, and who shared with me my cravings for the particular night. We were primarily jacking ourselves off in front of the rest of the men who were doing the same in the group. In the midst of it all, the heat could get to be very unbearably beyond control, as our collective murmured sighs could be heard as the rest of Manila continues with its business.

There were others who just couldn’t contain themselves from kissing the men of their desire in the group while the whole event was ongoing. I guess, we must have lasted for over an hour or so doing the same act until everybody decided that it was time to go on. Yet, while we were in the midst of physically sharing each other with the rest of the group, the whole place gets to be lighted by trucks, jeepneys, and private vehicles passing by towards Pier, in between 2 AM up to 4 AM perhaps.

I guess people must have seen us but they just couldn’t do anything but to move on with their own business. Plus, there was the constant nagging fear, as well as the source of excitement, of the Police catching us in the act as they surreptitiously patrol and appear from nowhere while we are in the middle of our disheveled act. Nevertheless, on Judgment Day, I realize, all of us in that crowd, as well as with the rest of humanity, our judgment will come as what we deserve. Most of us believe on this.
* * * * * * *

Just outside the vicinity, I particularly remember meeting again someone whom I first met in one of the theatres near the place. Being a tall man, he was instantly recognizable in his shorts and his serious dark eyes. I made it with him again in a nearby area where we repeated the same happening which took place earlier when we first met. This time, he was the passive one as I went on ramming myself into his body. I particularly remember his being very passive that night, that he kept on accommodating me. He still has the same style, same manner of approach, the same brooding silence as we were heavy serious into the works.

I remember the season then, being Halloween. I thought, and was correct in thinking so that I could easily make it again. At least, if this is actually a valid point of consolation, this time, it was with someone I met before. This is actually connected with my wrong belief that if I attempt to just limit my sexual encounters with those whom I have met before, my chances of catching the dreaded virus may turn out poor. Actually, this remains to be affirmed. Inspite of advances lately about the nature of the HIV, so much is still unknown about it, particularly, just how exactly it spreads from Zero Person to the next one, until it reaches, any one of us. I was brought back abruptly to the scene with this man. Thankfully, it was over. I walked towards the buses, and walked under the darkened portion of the bridge connecting Sta Cruz and Lawton. I saw the white ferryboats floating at the waiting shed where several young people who have that typical vagrant look who have settled in the space for the night.
* * * * * * *

There was also one rainy evening where I even made it with someone inside the truck which was parked just right outside on the other side of the road fronting the Main Post Office extension office. The antelobby where we saw each other was in the cavernous Main Post Office the columns of which provide cover to those inside this wide and rectangular space inside. He kept on touching himself in his shorts while giving me that dreamy look. Walking away from the antelobby as I saw him follow me, I thought of having both of us getting inside the truck, without even thinking that people could easily prey on us from nowhere. Given the heat, I was thankful it started to rain heavily. Standing in front of me as I sat in a makeshift chair, he was simply following all orders that I demanded from him, which made the whole experience rather so unnerving while the rains continued to pour strongly outside the truck. While in the act, I recalled having met the same guy someplace in the Walls. I think this must have been in the circular elevated stage in the former Mehan Garden. He must have been with someone else, whom I wanted to replace as I saw how passionately he behaved at him that night. We actually talked for a while then, many nights before, as we attempted to decide whether we actually like each other or not. I remember him telling me that he belonged to the underground movement, particularly those groups affiliated with the militant labor sector. I smiled and said to myself some possible reasons, why he saw the need to tell me that. Yet I remember, I was inquiring about our respective jobs. He was proud to be doing such kind of work. I actually felt good doing these things to him. I remember seeing him again a long time after our encounter, this time in a bus in Balintawak where he alighted right in front of the Cloverleaf Market.
* * * * * * *

Another event with much nerve took place at the same earlier mentioned area points to someone I met at the Post Office Main Building one early morning. I was standing at the left side of the Post Office with a huge planter covering me from the view of Lawton. The place smelled strongly of fresh urine. I just wonder why people wanted to turn this space into a loo. To exact revenge at the reeking smell around, I released my share on the wall nearly up my chest, and saw a couple doing their own thing down near the bushes. At one time, one of the guys kneeled down before the other, and at an instance, the other guy was then sinking himself into the guy who was earlier kneeling before him. Meanwhile, I soon learned I had company at the space where I was standing while watching the couple below. I actually saw him hours earlier as I noticed his shorts for an outfit with a tennis bag on his left arm. He was brooding all the time, with out even attempting to look at me into the eye. I thought he must have been very serious or tired. He approached me and took down his shorts, exposing himself for me to stare at while I turned panicky at the thought that we could easily be thought. I realized that as soon it was over that I have gained much confidence in myself in engaging in such activities without much concern on what may turn out possibly next. What took place next does not matter anymore; what matters is that I get to acquire the means to satisfy my temporary longing on the verge of being spilled outrageously in the open. People have turned to be mere outlets in an instance that I get to make it with anyone of them. I have lost count of the number of times when I just acted so programmed driven with my urges – with what I have learned in abling myself to overcome certain events in my existence.
* * * * * * *

One Saturday sundown, I happened to be around the vicinity to catch up with my mailings at the Post Office. I chance upon a chinky eyed, pale looking, mustachioed man who was then almost through with this smoke, and who must have talked to me at the instance that he sighted me coming from the Jones Bridge. The Post Office was then almost deserted, and I could behold the stretch of fiery red and orange hues of the sky above us, I felt all the urge that I could muster so suddenly (mainly perhaps due to wonderful sensuous scene). The whole Postal Office turned into picture perfect landscape, just like in several stylized TV advertisements of cellphones, slacks, or snackfood. The man and I were soon crossing the Binondo Bridge, leading towards an Office Building somewhere in the business enclave of Filipino Chinese. The whole experience, almost always reminds of one of those late afternoon walks I had while still a student when I chance upon a floating corpse of a man along the Pasig River, near Escolta. A crowd was soon gathering around the floating corpse that floated here and there in the murky waters of the river. He must have been one of those salvage victims that have been gleefully posted in most newspapers in Manila that hungers for the worst and macabre among the ordinary.

The guy that I was with that time looked so typical, in his T-shirt and slacks. We were then entering an old Binondo building along Paredes St that leads towards the center of the Binondo district of Manila. I noticed guards were milling together as we entered the office, while some other people were rushing to move out of the office building. There is something rather romantic about this kind of buildings, which evokes memories of old Hong Kong film rolls shown almost every now and then in the MTV channel. We reached the third floor, whereupon we entered an office, which turned out to be one of those ad agencies found in Binondo.
The minute we entered the room, we immediately shuffled all the papers and other paraphernalia on two tables. We were already kissing each other in the lips as he was trying to lock the door. It looked so invitingly private, and I could still see some glints of the colors of the sunset from the window. We simply rushed through the works.

This guy turned out to be indeed a family man who has had his first chance of sexually engaging in with men, when he was still a hardup tricycle driver in their small town somewhere in Laguna. Some of his passengers turned out to be some of his earliest experiences. I could just imagine his looks when he was younger as I took note of his huge, muscular legs while we were doing all the works. He needed to be very discreet these days, as every now and then, he had to relieve himself of the urge, the taste for which he had developed when he was younger.
Deciding to get married, he now (then) had two children whom he patiently brings to school in the National Teachers College, from where he also struggled to finish a bachelor’s degree in Education. He taught for a while, until he found and developed a talent that enabled him to write copies deemed to be well crafted and fetching in the ad agency business. He soon found a stable job in a Makati ad agency, soon got bored about corporate life, and shifted to Binondo for a less pretentious, yet more moneyed environment. I smile everytime I see samples of his works in the papers, particularly those on men’s underwear. His company likewise has huge billboards, announcing different brands of men’s undies somewhere in Recto, Cubao, or Makati. We could have sustained something as a partnership, perhaps starting as regular sex partners. I could sense his disappointment at me, when I called him up after two months. He wanted me to call him more regularly, that we move on to the other aspects of friendship. Yet, then, I still couldn’t figure out the means to separate shades of our friendships. I was rather indecisive.
* * * * * * *

There were instances in the earliest evenings that I’ve gone cruising in the Walls that I got to meet familiar faces. I actually have met some of them in the previous nights, yet some are quite particularly interesting enough, for one reason or another. I saw two fellows whom I have met first in the University. The first one was with another college that offered computer science course. He was an alumnus of the University, and had remained single throughout his life. He was a looker, and fairly well attractive even if he has thinning hair palate on his head. The last time I heard of him, his name was in the tabloid for having got himself killed by his young lover. I could sense the same typical treatment of the storyline that these tabloids seem to have as a bias for this type of story. The story detailed that of the young lover wanted some amount of money, which his lover couldn’t provide at once. There was a fight that ended in shooting match, and the former teacher-lover died in the process. The second one has got to be one of my teachers in the University. He’s a professor who has worked hard for his PH.D, and who has got a reputation of being difficult among the students. He never recognized me as he actually approached and smiled at me during one night of cruising in the Walls. He didn’t smile out of recognition, but out of his desire to make it with me, at least for the night. I never got the guts to inform him I was one of his former students. I have figured out these individuals tend to get to be ultra lonesome on certain nights. Such lonesome nights creep into one’s own being on certain periods of the year. It’s actually a maddening situation, especially if one’s caught up with this certain sense of loneliness that seeks out the loving presence of the beloved, even among strangers.
* * * * * * *

In the early evenings that I’ve pursued cruising in the Walls, when I have not yet counted that many number of encounters (as perhaps, judged relatively by others who fail to get their share), I remember with a certain affectionate fondness having met a tall, lanky and hirsute fellow the same age like mine. In fact, we share more than having the same age. And as they say, people are, almost always, not what they appear. Just like this fellow who appeared like he was waiting for a jeepney ride towards Pier. He was more into something else, just like what I was into that night. I was actually undecided whether I should first approach him, or should I just let him take good notice of me, and finally approach me. Having decided the former, I recall that I turned somewhat listless as I couldn’t think of a logical way to approach him. I noticed how he looked so stony silent possessing such impenetrable cold gaze as he stood in front of the Main Post Office that late evening.

Some short periods of time were spent further in fidgeting over actions that should have been rendered far more earlier that particular evening. He must have observed me looking longingly at him, as if I was waiting for something crazy to happen, like he and I, getting to eventually get to know each other. Inevitably, we did talk with each other, as I awkwardly started to give out the first familiar sentence.

“Kanina ka pa dito?” as I probed my eyes on his height and his dark colored long sleeves that looked so fit on him. I also noticed closely how he has allowed a beard to grow on him, which fits him to a T. This must have been one of my lucky nights, no matter how I such a disbelieving attitude towards luck, as I gave him a smile.

“Hindi nga makasakay,” as if he wanted me to believe him, after seeing him let several jeepneys passed him by. Or perhaps he might just be waiting for some kind of a vehicle to pass by, and perhaps, pick him up (I’ve observed such encounters like that in this place).

Soon, I got to learn that he had the same first name as mine, and I reached out my hand to touch his right shoulder as I got astonished beyond myself upon knowing the fact. On second thought, he must have been taking me for a ride, as he looked quite experienced on events like what we were progressing into that night.

In a few minutes, the usual sex act immediately took place between us that night. It was as casual as we could get. Yet I recall, I have grown quite fond of him as I felt something uniquely special for him. I told myself, I should have not allowed myself to get into sex with him, that first night.

From the start, he took me by surprise as he admitted having been meeting every now and then with his psychiatrist for a period prior to me meeting him in the Walls. Perhaps, he was taken aback as well by my straightforward approach in engaging him in a talk and fast casual sex. He told me the sessions usually took place periodically, just as to help him cope with himself. He took prescribed medicines in order to help manage his behavior; I thought the whole thing was downright stupid. Therapy, I felt, was what he needed, and not prescriptions. He must have been undergoing sessions to help him manage, perhaps, his depression, or perhaps, something more psychologically clinical to warrant prescribed medicines.

That night must have been one of his lucid nights. Yet being a believer in psychotherapy, rather than tablets for managed ideal behavior, I was biased and angry towards his psychiatrist. He meets the shrink at the Philippine General Hospital (PGH). I suppose my friend must have been one of the psychiatrist’s guinea pigs, or he was just being studied just like a specimen for additional residency credentials of the said medical doctor, who, chances are would just be one of those student-doctors at that hospital. PGH is known for this, being a medical learning institution, affiliated with the reputably best publicly funded Philippine institution of medical and allied studies. While my friend goes about discussing all the procedures he has to undergo, I could just imagine how he was being treated at the hospital.

Looking back, I had an inkling from the start of our meeting from his lovely, sad eyes that carry certain hallmarks of a person who has been drenched heavily by his mind boggling frame of psychological makeup, of a fellow working on a recent emotional breakdown.

We met several times, as he was one of the very few guys whom I have eagerly shared my contact phone number. I made use that we would have to meet again, as I grew very curious of him. This is one guy who nonchalantly tells just about anyone about his experiences with the shrink, which trait is untypically Asian. I was actually happier that he would want us to see other quite often, at any given the chance, even as I tried to find time for him inspite of my heavy workload in the office (as I have to develop a career, having just graduated from college two or three years earlier). In addition, I like to compliment him for not even seeking any financial help from me, considering that he didn’t work then, and had to quit his studies, in order to pursue his med sessions.

Actually, it takes me a certain level of effort in recalling deeply buried memories of this event in my life. It’s simply like breathing out with three fourths of my lungs already bloodied from suffocation. He simply contributed much in helping me evolve my general attitude towards loving, and being loved, being desired and desiring (and other parallel concerns). I couldn’t recall substantial remnants of any of our conversations yet I recall his presence from time to time. Actually, he could have been one of those ghosts who have been haunting me of late. He always had his enduring presence in my mind that I’ve physically seen quite rarely for a while lately. Also, from him, I’ve learned how to actually confront the theories I’ve worked on for a degree, on just how practical they can get, if the situation warrants it.

It’s only now that I’ve realized that there’s nobody particularly like him from the all those whom I’ve met, even outside the Walls. From him, I’ve simply learned the ironies of affectionate emotions for someone who needs all the emotional support that I could provide for him. And from him, I’ve grown to be pessimist for a long while. My views have grown negative on the prospect of ever getting to meet someone for a long-term partnership, at least emotional, or better, loving setup, if this could ever be worked out, by both partners (unless, of course, if the setup allows one to play submissively, the other, more actively).

I soon found out of his continuing emotionally draining struggle for his father’s acceptance of him. His father considered him psychologically deviant from the rest of his children who happened to be all boys. He told me how his Father related how he hated him for being what he is (without uttering any despicable and descriptive term, whatsoever). I could just see how my friend has managed to cope with a range of emotions brought forward by a situation like might provide him, at any point in time. I got my chances to talk with his father over the phone, and he has such a cool, baritone voice, being a professional radio announcer. Indeed, I was relieved at hearing that he sounded friendly to me. I recall that my friend spends much of his time with his paternal grandmother in Quezon City. He receives a special allowance from his grandmother, so as to support his fees for his regular meetings with his therapist.

We once met one night at the front steps of the Finance Building in Luneta, near the skating rink. I was late by over an hour that night as I had a difficult time commuting from our place to Luneta due to the sudden heavy rain pour. I saw him waiting patiently, drenched wet by the rain; I saw his lovely wet face. I was surprised as he kissed me on the lips for a long while, just right the minute I emerged from the steps of the Burnham-designed Finance Building.
His family lives in Sta Ana, and I used to wait for him somewhere in the patio of the Sta Ana Church. He told me that he was taking his chances as he wanted to introduce me to his family, particularly to his father. He expressed surprised at hearing that his father actually handed him the phone, whenever I call him in their house in Sta Ana. My friend remembers previously, his father almost always refused to receive phone calls for him. Or even take messages for him. His Father simply hated the kind of friends that he keeps. In making such a remark, he reminded me again of his Father who thought of him awkwardly different from the rest of the brood.

He waiting for me to get a jeepney-ride back home. He pointed at another tall guy, better looking than him. He told me the guy’s his brother, who’s actually a healthier version of my friend. They never talked that moment, yet somehow, they took cognizance of each other’s presence, by simple nods. The guy soon rushed to get a taxi ride, and away from our probing eyes. He must have seen the admiration that I had for his brother’s looks from my eyes. He then went on to explain that his brother actually has a rich Chinese lover, who lives in Binondo. I inquired for how long has the set up been like that. My friend didn’t answer. In reply, he related instead on how his brother’s actually a kept guy, yet their Father has yet to know this (or must have refused to recognize the meaning behind this situation of one of his other sons).
I simply couldn’t figure out the discrimination (or just how do you describe this?). Perhaps my friend has been the more outspoken, the more sensitive, and the more self accepting, than the rest of his brood. He must have been certainly the most rebellious among his siblings. He was the one who would rather be honest with himself, who accepts stupid judgments from the family (who’s supposed to understand and accept him for who he is). Perhaps to put a check on my behavior further that particular night, he even continued by pointing out that he has got another good looking brother. I just don’t know exactly why he has to tell me this. Or why he has to give me his calling card, only to give me strict instructions not to get in touch with this particular brother of his. My friend described him as one who own such matinee idol looks that he was being sought out actually by several producers to appear in their run of the mill movies. Yet he opted, instead to lead a corporate life with the Philippine Gaming Corporation. From my friend’s very eloquent eyes, I’ve seen the depth of complexity of the life that he leads. I got somehow scared over the hopeful prospects as our relationship as it progressed into an area that was beyond the familiar to me, then. Now, I could just say to myself that it could have a hell of a relationship. But then, I like to add as well that my friend has been lucid all the time that we’ve been together, as I recall him now. And if only my friend’s Father knew and understood all about these.
* * * * * * *

There were nights then when I could see groups who get to huddle together just as to talk, or engage in something inane, or simply make fun out of the situation that all of us there are into. I got to get involved in a good-looking younger fellow who happened to be a first cousin of a relatively well known movie action star. He even informed me that he’s a stowaway from his family for more than three years already. He simply had to run away from the clutches of his family, particularly his father who works with the Bureau of Internal Revenue. From then on, he accumulated that much experiences as he had to send himself to finish highschool, in Bicol, where he had to stay for a while with the family of one of his friends.

One thing with this fellow has been very charming looks such that practically anyone who gets to know him, gets to quite fond of him, particularly of his having that helpless charisma around him. People tend to like to help him, as I’ve observed as we got to know each other pretty well. We met one late November evening, and we heard some Christmas songs, which must have prodded me to go out of my way to offer something more stable for him, just like the two of us getting into a serious relationship.

Now I recall him everytime I see his friend who was essential representation of a fellow who has had difficulties in accepting himself. He studied in one of those well known boys’ schools in Quezon City, and he once regularly played polo with some rich young fellows whom he has met in highschool. I’ve seen him lately. He dropped out of school, turned to shabu, got more confused, got more angrier, remained unemployed even given his connections with established big business, as expected from someone like him with a fairly well known set of family and relatives. I always recall in him my friend as I always wonder about the prospects of a long term relationship if I only went out of my to be really serious about what I’ve wanted with my chance encounters then. Yet, then, I felt, it has no good long term prospects as I couldn’t cope with someone very pretty looking yet daring enough to make use of these goodlooks in order to penetrate deeply other people’s lives, including my own.

2007-08-29T19:02:00.001-07:00

courtesy of Facebook's OLD MANILA

Prelude

"Do not let trifles disturb your tranquility of mind. The little pinpricks of daily life when dwelt upon and magnified, may do great damage, but if ignored or dismissed from thought, will disappear from inanition. Most men have worried about things which never happened, and more men have been killed by worry than by hard work. Life is so great in its opportunities and possibilities, that you should rise confidently above the inevitable trifles incident to daily contact with the world. Life is too precious to be sacrificed for the nonessential and transient…….Ignore the inconsequential."
Grenville Kleiser

"If things do not turn out as we wish, we should wish for them as they turn out."
Aristotle

The angel of the LORD encamps around those who fear him, and delivers them. Taste and see how good the LORD is; happy the man who takes refuge in him.
Psalm 34: 8-9

In the mid 80's, my Mother was hospitalized for almost a year while she was in Jordan, Middle East. I may have been recalling poorly now, but it was during her first year in Jordan, I figured that she got, rather, pretty scared almost to death.

In her previous overseas assignments as a licensed nurse, she first went to the US (mostly in Cleveland, Ohio which I realize now was then in a rural location) where she was around during its 1976 bi-centennial celebrations. She was among the batches of Filipino nurses who braved differences in culture and language in our former colonizer, the USA. My Mother was in this very huge country when it decided that professional and highly demanding yet valuable support services can be paid relatively and initially at cheaper salary rates by hiring Philippine professionals like nurses, physical therapists, and schoolteachers, among others to alleviate its growing manpower shortages. Convinced that she needed to eventually bring the rest of her family to the USA, she came back to the Philippines after filing her green card application in the US, and she had to wait as required for its eventual long period of processing and approval while in the Philippines.

In a span of at least 15 years, our family living requirements got bigger and heavier, as our core-family members increased in numbers, my Mother then decided again that she had to fully support our needs, at least materially. Notably, my Father has been unable to provide, at least for our material needs. He must have tried several times, or even much more times that I could figure out, but he's been unable to sustain efforts to feed, clothe, provide a house for all of us. Significantly, our material conditions have shifted from relatively prosperous to that of being nearly pushed to the marginal edges, just to enable ourselves to have decent meals, quality education, as well as being housed in relatively comfortable rooms. She, then pursued gainful work as a nurse in Saudi Arabia.

After four years (if I recall correctly this time), my Mother came back again to the Philippines, to be with us again. This period continued until she soon realized that economic conditions here have gone worst for the majority of professional workers like her. She had thought of making it out this time in Jordan, again in the Middle East.

Apparently, her plans had gone awry, and rather awful for all of us in the family. Earlier disappointed with her work as a nurse in the more conservative, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, she had been merely taking her chances this time in a supposedly, more modern, Middle Eastern country, (the Kingdom of) Jordan. Given the difficult work, I thought, she must have realized soon that the value of her salary had been greatly diminished in monetary value so swiftly from a series of devaluation of the Jordanian currency when the country was placed under IMF receivership. She felt that she would not be able to send the same value of money to us, her family, in the Philippines. This was very similar to what took place in the Philippines in the mid 80s.

My Father, then, was also unable to help materially, being unemployed most of the times. I remember my Father kept on chronically mis-spending my Mother's money on San Lazaro or Sta Ana horseracing bets, or even jai-alai games, and similar bets in the hope that we could gain more if he gets to win. He's also heavy into drinking, he's been listening to, or must have unable to resist listening to unkind remarks or stories of good-intentioned people around us, or at least most in the community, who carelessly joke about Filipina nurses posted abroad, eventually having lovers to wind away the gnawing pain of loneliness in foreign lands. Worst, there have been stories about my Mother, being involved with another man. Meanwhile, there was the absence of dependable and stable parental figures in our family, as everyone in our core family, got into doomed imagination about the little, sketchy news we've been getting about our Mother in Jordan.

As a professional nurse in a private hospital in Amman, Jordan, my Mother was afforded with all the necessary and available medical care and attention due to her, apparently, first and almost fatal stroke. She was given all support necessary by her employer then after she had that almost, fatal stroke. Now I realize, a stroke patient like Mother had to really struggle with all her inner force to successfully recover. For nearly a year, or so, my Mother recuperated, and we only heard incomplete news. The news reached us via unverifiable phone calls from Jordan to my Aunt's house courtesy of my mother's friends and worried colleagues.

In my early twenties then, I thought I could fight through a way out from attempting to struggle against the hopeless news. This instability in our family has contributed to a lot of difficult-to-understand confusion during my adolescent years. Many questions cropped out. What could have triggered this stroke? (other than her predisposing factors, that I have realized I inherited as well). I have always thought that this stroke experience that brought my Mother to near-death experience might have indirectly led to these particular continuing events that still have much bearing on the lifestyle that I opt to lead today. It leads me to an enigmatic question that crops out every now and then. Such a question, among others, occurs when I remember the helplessness of our situation then. In that period of time, the news was never followed with additional details. Only a long period of silence ensued. The silence continued for over a year - a status that has rendered us to refuse ourselves the ability to confront our respective fears, and consequently, the acceptance of the prospect of grief itself.

Looking back, we figured out that the Jordanian authorities or perhaps, Mother's employer might then already be making arrangements for Mother's body to be repatriated finally to us here. Back here just like those photo images in news bringing back home dead overseas Filipino workers in cold, sealed coffins via plane or by ship, with all insurance and other incidental charges that may usually be paid by the grieving party. In my confused and struggling college years then, the very idea that Mother's death would soon take place in a strange and far away land could not even be visualized. Since then, even today, among other outcomes, I have never been able to get away from the prospect that one dear person in my life who has been away merely to professionally earn well, might be back as a corpse. I have yet to completely set aside this unnamed fear.

Giving a thought on why Mother opted to work in Jordan, certain reasons persist among many. In fact, by opting to work in Jordan prior to its pre-IMF days (when its currency was severely de-valuated), my Mother had also longed to be given some dreamed-of opportunities to visit historical-biblical sites that are all over the Middle East. I could not recall her telling us about her visits to these holy places. Nevertheless, she eventually got her chance to enjoy a delightful swim in the Dead Sea, I learned later, and I saw some photos of her, while swimming in the Dead Sea. Apparently she had previous knowledge about Jordan, a trait that indicates her preference for things connected with the way people live in other places, even far, far away places on earth. She grew up in the living quarters of her uncle-priest based in Bicol, in one of those over two hundred-year old stone churches found and still standing in the wide rice plains of Albay Province in Bicol Region, where you see the majestic Mayon volcano, down east of Luzon island towards the Samar / Catanduanes provinces. I may have imbibed this sense of what's we may term as a taste for our "cultural heritage" from her, as one way of looking at her as person who has not actively cultivated much of this trait given her own life's conditions. Nevertheless, Mother wanted the rare chance for the-typical-Christian Filipino to get into a sojourn in those hallowed, Biblical sites found in Jordan, particularly to visit the places where Christ must have stepped on 2000 years ago.

Given the terrible trauma I had from the experience of not hearing anything about my Mother's condition after she had a major stroke in far-away Jordan for months, I now think, these events and experience of my Mother's near death have taken me further in distance between phases in my great adventure in life. The trauma I got from my Mother's near-death experience from her stroke in Jordan, has exacerbated the strength of my curious nature, being quite younger then, and moving forward in encompassing my cruising adventures into series of experiences some people may find politely, odd, or even distasteful at the most to consider sharing in these pages.

As mentioned earlier, my Father was likewise unable to provide the necessary support. He was unable to do as he got his own set of problems. He got extremely jealous about hearing lurid stories, actually some of them are even casually shared cruel jokes made by utterly envious persons who detest people who earn better or able to provide for their families and now working abroad, of Filipina nurses who engage in prostitution as a second job abroad, especially in the Middle East. He never showed us directly his jealous feelings towards my Mother. I remember, however, how my parents fought one New Year's Eve. I could not figure out exactly what was happening, as I recall how badly drunk my Father that night - alcohol was his key to confronting his own deep-seated fears. My Mother was then just back from Saudi Arabia for a short vacation during Christmas season. We got a lot of imported fruits like grapes, apples, oranges, plus walnuts, raisins, ham and cheese beautifully laden on the table. Towards New Year's eve, my parents fought. My Mother threatened to leave the house for good, if I recall it correctly.

In a more recent occasion, I got the chance to listen to my parents indirectly tackle this issues on my Father's suspicions on my Mother's activities in Saudi Arabia. Looking back, my experiences with my parents have been a collection of stories that can be classifiable as classic illustration of rearing up our own set of parents, rather than our parents rearing us to be good adults eventually. I would not want to take it against my parents these events that have molded my way of thinking towards my numerous cruising encounters, as my coping mechanism in running away from the silently ravaging and very hurtful family encounters.

Nowadays, I feel a certain kind of numbness in my heart every time I hear someone had a heart stroke. I always presume that person would be dead by the time I get over effects if I hear the news now. I always tend to deny we can actually overcome the pain, as well as the enjoining difficult lessons, thus I tend to come up with ridiculous jokes to that someone who has had a stroke. At the expense of being misconstrued as insensitive, I can easily say that I've seen the experience from the view point of a member whose many relatives have had stroke. It has become a tasteless source of personal jokes I have in mind, every time I hear snatches of stories about strokes (from the ridiculous to the scary). Perhaps, there's an indirect continuity between the roots that I have identified and indirectly connected to what has been drawing me to still engage in cruising. Likewise, the same holds true as what explains behind my efforts to deny myself a safe haven on where to finally land after having been in a seemingly endless flight practically all this time.

Some therapists may find some psychological explanation as to why I have persisted in the past in cruising for sexual activities with other men. My ready explanation may run very typical to those who have engaged in similar activities. It's been only now during the last four decades of the recently past millennium that we read openly on the mainstream about experiences of these men, and that are published in the Philippines. The laudable body of work completed todate by these writers need to be continuously praised for their courageous efforts. Of course, pornographic materials and near exciting stories may have been easily available to interested targetted readers. They typically date back up to the 60's of the last century of past millennium. I have yet to find older dated-materials.

In this set of memoirs, depicting in many pages stories about the family, I like to readily share what I have gathered and experienced. These need to be archived one way or another. This will effectively make the next generations more capable in managing their desires and longings that are easily ignored and denied by many uninformed individuals who easily dismiss anything that runs counter to their well-set beliefs and values. These readers will need to be informed in the prayerful and hopeful request to support efforts to break walls of indifference to stereotypes of fellow beings. I may be unmasking my vulnerabilities as I go about writing these memoirs. This maybe my attempt to endear myself to my past, and get myself to be able to move forward confidently. Yet, all these memories have to be unburdened, just as to provide the repudiated memories of those men whom I have encountered in cruising with all the grieving they badly deserve to eventually overcome their haunting character in figments of memories nowadays.

Highlighted by varying domestic and personal troubles, this period triggered wide-awake nightmares those times. Simply in the state of my utter confusion, and in my adolescence, I had my first few occasions of indirectly finding out about the "notorious yet denied" presence of the Manila cruising scene - a quality of urban living that is likewise found in great cosmopolitan cities like New York, Berlin, Madrid, Tokyo, Paris or London, at least to my knowledge. I know now from having met other men who have told me stories of their own cruising experiences. These are men who have lived in many cities in Europe, as well as in New York city. These stories are among the most lurid, most openly sexual and defiant as men got into many sexual acts with other men in public places, mostly behind the open view of most people (but if only they had taken the time to look more closely, they'd seen far more from what they have in mind --- who would have thought events like those described here actually were happening amidst all other human activities?). Most of them took place during pre-AIDs scare before the 1980's. Gaps will have to be filled by the succeeding generations. These gaps may have been easily overcome by now with the advent of the internet, and its widening continuing spread of the primacy of technology in defining the way people live anywhere.

Given the brickbats, setbacks connected with this endeavor, I like to make something positive from all these chance encounters I've received at the Walls. Just to be plain grateful for all these learnings, particularly for the friends who were initially strangers, who turned out to be angels. These angels have been friends who have shown their kindred spirits in one form or another at the Walls.

Way back, a high school classmate used to watch with me some of those free artistic and pre WWII German films being shown at the Concert at the Park at the Luneta (officially known as Rizal Park). I must have developed a ken for those art films, but after one early evening, something happened.

Well, one evening after seeing one of those art films, I deliberately went out by myself to engage in what we term now as "cruising" after my classmate took a jeepney back home at Kalaw. I heard and read by then mainly from some cheap tabloids about those seemingly mind-puzzling (in my young mind then) events ordinarily taking place in the evening at the Walls.

In the interim, I had to continuously control myself from imagining details on Mother's prospective demise in Jordan. Nobody among my peers, my friends, my relatives, or the school could provide any comforting semblance that "we're actually able to handle it." Formulating a mantra, I initially sensed the need to block off the weary thoughts of Mother's impending death in Jordan. For over a year, our family expected the worst, as we couldn't practically visit her in Jordan.

Meanwhile, certain developments evolved along the way, so much so that I had to go and search out to pick up certain ideas on how to really confront my worst fears in the process. One event led to another, as I cope to look back now. As a curious outgrowth, I have also sought and learned in the process how other men are able to cope with themselves and their urges as well; how similar our sexual urges can get beyond the physical. Another indirect outcome is that I also have figured out how I can struggle against and confront the kind of prevailing repression that I have caught from my sickening, suffocating, limiting growing up environment. This complex web of struggles to confront myself and to find a panacea out of my self flagellating existence, mainly both out of guilt and being misinformed, have had their beginnings in the late 80's, I suspect.

Admittedly, while figuring out those art movies at the Luneta,(more about Luneta, officially known as Rizal Park from its website?) I already had ideas that certain heady events take place in the greenery within the perimeter of the famed Intramuros walls (what does Wikipedia have to say about Intramuros?). The Walls themselves seem to breathe these notions to my probing mind.

Frankly, which to tell, and which to explain, from where to begin - these are beyond the scope and definition of this written undertaking. I have set forth all these strained yet anonymous efforts to put into record my exposures as well as my discernment of my personal condition. Doing so may hopefully help others, if they could learn from my own, at least vicariously. Basically, I simply hope to just want to engage thoughtfully the interested reader on events taking place every now and then among interesting personalities amidst the Walls. Moreso, there has to be a record from which future generations may dwell in and gain positive source of strength on the unbounded spirits that this recorded account may hopefully provide.

Well, in the future, the prospective reader may even bother to find out on his / her own, and eventually get immersed in an aspect of reality in the Walls. Perhaps, he / she may compare developments as against what used to be around as recorded, at least in certain graphic, familiar semblance. Anyway, these events we hope could get due recognition. They have to go beyond what usually are referred mainly as disturbing events in tabloids or in some beer drinking sessions, where the drinkers poke fun out of ridiculous possibilities of making it with some kind of a man whom they figured out they won't meet at all, even in their wildest dreams. In the context of ongoing rage and confusion over the AIDS virus, these events at the Walls become relevant.

I admit, I have done a lot of introspecting while cruising, while languishing in my efforts to overcome certain thoughts, and eventually while garnering lessons about life in meeting strangers. There were willing and friendly people who have supplied much warmth and short term passion way beyond what I have had read, heard and imagined. I recall seeing so many men of varying depths of character as well as those bereft with any physical attraction whatsoever. I mean, I have met a lot of them with the same appetite and predilection.

Nevertheless, these men have provided me many experiences from which I source out my belief that all of us get to be able to handle ourselves eventually well through time. We evolve to become better persons. We evolve in our tastes as well as fears, amidst our strengths and weaknesses. I reckon that we just need to be extra brave than the rest. I have figured out we just need, as well, all the material, spiritual, emotional help we could secure in the process from all sources. I have garnered many more lessons, which will be described; some will be connoted, as my descriptive of these events flow through the next many pages. I feel great, in addition, that I have been fortunate in meeting interesting individuals whose descriptions pale beyond my imagination every time I struggle to find inner solace within my whole being.

In a way, this attempt serves as a narrative of what has been ongoing all along these periods in recorded time. Most of those that have been fortunately accounted here, come from the earliest recollection I could collect up to the latest possible record of those involved personalities. They, those beautiful, yet repressed souls, who have come and gone in the Chocolate Hills (a descriptive term in the pejorative sense that up to now is evolving into something far more contemporary, faddish, and convenient among those who have knowledge of the place, and who lead similar lifestyles, whatsoever).

This rather long, winding, wordy sketch attempts to cover by way of attempting to describe some of those whom I have met initially as strangers but have marvelously shared with me something about themselves. I recognize that they have no idea as to where I am now leading, when I decide to account for certain heady events here. In a rather extended, convoluted (at times), wordy manner, I will attempt to honestly unravel and graphically submit my thesis why I keep on cruising in Intramuros. This includes the ups and downs, the absurd, the senseless, the meaningful, the sacrosanct and holy, the fearful encounters that almost all of us can not get away from as we attempt to get a life, rather than just being a mere observer in life. I hope to eventually be able to finish doing well in completing what I started merely by just cruising. From thereon, I like to proceed in some other concerns, or perhaps begin with those yet to be recorded happenings while all those recorded here were still taking place. Starting out within the vicinity of the National Museum building, my discoveries had begun to present themselves cumulatively during these past nearly 10 years.

Certainly, my memories have been damaged beyond their original details against what actually took place in my cruising sprees. Beware, as my mind has been bothered by certain ongoing concerns. But all those worthy of being recorded, no matter how pointless they are on the surface, will gain enough space just to be mentioned. In the initial attempts to get away from the nerve wracking thoughts of Mother's near-death news in Jordan, I have garnered in the process a continuing series of dreamy nights as well as sleepy early-morning-after-moments in Intramuros. There are certainly more reasons to unravel as my feet have seeming inability to get swollen due to cruising in the Walls.

Angels in Disguise (Leavings & Goings at the Chocolate Hills) by Jerome Baladad is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at dyerohmebmovingon.wordpress.com.

2. The Cruisin' Domain

2007-08-29T18:58:00.000-07:00

courtesy of Facebook's OLD MANILA

"Victoria Kapauan-Gaerlan photos"

“But walls do not make for good neighbors, for whom we wall in, we also wall out. We therefore create a dialectical even, even an antagonistic relation between those inside and those outside. And that is exactly what happened, the Spaniards created more enemies. In the 16th and 17th centuries that were the indigenous Philippine population Spain sought to sublime, and the Dutch who courted Spain and Portugal’s monopoly of trade in the Far East; in the 18th the British; and in the 19th other European powers, and throughout all the centuries of colonial rule, the Islamic communities of the South.”
Rene B. Javellana

(Hmmmmm……In describing the Walls, I am generally reminded of the wafting light, pure smoke from that hot thick chocolate freshly served in most breakfast mornings in Southern Luzon provinces. These wafts of smoke generate dreamy yet snatches of gray-dominated blue hues of landscapes at the recesses of my mind where I presumed the images of those people I encountered have forever been etched , deposited in memory, and ready to be recalled in garish, incomplete sketches)

The cruising area actually runs the whole walking areas of Lawton, the Main Post Office Building, the Mehan Garden (now developed as a quite fitting garden by FVR’s unusually common yet always politically correct wife, Ming Ramos, has since then continued, by the current Administration) as well the dank, filthy, feces-filled Quiapo Bridge. The area likewise includes the area beside the former Finance Building, which has now been converted as part of the National Museum Complex. At times, as the need calls for it, just like those nights when I made it with some physically interesting individuals, this extends up to the other side of the foot of Jones Bridge beside Feati University. In fact, the peripheral area of the Luneta forms part of the whole open cruising area in Manila. What principally separates the area is the presence of pimps and hookers who cover the Luneta belt. In the Chocolate Hills, you may actually laugh aloud at someone who will try to solicit for money for casual sex. Practically, it’s a “free for all” as they say.

Of course, there have been other cruising fields nationwide. For the more familiar samplers, these fields cover where I have encountered people actively on the look-out for prospects. These places are found in metropolitan areas where most people would consider others who are milling in the area to be people who wander in and out in guise of pursuing their personal businesses seemingly on the surface: the Ugarte Field in Makati, the CCP reclamation area going towards Baclaran, the Forbes-Espana portion just outside the walls of the UST (Southeast Asia’s oldest university), the Quezon Memorial Circle, Burnham Park in Baguio City, Puerto Galera’s silvery yet more white than gray-colored beaches in northern Mindoro, the fringes of Boracay’s mile-long White Beach as well as the Plaza and nearby areas along the Osmena Circle, and the Cebu City Cathedral. Notably, these spaces provide expansive views that may not be literally but at least figuratively, for pleasure, or mere companion seekers, at least furtively even for a few hours of solace from dissonant voices heard from all others who are apparently non-accepting of this lifestyle we lead.

These days, most malls nationwide serve as cruising arenas, to include as well most theatres, particularly those inside the malls. There has to be something common among these places. I have actually read how the Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism come up with the prostitution among the unguided, lost youth being preyed on by flesh-eating moneyed, disturbed folks who seek them out all these time practically in all malls. The scene is rather, familiar, as the literary sophisticate gets to read a familiar account in one of the books of Jean Genet. Yet, a distinguished place is seemingly given, reserved to a certain extent to the cruising area in Manila. We just distinguish it somehow, as Manila has remained to be culturally engaging location that's found in a highly urbanized metropolis. Some senior cruisers have remarked that prior to seeing those earlier cited areas burgeoned to becoming principal cruising fields themselves, the Walls along the Chocolate Hills have been there way, way much ahead.

Practically, generations of cruisers have paraded and sashayed along this field one way or another - cruisers who have remained silent to others on the Walls’ known notoriety, but not exactly dubious existence. This cruising scene takes place even now, yet admittedly, the quality has diminished to a great degree. Why, perhaps, and can we ever get to know what happened then?

Yet, these areas expand to what used to be conveniently known as the Chocolate Hills. They, who have come and gone a lot, lot earlier fondly, referred to this cruising area as such. The whole cruising scene at the Intramuros walls remains to be an interesting study, even todate - inspite of the developments lately, and despite the absence of past cruising evenings when I saw swarms of cruisers, just like myself.

To start, I like to propose that Intramuros actually remains to be a special place in Manila. Both administratively due to the government as well as due to legendary notions we loftily have about things of old. Among the Philippines’ National Artists, esteemed writer Nick Joaquin, by way of his books and other writings, have continued raving on its preeminence as a cultural spot in Manila. One can get around the walls in three hours of leisurely walk with full attention to what can be sensed along the way. Or one may opt to just cover the Walls by walking on top of its remaining and restored portions.

This cultural section is actually one of the remaining areas in Manila where there is still the presence of much open space needed in doing reflections, whenever one’s life have gone awry or another. Suddenly, one gets to ask why the whole of Manila has gone so polluted, densely populated, maddeningly violent, and yet, we have recently begun appreciating and correcting the value of managing the rate of development in this side of the Philippines. All these different experiences take place in this tract of the old Manila while meditating on the scenes below and beyond the peripherals of the Walls.

Being cumulatively developed as a physical place of our heritage and cultural past for over three hundred years, we have been drawn one way or another to these walls. The Intramuros Walls actually stand on the same site of Rajah Soliman’s old palisaded fort. Pondering on the indicated dates of red bricks on the Walls, some of which are dated from 1987, or at times mistakenly looking like 1897, I have attempted to continue collecting my thoughts. Somehow, I like to believe that the Intramuros Administration (the official government office tasked to oversee the general maintenance and development of the specially designated district) has done its job well inspite of the usual lack of funds and the apparent absence of general interest in things cultural by the typical fellow just beside you in a jeepney ride.

Still, some may have found Intramuros to be unappealing, particularly those with ideas of a designated tourist spot where people actually live is typically Disneyland. The younger generation may find it boring and uninteresting. This may be largely due to poor marketing approaches in coming up with the proper advertising and promotions to make Intramuros brightly and vibrantly appealing to the majority market sector. The design and implementation of programs to highlight the strengths of Intramuros, call for a leadership style with flair, even in a symbolic manner.

Other than those well-preserved commercial-cum-residential heritage locations mostly in Luzon like Vigan (in Ilocos Sur), and Taal (in Batangas), Intramuros remains a central vestige of the Philippines’ Hispanic heritage, being located in the country’s capital city. So as to put a stop to the slow degeneration of the Walls due to inability to sustain the interests of the majority of our youth, we need a different framework in our approaches in updating Intramuros.

Some cheeky suggestions to boot, that I hope can be put in place, by the community at large, in one variant or another, come into mind. More than just making the Walls a periodic topic in travelogues, we need to make it more relevant to the majority. Though this may call for more political decisiveness, we can make the sector more liveable and vibrant by targetting the young from 18 to 40 years old, those with the gung-ho attitidue in life, into developing their affordable homes in the historic vicinity (if this may not be considered sacrilegious enough by most purists). Schools and universities are within the Walls are okay, as they make Intramuros look uptodate and populous at least in the morning, but we normally look for other places of interests in spots like Intramuros. We look forward to seeing more activity laden spots inside Intramuros, more than beyond museums, libraries, small parks, and food booths. A tram service can be ideally put in place, at least one electrically run system that will pass by all major encircling paths with designated stops in (or outside, as the case maybe) the Walls. A palengke, on a smaller scale, say two blocks though as it may lead to dirt collection related problems, may yet turn Intramuros to be more livelier and economically active. Or we can select and put in place the state-of-the-art facilities and infrastructure to have Intramuros become the hub of internet service providers, where cybercafes may also proliferate at rates affordable to the studentry.

We can help evolve Intramuros into a more unique heritage location that will be a major benchmark that has been well preserved, and notably well restored among the rest of Hispanic cities in the world. But as we proceed with this, we get the feel that everything in Intramuros is dated, even the very act of thinking of refurbishing the image of Intramuros.

But there are those who have found Intramuros to be a place beyond their wildest night dreams. My share of these stories continue, but we need to put the Walls first in their more proper perspective in a kaleidoscopic, whirlwind approach in the next few chapters of this writing endeavor.

You get to discover many interesting facts about Intramuros, if you decide to cruise there yourself. Also, there are the surviving churches namely San Agustin Church and the Manila Cathedral – structures which have stood despite the Great War, fires and earthquakes. The former being the only edifice among twelve churches in the pre war Intramuros to have remained relatively unscathed by the massive bombing of Manila during the Great War. It actually forms part of the list of cultural heritage structures, which the United Nations has lately been developing and preserving, especially the San Agustin Church that repainted itself in its claimed-original cream, colored hues, very similar to the hues found in century-old churches in Southern Iloilo. We note as well that the tomb of one of the colonizing founders of Manila, has been laid in crypt inside the San Agustin Church.

While the relatively newer Manila Cathedral, with its great cupola, being a reconstructed concrete Gothic inspired structure based on the surviving pre-war plans, has actually evolved from the blueprints of earlier versions. The Cathedral has undergone a number of reconstruction and restorations in the past due also to quite a number of fires, earthquakes and human whims. It seems to signal that life indeed in Manila is jutted with one or more of those natural calamities that strike people out of their deadening, slow paced, insecure lives in the Capital. For starters, they might have wanted to find time in pondering on its modern and quaint series of glass stained windows depicting varied religious events and personalities.

There are still the ruins near the Arzobispo St of the former San Ignacio Church whose Doric design can still be figured out. Also, several appealing monuments can be found littered in the vicinity of the Walls. These have been mainly done in the classical mode. Some have stood for a time; some have been more recent for the memory of those souls who have gone before us. Among which include the classically rendered Legazpi and Urdaneta Monument on the corner of Burgos St and Bonifacio Drive with the one side of the Manila Hotel fronting it. Recently, Ninoy Aquino’s statue has started standing there. Also, the Isabel II monument, the stamp of which says it has been transferred from one site to another, after it had languished for long period of time in a warehouse somewhere during the Spanish period. Of more recent vintage is the very classical monument of the esteemed painter Juan Luna very near the Puerta Real. Yes, the Fort Santiago which contains the Rizal Shrine, with the ever changing skyline of Binondo across the Pasig River as one looks over at the horizon, remains interesting enough, inspite of some questionable markers, plus the dubious efforts to mine supposedly buried treasure in the site. PETA’s plays are also still being performed in a uniquely designed open theatre inside the Fort. Some of these stageplays on alternative relationships and lifestyles have interestingly provided a deeper context of what takes in the wider expanse of the Intramuros. If only those who have watched these plays have known, they would have appreciated all those scenes in a more, spirited manner. To move forward along the remaining Walls of the Intramuros, we find some aberrations to cater to certain needs of the business sector. To account for this in particular, the golf course has sprouted and has been recently improved to cater to particular well paying sector.

There are also the other structures that have sprouted recently in the grand Castillian design of architecture, without any note from any particular period. The more notable among these are the reconstructed Palacio del Gobernador, the Casa Manila Museum, and the San Luis Complex. These buildings are actually being lived in and used by a variety of hosts and organizations. They include office workers, restaurants, trading houses, government offices, colleges, museums, manning offices, shipping lines, publishing houses, and, of course, as residential houses. Of course, the squatters are still there (although their numbers have diminished somewhat or they must have been better organized lately). Yet, nothing beats the Walls that cover the peripherals of Intramuros itself. I have yet to overcome this sense of intrigue whenever I recall memories that took place in these Walls (as well as nearly outside its peripherals).

The Walls fronting the Manila Hotel have been restored in the mid 80’s. We now see remnants of the very old Bastion de San Diego. Curiously, this site never fails to put forward all kinds of interesting imaginations as I gaze before circular formations of granites and slabs of stone that used to be fortifications against the dreaded enemies of the Spaniards then. Even the top couple among the royalty of Spain, that used to colonize the Philippines for nearly four hundred years, took time out to visit this set of ruins. I’ve felt odd looking at their published photos as they gawked on the circular concrete remains of structures where the Spanish military before used to keep materials for use against attacks and monumental events. The installed marker says the circular formations also used to serve as warehouses for canonpowder, and other armaments, and the whole place itself is one of the oldest sections of the Intramuros Walls. From time to time, golfballs get to accidentally drop from their intended trajectories and coming down to earth instead on top of these Walls where there are sections ready to catch these balls which people living in the area collect for resale later at very cheap prices.

A walking tour which I may usually start from atop any of the nearby gates always leads my feet in routing towards an impressive view of the golf course, and the structures enclosed by the Walls, including ruins of Fr Blanco’s Garden, the unmarked government warehouse where COMELEC garbage ballot boxes are stocked, among others. On certain days, particularly on weekends, men gather to engage in fishing using a hook or a rod for the catch swimming in one of the manmade ponds in the golf course. One never get to ignore the presence of a giant machine gun, which we hope is no longer functional, installed along a yawning gap of the section of the Wall fronting Burgos St. leading towards the Manila Hotel on the perpendicular side. This huge machine gun, a very rare WW II relic that is ominously pointed towards the direction of the Luneta, has survived the Great War, and I guess, it will serve as a reminder to those in the present generation, until another War comes again for more irreparable devastation.

I once had the chance to take a stroll inside the small separate fort of San Pedro, one rainy morning. I recall having seen inside the enclosed Walls some huge bottled containers with unmistakable long human bones inside, crudely exhibited to make a statement about the destruction of the Walls. Just like one of the smaller forts (now still closed) inside Fort Santiago, these bones were collected from the diggings made in the area. I remember having read somewhere that the place was one of the bloody sites of the Siege of Manila in the last moments of WWII. I just wonder why this small Fort has remained closed todate. Also, the authorities have now removed some of the “professional” squatters who used to occupy this side of the Walls. Their former presence gives a different flavor of backdrop that are familiarly felt and seen in some Lino Brocka films showing contrasts of poor squatters’ areas set against solid, high Walls from another milleau.

Among other experiences, I’ve seen some vagabond breed of fellows catching low flying quail birds in the area where some small trees are now struggling to grow. Perhaps, the catch would serve as the day’s meal. As usual, heady events take place in the whole length of this Section, mainly in the evening, even with all the security guards roaming around. From one of the jutting outposts atop the Walls fronting the Manila Hotel, which we usually see in most advertisements on the Intramuros Walls, I saw some emerging bodies. One by one, the three fellows walked passed by me. We gave each other due recognition. All three had the look of having just made it, I felt envious, I thought I needed to proceed myself.

I also remember having been to the old Manila Aquarium in Puerta Real when I was still in grade school. I recall having been given the tour, together with my classmates, inside the Walls one very late afternoon. After our class had just been finished touring some other spots in Manila (including that Martial-Law Era cultural exhibit put in place at the Central Post Office in Lawton on the excavated life-size army of sculptures to guard the tomb of a very important ancient Chinese Emperor). As far as I could recall from some extant memory pieces, the Aquarium was pretty unique. I remember, the Aquarium had had many big size fish glass tanks where we could gaze innocently at those interesting and pretty colored fishes. I was pretty much in a daze while looking at those fishes in the Aquarium, underneath the mossy and dark colored concrete ceiling from wall to wall. We emerged from the Walls already in the very early evening. My teacher must have thought of sharing us the experience of seeing the district as she must have thought that it looks better in the evening as its brightly lighted. But then, I remember our bus going through some dark and deserted side streets in Intramuros as our bus proceeded to the Fort Santiago. Even then, my main recollection of Intramuros has been that of “covering darkness that envelops ourselves.” In any case, I never heard of that old Manila Aquarium for a long time again in the papers until only lately in 1998 when it was reopened again by another enterprising group.

During one of my visits to the Geronimo Berenguer De Los Reyes Museum inside the Gateway Business Park in General Trias, Cavite, I chanced upon old photos of Intramuros. I just couldn’t fathom the process as to how this whole area, I call the Walls, have turned into a cruising ground. Perhaps, there has simply been the need to come up with a place where many men in a particular need may get to encounter some others who can provide for the absolution of their urgent need, even for quite a short passing few minutes, come rain or shine. The photos shown in the Museum looked like they were very comfortable and languid, though, the houses are definitely looking rather stylized European set of architecture in a warm, Southeast Asian country. Even the interior of the houses looked European, coyly copying anything from that Continent which people then thought to be superior than what the locals had then outside Intramuros and, practically the whole country. Everything about the photos showed people who lived in a slow and relaxed pace, except perhaps those in Chinatown, across the Pasig River, where even then quite a number of shops were already recognizable. From the faces of the those people pictured and posing gamely in the photos, I could feel the kind of laidback lifestyle that the people then pursued almost daily, until all the Wars that took place permanently vanished any vestige of this lifestyle nowadays.

People living in the Walls seemingly had that strong sense of seclusion inside the Walls. Moats protected the Walls from intrusions from all its side, except perhaps the area near the Intendencia. I was pretty curious about this old photo showing the Ateneo de Manila’s bridge structure connecting two buildings across streets, looking so Venetian without the murky water that flows underneath. All the other photos showing Intramuros, reveal fascinating intricate and intrusive details. It seemed to me that even during those times, people went on cruising the Walls to get into the other aspects of their lives. The Walls had the feel of an aged elevated promenading area, with tall, old trees, excepting those portions in the Walls where the military had lodged themselves to cast out the ordinary mortals. Would these people had they lived their lives now, allow all these ongoing heady events taking place in the Walls? Practically all these went up the smoke and massive artillery bombings particularly during the time when General McArthur’s forces were retrieving Manila from the crazy-stricken Japanese.

- “The move by certain sectors to cheapen the Intramuros Wall should be met with angry protests by us, the ROTC cadets of the Adamson University in December 1941. We consider the Intramuros Wall hallowed ground. On dec. 8, 1941, the day after Pearl Harbor was bombed, we had our baptism of fire there.

At 9 a.m. , a Japanese Zero (as the enemy plane was called) strafed the machine gun emplacement on top of the Intramuros Wall beside the Adamson University. The two cadets operating the machine gun were protected only by a small steel plate. They bravely returned fire.

Inside the university, cadet officers armed with automatic rifles lay prone and looked up to the open skylight of the atrium, waiting for the Japanese Zero in case it would come back to strafe again.

When a Filipino looks at the Intramuros Wall, he should observe a moment of silence for the Adamson University cadets who were among the first to fight so that Filipinos might live in freedom.” -
Isagani G. Bautista Sr
(Letters of the Editor, Philipine Daily Inquirer August 29, 2000)

It dawned on me that even during the Spanish Period, the Walls of Intramuros already looked aged. It’s as if they’re standing there for quite a long while. It’s as if these Walls have been standing all there along even before the other structures have been put in place. There was one photo which shows the remains of concrete structure after a major earthquake, and it seems only the Walls had endured the earthshaking intensity that shook down to their foundations the other structures. This is the same look, same feel even these days for the ruins, which I have discovered during my motions of my concerns. Looking as ancient as they were even in those old photos, these Walls must have undergone so much, more than the kind of exposure that they have day in and day out all these hundreds of years.

3. The Beginning Encounters

2007-08-29T18:54:00.000-07:00

Index:
A guy in fresh denims
A former college athletic (soccer) scholar
An uptight and not-so-truthful fellow

“…there are places we all come from – deep-rooty-common places – that make us who we are. And we disdain them or treat them lightly at our peril. We turn our bakcs on them at the risk of self-contempt. There is a sense in which we need to go home again – and can go home again. Not to recover home, no. But to sanctify memory.”
Robert Fulghum

I fail to recall whoever might have been the first person I casually had sex with at the Walls. Whoever he was, he certainly might have relieved himself, illicitly, with much hurried yet strange sense of physical pleasure. The same experience happened with me.

I remember someone wearing brand new denims I met just outside the Walls facing Lyceum near the underpass, very near the Revellin del Parian. It was past 11 PM and there were many others cruising. Also, there were many who were just passing by, I guess. I felt the urge to really be able to make it soon, as I needed to be home soon. This one just jutted out of nowhere while I was studying the numerous vehicles passing by where I positioned myself. The streetlights beyond somehow supported to cast an eerie combination of dirt, bodily longing, and darkness. Streetlights were off then that night, particularly in that circle where I placed myself.

The Walls stood at the distance. I happened to pass by this friendly stranger. I saw an athletic man with a fresh short haircut wearing a clean white round neck shirt. Looking more like a college student than myself who was then in college, I realize I was meeting someone very relishing that night. The urge surged itself - rushing like very strong waterfalls - beyond proportions in my mind. Knowingly, I acknowledged my attraction to this man who sent the proper signals.

“Dito tayo, gawin mo sa akin, gagawin ko rin sa ‘yo! (We're safe here...do it to me,.....and i'll do it you after you're done with me!)” as he approached me after we studied each other in barely three minutes.

I understood soon that we had to do it beside the dark portion of the underpass, near the bushes where curious passersby could easily see us. Cars continue passing by from Divisoria and Binondo. The man looked like he has just bought a fresh pair of denims, which fitted his size proportionately well. The smell of fresh, new denims just couldn’t get over me – such that I recall the night as well as the person todate with the same urgent desire to relieve myself. I zippered down his pants and proceeded to partake of the flesh before me, which looked meaty enough. His warm body just couldn’t cope with my hands as I submitted myself to his yearnings. Suddenly, the smell of the whole place brought forth memories of those whom I have met earlier. Tensely, I worked on whatever I could handle until he was over. I remember I was glad he did reciprocate my act. He did particularly well as I guided him to what really excited me then. Soon, we were both finished in 12 minutes. I never had the chance to ask anything of his identity. I just recall the freshness of it all, which todate I particularly remember. I have never met him again.

I knew I wanted more yet I couldn’t recall if I still went on cruising that night. Yet evenings like these became common for the past years. Such past evenings – the mixed pungent, salty and musky smell of which repeated even after our family has overcome the collective weariness of the thought of Mother’s near-total disability in Jordan – continue to unfold everytime I decide I have to get over myself. Mother and I have recently been able to talk on the near traumatic family event. I was just prayerful with many thanks most times. She has yet to be informed on the indirect result that her near death abroad has brought to me.

These days, there are nights when I have felt I needed divine intervention just as to be able to make it through the night. Nights when my longings just get as confused as my imaginings. Stoically, I have braved it out there in the Walls, or at times, just about anywhere. Nevertheless, I have realized that in the Walls, as in the other cruising grounds, there, indeed, are really many numbers of men who have been also in search just like me. We collectively search continuously for relatively freer grounds to just be ourselves, without the cloth of deception, practically to anyone. We search for the need to be accepted in our own terms, without the dangers and annoyances of disbelief, disgust, and bigotry, both on the surface and underneath the various levels in our society.

In retrospect, I have never been able to completely identify what I really wanted in the first place. Nor even come up with a fragment of the definitive meaning on what I have been doing. Nevertheless, I have partaken much, for which I have been thankful of what has been presented to me in return. I just want to tell my “stories” in their integral chapters that may at times will have no endings, just those others out there whose stories beg to be narrated (so to say), and be affirmed as good, honest persons with integrity in the process. Though, of course, this wanting “to tell stories” will have consequences forthcoming as well in the process.
* * * * * * *

Another among my earliest encounters has been this one with a former college athletic (soccer) scholar of Adamson University. Given my efforts in recollecting details about this guy, I guess, he must have asked me to do things on him, which I thought to be rather puking then.

I remember this guy, who must have been in his early thirties’ then, have been working in the warehouse section of a multinational pharmaceutical firm in Makati. He thought of cruising near along Manila Hotel one of those earliest evenings that I decided to cruise in the Walls. Very much naïve then, I realized I must have shown him signals that he thought could be very well be the hallmarks of someone in cruising. He was married with a child, and his wife then was visiting her parents in the province. He must have had felt the urge so much so that instead of proceeding to go to their house in Pasay City, he thought of cruising it actively out in the Walls.

He must have been one of the first of batches of men whom I have agreed to spend a night with in a motel somewhere in Sta Cruz. He got pretty disappointed, actually, when we were already in bed. I never wanted, then, to work on him orally. He kept on pleading on me to work on him practically the whole night.

“Yun dati kong roommate, minsan pinakelaman nya ako. Mula sa kama nya, ginapang nya ako, eh, marami kami sa kwarto noon. Natuwa yata sa nangyari sa amin. Nasarapan naman ako. Naulit pa iyon, hanggang sa naging madalas. Natapos lang nung grumaduate na kami (I had a former roommate who once fondled me one night. From his bed, he crawled slowly to get into mine, which was very daring of him, as there were others who were soundly sleeping that night in that same room. He must have extremely enjoyed himself that first night. I actually relish the experience myself, just like very good food. We did it again, until it became routine. We just parted ways when we graduated from college)” as he related one of his more significant physical and erotic encounters with men.

Back then, I was pretty much disgusted by engaging in such acts, although he was very much pretty well hung with a muscular body to boot, given that he’s only in his mid early 30s then. Just like the rest of us, I have had my share of sexual hang-ups, and quite unsure of what I like to engage and share in bed. I remember the two of us in that motel room just having our naked bodies pressed tightly together while in bed – the whole night. I remember him walking in the room naked, to show me his disappointment, while the lights were on, I saw how well built his body has been.

“Kung yung iba ang nandito ngayon, kanina pa ako nakaraos (If there was someone else with me here in this bed, I would have come by now)” I recall him remarking at me.

I remember having taken much rein in my urges then to simply do to him those activities from which I have gained much confidence to engage much, much graphically, sexually later on. I guess, we need to be guided step by step just as to fully enable ourselves to confidently engage in these sexual acts. These sets of behavior apparently do not come automatic especially when needed.
* * * * * * *

I met one certain fellow who could have easily turned out to be personification of dishonesty to one’s self. He was pretty confusing as soon as we got to agree that we were doing it that night.

Or I must have been very hard on him, as I try to comprehend his inconsistent behavior towards me. Although on second thought, admittedly, each one of us, in the whole place, has our individual bag of dishonesties, in trying to prevent others to see us in our bare, vulnerable selves, warts and all.

I made it with this man that night, thinking that I could have made it out with someone worthy, at the least, and gratifying at the most. A professional auditor, who works with Commission on Audit, he was rather edgy that night yet I could see through his eagerness, as he went out of his way to approach me at my seat at one of those concrete benches in the Walls.

Yet at the same time, he was rather uptight, like he couldn’t show his real self correctly to me. I just took everything as a learning process. He was rather tender and soft, and was rather uninhibited about kissing, hugging and all the works, which I found rather pretty exciting. I particularly recall exchanging such heated kisses with him, as I wondered how I got to land here as I tried to be as expressive as I could. I longed to have both of our bodied be tightly connected, at least physically for a few hours. Yet right after coming, I saw his face looking like in total disbelief and sorrow over what he had recently done, of the utter sinfulness of the whole act. His eyes showed the cowed displeasure he had after we come. Looking back, I realized I could see guilt-personified on his bright face. I remember his cute face, plus a nice naked, well-maintained body, as he shook me out the bed. I wondered why we weren’t joyously celebrating at all the blessing that we may have admitted, which normally we have, at least, after each coming. I couldn’t believe him as he showed me that face, with changing “characters” in a matter of second.

He made some sarcastic remarks, as were rushing to put on our clothes, like everything about our bodies are totally filthy beyond repair. I felt instantly like moving out as fast as I could, even like running the fastest run I could give away from the nightmare inside that cheap motel room. I thought I would be seeing no more of him, as I thought he was having grave difficulties accepting the other aspects of himself.

Yet, I saw this same guy again somewhere in a second run theatre, somewhere in Meycauayan, Bulacan. I saw him again in the deep recesses of another cheap theatre in Cubao. Both theatres are known todate to be cruising grounds for people like us, and those prostitutes hounding all of us, if given the chance. He still looks stoically cold, yet physically interesting person that challenges other cruisers. I supposed he must have been married by this time (I remember he told me his plans of getting married).

Soon, I’ve grown to realize I should be developing the expertise in recognizing the type. This type should be refused, at all costs, as he makes you go down the lower depths of possessing the ill traits a poorly developed self-confidence level. Negative vibes hound you after you have realized you have met the “type.”

Actually, every now and then, I particularly remember having met another similar fellow, of the similar variety, although belonging to the same species, who seems to merely finds enjoyments in the details of seducing guys who would get to think of him as someone with such a superb body, as he actually is physically……….yet there is the persistent disdain in his face, as one goes about working in him. The type simply makes me shake my head in disbelief.

4. Some Engaging Evenings

2007-08-29T18:50:00.000-07:00

"Victoria Kapauan-Gaerlan photos [color]"
Index
Some Policemen I know
Someone Caught
Some small talk with a couple in a Foodstall
Myself, when caught
A few medical doctors out there
An apprehended friend & the anecdotes he told me
Myself, when caught (as continued)
A tall fellow in T-shirt
Caught by Security Personnel in the fields
Being held-up

In this representative world of disbelief about men who actually get physically sexual with other men, the Police likewise lurk just like the rest of the primary actors. I have had my share with them, both pleasant and otherwise. Most of us always like to fantasize about men in uniform, particularly those in the military and the police. They always have that certain attraction that most of us recognize, yet we deny to a ridiculous extent.

In this lifestyle, most of us would have our own share of stories about men who are in uniform, who are also men who are attracted to other men. Variations come about in the form of encounters dealing with uniformed men, who are basically just like the rest of us.

In fact, I met quite a number of good friends via these experiences in my dealings with those in the Police. These past years, they have actually made great showdowns in the Walls. Events which have rarely been reported in the papers. Before, they even have made use of high school students as Junior Police in their efforts to catch those who are cruising in the Walls. Thank God, I have been in good fortune not to undergo the humiliating experience of dealing with them when you are caught there out of their fanciful notions of your kind or perhaps due to vagrancy, or whatever.

Once, I saw one young man, running away from the Police who were fast running after him. He was caught.

“’Tang ina mo! Tsumutsupa ka dito! Pinahirapan mo pa kami! (Fuck you! You cocksucker! You had to make us ran fast to catch you!)” as they pounced at him.

“May nahuli nga dati dito na sa gobyerno nagtatrabaho. May dala syang malaking envelop na puno ng pera. Tumatakbo sya para makatakas pero na julieann din sya. Siguro kinuha na rin yung pera nya…, eh, mukhang marami pa naman syang dala, (We heard about someone who got caught here, he's a government employee. He had with him a big envelope, full of money. He ran as fast as he could, but the cops still cornered him up. I think they must have taken the envelope full of money from, as they saw it was bulging with so much money, so many bills!)” pausing as he sipped on his cup of coffee. “Nagmakaawa sya na pakawalan na sya, may pamilya daw sya, may tatlong anak, nakakahiya daw pag nalaman nila. Nilait pa sya ng pulis, ba’t daw sya nandito kung may asawa na sya. O diba, wala akong masabi sa nangyari sa kanya? (He pleaded for his life with the cops...that he's a family man, with three children; it's gonna be shameful if they get to know that he was caught here doing these acts. The cops just laughed at him, and ignored him. He should have not gone here, if he's a family man, in the first place)” as I overheard someone describing one who was caught one cruising evening at the Walls.

In my early cruises in the Walls, I recall having encountered the Police as they were in search for something in the area. Nowadays, I think, the Police just opted to proceed with a thorough search in the area, as they must have been hearing complaints from some individuals, who must have thought of seeing criminal types in the Walls, almost every now and then. Or maybe, I was just being naïve then, yet when I saw them coming towards my direction, I knew I had to do something to convince them I was not among the types that they are in search for something which they deemed to be illegal. I instantly showed them my ID, and explained that I have working with the media, as I showed them samples of magazines which I was carrying then inside my bag, in order to prove to them that I was just doing research work. Miraculously, the Police took my reason to be credible enough. The Police even admonished me to be very careful whenever I am in the area, as it’s known to have been visited by those whom we categorize as someone engaging in the unlawful. On hindsight, I wondered how the Police was able to believe me in the incredible excuse that I had that night. Perhaps, it’s due to my ID, which I almost always carry with me almost everytime I am around in the vicinity.
* * * * * * *

While taking the usual midnight walk along the cemented pathway towards the National Museum, I saw the usual congregation of men who usually group together in a makeshift foodstall, the typical carinderia where jeepney, taxi and bus drivers have their on the road meals. While sipping my coffee, I noticed one interesting man who was with his much younger interesting lover as well (apparently for the night).

“Wala pang pulis ngayon? (Have you not seen any cops tonight?)” I forwarded the question to the couple, in the hope that I could at least catch the attention of either one of them.

“Wala siguro, nandito na sila kagabi. Ano ba ngayon, payday?(I don't think there would be cops tonight. Last night they were here, though. Is it payday today?)"

“Di ‘no, (No, it's not payday today.)” as both of them looked heartily towards each other, swiftly showing to me my poor chances.

“Nung isang linggo may natagpuang bangkay ng mama dyan sa may mga puno, sa may imburnal. Mukhang nahulog yata, ni walang syang ID (Last week, a corpse, that of a man, was found among those trees, close to the drainage. He looked like he fell into the drainage by accident. He had no ID with him),” as the foodstall owner (or manager) blurted out. “Ingat kayo ngayon dito. Nag patrol na naman sila, maraming nahuli. Siguro iyong isang iyon, sa kamamadaling makatakas, hindi nakita yung butas, sumuot tuloy sya. Siguro bumagok yung ulo, dead agad sya…(Take much care tonight. The cops are on patrol tonight; they have caught many, actually. I think that guy who was found dead must have been running away from the cops. He failed to see the drainage, and must have fell inside, and must have broken his skull, so he died instantly),” as he narrated matter of factly.
* * * * * * *

I had the chance to be caught finally while cruising one very ordinary evening at the pathway between the two flyovers going to Divisoria and Sta Cruz. The place, just over the Bonifacio Monument in front of the Post Office, was absent with the usual number of people. Still, I convinced myself there must be somebody around to provide what I wanted then. Hungry then for something very exciting, I was studying my pace and the setting, when someone of small built approached me.

“Anong ginagawa mo dito? Alam mo bang bawal na dito ang ginagawa mo! Halika!! (What are you doing here? What you're doing is illegal; don't you know that? Come here!),” as he demanded that I approach him, “Hwag kang tatakbo! (Don't you ever dare run away!)”

I surrendered myself as I saw a gun pointed at me.

“Pulis ako. Patingin ng ID mo!! (I'm a cop. Let me see your ID!!),” as he poked the gun at me. Upon showing him several of my IDs, he decided I was the otherwise of what he thought (I guess). “Bawal na dito ang tulad mo! Umuwi ka na! Makita ulit kita dito, babarilin kita! (People like you are prohibited from coming here. Go home now! The next time I'll see you here, I'll surely shoot you!),” after which he asked money for a cup of coffee which I immediately gave him just as to get out fast out of the sickening site.

“Sabi nung isang nakilala ko dito, hinuli daw sya ng pulis. O di syempre, naglalakad lang sya dyan (I once met someone here who told me about his experience, being caught by the cops, while he was just taking a walk down there, one evening)”, as he pointed to an area made up of fully grown up trees opposite and near the National Museum and the Finance Building. “Isinakay sya sa patrol. May kasama yung humuli sa kanya sa patrol. Siguro tatlo pa sila. Hay naku, yung tatlo, isa isang nagpatsupa sa kanya at yung isa, inuring pa sya. Sabi naman nya, type daw nya yung pang apat na titingin tingin lang habang nagbabati sya. Ang tahi tahimik nya, animal kung makatingin. Ano, saan sya dinala? Dun daw sa may bandang San Marcelino. Tapos syang ganunin, pinakawalan sya at winarningang umuwi na kundi……(He was brought to the cops' car. There's another cop inside the car. I think there were three cops in all. Well, what can I say? Each one took turns in having him suck their cocks; one of them even fucked him. He also said, his type was the fourth guy who just watched while he was masturbating himself. This fourth guy didn't say anything at all, but he had such passionate eyes, he recalled. What? You wanna know where he was brought by cops? I think, it was somewhere in San Marcelino. When they were done with him, he was allowed to go, and was told to go home right away, or else....)”, described by someone I met whom I thought was good enough as a prospect that night.

Really, I just got so thrilled by what he told me, I actually have looked forward to something like it for a while. Yet, perhaps, the Police have never thought of me as worthy enough to be captured as a sex toy.
* * * * * * *

Likewise, I have grown aware of the observation that the Police are largely afraid of Medical Doctors, primarily the practitioner type you usually meet in hospital emergency wards. These policemen typically don’t really relish being brought to the hospitals to be treated by them. Particularly, during emergency situations where the wounded from their kind are brought for immediate surgical attention. Those whom I have known as doctors, who also cruise in the walls or anywhere else in the Metropolis, confirm this observation. They gladly take their revenge upon remembering how the Police failed to give them favor or just mere understanding in some earlier incidents. These physicians may have been caught in uncompromising situations during cruising periods, yet the Police may have refused to understand – misdeeds, which will be paid, in return when the Police are brought to the hospital.
* * * * * * *

I stood waiting at the Western Police District Office in UN Avenue where my friend was billeted. He, together with some other men, were unfortunate enough to be caught by a passing Fierra jeep (was it red, or yellow? I couldn’t recall) with the Police during one of their sweeping drive against whatever was illegal that night. My friend tried to flee away by crossing over the island in front of Mehan, where I saw him feigning an act like waiting for a jeepney ride leading to Sta Cruz. He could have stood beside me in the spot where I sensed I was safe (all lights were on at the waiting shed where I acted as if I was buying Halls). The effect my friend tried to project failed, I saw him being fetched by two men looking like the Police. Thankfully, he didn’t struggle unlike those others I saw. They tried to flee away. One was even chased by at least five men looking like the Police. I could discern the grit and madness of struggling it out against these men. I prayed and was thankful, I had the chance to cross from Mehan to the island on the other side, just minutes before the Police came. On hindsight, I actually thought they were coming. I asked around where they could have possibly brought my friend. The men who looked like the Police kept an eye of suspicion at me. One by one, I saw some of those who were caught leaving the jail. One guy was cursing; another one has just stopped crying. I waited for four hours until 4 am when I finally saw my good-looking friend at the United Nations Avenue Police Station. He was already sleepy and he then thanked me for taking the trouble to wait for him.

“Yung isa, nakitaan ng picture nya na nakapose sya ng hubo. Sa Saudi raw sya nagpakuha ng ganon. Napahiya tuloy sya lalo. Ewan ko kung ano’ng mangyayari sa kanya (I know someone who was caught by the cops, and they saw in his wallet his nude photo. He told the cops that he had the photo taken in Saudi Arabia. He was so much ashamed, as he admitted this to the cops. I don't know what else happened to him),” my friend narrated to me.

Those caught were interrogated, and some men went out to pay grease money in fear that they would be undergoing more forms of harassment. It’s a Saturday then so they couldn’t be charged, I guess, so they had to wait until Monday, a prospect unacceptable to any one. My friend just talked it out, and paid something like over a hundred pesos. He was allowed to go after a particularly interesting Policeman took fancy of him. Nevertheless, he was never hurt. We eventually became good friends, even now that he’s already in the US.

The Police may keep on a tight lid on their lips on the idea that their own kind actually cruises in the Walls. One friend got one great surprise for himself when he met someone of his type. Typically seeking out big men who wear the usual tees and denims, my friend soon found out someone whose real identity showed out in one cheap motel room.

“Sige pa, sige pa, kainin mo lahat. Sa iyo yan…(Go, take it all, it's all yours!)” as the man kept on shoving himself heavily as he stood on the bed against the wall before my friend who gladly extended all that he could provide.

The aftermath of the whole scene proceeded to a usual more revealing and surprising talk. The man eventually admitted his profession to my friend. From his wallet, a Police badge was showed to my friend – a proof of no joking yet very confirming matter. He even swore where he was currently assigned then. My friend remembers smiling to himself, as he continued sharing details with me.

Yet, the Police are still needed to be roaming within the area. I once saw a young man, hurrying fast away from some bushy area near the Gomburza monument along Burgos St. He was approached by an acquaintance, I guess. I saw he was bloodied on his side. Outfitted in chambray and looking like he was fresh from a party, he was shouting something like “wag kayong pupunta doon, nadukutan ako….dalhin nyo ako sa ospital!! (Get away from that place. I was just robbed....help, someone bring me to the hospital)” as I heard him say. Somewhat, I prayed and was thankful I was not in his shoes. I saw him earlier, as our paths crossed ways, but I ignored him as I was looking for a particular type then. This man tried to show us how he got into that mess – I realize that this whole place is similarly configured as the rest of the Metropolis, with lots of police characters around.
* * * * * * *

Actually, I recall now that way back then, I once got to meet the Police more closely when they picked me up one night in front of the Gomburza Monument, when it was brightly lighted then. (They do fix the lighting fixtures in the Walls, every now and then, yet it seems the whole place is eternally dark, except now, when the Golf Course, bright lights are on until past midnight when the personnel have finished watering the greens). I happened to be sitting on a bench to relieve myself out of my drunkenness as I just came from a party. I simply got myself so much booze, I smelled of strong liquor. The Police just picked me up as its jeepney fierra stopped for a while in the area, to pick suspected personalities. The fierra was then full of other fellows who were, like me, picked up from some other spots of the area. The fierra still drove through the Park to pick up some other types, which I supposed included my own. I was rather nervous as they were putting us inside the cell among those jailed fellows inside the Western Police District quarters in the Quirino Grandstand, where they traditionally stage the Philippine President’s inaugural speech before the teeming masses of haves and have-nots. I might have had that pleading look that a big Policeman took fancy of me, as I explained to him that I, am, indeed a “good person, that I didn’t intend to do any harm to anyone” in whispers. I just couldn’t stand the filthiness of the cell, particularly from inside.

I watched a young, well dressed fellow make a phone call, and demanding some help from his end of the line. He was distressed as he sounded to me as I soon observed myself instantly cured of my drunkenness. I simply became sober. And I thought of my condition as I heard the Police informing us that we would have to wait until Monday (it was a Saturday then), before somebody could come up from the government office to make arrangements for us to be listed in the official Police records. Meanwhile, we would have to wait. I felt dreadful as I again looked for the Policeman who was rather friendly at me. Still quite young, and impressive in his uniform, he could easily been one of my drinking fellows who were just having fun with me a few hours earlier. I felt sorry about my self, as I promised myself not to get into this kind of set up again. I prayed and thought about how to step out of the cell as fast I possibly could. I just didn’t know if I felt humiliated, but it simply didn’t feel to make any major difference at all.

I soon became logical in my approach and said to myself, the Police were just stressing us to engage into something else. We were simply not being charged. I saw some fellows reaching outside the cell by showing some bills of money. Some of those with me in the fierra were soon out. This option was not available to myself as I carried not much cash that night. I spent my money earlier in the drinking bout with my friends. But I saw some strange looking young fellows who were searched for the usual tattoos or body marks as the Police. In an instant, they were naked before us as I watched the electric stove heat up the water kettle that the Police was using to make coffer for themselves in the ongoing events in the Station. Some Policemen were rather harsh in their treatment with some familiar fellows whom they must have encountered in previous engagements. They have grown weary and familiar with the types who have gone so smart about the system. I noted that these are exactly the types who get themselves published later on the papers as “victims of salvage.”

I signaled again at the Policeman. He showed me some kind of kindness that I could discern from his face. I explained that I was simply trying to loose myself from my stupor from all the heavy drinking I had earlier with some friends of mine, in the most honest manner that I could act out. I didn’t talk with anybody else. I couldn’t call some other friends; it was simply beyond the options available to me. I gave him a calling card of mine, that indicates the kind of work I do, other than getting drunk with some other friends during the weekends. I even got the guts to explain to him that I could help him some other time, if the situation calls for it. He must have pitied me, as he noted that I worked in Makati (for whatever it’s worth, I mentally recorded). Or he must have judged, I didn’t look like the typical fellow whom he gets to meet in the place. I like to credit him, nevertheless, for not harassing me further out of my dreadful situation. He must have been being very professional about it. He showed me more leniency as he explained, he’ll help me get out of the dreadful cell, in a few minutes. Meanwhile, I could just wait as I saw him prepare a cup of coffee.

I was out after more than an hour of sticking it out inside the smelly cell. The Policeman admonished me from not getting myself caught again in the same ridiculous situation. I was so thankful as I noticed my head bowed down all throughout the exercise. The Police was rather selective of those whom they jot down in their Police Record. They weren’t actually writing on the official Police Record Book, but on sheets of white paper. Something was rather dubious about the set up. I smile every
time I get to recall this episode that I have tried to erase out of my whole record of memory. Being the first time, I felt I have gained so much from the experience. I felt stronger and braver. I knew I could move on.
* * * * * * *

Near the Finance Building (which they have recently renovated to be part of the National Museum Complex), I once saw a tall, big fellow in his shorts and T-Shirt. Actually, I saw him standing on the island, among small, thin trunk trees amidst the elevated space around the corner of the space in the Luneta nursery for its garden, where they keep and tendered for all the plants and small trees they distribute around the whole Rizal Park Complex. I supposed he was one of the gardeners, or one of the handymen employed by the Park. But then again, he’s too big to be considered one among them. I could see that a guard was then at his post inside the lighted small guardhouse fronting the first bent of the Burgos St coming from the Philippine Normal University. He was rather very tense, yet very sexual in his presence as he stood on his notable large, long legs, among small trees, while a few vehicles came passing by. He made the arrangement of his place to be rather smartly hidden from all these vehicles and passersby. And it was particularly dark then. Pulling down his shorts, he made me kneel in front of him, and suck him right there and then. But after a while, I got panicky. We went fast down the island and crossed the street inside the nursery, just at the back of the guardhouse. I motioned to him about the guard who might get to catch us doing our act. He motioned me to ignore him, as he knew who the guard was.

“Kaya nga ako sumenyas sa iyo, mabuti nga nakita mo ako sa dilim dito (That was why I was giving you the signals; I'm glad you saw me even in that pitch black darkness),” as he revealed a cute smile behind a face that one typically encounters somewhere in the streets of Manila or in Cebu City.

We just casually continued the earlier disrupted set of sexual motions until he came. Getting numbed on his legs, he almost fell on the potted plants on his back as we were in the last few minutes of the act. I was apprehensive all along but I figured out that this could have been one of my very few chances of meeting him. Pulling up his shorts, he gave me a rather warm pat on my neck as he was leading me towards Burgos Street. I saw him smiling at me again as he waved his goodbye at me as I crossed the street when I glanced back.
* * * * * * *

Below is a clipping, which I made by cutting and pasting from an online page about Intramuros, to give readers a respite from the continuing descriptions on cruising encounters in and around the Walls. This tome endeavors to show how other people look at the Walls, and place its cultural value among other places worth preserving and maintaining for future generations. This book endeavors to show, which can be found in many pages of its publication, what has happened to the Walls as they relate to the life of this author and his encounters with others that happened primarily within the Walls. He even studied inside the Walls, in his undergraduate years, where he gained to start a curiosity about these Walls. In the process of describing, some may get to be offended, to which no apologies will be offered. There are worst things out there in real life, than just to focus on what has been described here in less polite manner. The apparent exposure of shame, which some will endeavor to ignore, dismiss, or just deny, and which some may detect, or perhaps some may miss, will hopefully bring out the necessary desires and rage among influential readers to take action now to put value to what our ancestors have built up and bequeathed to us in their current physical state. There's a continuing lack of gratitude for what our forbears have given us as they passed into other stages of life. Hence, this also accounts for continuing prevalence of living in a state of lack i.e. poverty of the mind, poverty in material wealth, among members of the present generation, instead of a more positive state of abundance. But we will hopefully learn in time.

There is the absence of having a romantic outlook towards the appreciation of these Walls on the part of the author for certain reasons. These Walls, and its surrounding environs, first of all, posses high economic value, in the scheme of things found in current Philippine society. Moreso, they continue to be ignored, just like other historical places, by leaders and those in positions of power and authority (they've been spending much more time on accumulating other worldly things, while in power? I can only guess.). These Walls have been very much utilized for some other purposes, not for absence of due respect, (but mainly out of necessity as one blooms into a full human being, in the case of the author, his friends and acquaintances) than what they have been built for through the time, as the readers will have found out by now.

Monday May 14,2001, Philippines
OTHER STORIES Augusto Villalon Spaced Out
Mehan Garden bites the dust

Fusing sight and insight in Lamarroza’s THE OVERWORKED theory landscapes about Filipino horror vacui is no cliché after all. The theory is about the Filipino fear of empty space graduates with honors in that explains our predilection for filling up every square centimeter of available space with something. Sometimes it really doesn’t matter what fills the space so long as it is not vacant. The space in question can be a living workshop and the room, a printed page, a cramped jeepney hood, an embroidered barong tagalog,

Mehan Garden bites the dust - Spaced decked out for a fiesta. Less Out has never been acceptable. More and much more is really what we’re talking about. The horror vacui bug has bitten Manila Mayor Lito Atienza. First, he proposed to transfer the City College works, botanical prints of Manila from the former PNB and Kasalikasan sculpture building on Escolta to Mehan Garden. Now he plans to put up the "Park and Ride" building, a public transportation waiting shed cum shopping area cum parking building. The project is expected to eat up the remaining open chunk of Mehan Garden that the City College will leave behind.

Say goodbye to one of Manila’s endangered open spaces. It is endangered no more. It is on its way to becoming history. But Mehan Garden has history. Originally established in 1858 as the Jardin Botanico,

Mehan Garden was the first
zoological and botanical garden in Manila. In 1913 the Tuesday
park was renamed Mehan Garden
after John C Mehan, the park superintendent. For those who have forgotten,
Mehan Garden is the open space off Plaza Lawton
(across the Manila Post Office), bounded by Taft Avenue, the Metropolitan
Theater and reaching close to the Manila City Hall. It is a great location for an inner city park.

Recent years have not been
kind to the place. Today Mehan Garden is down and
nearly out. Everyone has forgotten it, leaving it to
become a poor excuse for a
public open space. Nobody really goes there, but then why should anyone go since it is not a pleasant place to be in? Trees valiantly try to
grow in the polluted area. Unkempt grass struggles for
life amid a sea of cracked concrete. Plastic bags litter the area. There is absolutely
no human life in the area. It is desolate. The only sign of life in the area is at the Manila car pound, where
traffic-violating vehicles are towed and sometimes
abandoned. Haggling over fines is the prevailing human activity around there.

A colleague observed that "The Mehan Garden is the armpit of hell; half of it is a construction site for the City College of Manila, and
the other half is a graveyard for abandoned cars. Mehan
Garden looks like the Belgian
Congo after the Belgians fled."

Obviously Mehan Garden is not much of a place. It could become a place again with a good scrubbing, minimal refurbishment and some
maintenance work, a small effort to return a
much-needed park for Manileños to vent their pressures amid greens rather
than more concrete.

Architecturally significant
Mehan Garden is not an urban
desert. It is surrounded by
architecturally significant buildings. The acknowledged Sunday
centerpiece of the area is
the venerable Metropolitan Theater, a beleaguered 1930s masterpiece of decaying Philippine art deco
architecture. The Park and Ride building obstructs the
view of one of its more important facades.
The Office of the Ombudsman
(formerly MWSS Building) on

Arroceros Street is another
noteworthy prewar building in
the Mehan Garden area.
Closer to City Hall, the
abandoned GSIS building is
waiting for the proper
architectural reuse. The
Arroceros Forest Park around
the corner from Mehan Garden
is a precious green space
that, God forbid, should fall
prey to Atienza’s urban
horror vacui.

After publicly stating his
pro-conservation stand and
acknowledging that it is only
through preserving its
heritage spaces that Manila
can ever hope to regain its
prominence, Atienza toppled
the Jai-alai building, an
architectural icon, and is
now burying the green of
Mehan Garden under concrete.
His acts show a cavalier
attitude toward heritage
spaces and open areas in the
congested city.

If Manila is trying to win
back the glory that has gone
to Makati, building Park and
Ride and the City College in
Mehan Garden is not going to
do it.

With the Park and Ride and
City College, say goodbye as
well to one of Manila’s most
historic sites. Their
foundations will disturb what
is acknowledged to be
Manila’s richest
archaeological treasures. The
National Museum has declared
the area an archaeological
site, but budget constraints
have prevented its
large-scale excavation.

Mehan Garden, located at the
center of the area stretching
from Puerta Parian of
Intramuros to the Arroceros
Street banks of the Pasig, is
on the site of the old
Parian. The Parian is the
area where Spanish
authorities quartered the
Chinese in colonial days,
making sure that when they
were shut out of Intramuros
at night, they still remained
within cannon shot.

The foundations of the Parian
are surely still under the
Mehan Garden grounds. Not
only that, the many
unexcavated archaeological
artifacts buried beneath the
grounds may piece together
still-unknown chapters of the
history of Manila. Getting to
ultimately excavate for
archaeological artifacts
depends, of course, on
whether anyone thinks it is
important to have a better
knowledge of the history of
Manila.

Pride of place

Knowing more of his city’s
history might just fill the
desperate need for the
Manileño to feel pride of
place for his city. In cities
like Paris, the
archaeological excavations
that reveal centuries-old
foundations, ruins and
artifacts from the city’s
past have become museums
popular with residents and
tourists.

In contrast, we in Manila
build over a rich
archaeological site. There
goes history and pride of
place for Manila residents,
not to mention improving the
quality of urban life.
There is a growing concern
over the disappearance of
historical sites that vanish
in the name of progress.
Mehan Garden is one such
endangered site.

The City College should go
somewhere else. There are
many empty structures in
Manila that are waiting to be
reused. In fact, the college
is now in an Escolta building
that is ripe for preservation
and adaptation. The excuse
for moving the college out is
that the existing building is
structurally unsound, a
standard finding by engineers
not sensitive to adaptive
reuse.

Why not fix and reuse the
existing City College
building?

How about decongesting Plaza
Lawton? It has suffered too
much over the years. It was
sliced up by flyovers, then
lost its landmark Insular Ice
Plant to the LRT. Now a Park
and Ride Building will scar
it some more. The Park and
Ride is a needed facility for
Manila, but there are many
other locations where it
could fit without destroying
what little is left of a
Manila landmark and precious
open space.

Jai-alai buildings can
disappear and City Colleges
can take over open spaces
like Mehan Garden because of
the lack of a comprehensive
legal framework that protects
registered heritage sites and
cultural landscapes. The
Jai-alai issue proved that
without any legal framework,
there is no way to protect
our national patrimony.

The Heritage Conservation
Society of the Philippines is
leading a lobby for the
Senate and Congress to pass a
landmark law that will
preserve our built heritage
and cultural landscapes.
©2001 http://www.inq7.net/ all rights reserved

How do I classify an experience with the Security Personnel of the golf course in the Intramuros Walls? The guards there, particularly those posted at lonely posts every night seemingly like to get the high from pursuing and catching cruisers who are engaged in the act. As what is usually typical, they hide from within viewing distance of the cruisers who, almost always end up crossing boundaries around the golf course. Those who usually get caught end up being harassed by the guards. I had one experience with these fellows.

I just had made with it with a young fellow and soon, in an instant, a security guards came running fast towards us. We simply didn’t have the chance to run away as he pointed his service gun towards us. I recall having been felt despondent about the whole set up. Very cunning in their style of allowing us to engage first in the activities that we’re fond of getting into the Walls, they usually give you that much respect, till you’re through with your act, and you’re then terrified upon realizing that you’re caught literally with your pants down.

My companion and I were brought by the security guard in their main outpost somewhere in the deep recesses of the darkness of the Walls. I recall stepping and sinking my shoes in the grass that swelled in water up to my ankles. We had to be brought to the main post with both our hands at the back of our heads, to complete the picture of captured tramps, helpless and scared.

The officer in charge, as assisted by another lower ranked fellow, were rather blunt as to what they coveted from us. They weren’t even disguising themselves by coming up with fake charges on what we thought should be written down as the illegal charge that we’ve committed inside their beloved fairways. I didn’t really know whether I should be thankful that they wanted us to free ourselves without delay by giving them money, in exchange for instant freedom as well as instant, very convenient, income in their pockets. They could have abused us sexually, in a manner that they could imagine or fantasize. Surely, these people have fantasies that they could have easily actualized that night with us right before their demanding presence. But, perhaps, even if they would have wanted to, they won’t do it, lest they’re decided on being dubiously marked by their colleagues and staff of being outlaws themselves. We couldn’t refuse as they have searched our frightened bodies thoroughly, as they asked us to step forward in our bare feet on their main post’s cold floor. Seeing no other option, we couldn’t deny them our monies. I asked for some small change for my fare back home. I walked back again to where I came from using the same route, as I sunk my shoes again in the water-swelled fairway of the Intramuros golf course.
* * * * * * *

He was one of the tallest fellows I’ve seen in the Walls, his appearance actually added more magic in the rather drab evening that seemingly seeped into the rest of that cruising night. Of course, I can barely recall the exact details as to how we got to encounter each other. I felt, I have to simply forget the whole thing, and assign the experience to a new set of personal lessons.

Yet, out of the chance encounter, I learned to be braver everytime I attempt to cruise in the Walls. Actually, I’ve seen the same fellow at least twice many, many nights after our chance encounter as he was standing near the road leading to Mapua Institute of Technology, just in front of the Manila City Hall. Perhaps, he was then again studying his prey. I could just imagine the one who’d get to slip into his trap eventually. I actually approached him again in one of those nights that I got to meet him again, making sure that he recognized me, but he just gave me the nod as he seemed to send me away from his exclusive path.

As usual, he was in his knee length denim shorts and basic shirt, and rubber slippers. He had that wavy hair that remarkably looked on him as he goes on smoking, the scene creates the usual sensation that attracts those of us cruisers who prefer tall and lanky guys, if given the option. His mustache looked so becoming as I could imagine that he was one of those usual fellows who spring out every now and then in the Walls just as to engage in a chance sexual encounter.

Our meeting actually turned out to be rather straightforward. He had no qualms in specifying the acts that he wants us to engage. I offered to have us engage ourselves instead in a cheap motel somewhere in Sta Cruz or in Quiapo. I yearned to have him completely, to see him fully naked, big and lumpy beside me. Recalling further now the details of that particular warm night, I noted that he was rather very specific, the details of his preferred acts somehow gave me the creeping smile. Yet, I felt adventurous as we walked and proceeded to find a private space amidst the shrubs near the Walls, actually in one of the side streets of the Walls, very near the offices of the Manila Bulletin Publishing House. Our space was the ideal nook that we could avail as it was rather so dark, I sensed that my body actually ached for the more deeply basic in my whole being.

We were completely alone by ourselves, I wasn’t even worried that a car might turn up out of nowhere which can give us some of its blinding rays of light. As he pulled down his shorts, I saw how meaty his flesh was underneath his attire.

In an instant, I was then rather so busy with my act. I was plunging myself into the whole sensual environment around me. I remembered I have longed and longed for some kind of a night like this. Suddenly, he grabbed me by the neck, hurting me badly in an instance. “Hold-up ‘to. ‘Tang ina mo, ‘wag kang tatakbo!!! (Fuck you! Don't even attempt to run now! Give me your money!!!!)” as he shrieked loudly at me.

He asked for my wallet as I grasped immediately soon that this was actually part and parcel of his cheap trick. I simply couldn’t ran away, just like the earlier nights when the Police would engage in their usual hunts in the Walls. I just tried to maintain my presence of mind as I saw him thrust into my heart a big knife, which was supposed to create in me total shudder in reaction to his manner of threatening me, nearly physically violent this time.

Meanwhile, I told myself, this is simply what I deserved. I kept on repeating to myself the mantra. I handed him my coin purse that didn’t carry that much money that night. He sought out for my other wallet as he realized that he wasn’t getting me much from me. I had with me my wallet, yet it usually had in it only a few marginal bits of papers and some ID cards. He was actually cursing me, accusing me of being unfair to him, as he continued to search me. That it was actually me who made him get into this cheap gimmick that he must have figured out one night as he observed the many number of guys who cruise in and out of the Walls. He carried through with his act as he shouted expletives at me, perhaps must have he turned neurotic. He could have realized I was big enough to fight it out with him, if I was rather prepared. He was even able to give me some short explanation. He had a family whom he needed to feed.

In a few seconds, I became enlightened by the whole tense incident. I thought that I should dwell back to myself. I asked for a few coins, enough for me to reach home, even if I had to walk a part of the trail back home. I also asked for my keys in the office. He took a calling card of mine, as he threatened that he’d hurt me if I went out of me way to make a report to the Police. I thought, it didn’t make any sense at all.

I saw him walked away from me and proceed to enter one of the interior entrances among the slums in the Walls. I proceeded to make it out again with someone trustworthy as I pursued my efforts to cruise that night.

5. Some Nagging Personalities

2007-08-29T18:44:00.000-07:00

Index:
A CoastGuard Man
There were eight of us!?
First meeting at the Theatre
A Binondo based Ad Guy
Two college teachers
We had the same name
A cousin of an action star

“Sama ka sa akin? (Would you like to come with me?)” as he took note of the use of my umbrella in negotiating the strong rains falling and making us wet somehow that moment.

“Saan? (Where are we going?)” as I asked though not really meaning what I wanted to say.

“Sa barko (To the ship),” as he explained that he had to be back to the Coast Guard ship at the Pier beside Manila Hotel where the Presidential Yacht was then docked. Without any hesitation, I jumped at the idea of joining him at the ship.

The guy that I was with that time looked so typical, in his T-shirt and slacks. We were then entering an old Binondo building along Paredes St that leads towards the center of the Binondo district of Manila. I noticed guards were milling together as we entered the office, while some other people were rushing to move out of the office building. There is something rather romantic about this kind of buildings, which evokes memories of old Hong Kong film rolls shown almost every now and then in the MTV channel. We reached the third floor, whereupon we entered an office, which turned out to be one of those ad agencies found in Binondo.

The minute we entered the room, we immediately shuffled all the papers and other paraphernalia on two tables. We were already kissing each other in the lips as he was trying to lock the door. It looked so invitingly private, and I could still see some glints of the colors of the sunset from the window. We simply rushed through the works.

This guy turned out to be indeed a family man who has had his first chance of sexually engaging in with men, when he was still a hardup tricycle driver in their small town somewhere in Laguna. Some of his passengers turned out to be some of his earliest experiences. I could just imagine his looks when he was younger as I took note of his huge, muscular legs while we were doing all the works. He needed to be very discreet these days, as every now and then, he had to relieve himself of the urge, the taste for which he had developed when he was younger.

Deciding to get married, he now (then) had two children whom he patiently brings to school in the National Teachers College, from where he also struggled to finish a bachelor’s degree in Education. He taught for a while, until he found and developed a talent that enabled him to write copies deemed to be well crafted and fetching in the ad agency business. He soon found a stable job in a Makati ad agency, soon got bored about corporate life, and shifted to Binondo for a less pretentious, yet more moneyed environment. I smile everytime I see samples of his works in the papers, particularly those on men’s underwear. His company likewise has huge billboards, announcing different brands of men’s undies somewhere in Recto, Cubao, or Makati. We could have sustained something as a partnership, perhaps starting as regular sex partners. I could sense his disappointment at me, when I called him up after two months. He wanted me to call him more regularly, that we move on to the other aspects of friendship. Yet, then, I still couldn’t figure out the means to separate shades of our friendships. I was rather indecisive.
* * * * * * *

“Kanina ka pa dito? (You've been here long?)” as I probed my eyes on his height and his dark colored long sleeves that looked so fit on him. I also noticed closely how he has allowed a beard to grow on him, which fits him to a T. This must have been one of my lucky nights, no matter how I such a disbelieving attitude towards luck, as I gave him a smile.

“Hindi nga makasakay (Darn it...I could not get a ride!),” as if he wanted me to believe him, after seeing him let several jeepneys passed him by. Or perhaps he might just be waiting for some kind of a vehicle to pass by, and perhaps, pick him up (I’ve observed such encounters like that in this place).

We once met one night at the front steps of the Finance Building in Luneta, near the skating rink. I was late by over an hour that night as I had a difficult time commuting from our place to Luneta due to the sudden heavy rain pour. I saw him waiting patiently, drenched wet by the rain; I saw his lovely wet face. I was surprised as he kissed me on the lips for a long while, just right the minute I emerged from the steps of the Burnham-designed Finance Building.

His family lives in Sta Ana, and I used to wait for him somewhere in the patio of the Sta Ana Church. He told me that he was taking his chances as he wanted to introduce me to his family, particularly to his father. He expressed surprised at hearing that his father actually handed him the phone, whenever I call him in their house in Sta Ana. My friend remembers previously, his father almost always refused to receive phone calls for him. Or even take messages for him. His Father simply hated the kind of friends that he keeps. In making such a remark, he reminded me again of his Father who thought of him awkwardly different from the rest of the brood.

He waiting for me to get a jeepney-ride back home. He pointed at another tall guy, better looking than him. He told me the guy’s his brother, who’s actually a healthier version of my friend. They never talked that moment, yet somehow, they took cognizance of each other’s presence, by simple nods. The guy soon rushed to get a taxi ride, and away from our probing eyes. He must have seen the admiration that I had for his brother’s looks from my eyes. He then went on to explain that his brother actually has a rich Chinese lover, who lives in Binondo. I inquired for how long has the set up been like that. My friend didn’t answer. In reply, he related instead on how his brother’s actually a kept guy, yet their Father has yet to know this (or must have refused to recognize the meaning behind this situation of one of his other sons).

I simply couldn’t figure out the discrimination (or just how do you describe this?). Perhaps my friend has been the more outspoken, the more sensitive, and the more self accepting, than the rest of his brood. He must have been certainly the most rebellious among his siblings. He was the one who would rather be honest with himself, who accepts stupid judgments from the family (who’s supposed to understand and accept him for who he is). Perhaps to put a check on my behavior further that particular night, he even continued by pointing out that he has got another good looking brother. I just don’t know exactly why he has to tell me this. Or why he has to give me his calling card, only to give me strict instructions not to get in touch with this particular brother of his. My friend described him as one who own such matinee idol looks that he was being sought out actually by several producers to appear in their run of the mill movies. Yet he opted, instead to lead a corporate life with the Philippine Gaming Corporation. From my friend’s very eloquent eyes, I’ve seen the depth of complexity of the life that he leads. I got somehow scared over the hopeful prospects as our relationship as it progressed into an area that was beyond the familiar to me, then. Now, I could just say to myself that it could have a hell of a relationship. But then, I like to add as well that my friend has been lucid all the time that we’ve been together, as I recall him now. And if only my friend’s Father knew and understood all about these.
* * * * * * *

6. More Engaging Figures

2007-08-29T18:34:00.000-07:00

"Victoria Kapauan-Gaerlan photos"

Index:
The first male teller of FEBTC
The PE Instructor
My friend who’s a doctor
His wife is in Japan
A MIT college student
He does hotel front desk work
a member of the underground movement?
Nice hat
Someone chinese
Looking through the glass window of the Met Theatre
The perimeter steel fence
Waiting for the Bus Driver
Seeing a Renown Short-Film Director
The Dentist from LA
Just finished playing basketball

I must admit that by this time, I must have gained quite a number of experiences in engaging in casual sex with practically strangers. I recognize many others, even among straights, have the same set of experiences, with differences stemming mainly from the variety of partners we get to encounter. Too bad, my own set of experiences has to be mainly gained from these cruising activities. The whole process of engaging in casual sex has gone quite mechanical, rather, more procedural most of the time, as I’ve proceeded with this adventure. Others who may get to know this observation usually are flabbergasted, and they keep the notion of themselves being saved from such an existence. And they keep on being satisfied from learning vicariously from the others, like myself. Being mindful of these events, my feelings towards the act have grown very predictable in time, similar to what others may have when they often get drunk. And I persist, and attempt to find some kind of a meaning from all these. Just how I am going to do this, baffles me up to now, as I attempt to recall some more mindful events to be continuously described more closely in the following sections.

Also, at this point in time, details of some encounters will have to be deleted. These encounters have actually become so ordinary; I have felt that it’s not even worthwhile repeating the descriptions, as doing so will not serve the direction of this journal.

In shorts, and a short sleeve shirt, this next stranger whom I saw first in front of the Main Post Office (as it always happen, it seems) readily caught my attention as I was then already preparing myself on my way home. I thought of him as someone who much has had difficulty in sleeping that night. I figured out that it must have the heat that made him leave his bed, and come out here to be relieved of his longing, which I thought I could provide (as what was true with the others before him). We just decided to make it at the grounds outside the Main Post Office Extension, where he just easily took off his shorts in one second while he let me work on him. He turned out to be one of the first male bank tellers of a major universal bank’s branch in Escolta. Moreso, this event led to a few meetings wherein we got the chance to know each other better. The eldest child among three sons of a retired Army major, he told me he was in search for a prospective long-term partner. Opting to retire early from his long time bank employer, he then sought to establish himself in a trading business of local quality marble from the Visayas, but he explained his subsequent failure due to limited capital. He reminisced as he described his business of trading of quality marble as something that requires the handling of fragile food items, just like eggs. One broken slab, and there goes his profit, as he further described. Quitting this trading business, he has since then been working with a small firm engaged in escort and security services based in a southern city of Metro Manila from his residence in the northern end.

He gave me calls in the office. A few meetings followed and we never made it again, at least sexually. In our next meetings, I soon learned more about the crowd that he has, as well as the fact that he still helps out in sending his youngest brother to college. I could see that he is the typical fellow you get to meet in sing along bars, one of those in the crowd whose voice stands out. He even informed me about the few times that he got to be picked up by some other guys, one after the other, who have found him attractive, at least for the night. In retrospect, we could have turned out to be long-term partners, yet certain limitations cropped out. I simply couldn’t cope with the idea of limiting myself to only one partner on an exclusive basis. Perhaps, among others reasons, I haven’t really been quite honest in my need to settle in a long term partnership.
* * * * * * *

One cruising evening, I encountered a PE instructor of an exclusive boys’ school in Pasay City. He took one very serious look at me from head to foot, as if very surprised at seeing me in the place. Having decided by then that we could actually get together for something very exciting, I approached him to ask for someplace, which he may have in mind. He didn’t actually reply. I walked towards the Post Office, where I figured out that we may be safe even for some short minutes. He just followed me as I walked towards the left side of the humongous structure, which was then closed as expected, where the stairs lead towards the door where the many, many Post Office boxes are housed. In between the stairs, and the wall is located a space wide enough for even three couples. There is a wide window with stationary closed wooden panes with the light of a bright bulb coming out, creating horizontal lines on the object in front of the window. On one side, vehicles continue to lead fast towards and coming from Lawton / Pier. My partner and I opted to stand, just in the side of this window. He was very hesitant in making it with me in that seemingly dangerous yet very mind disturbing space. He stood there in front of me, not making any move at all. I thought, I might as well take the chance, as I recall I’ve seen couples in past evenings cavorting in the small space. But this time, I became very daring, as I opted to remove all my clothing as he watched me undress myself in front of him. I moved swiftly, as I feared someone’s coming anytime now, and I thought I heard a voice coming from the window. In a moment, he was out of himself already as he grabbed every inch of my bared skin that I gladly shared forward to him as I undress him at the same time. Fortunately, nobody got caught as we rushed through the works that evening. I can’t help ponder now in disbelief that we could have caught literally barefooted, and thus putting an end to all this instantaneously.

I saw the same guy after two weeks, perhaps at the crossing amidst a garden leading towards the underpass to Lawton and the Walls. The Andres Bonifacio Monument serves as a backdrop including the Main Post Office Building that flickers abnormally due to some error in the configuration of its lighting. That particular subsequent night, I was wearing glasses, and he simply couldn’t recognize me. I thought I might have looked different and unrecognizable by some. He thought I became smaller in bulk, than the first time we encountered each other. This night, thankfully, nothing happened. This just merely indicates how men who cruise try to maintain an idea of a preferred partner. Perhaps, everything seems to be just physical; it’s actually more of a gift that an encounter repeatedly described in this work may lead to something more stable and long term. Simply, this notion of trying to get more good, or benefit from what is basically physical is quite far from ever taking place when one often goes on cruising.
* * * * * * *

Friends really are found just about anywhere. One night after Christmas Day, I cruised in front of the National Museum. I remembered many people had been walking to and from the Luneta. At past 12 midnight, the place looked like it was 7 PM. I looked around, and walked round and round until I decided to seat near the Gomburza Monument. Frankly, and without any offense meant, the poor priests’ metallic statues have the typical silhouette of three men in an erotic act. The water in the encircling man made pond with inner steps around the monument kept on rippling – the mosquitoes and some other insects must have been busy that night swirling round and round while waiting for unknowing prospects to cheat on. While pondering on these details, a man whose small frame precedes his engaging presence soon approached me.

“Ang daming tao, walang mangyari tuloy sa akin…(Too many people....nothing's happening with me),” as he murmured to me and proceeded into a long conversation. We talked about the haunting loneliness of seasons like this. He described his loving family the previous day where they had a slide show of their family’s activities. Then, he talked about his efforts to put into video the family gathering.

“Bakit ka nandito? (Why have you been here?)” I first hesitantly refused to ask yet I blurted out eventually. I don’t remember his answer yet we suddenly recognized each other in our efforts to work on our own individual solitary confinements. He soon graduated from the premier medical school, got his license, and afterwhich went to the US where he now works and stays. Recently, we talked about his troubles of keeping two lovers at the same time at the same house. Situations, I told myself, which I recall have been very familiar when he was here as well. Actually, some other interesting developments have followed through as we try to communicate these days in cyberspace.
* * * * * * *

The Gomburza Monument witnessed productive evenings mutely every now and then. Once I met a man in blue bike with passenger sidecar. Sitting on one of the benches while I was studying my strategy for the night, I noticed him looking soulfully at me. Approaching me, we started to talk right away as he parked his bike beside the bench. In shorts, leather slippers and sandos, he looked like he had difficult time sleeping. I noticed he’s the untypical man in search.

“May misis ka na? (You got a wife?),” I asked.

Nodding, he said “Nasa Japan sya. Naiwan yung isang anak namin sa akin (She's in Japan. I'm the one taking care of our only child).”

Paying more close attention, “Saan ka nakatira? (Where are you staying?)”

“Sa may Tondo (Somewhere in Tondo),” as he slipped his palm inside my crotch.

“Kumustang baby mo? (How's your baby?)” I asked while helping him get hold of me.

“Nasa bahay, tulog na (I left him in the house; he's now asleep).”

“Si misis, kumusta? (What about your wife? How's she doing?)” I asked as I gladly allowed him to unzip my pants.
Taking the freedom to engulf what he could cope as he pulled down my shorts,

“Nagpapadala naman ng pera (I'm glad she still sends me money),” as he headed towards finishing his motions.

I stopped talking for a while.

“Dati kong di ginagawa ito. Nagkaroon lang ako ng barkadang bagets, marami sila, mula nang umalis si Misis. Palagi kaming gumagawa, humahanap ng happening. Nalasing kaming barkada minsan, tulad nang dati. Yung isa, dinala ako sa kwarto. Hinubaran nya ako, naghubad din sya. Tapos, pinasubo nya yung kanya. Ginawa ulit namin. Kaya pala panay ang himas nya sa akin, iba ang bagsak ng kamay nya sa akin kahit kami nasa barkada namin. Di na ako pumalag. (I didn't use to do this before. I got myself involved with really young people; there's a big number of them, since my wife left for Japan. We'd always be on the lookout for something, for something exciting. Once, everyone got so badly drunk, as usual. One of them led me to the room. He pulled down my pants; he also took off his pants. Then, he made me put his cock in my mouth. That first time led to another. Now I understand why. That was why he was always that gentle with me, the soft touch he'd give me, even when we're with our friends. I remember now, I didn't make things difficult for him).”
* * * * * * *

One of those nights cast its silvery shadow quite wonderfully when I met one college student near below the LRT Central Station. The space was open enough as it is the parking area for the nearby Metropolitan Theatre clients. Sounding crickety, the LRT repair train has been passing directly over our heads. Yet, we met each other as I recognized someone who was also in search. I guess he knew the place quite well. Wearing shorts, dark colored shirt, looking slim yet tall, he was aggressively passing himself off as he kept on touching his crotch. The bulged just couldn’t be ignored as I signaled him to approach me who was sitting near a tree.

“Saan ka galling? Mukhang okay ka, hush (Where did you come from? I think you're looking great!)…” as I soon pulled down his shorts to his knees.

“Sige, sige Lang…Ituloy tuloy mo…(Go, do what you gotta do!)” as I went on working on while grabbing anything that I could hold on to in the heat of the moment.

We were pretty oblivious to whoever might have been watching us or passing by. “Galing kami kanina sa swimming kasama yung barkada ko….Sa Los Banos…Dala ko pa nga ang gamit ko. Mas masaya ka siguro kung kasama ka kanina, okay rin yung mga kasama ko, (We just came from swimming with my friends. Somewhere in Los Banos.....I still have my bag with me. You would have been happier if you joined us; my friends are also OK),” smiling widely as he kept his shorts down in order for me to relish the whole scene longer.

He just couldn’t contain himself even after coming just a while earlier. Later, I found out he had a twin brother and was then studying to become an Engineer at Mapua inside the Intramuros. Looking back, this event signalled my foray beyond my usual excuse in cruising in the Walls.

That night never seemed to have been lodged in the deep recesses of my mind. I have been since then on the lookout, for something similar, for something more outrageous, and dangerous.
* * * * * * *

Mehan Garden used to be made up of varying profiles and silhouettes all evenings then. You get to find the oldest trees in the vicinity in this section. The Garden actually was a mere semblance of the famed Botanical Gardens, which perished during the Great War. Thankfully, Ming Ramos resurrected it recently in the early 90s by placing a well-tended garden in it through the pooled contributions of certain politicians and individuals. Moreso, a recent rendition of Andres Bonifacio’s monument now stands in front of the justice halls near Mehan Garden. It brings about a bright façade in the area where there used to be cruisers abounding. Many events took place within the confines of this simple Garden. Events, which have been jarred beyond recognition due to, weathered time. Once I happened to meet someone engaged in “commercial sex” and who is usually based in Makati (as what he told me soon). Looking so butch in his leather jacket and possessing such a strong look in his eyes, with a body like that of a well practiced dancer, he offered himself to me for a fee. Although quite familiar with the type, I sincerely just couldn’t fathom what he meant then – I could easily have sex if ever I want it if I just sought it myself (in the vicinity). Also, Mehan Garden looks so invitingly well-endowed that evening. The option could have been quite good yet some better options were around me then. I opted out.
* * * * * * *

The next one I recall to have encountered turned out to be someone who works in the hotel industry, specifically someone who works as a front desk clerk. Living in Sampaloc, (as he later revealed) he was already somewhat in sweat, and in shorts and slippers, plus white sleeveless shirt. Although medium built, he looked outstanding in his haircut and face contour. His light skin simply glowed in the dark. Obviously, many had been seeking him out in the Garden. I followed him until we found ourselves together finally at the back of a building where many old, junk cars were parked. Whatever frightened notions I may have had then, all these turned out to be baseless. In an instant, his shorts were down his legs as I worked on him. He smelled of baby oil combined with his natural muskiness. Yet, those who were following us were persistent. Some just really want to watch, and not be engaged in their own thing. I offered to have this whole act be settled in a cheap motel. Thankfully he agreed.
* * * * * * *

I once met someone who told me he was from a section of the underground movement. I never really got to know the truth behind his claim. Possessing an interesting style of curly hair, he was wearing a well-proportioned mustache, which makes him look very dignified and neat. I recall he always speaks in a low voice, with many unfinished sentences meant for me to add whatever ending I may have in mind.

Althroughout in the period of our several encounters, I felt I just needed to overcome my longing for his lean and muscular body - a state which made me think seriously about a personally formulated notion that those who are in the underground movement must have been leading healthy, active, though dangerous lives. In a matter to months, I lost contact of him. Yet, during our conversations, I remembered him telling me about his plans to become an overseas contract worker, (now called OFW, overseas Filipino worker) somewhere in Manama, Bahrain.

From him, I got to better understand that there are certain places in the Middle East that are libertarian in its treatment of its citizens and guests. I even thought of finding out a job in Bahrain, as I got convinced I could very well improve on my lot in life if I got to work on stabilizing a more steady source of good income than the usual. Yet, I particularly remember him as we went out several times with some other friends. He was the ever faithful part time lover based on what I could sense then, yet there was something rather upsetting about him. He had this special style of exhibiting his brand of jealousy, that I found funny and intriguing at the same time. Why would he fell for me, he hasn’t yen known be that well, as I remarked once to myself. Actually, at this point in time, I simply couldn’t sustain any kind of a loving relationship, even a semblance of it, whatsoever - there have been so many distractions on hand.

Yet I remember that he took advantage of me one night one I was dead drunk. The next day, I felt all the pain as my extreme hangover subsided in the afternoon. I woke late in the morning and I saw him smiling and gently caressing my face. I had to puke out the sickness that I had that morning. Inside the safety of the comfort room, I felt severe pain in my anus, I got the clear ideas that he must have had enjoyed himself immensely in fucking me while I was helplessly drunk the previous night. In previous nights when we joined together to drink, we have had arrangements that no fucking will take place between us unless both of us are aware of it - this would ensure that we’ll enjoy the act. But this time, he took the liberty to get into it without myself agreeing in it.

Since then, I have never acquired any liking in the thought of getting into sex whenever I’m drunk. It’s simply sick for me. On some other recollections that I still have about him, he tried, though in a very subtle manner, to make me finance his efforts to work abroad. Still earning a minuscule of a net income monthly then, I just couldn’t figure out how to support him. He must have realized early enough that I couldn’t provide the needed help, and he was soon gone. Or if I recall wrongly, it was I, most probably who quit the relationship as soon as it was starting to flourish into something very memorable and hurting when goodbye time comes.

After a few years, in one recent meeting inside one of those third rate theaters in Sta Cruz with another fellow who were among those guys whom I got to meet via my other friends I met as well at the Walls, I was informed about the present status of this curly haired guy I described earlier. I was told that he has turned very thin and sickly as he was seen walking inside Harrison Plaza. The other fellow was with another companion who has observed that the two knew each other, but this other fellow simply denied upon being verified about the observation. The other fellow simply couldn’t believe how things must have turned out to be that bad for this curly-haired guy. In addition, I remembered having been given details on the past on how I got to jealously enraged over the thought that this curly haired guy could be doing it as well with this other fellow. They were together when they arrived at the house where my other group of friends were gathered for the evening. Intrigues flew from all eyes that I saw that night. I actually thought that they could very well be a good pair to look at. Nevertheless, I just asked aloud how come they’re together (thinking that they had not been that extra careful in keeping me from not observing the whole set up this way). This time, I got to know that this other fellow has brought this curly haired guy in other cruising areas as he really wanted to know these areas where I could possibly cruise myself (as I admitted that I actually cruise in other areas where he has yet to visit nor acknowledge).
* * * * * * *

Another man remains to be very vivid in my mind. Wearing a brown hat, denims with sando shirts, he looked as if he could really be able to fulfill just about anything in my mind. Medium built yet lean, he had chest hair, plus a glimmering dark glowing face. He kept on standing in a particular section in the Garden, where many casual strangers were around talking, laughing over some inaudible topic. I saw him take a leak somewhere, yet he was surprised when he noticed I was eyeing him intently.

I continued walking to other sections in the hope that I would get to meet someone new as usual. When I was back to that section where many were grouped before a makeshift foodshop, I opted to ask for coffee. I noticed him again. Our eyes met. I showed my keen interest. After coffee, I saw him walking towards the LRT Central Station. I approached him, and said "hi."

With a rough voice, “Kumusta ka? Kanina pa tayo nagkita pero di mo ako pinapansin. Akala ko lalapit ka….(How are you? We've been here for sometime now, but you kept on ignoring me. I thought you'd approach me...).”

“Saan ka pupunta? (Where are you going/0” I attempted to continue with the talk.

“Dyan ka lang, sesenyas ako sa iyo (Just over there; I'll give you a signal),” while I saw him walk towards the Fire Station. He entered and I waited patiently. Emerging fast enough, he motioned me over to follow him. I saw a man lying on an improvised bed, sleeping. My acquaintance motioned me to remain silent. He signaled me to go up inside the fire truck. I willingly went up and soon found myself inside. He soon followed, then already in his yellow shorts and sando shirts.

Removing his shirts, he guided my hands in probing his body. Soon, his black briefs appeared. We were kissing and hugging each other, engulfing each other with such warmth and sweaty motions. Brown nipples got licked as what’s done to a bunch of seedless grapes. Hairy body all over with the framed strength pulsating against mine. His body longed for more. I just kept on doing what’s expected to be done.

“Kaya nga di ako nag palabas agad, para masiyahan ka. Napansin mo ba? (That's precisely why I tried not to come at once; I wanted you to enjoy it more. Didn't you notice that?)” as he was dressing himself up again. I gave him some amount of money in the thought that he might want some food, as I felt hungry myself. I knew, as he told me as well that he was from Cavite, married, with two kids and with an elementary school teacher for a wife. They don’t get to see each other often, based on what I understood from his stories.
* * * * * * *

Inside the Mehan Garden is a concrete elevated platform in circle. Plants are placed at the periphery of this circle. You can see some details of the local library and a mural where some houseless people get to sleep. They have turned the place lately into a place of silence in the evening. I guess, not that many events take place in the area, nowadays. There is the continuing sound of droplets coming from an assembled water source directly beneath the circle, as it serves as an open tank from which to source the water for some portions of the garden. One night, I decided to explore again this elevated circle. The guard approached me as soon as I came. He was actually hesitant to talk to me, and just felt he had to do his job. I thought I must have quite unlikely from those he has accosted before. I found him to be quite attractive. Yet, I am not simply his type, I guess. I thought, he was looking for someone who will be more stylish in approach, unlike mine, which is rather straightforward and bare-all in one zip.

“Ba’t di ka pa umuwi? (Why haven't you gone home yet?)” he asked.

“Sarado na ang bahay namin. (I've been locked out by now; it's just too late for me to go home)”

“Alam mo bang bawal ang mag istambay dito ng ganitong oras? (Haven't you heard that it's bad to stay the night here?)” as if to warn me softly.

I kept on looking at him as a whole, still attempting to take my chances. A person came passing by but he was more a “she” as that person sashayed from nowhere at that second. I told myself, there’s a drought of interesting men tonight. I might as well have stayed in the house, instead.

“Baka iyan ang hanap mo? (Is he your type?)” pointing at the person. I smiled. Then he left me.
I set myself in one of the stone benches on top of the circle, which from where I was sitting is hidden, from the outside by the clinging and encircling vines. I thought of sleeping there again, just as to gain some strength. The stars are just so expansively above me. I felt unmolested. Some few moments and a guy went upstairs in the same circle. We just didn’t talk. Looking Chinese, not particularly striking, tall, lean, yet I thought untypical of those I have seen so far. He soon came in front of me as I was lying on the bench. He was soon over with his overtures after he encircled the place with his absorbing gait as he studied the view outside. Vehicles continue emitting the same choking and dirty air just a few meters from our cleft. We felt somehow shielded. He thought I must have been sending the signals. I supposed I have by this time have mastered to act the signals. He opened his fly and in an instant, we were over with the whole incident.
* * * * * * *

Near Mehan Garden is the Metropolitan Theater. Its stained glass façade bearing its name becomes more noticeable as one stands on the waiting shed on the road on the other side. Built during the early American period before the Great War, it still stands todate inspite of the many efforts to rehabilitate it to its former glory in the pre war days. One notices the design of this Theater belonging to the Art Deco period, with accompanying human like figures to emphasize some details in the facade. One gets to see one of the first flyovers built in the Philippines right in front of the Theatre. Like the Theatre, these flyovers have overcome earthquakes, and other earthly phenomenon – a tribute to the generations before on how they decide to build edifices at least 30 years ago (as a friend once gave me the technicalities of constructing flyovers before and after). Like the Theatre, this flyover leading towards Jones Bridge, has the feel of time that have advanced through several interesting personal and social eventful intervals.
* * * * * * *

I once saw a man in denim shorts waiting outside one of those shops selling antiques at the right side of the Theater’s façade, with the flyover just across the street. Furnished with a lighted bulb at the shop’s back, I could discern something very familiar from a comfortable distance. Jeepneys and private cars passed by. There were those who were waiting for the particularly right jeep or taxi to fetch them out of the whole scene. The man from the shop was actively in search, as many cruisers were passing by his place. Glances between common strangers were exchanged. Looks had been fastened to this man. Some approached the man in shorts and talked for awhile. Nothing sexual happened initially but one looking like he was from a private office eventually joined him inside the shop. From the shadows, I could clearly recognize figures engage the erotic. They could have turned off the bulb, but I guess they must have forgotten. I have seen the man do it several times. He must have been the owner, or the shopkeeper, but I could see he was definitely able to find a great way of relieving himself.
* * * * * * *

Some other nights took place uneventfully. I actually had nights with the alternative not to really engage with somebody with me put in gear the erotic. I thought I could handle situations like these quite well. Admittedly, I was successful on certain nights or in certain periods. Yet I realize I had been entangled in the intricate weaves of my personally designed web. Certainly, the quality of events each night depends largely on one’s looks, the weather, delightful thought projection as well the supply and demand of quality cruisers. Yet deep inside, I always told myself something had to happen, somewhat, as soon as I get to scare myself out of my longings.

Before they decided to put in place perimeter wrought steel fence with secure columns around the Intramuros walls facing the Manila City Hall, the whole area covering Colegio de Letran up to Mapua Institute of Technology near Bastion de Dilao was well chosen site as a spawning place for cruising. The Intramuros Walls along this side have withstood the ravages of time as they have the same effect of excluding those merely gazing and standing just outside the Walls. The canal still remains uncovered todate but now it is inside the perimeter fence. Gone perhaps are those days when this canal served as a wide gap from those who would like to merely watch from those who are engaged in action. This canal could easily separate those cruising vehicles by a few meters. Actually, this canal serves as a conduit, somehow as I figured it out, of the water that has been collected to create a semblance of a murky moat around certain portions of the Walls. Then, buses used to make illegal use of the space as a parking lot after they have come and gone to and from Batangas, Laguna, and Quezon. In contrast, cruisers take advantage of the relative freedom available to them in the evening in the space which had a certain silky hue of darkness as the hours moved forward up to early hours of the next day.

Before, practically every night that I happened to be there, even as early as 8 PM I remember having seen quite a big number of cruisers in earlier described section just outside the Intramuros Walls. They just go from one end to another, feigning the usual nonchalant pose and acting as if they’re just passing by, when in truth, they wanted to seek out some prospective partners. I must have seen and recognized some familiar and known faces in this area. This used to be the most convenient section then where cruisers could get away fast and safe whenever the police decide to poke in the area notoriously known where cruisers play their game, where likewise some creatures of the criminal were believed to have used to lurk. The gap, which is actually the canal, which separates the inner section from the section outside near the road, served quite a purpose. From time to time, some of those who have decided to reside in the area are seen making a toilet out of the canal, while oblivious to those of us cruising in the area. They must have thought that we’re the intruders in this place, which they call “home.” Or they must have thought “to each his own.” A fence used to separate the canal from the parking area of buses, and where real action takes place. I remember having seen guys who must have just opted to casually engage in oral sex, which they could easily get in the place from anyone willing and able. Hidden beneath the trees, or some protruding rocks, they opted to relieve each other while some others would opt to just gawk and watch. I figured out that there are a few losers in the place, excepting the types who thought of themselves as ultra selective, who couldn’t find out someone to their taste, who had the qualms about such a thing as casual sex, thus they end up disappointed and disgruntled.
* * * * * * *

Once I met a Bus Conductor who was sitting then on a big stone near the buses in the parking lot where now stand many feeble plant trees being tended for growth in the next five to fifteen years. He got the usual interesting looks as I noticed some had approached him and had talked with him for a while. Mustachioed clad in denims, and quite well built with no protruding tummy, he didn’t really go further in entertaining those who were approaching him, as I also noticed those walking around back and forth near him.

“Kumusta ka? (How are you?)” I asked.

“Eto, naghihintay sa kasama kong driver, hindi pa bumabalik – kanina pa sya nanood ng sine (Hmm, just waiting for my partner, the driver, he's not been back yet; been waiting for him to come back from the movies),” he answered impatiently. Our dialogue took some interesting turns until I asked about his job as well as himself.

“Ibig sabihin mo, gumagawa ka rin? (Don't tell me you're also into these things most guys do here at this time of the evening?)” as he asked me in disbelief. I just nodded.

Some silence took place and I offered something else which I thought could relieve whatever ails him them. He then invited me to join him in his bus, which was then parked at the lot. When we were inside the bus, he borrowed for a while my shoes which he wore as he went out to get something from his colleagues from a nearby foodstall. I got scared inside the bus, darkened and cold, and by the thought that this man had something sinister in mind. He certainly possessed that naughty yet playful look in him, typical of those whom you see as regulars of billiard games - traits which made him quite attractive as I noticed how he smoke listlessly with his eyes searching for something I couldn’t exactly name. At this moment, he was back inside the bus as he approached me who was seated and barefooted at the back. He took a look first at the possibility of others who might have followed us or those who were moving around to find some available space. From time to time, buses move in and out so that focus lights were highlighted at our direction. We kissed and hugged each other longingly and tightly. His strength somehow shaken me as I tried to cover much what I could handle with my sweaty palms. I took off his white shirt as he took off mine, as we attempted to grab each other closely. His pants were down soon as I stared at his lithe body clad only in white briefs. Grabbing me by the neck, he was discernibly nervous in his deep breathing as he watched me work on him. Bared and hands clasped together, I took note of his shiny brown skin and the very black strands of his pubic hair, which I discerned while lights from moving buses were focused towards our direction.

He simply liked to reciprocate, which surprised me, as I didn’t really expect him to do so. The bus was shaking somehow as we proceeded with our efforts to overcome our urges towards each other. We finished and dressed ourselves as we gave each other another moment of fervent kiss. Later, he told he was married with three children, and that his family is based in Batangas, which his bus serves. I recall he told me that he actually has not yet gained much exposure to this manner of coping with this type of sexual urges (which I guess, parallels to mine whenever I am at the Walls). Still, he wanted very much to explore whatever is in store for him as he explained why he chose me over the others. Still, he gave me some credit in my efforts to approach him.
* * * * * * *

I once saw an articulate director (at least based on his published interviews) of well known and culturally shocking alternative short films walk it out near the area where buses used to park to get passengers, quite near across the Manila City Hall. It was not yet pretty late that evening; I recall the many number of vehicles moving to and fro.

He was actually being kind of a snob, and I couldn’t figure out if he was out to do some research, or to just pour out some sense of emptiness. But bearing this kind of attitude simply couldn’t bring him any distance at all in the vicinity, even if he’s just doing this walk for research purposes. One simply can’t be a snob and expect to be approached by anyone, at least here. Or if this attitude is sustained, he simply couldn’t afford to make use of it while observing what’s ongoing in the place all along this time. I could just wonder how he could even land being cruised wearing such a mien, as if he’s different from the rest of the crowd. I realize, the same things happen to each of us in due time. It looks and feels very familiar, even particularly upon hearing Sting’s melody for his songs Fragile and The Hounds of Winter.
* * * * * * *

One night, I got the chance to talk and eventually make it out with an instructor of Dentistry in a college somewhere in Manila. He was particularly outstanding, given his pale looks and tall height. He was also attired differently. He initially remarked that he just wanted to check out for himself again how the cruising scene in Manila has progressed since his coming back from the United States. Something light was with his face, and he was being funny. I was concentrating on other prospects who might come my way that night. The area, which has since then closed, used to be full of cruisers who conveniently alight from nowhere at the nearby road and proceed with their own businesses in the area. One thing l liked about this Dentist-instructor was the facts he told me about his three years of stay in San Francisco and California. Other than the other materials I’ve read and collected, he was the first one to give me factual events in the said places. Indeed, more and similar heady events take place in those areas at the other areas of the globe. He gave me particular details of how some gaybars have refused him entrance, even if he looked Caucasian enough. He stated how he received discriminating treatment from certain establishments. From him, I got a better idea of how similar cruising events take place at least in known places in America. I guess, Manila will still take a long time before it eventually become typical of what’s happening in the States. Filipinos are yet to be possessed of that straightforward approach in life. We like to beat around the bush, without giving names to our emotional concerns. We’re still very much attached to our families who could easily provide us support during hard up times. Moreso, we possess such a commercial attitude towards our efforts to engage in sex with some others whom we find attractive or who find us attractive. This somehow relieves us of the enduring guilt feelings after engaging in illicit sex. My newly found friend-companion, nevertheless, didn’t exactly like staying and living for good in the America, as he couldn’t practice his profession there. He decided to come back and resettle himself in Manila.

He told me about his apprehension over the idea that his students might think lowly of him. Two of them, have so far fucked him, as he couldn’t resist making it out with them. I could sense the moral enigma that he has as we were engaged in sex yet the whole dilemma was beyond my competency. People judge you accordingly, based on their respective standards. He eventually gave me another person’s name, just in case I’d like to proceed with the efforts to better understand and appreciate this kind of lifestyle. I got to eventually meet the referral who turned out to be quite a good fellow, who looked and behaved as the next typical good-looking and clean-living young man I get to meet in my everyday life.
* * * * * * *

The Main Post Office almost always provided a good panoramic backdrop on a number of my encounters. This is particularly true when its front lights are still on, giving much brightness on the whole structure in the evening, as well as on those spending time outside the tall columns of the building. There was once a night, quite early then, when I got to meet a young looking fellow who was in his basketball outfit plus hi-cut Nikes as he lied languidly on the concrete steps of the Post Office. I thought, he must have gotten so dog tired from playing, that he figured that he could just spend some time in sleeping, even for a while.

I thought that it’s not actually a bad idea to come nearer the guy, for a better, assuring view of someone who looked like he was sleeping contented just outside the Main Post Office. I thought to myself, he was being very smart and convenient. I drew enough courage to approach him in the most silent manner that I could. I stood for a while in front of his body, as I studied him at close range. One instant, raging idea clicked in my mind. More courage. More scared heartbeats. And one serious decisive attempt. I sat by his side, and noticed that no one was with us. The view from the top step outside the Main Post Office included that of the lighted clock-tower of the Manila City Hall. Bonifacio just stood frozen at a distance as all vehicles continued speeding and flashing by outside the concrete enclosure surrounding the front of the Main Post Office. I slowly pulled down his shorts. And soon, his white, fresh briefs followed down. He was not waking up, at any case, as if playing with me my game.

He was completely neglecting my presence as he was giving me full rein of what he has to graciously offer. I saw how erect he was at this time. I took my chances and grabbed all the meat that I could handle, nonchalantly. He didn’t even care to wake up, even a bit, as if in complete ignorance of the whole event taking place in his body. Somewhat, I’ve found the idea quite mindblowing.

After coming, he deliberately woke up to put an end on the game. He stood up, and pulled up his undies and shorts. He started to prepare himself to walk away from the scene. Apparently, he was used to having strangers not talking to him, after they have just been over with seems to be just an easy to “scratch away one’s itching urges.”

We started talking, and we never talked about the whole episode earlier. I felt both relieved and amused at the kind of game that he has. I later learned that he just came from basketball practice in his school in Feati. I observed that he took note of my number as we continued walking towards the other side of the Pasig River, by crossing the McArthur Bridge to enter into Sta Cruz. Approaching one of the posts of the LRT Carriedo Station, he excused himself for a while to retrieve his big, red sportsbag that he left in the momentary care of the itinerant street vendor. I remarked at how he was able to afford giving the vendor his trust that his bag won’t get lost or stolen. He had known the vendor for a while, and he always asks for this same favor if he has the need for one.

We met a few times more. I learned he’s just in the city to finish a degree in Engineering. He just lives together with some classmates in an exclusive male dorm. He’s been leading a somewhat carefree, young bachelor’s life. For whatever it’s worth, I’ve learned that he has a mother who works as an influential administrative staff of a city somewhere north. They in fact have a house right in front of the city hall. He wanted me to see him more often but I figured that I should be going out of the whole set up, instead. I recall that I must have gotten exhausted of him just wanting me to provide for his sexual needs everytime he has the urge (at his young age then), which I simply couldn’t find time to sustain.

7. On the Confines of the Past and Present

2007-08-29T18:28:00.000-07:00

"Curt Urbanozo pictures"
Index:
An American with a PhD
Bastion de San Andres
A bunch of four
A Roving Salesman
An Architecture graduate who works as a druggist
A guy from Cebu
He makes Senator Enrile laugh
A male hairdresser

Until now, I still summon the memory of a certain outsider in the midst of strangers. Someone who was from the USA got somehow involved with me after we met in this section where provincial buses used to pull over almost all days then. Lanky and somewhat noticeable as he was a foreigner, he began our conversation right away after we recognized each other’s presence. Somehow uncertain with myself whether to proceed with the conversation, I felt the attraction was mainly due to a certain kind of outstanding difference that I was always yearning for from those I get to encounter in the area. I’ve read somewhere these people just get to hang you down for fun purposes. Still, I attempted to overcome the stereotype, an idea, which I didn’t, really understand completely before.

“How do I get in touch with you?” as he asked me in order for us to focus more with the then ongoing conversation.

He was particularly charming that evening. I remember we eventually settled down in his unit at one of those apartment buildings in Remedios where we did virtually all at the balcony with the CCP as a lucid backdrop. A performance had then been ongoing, as the CCP fountains were on and lighted brightly enough from that distance. Roxas Boulevard looked very cosmopolitan, with the volume of vehicles passing, and the big yet dark expanse of water at the other side. The apartment unit was tastefully designed, sparsely decorated, with much available space for someone who is solo-living, and with us naked outside with Ms Dietrich singing a strange German song in the background.

I later learned he was from the US Navy. I asked if he was a writer, but he replied that only got to write for his dissertation material. With a Ph.D. in Literature from a university in the US (he taught in De La Salle University, but he found his students to be “generally below average”), he had lived for a long while in Morocco, where he had quite a collection of art objects that he sold when he decided to leave and go someplace to proceed with his lifestyle. He mentioned that he often goes back and forth from Hongkong and the Philippines mainly to check on his stockmarket investments. I didn’t know how exactly to deal with him, as he was rather unassuming. Looking back, he could have provided me the means to get away from my limiting background. Among several possibilities, I could have gone out of my way to simply make good use of myself in taking advantage of his wealth. But of course, he was far more wiser than myself. He mentioned about his recent past lover whom he thought was merely taking advantage of his “wealth” - this could be easily relative, though.

I recall that we never really got far with whatever we have attempted to work on due mainly to personal differences in beliefs towards our respective families, handling my own money, political outlook, places to visit as well as general lifestyle. More meetings between us followed. I dreaded about him picking me up from my work in Makati, but he still insisted. My lady officemate, who was rather sophisticated herself on worldly setups like this (I later learned from another source that she had gone of her way, more than once, to pick up from the road her type-of-a guy using her personal car, if she had strongly felt the urge to engage in casual sex), acted somewhat suspicious about my ongoing meetings with him. Of all places, we even had to be meeting somewhere in Greenbelt, just in front of National Bookstore. I recall that he wanted us to be going out on dates. Yet, I simply didn’t have that much drive nor interest in pursuing something far more long term.

Somehow I felt the presence of the soul yet I was in disbelief that he would fall seriously for me, considering that we just met each other in the Walls (a notion which even todate has prevented me from considering serious options from certainly interesting and startling individuals).

The times then were heating on the issue whether the Americans should be kicked out of the Bases in Central Luzon or just maintain the status quo then (I agree with the earlier choice). We had arguments on these related matters while we were in bed. In essence, I just couldn’t contend with (I was younger then) a foreigner who was subtlety mercurial in his views to whatever stand I had then on life in general. He was even nudging me to keep myself away from financially supporting my family, an unusual idea in the usual Philippine extended family support system which, by the way, is one reason why our social system is still intact todate, inspite of the intrusions through the decades. I felt he just couldn’t even stand someone who kept on arguing against his beliefs, particularly someone imposing like me who hails from the Third World.

In the end, he got extremely disappointed with me. He disliked the fact that I had to entice him into seriously getting again in another relationship, which I never thought of telling him anyway. He was far, far older than me and he despised my playing naïve yet I felt sophisticated enough in dealing with him. Remarkably, I remember that we practically had the same size - it actually felt weird holding him, I thought I was holding mine - yet I never told him about this fact.

He shut the door strongly at the last time I went to his apartment. Acting rather cold and indifferent, he got extremely mad at me, for I had to courage to dump him, when I felt like doing it the previous night. Today, I was thinking if I could still take my chances again (he must have thought it over). Well, obviously, I was wrong.

“Why do you have to come back? I should have not allowed myself to open up again, you simply hurt me,” as I remember him blurting hurt emotions in one of our last meets. By this time, I have learned to be more guarded with my emotions. Much as I’d like to pursue something long term with him, I felt, I won’t be able to stand the whole thing out, I have not been that prepared yet (so I believe).
* * * * * * *

Recently, the walking areas on top of the Walls facing the Manila Bulletin’s Offices along Muralla St served as backdrop to an array of adventures whenever three or more men get bodily together. I had been tired by then due to walking back and forth on the Walls as I had been out since the last evening from a drinking session with some fellows. This was simply one of those nights when there were not that many options moving around. That portion of the Walls renders a vast stage for anything that can be executed with practically the wide horizon of playful clouds above anyone else. From where one stands, one can see the Puerta Real at a very near distance. I guess they call the place Bastion de San Andres. There stands an unusual arsenal like building built in the space hidden by the Walls, with complete tiled roofing, wooden heavy doors, with deep crevices on its three sides that cautiously give one an eerie plunging feeling. It could actually be developed into a very lovely garden if vines, blooming wild flowers, scented blossoms are placed according to a peculiar pattern among those rocky walls.

Recently, some small minded developer has started building some structures in this area near the Puerta Real and the Bastion de San Andres, the portion of the Walls fronting Manila Bulletin Publishing Offices. The Philippine Daily Inquirer has reported that these are supposed to be used as low cost housing projects, if I recall it correctly. Should we be bothered by such recent developments? Yet, I just couldn’t figure out how these can even meet the needs of those poverty stricken families? I mean, perhaps, they wanted to make more appropriate use of available space for the poverty alleviation programs of the Estrada Administration. I guess, they’re thinking of making the whole place more livable as it used to be during the Spanish times. Or perhaps, they’re making the housing spaces for the squatters who are still living in some streets inside Intramuros. I can just imagine how this can even provide for at least a semblance of normalcy in the Walls. Recently, I went in the area one rainy afternoon. Practically nobody was in the area, except for some uninteresting fellows who might just be around in the area to ponder on some past moments in their respective lives. Some have taken the task to do some fishing at the ponds below the Walls. I could see that they were harvesting some quite number of kilos of fishes, mostly tilapia. The greens are in such terrific hues, and the soft rain has started to drizzle. I can see the mountains from Rizal province from the distance. I was delighted to have seen so many swiftlets hovering in a corner of the Walls along Burgos Street leading towards the Manila Hotel. I thought, I couldn’t be able to make it with someone, as I thought no one was particularly interesting. I told myself, days like this happen, as I proceeded to walk. Until I reached Bastion de San Andres, where I saw some enclosures signaling “no trespassing allowed” to any intruders. I saw the state of construction that was taking place and I attempted to cross over. A guard stopped from continuing to do so, as he used his whistle at me. I decided this was not a good day, indeed to proceed with what I have in mind. As I persisted to cruise by walking along the path below the Walls inside, I met someone. He was just taking his chances as he sighted me from a distance. I thought he was okay, but he wanted something more swiftly, just like me doing it with him there and then, in full view of those construction men in a site near Letran. I just smiled and moved on.
* * * * * * *

I heard mass one Sunday morning in the Cathedral. This time, I couldn’t recall if this has been one of those Sunday mornings when I found myself cruising in the Walls. Perhaps, I must have decided to start cruising at the Walls at an early morning hour, just like the rest in the pack.

At this point in time, I have garnered many similar experiences when I found myself hearing the mass, either in San Agustin, or at the Manila Cathedral. I must have gone out of a cheap motel recently. I must have spent some few hours with someone who just wanted himself to be fucked as I reminded him of his former lover who worked in Pizza Hut in Baclaran. I felt amused by it all. Or this Sunday could have been one of those in the past when I just have spent the previous night without sleeping. I felt ridiculous and I thought of myself evolving into the imagined sick person that I could easily be, without being completely aware of the situation. Yet, I seek more engagements after this mass, as I promised myself, I’d be in search for more.

The mass in the Church has been always one of the simplest celebrations I’ve attended so far in memory. Yet, there was something about its stark simplicity that easily has caught me offguard away from my usual defenses. Guilt feelings slowly crept into being. I saw the poor children in rags offering flowers that they could have gathered in the Walls, themselves. San Agustin’s altar, with its pure red velvety cloth as a background of the Crucified Christ on the Cross, somehow has always made me nudge a bit from the center of my own self. I needed to confront myself, and work on seething conscience that hounds me every now and then. Some of the masses I’ve attended here in Intramuros featured some variety of a wedding in combination with the mass. I felt angry, at my failure to get into a marriage myself. But straights themselves feel apprehensive about the prospects of their own respective marriages, as well. I have my own set of style of departure from this usual setup, as I view the wedding ceremony. At the end, I felt happier, I have watched another wedding. I don’t want to engage myself in empty intellectual discussions of the same sort that attempts to explain why I am into these types of activities. Indeed, my attendance in the Church almost always makes me get into this type of brooding. There were times, I just simply have observed myself weeping, just alone by myself amidst the small crowd that characterize Sunday masses in Intramuros churches.

It was daybreak then, a Sunday actually when many usually decide to take a walk along the Walls. Most have reasons other than to cruise, I suppose. Some just get there to be with others who have similar interests and longings. Some go there merely to watch. The rest may just get there to toil with their bodies by just walking, running, or perhaps angling for fishes that live in the man made lagoons dotting the golf course down the Walls. In fact, there are those who are just around to gather their friends to get into a funny version of a beauty contest – where one gets to see beautiful looking adolescent men participate in a spoof of the typical variety.

I was amidst these individuals who were into a variety of reasons why they were around the area. Up until I met two couples who were largely bounded with each other because of their strong looking and domineering presence, when I finally realized I was already becoming deficient in action. I instantly got attracted to the bunch. Praise God, someone from the group talked to me immediately after I approached them to take a better look on what’s happening. The others in the area were rather making curious glances at what they’re doing. They just couldn’t help but touch each other without restraint whatsoever. I felt, however, like a violating outsider. The ongoing free wheeling conversation dealt on how they behave when they’re within the usual borders of their daily respective lives. I soon realized they must have met each other a few hours earlier. And then, one even pointed out the prevalence of the stereotype from a certain province in the South. He, then shifted, to his unexpressed fear which his colleagues may have eventually affirmed by the way they treat him on how he was handling his fear of his inner desires. He’s into public engineering works, as he shyly informed us then. Someone commented a stupid remark for all to hear; not exactly to express any similarity of a sympathetic concerns whatsoever. He then pointed out that there are really many like us around. Too many, they abound the perimeters and beyond the Walls. When pressed for some details, he nonchalantly told us about his previous work as a callboy. Spending more than two years as a commercial sex worker to the clients of Club 690 (he told us, the place used to be the place to be when one’s looking for fun and service way back in the mid 70s up to the late 80s then), he easily had interesting partners. There was even one Major from the military with whom he had spent more than three years in a relationship.

“Gusto ko yung hindi maarte. Basta ba nagkakaintindihan kami ng gusto namin sa isa’t isa, tuloy tuloy na kami. Yun bang hawakan ko lang ang braso, alam na nya. Wala nga kaming pinaguusapan tungkol sa kabadingan. Ewan ko nga ba? Basta ba, okay sa kanya, okay rin sa akin. Nagtagal kami nang isang iyon, ibinahay nya ako for more than two years, nagselos lang kasi dahil sa nadiskubre nyang mga tumatawag sa akin” ("I want someone who's got no qualms. As long as we know, and agree on what we want from each other, we'll pursue what's on hand. Example: I'll just his arms, he'll know what I want. We wouldn't talk about being gay. I don't know why? As long as it's OK with him, it's gonna be the same with me. We lasted as lovers for some time; he asked me to live with him for over two years...he just got so jealous when he discovered some guys had been calling me on the phone").

The succeeding details I heard sounded both hilarious and sad at the same time as they brought forward certain real concerns on the variations of the kind of lifestyle we similarly lead. Yet amidst all these, I sensed the kind of liberation from the repression they were enduring while in the middle of that entrapped period of time in the Walls. Soon, one couple was engaged in very wet kissing.

Nevertheless, the ensuing conversation continued to flow to all directions. I soon got to learn that the silent fellow is a Muslim, and that he works with a government agency that deals with the cultural minorities. He seemingly just didn’t want to talk. I just coached him to answer either in the affirmative or the negative. Initially, I just really wanted to know whether he was Muslim or not. I was aware I was threading on volatile grounds that time. The attraction I had towards this man who silently confirmed that he’s a Muslim became stronger as I saw him kissed his lover for the moment on the lips.

The other couple followed. Soon the first couple stopped for a while, and one of them motioned me to make it with one of those three or more who were hovering around them. I just resisted the idea, I never felt any attraction whatsoever towards any of those who were then around and just merely watching. He was then being fondled by one of those who were fluttering down us. One couldn’t help but be somewhat startled by the physical dimensions he possessed as he displayed himself amply to us, considering his small yet well framed built. Soon the scene become sweltering in the events that followed. They kept on kissing and the other couple before long followed – I was stuck into just viewing. I decided not to participate actually, I felt bad I couldn’t really engage as I just wanted to make it with the man who told me he’s a Muslim. Nevertheless, a chance soon showed up as his lover was then being worked on by one of those who persevered to participate in the whole scene. I got to talk for while with this Muslim as I caressed his nipples and we suddenly kissed each other. His mouth savored like healthy herbs and spices. Meanwhile, the other couple just followed what the first couple was accomplishing. Every now and then, we had to freeze the whole scene. Some cruisers still persevered in approaching our group. But soon they moved out after they recognized that they’re not invited in the inner circle, and we just carried through with the whole spectacle. They could view us from a safe distance, anyway. After a while we paused and decided we had to move to a more secure corner as I noticed all the bright white clouds hovering around us.

“May naninilip ("There's a peeping tom up there"),” as one pointed to the wide glass windows of the Manila Bulletin Offices at the other side of the section of the Walls. I actually couldn’t discern who were those keeping keen eyes on us from that distance. But I figured out that those construction workers, or some security personnel got interested at what we’re doing with our selves, physically.

“Nakikita mo yung bintanang iyon. Di ba may tao? ("Look at that window. I see someone in there.")” as I soon discerned a brown human face seemingly gazing at us.

Pausing for a while, we soon realized that nothing actually will stop these peeping toms from watching us. In addition, the sun by then got more scorching in its heat above our heads. Nevertheless, we had to make certain adjustments with the arrangements of our bodies every now and then.

The first couple then decided that they couldn’t control themselves anymore. Parting away with their pants to further provide space for each other’s closer examination, they continued to kiss and lick each other. With the sight on hand, I helped myself as well. One of them leaned over the side of the wall covering at least half his body, and he was as if discerning those figures who were watching from the windows of the building on the other side. Safely hidden from that side and directly seating down him was his partner, who was then busy in actively outfitting him what he sought for at the Walls. On the side, the other couple lied down in newspaper matting, as they provided each other full comforting hugs, kisses, and tight bodily search and hone outs. In a few moments, the five of us went on a binge of staving off our passionate cravings.

I recall meeting the same characters in the succeeding cruises that I did in the area. This process has been endlessly repeated practically everytime I am in the area. This never fails to amuse me to the extent that I realize that it’s actually a crowded place after all, even if there’s so much space surrounding us in the darkness. Basically, we just turn to each other to acknowledge each other’s presence in the darkness. A glance will actually do. Some smile back if I smile at first. Some are surprised. Most will try to ignore me. Some even will dare go towards different paths, as if they could actually go away. Anyway, everybody’s misguided in the area in the first place. At most instances, I was sure these were the same persons I’ve met in past evenings. We just tend to be less excited of each other as good prospective sex partners in the meantime of current evening. Simply, the excitement has been gone, and we move on to some new prospects that can meet those unidentifiable qualities we actually sought out.
* * * * * * *

One recent encounter recalls of someone whom I have met earlier in another area in the Walls. I remember we even had some snacks together, but then, nothing exciting happened between us. I actually thought of him as a good prospect for a long-term partnership. I remember that we must have met each other at least three times. Once, he simply was avoiding my presence. There was even another chance that I noticed some others who were actively cruising after him, as he has this certain physical presence. I remember he told me of his girlfriend who knows his situation. This girlfriend even extends much of herself in implying that she understands him, by telling him she knows what he has been doing, without him admitting anything. I have also gathered that she even knows this guy has had encounters with some other men who live with him in the dormitory.

I recall, he even related to me that he’s an Elementary Education degree graduate and he’s in town doing saleswork for a consumer products retail company. He tells me he drives around sections of Metro Manila, selling various items to sari sari stores. Looking cute in his imposing built, with two rabbit like front teeth, he has remained to be a looker, particularly in that area. He refused my company, actually, then, for I supposed he could see much of himself in me. But this time, when we saw each other near in front of Andres Bonifacio monument, our recognition of each other had to go beyond the usual exchange of hellos. He was on the other side walking towards the short underpass towards Letran College, as he gave me that interesting look. He glanced back at me and I just thought we could get together even for a short while. I didn’t recognize him actually as I followed him in the underpass. We immediately did the works, with him wanting to penetrate me. I was thankful I bought some condoms, but we just failed in making much use of them. He just couldn’t get through me, so we just simulated the act, while he jacked me off. All the while our encounter was twice interrupted by passersby. He was looking at me intently, as I saw him give me the quizzical look of recognition, as he soon realized we have actually met before. I never talked to him about it, as I worked on him. I recall with thanks that I might have come, but sadly, I knew well that he never did. It must have been the alcohol in him, as both of us smelt of alcohol that early, early morning.
* * * * * * *

I try to move on, and not be bothered anymore with these cruising evenings. Yet, after each periodic effort, my attempts fail. Perhaps, I need to be back every now and then, just as to be reaffirmed of my being. I now cover the grounds along the Manila Hotel, as the view along this section offers much more in many aspects.

One encounter refers to someone who sprouted out of the darkness, one late evening, as I was already preparing myself to wait for better prospects. Those who came earlier seemed to look quite uninteresting. I simply couldn’t get going until I saw this one who looked as if he was merely passing by. He appeared in his late twenties, quite big in his frame of 170 pounds, and very typical of those men I see in Cavite or in Batangas. There were many attempts for the two of us to finally get to talk with each other, but at the onset, we kept from talking by settling ourselves to study each other’s presence. He had this tabloid with him, as he tried to show to me that he was reading its contents. Somehow, we overcome the first thirty minutes. This procedure of merely studying each other closely continued until, I went out of myself to speak the first word. He simply couldn’t control himself from showing me what he has, as I noticed the bulge. He was then, very much willing, and we settled to look for a place outside the Puerta del Postigo. The ruins of Fr Blanco’s garden can be seen from a distance. He led me to a space behind some plants. He neatly laid down the pages of the tabloid to serve as our instant groundsheet. I thought we could easily be caught barefooted, in case, someone decides to be there that second just with a goal to catch men like us. He felt free in lying down on what he prepared. It looked so convenient. I felt panicky, as I was unwilling to engage with him at he guided me towards his body. He has then removed down his pants up to his feet, plus his shirt rolled up to his nipples. Soon, this shirt was removed completely as I groped with his body.

We thought we were not satisfied with what took place – he simply couldn’t believe himself doing those things there. I just wanted to believe him, anyway, as the prospect of something new rather excites me. This could easily be a repeat yet I recognize some obvious differences. We proceeded to get into a conversation. We were oblivious from the gazing and surprised presence of those who came passing by as we sat intimately on a bench. Among other information he shared and I got to learn was that he was soon to be married to his long time girlfriend (they were already planning the wedding details), who knows nothing, it seems, about his other activities. He just couldn’t offer any explanation why he is into cruising as well. He offered that it could have been to the extreme excitement that he gets into every time he engages in this. He continues to offer me some info: he’s a roving supervisor with a fairly stable, nationwide company; that he has helped himself get an architecture degree while working with the same firm; that he values his family so much so that he likes to build his own family as well. He told me he dislikes effeminate men. I realize that he is also challenged by the thought that he’s making it with another man who supposedly possesses the stereotype physical attributes. He told me about some men in his work that have accosted him with the prospect of becoming discreetly attached to any one of them. Soon I found out that he gave me a different name, as in the next meetings, he felt the need to protect his own identity from a complete stranger. That same night, we proceeded to engage again with each other in a more private room nearby.

He called me several times at work, as he must have wondered why I haven’t been calling his cell phone. He informed me of his longing at certain nights to receive a call from me. I tried to call, but simply, his cell phone was unreachable by our landline phone. Something was wrong with the connection. We met again and repeated what we did the first time. We could have progressed into something more concrete and stable. I figured this just couldn’t be so as it’s basically an illicit one (though very exciting). I thought I couldn’t be sharing someone very close to me with someone else.
* * * * * * *

As I walked on one night, I got so tired with all the ensuing tiresome small talk and empty silences I got from some prospects. I decided to just allow myself to be cruised by hopefully some interesting fellows. I decided I would just sit for a while along the unlit pathway of Burgos Street. They have just turned off the lights inside the golf range, as it was way past midnight. It was pretty black all throughout except from lights coming from the vehicles and trucks moving towards South Pier. One lanky guy came by walking from the opposite direction of the lights coming from the road. I could see that he looked interesting, though not exactly good looking. Something was within the range of his looks that remind of some naughty events that may yet to come, if I allow myself to get his attention. Somebody was following him, as I get to see him more clearly in his youthful outfit. He sat beside me, I felt relieved. Soon, we were talking.

“Mukhang okay ka naman, sama ka sa akin? ("You seem to be OK....would you like to come with me?),” as I heard him invite me to his place.

I suggested that we just take the taxi, as I understood that he lived quite nearby, which apparently turned out to along the Remedios Circle in Malate. I saw a number of other men who were also in the lookout for some kind of a event, yet they were definitely in a different galaxy of a cruising area, where some different rules of the game are played. Things were turning okay, as I felt proud that I was in for a seemly different night. I almost chickened out when I saw an office colleague of mine standing in a sari sari store, where he was drinking gin with some other three fellows. They were a bit drunk. I felt paranoid. I could sense he knew what I was into, yet I felt, I had to proceed as normal as I could. I just introduced the lanky guy to my officemate, and I thought of buying Coke, just to create some kind of effect. So I just proceeded and followed my companion, just at least for the night, as I supposed.

He showed a cube of a room upstairs, where practically all our sound might get to be heard outside. He motioned me to just keep silent as he turned on the 50 watts bulb above our heads. He showed me some photos from a man to man magazine, which he must have thought could provoke something of the sexual in both of us. I told myself, I didn’t need any of these, as I felt aroused anyway, at any rate. He even showed my some fancy photos of himself, which I was sure was taken from the studio, to make him look good, at least the most correct manner possible that the photographer could create into the given limits.

He got a big cache of other photos from a big black portfolio, as were working on ourselves already, already lying naked in the small mat and two big pillows that smelled of big men’s perspiration. He soon revealed to me that he has a lover, who’s away for the next three nights, as he’s abroad, somewhere in Singapore, doing some manpower recruitment business. I soon got so eager to find out who his lover was. I got to befuddled by what he showed me in the photos – his lover possessed such angelic face in a hunk of a man. I took a long, serious at my partner tonight. His lover has one of the best looking faces I’ve seen in along while, as I saw his pictures depicting him almost naked, inside the same room where I lay naked for tonight. Moreso, he’s got such well-toned skin. I was tempted to ask for a copy that I’d like to keep myself. He just smiled and continued with the works that started with the usual tight hugs and kisses all over my face.

As we were working ourselves to eventually come, I kept thinking of his lover. I kept on asking about his partner. My partner told me they got to first meet each other in Cebu City, where they used to work together in SM Cebu, and where both had serious girlfriends. They eventually got to be closed buddies in a gym, where they got to assist each other in the weights, until my partner for the night went back to Manila. Two years ago, they got to bumped into each other in Robinsons Manila and my partner even failed to recognize his present lover. The friendship blossomed, until one night; my partner got himself enough courage to propose into something more serious. They have been lovers since then. One setback though, as my partner, moaned about his lover’s disinterest to explore other areas in their sex lives. My partner apparently wanted more. He could get himself satisfied enough with what his lover was able to provide him. He knew his lover was faithful to him, and he felt proud of their loving friendship. The night was over in a few hours. I felt like telling him to work on the aspect of faithfulness, as I got wake up beside him in preparation for my trip back home.
* * * * * * *

One evening could have turned out to be among the ordinary ones had I not got the chance to meet one big fellow who’s also into drugs, particularly shabu. The minute I saw him along the dark pathway near the Manila City Hall, I realized that he was very much for the taking. Wearing a short polo shirts, he had this cute mustache, and sweet smile, and a slowly balding head. In a second, I actually got to fuck him among the bushes, while no one was coming from the visible distance. He was relieved but he wanted to fuck me as well. I thought against the idea, as we could easily be caught with our pants down. Barangay voluntary security personnel have been doing the rounds in the vicinity lately. He walked and we just talked. I asked how he has managed to keep away from getting caught. He smiled and showed me some money bills, and noted that “everything’s just a matter of money,” in his cute Ilonggo accent. We continued walking until we reached the space where an old white Toyota Corolla was parked. He showed me, and I noticed that the car’s back seat have been removed from its place. We could have easily made headway in this space actually.

He lived somewhere in San Antonio Village near Vito Cruz in Makati City. His bed is beside a wide mirror where we could practically watch ourselves while in the bedroom. With the cold blow of air coming from the airconditioner, I felt sexy and free as my mind went out of its own order. We started watching a number of man to man VHS tapes, that showed everything imaginable, without any recognizable stories at all. This was actually my first chance to watch these kinds of tapes in all their glory without fear of being caught by someone who would come out of nowhere. Looking more closely, the actors looked very mechanical in their approach in the given situation, yet the actors possessed such good and well toned bodies. Most didn’t possess that typical passionate outlook that we expect them to get into, at least, in their efforts to portray this whole business of pornographic sex. Soon as the night progressed into a lull, he eventually succeeded in fucking me in the bathroom as we started having sex again upon entering the house that smelled of a particular dried herb. He actually talked very well, even among other people whom I get to meet in my ordinary life. We were completely engaged in a conversation, about the costs of maintaining his lifestyle, as I went about fucking him again as he moaned and moaned up to coming. Very witty and sexual, he remarked that even Senator Juan Ponce Enrile laughs at his effortless witticisms. That evening ended the next day, when I woke up from the voice outside the window. I saw him got up to open the door from the other room. They were talking. I was soon introduced to another tall guy. They’re friends, and they were then involved in advertising needs of the Philippine Airlines (PAL). These were the ads of PAL which showed the “beauty of the Philippines is shining through,” at scenes after scenes of the exquisitely photographed Philippines are shown. We went out and ate in a Japanese restaurant nearby, as both of them continued talking about their meeting with another close friend, who’s a excellent middle aged, sexy actress who also sings well and whom you get to see performing in TV movies once in a while.

We met several times after that initial midnight to breakfast meeting. I soon found out that he possessed the same first and surname, with the Spanish connective “de” in between. He lived with his old mother on the other half of the house that is separated by an undetectable door smartly place among the décor. He also had a doberman dog, that stood almost as tall as myself, that’s quite friendly yet scary to be with, even if he is around. I simply fail to forget this fellow who told me startling things about this kind of lifestyle that we lead.

He told me about his previous job as a General Manager of an overseas recruitment agency that supplies Filipino workers for assignments abroad. He related to me how he had made it with many applicants who willingly have sex with him at any instance, even inside his office. He remarked about the number of good-looking Filipinos who were just very much willing to offer themselves just as to get employment abroad. I guess, this must have true as well in some other agencies.

Another of notable stories includes that of his encounters with some other young, cool and tall men whom he get to meet in the malls. They usually get enthralled by his smart talking approach, as each of them get to follow his usual details of his ritual. He smiles and appears ultra friendly. He appears helpless and longing. They talk. They drink. He brings the catch to his car. They may get into taking some drugs. And he usually ends up fucking each of them. It gives him extreme pleasure to get to fuck the type of man who has never even thought nor invited the idea of getting fucked in his whole life, earlier. This type usually ends up crying, after realizing the kind of experience he has gone through, as if losing his innocence.
* * * * * * *

The first time I got to meet this chap, he was in complete black attire, from top to bottom, to include an expensive pair of black shoes. He wears the latest cut in hairstyle then, which helped make him looked considerably younger. I’ve noticed that his facial skin must have been treated regularly by a dermatologist, as it looked rosy and tender. He confirmed this to me later. There is an air of over confidence around him yet he was not at all condescending in attitude (unlike some typical fellows who carry that poor attitude on their sleeves when dealing with guys not of their social kind). That first time, he immediately dropped down his woolen pants, as he allowed me to fuck him, right there and then, among the bushes just after the Manila City Hall across the street. It took as a while to get over the act, as he wanted more and more of what I could provide him.

We were talking about his arrival from abroad a few hours earlier prior to his cruise in the Walls. Growing curious, I asked him about the kind of business that he has, but he refused to give me additional details. Yet he willingly volunteered to inform me that he lived somewhere in one of those townhouse units in Valle Verde. He was worried as his old, nagging mother, come breakfast time, would then be asking him again as to his whereabouts the night before. He needed again to work on the security guard of the association, just as to silence the guard from ever telling his mother as to what time he arrived the night before.

He gave me his number, which I actually used to get in touch with him. He was almost always panicky whenever he receives a call from me, typically unlike when he’s the one who gets in touch with me. In fact, we met several times. I even recall agreeing to meeting with him at an SM Cinema outlet in Quezon City, where he gave me a blow job, while I was intently watching a serious foreign film amidst the darkness of an almost empty theatre.

We saw each other somewhere near the Metropolitan Theatre, just across the flyover leading towards Quiapo. He was with another friend whom he introduced to me, as he was delighted to see me again. We had sex, right there and then, in front of his friend, as the strong rains were falling, as were doing out thing underneath a covered space in the space-for-rent of the Theatre.

8. Inconsequentials

2007-08-29T18:19:00.000-07:00

"Curt Urbanozo pictures"
Index:
The German Permanent Philippine Resident
A Father Who Has 2 Sons Living in Calumpit, Bulacan
A Fellow in Peach Long Sleeves
One Ex-Lover Who Writes a Column in a Magazine
A Shabu User Who’s a Bank-Employee
A Young Chinese Who Lives in a Condominium Across Lawton
Three Men I Met Successively under the Juan Luna Statue
He claimed to be an Imelda Marcos protégé
a man in a motorbike

The Mehan Garden likewise makes me recall of an old man whom I chanced to meet while sitting in one of concrete benches in the Garden one evening , hopefully waiting for things to happen. He told me he’s a German, and yet he speaks fluent Tagalog, I grew more curious and felt rather weird. The stranger even told me about their pre-war house, which I assumed was rather large based on the houses I get to see every chance I get to pass by via the LRT going towards Gil Puyat, along Taft Avenue in Pasay City. Also, he talked about his young nephews who are lookers themselves. He looked sleek in his old clothes that make his figure rather thin and physically empty, as completed by dark big pair of eyes.

I told myself, “I could very well be like him in due time.”
This stranger’s family has been the ones who manufactured the famed stained glass windows of the Sto Domingo Church in Quezon City, which church happens to be among the biggest enclosed Catholic worship places in Southeast Asia. I needed or have felt the need to converse, at least sensibly, with someone that night, as I went about listening more closely to his remarks particularly about his life.

I heard him waxing something nostalgic about the goodlooking young men of his generation, particularly prior the World War II. I was quite surprised by his remarks that he found the young men during that period to be quite far more attractive, friendly and healthy. Further, he said they were better attired who talked quite well than those of the generation these days. Based on old, extant photos, I noticed those men were fond of wearing suits, which even the great Rizal, during his time wore at least 30 year earlier. A fashion sense of that generation that I felt ridiculous as I think it is quite inappropriate to be wearing suits daily due to consistently hot weather we have nowadays. Perhaps, prior to the War, Manila had regular cold weather that men generally could afford to wear suits. Moreso, wearing suits is not quite democratic and liberal, at least in this side of the world, where prices of beautiful pieces of clothes remain beyond reach of the ordinary fellow. One may look wonderfully well groomed, yet the look has that very elitist feel, unless, all the rest wears one as well.

Going back to the topic of the old strange fellow beside me, I expressed my curiosity in finding out whether he also made it often with these “goodlooking men” during those times. He did not answer me directly. He then looked at a distance, towards the fast blinking taillights coming from the rushing vehicles passing from the Manila City Hall to cross the filthy Pasig River on the other side of Manila. I decided that I had to take a walk this time to breath in some fresh air as I saw the City Hall clock that it was nearing 2 am already.
* * * * * * *

There was another charming fellow, in well fitting shirt and denims, who I later learned to have two growing up sons in their elementary grades, and whose father I have before me, and I had the chance to meet at least thrice. Yet, this night, I observed that he couldn’t recall “having met me before.” I was expecting all along that he would voice out his recognition of me, that we had met each other a few years before, where nothing happened actually between the two of us.

The third time I met him, I myself couldn’t recall his face until we got to talk long enough for me to recall that he had the usual consistent storyline of his life, as he presented it to me. He had this particular sensuous pout on his lips that perhaps attract others in the area.

Also, I particularly remember him telling me about his former lover who finally completed to commit suicide, after several attempts before, somewhere in December 1991. He told me the People’s Journal published their story in three consecutive days. Yet at the third time that we met, he didn’t tell me that his former lover was a star, very young dancer in a gaybar. I remembered he described this former lover as possessing such young boyish good looks that typically fetch him regular customers in the bar, as could have been a stand out for he was taller from the rest of the herd. He didn’t answer me during that third-time meeting when I asked him about the work that his former lover have had. I instantly recognized he was the same guy whom I met and talked with for some time a few years ago.

This third time, a major typhoon has just passed over the Philippines, and the Walls looked so deserted. We were alone in the dark along Bonifacio Drive, that I felt somewhat scared. He had by then looked more harassed and tired, more aged. Yet, during the first and second times that I met him, he looked ravishing and healthy. He commented that he has been suffering from the “ill wills brought about by his past relationships.” He even got to remark about his elder son whom he thought would follow his mistake of getting his young girlfriend pregnant at his early age of 16 years old. He told me about the fact that his two children must have been rather hungry this time.

I talked aloud about my feelings to him, if he could even afford to make it with me tonite, at least this time. Likewise, he sounded pitiful as he related about the whole seemingly dismal state of his life and his family, after listening to him relate the daily difficulties they have, as he has no regular job, except to get into part time assignments as a waiter for some catering engagements.

I couldn’t figure out if he was actually making up his stories to create some effect to his listener for the moment. Yet he looked authentic as a regular guy with chinky eyes, and such cool, clear face, and who hails from Calumpit, Bulacan. I couldn’t help but believe his story that he was separated from his wife a long while ago, and that he decided to take care of his own children. He even added that he has quite a number of lovers, yet he seemingly couldn’t keep himself from his indiscretions, which also caused the life of one of his former lovers. He told me about his maternal relatives who have since then have immigrated to Hawaii. He has led an easy life when he was younger, he easily admitted to me. Yet, somehow, I couldn’t seem the remorse, or he was just being factual about his life. Perhaps, it’s his style of engaging in a cruising activity like this, even though he told me that he’s basically a shy person. I recalled that I remarked at him that he could be having such unique assets that make him linger on with quite a number of lovers. He told me he was just the typical loving guy, who is very affectionate and loves to hug, as we held each other’s hands. That third time, I couldn’t find myself to make the first move to make it with him that night. I just couldn’t figure out to open myself to my own vulnerabilities towards him. Perhaps, I felt he was being so much of a hustler who is so used to situations like what we had that night. I was rather indecisive that time, or yet I felt like just giving him some money to help him buy food for his family. Or maybe like going with him to his house in Calumpit, and volunteer to support the studies of his sons. He must have gotten my sense of indecision as he soon told me, he needed to move on.
* * * * * * *

A fellow came my way one late night as I sat somewhere near a spot beside the Manila Hotel. I was then thinking if I’d like to proceed with the walk towards the dark walkway parallel to Bonifacio Drive. One thing with this man has been his startling pale face, the details of which are faun like, and helpless in its appeal to any one who gets to see his expressive facade. He even looked well attired for the place, in peach colored long sleeves and cream colored trousers, and dark leather shoes. Nevertheless, I thought I should talk with him, yet I’ve realized by this time, that it’s generally far more difficult to be talking, my primary way of making it out with someone, with someone which others describe as goodlooking. Yet my curiosity prevailed over my concerns and proceeded to talk with him. He told me he was just waiting for someone whom he’s supposed to meet for the night. He was short of being friendly, and at the same time, being merely accommodating. I didn’t like being intrusive, I just wanted to talk with someone in the Walls, which I hope can lead in to something beyond I originally hoped for the evening.

Soon we were talking about things that border on the sexual, yet no specific words were being mentioned. I guess, we were being polite towards each other as we never opted to use words, like “sipsip, tsupa, kantot, bayag, himod, tuwad, ("play with your tongue, suck, fuck, balls, lick, bend over")” the mention of these words usually turn off others but terribly excite some others. I pressed him on to talk about his other experiences.

One thing I noticed and liked with this guy has been his quite straightforward manner in discussing about himself. He just assumed this thoughts about me correctly. He just didn’t possess of the style of others who keep on beating the bush, without getting into the point. Upon closer look, I saw that he looked like he has been involved with quite a number of partners. He simply related matter-of-factly that he has had several encounters with persons whom the two of us get to meet in the area. He talked about his close friends who have gone out of their way to take advantage of him sexually. I soon learned he finished college and soon admitted that he was just in the area to find out if he could still get himself hooked into something very graphically sexual, yet he was not verbalizing anything. I just assumed I understood him. Perhaps, I just didn’t really posses the looks anymore of innocence or he just assumed correctly, which I didn’t deny in any way. Everything between us has been on the surface, as it seems. Yet, I just couldn’t figure out why we had to continue talking. Perhaps, I felt excited over the fact that those passersby kept on glancing back towards our direction, particularly at him, as his appearance posses such quite inviting features. I was already thinking of a way out of the conversation, which was then getting into nowhere. In a second, I saw him stand up and walked towards the darkness along the tree-lined pathway along Bonifacio Street.
* * * * * * *

I remembered having encountered an ex part time lover whom I have met via another fashion. I happened to send him my reaction to one of his columns in a magazine largely sold to those in the same lifestyle. We then established our exchange of quite a number of personal letters for each other almost weekly for nearly a year. This time, I couldn’t recall how long our relationship lasted. I just admire him in his efforts to lead a far more open bisexual lifestyle than what I could get into engaging.

It could have been the advantage of his chosen work, that was quite bohemian, against my work that’s rather corporate and predictable. I could simply say that I give him credit for enduring with me the whole episode of our relationship. This point in time, I must have become so apathetic about the things I get into in the Walls. I have continuously told myself, I’m collecting learning experiences, to give others enough reason to believe my efforts. Yet one night, I saw him sitting something in the area. He couldn’t have mistaken stupidly to be around the place at that time of the night.

That night, he was attired safely well as he sat contented on the concrete posts underneath the flyover going towards Jones Bridge leading towards Sta Cruz across the Pasig River. He must have gotten tired about walking around, and he might have refused to be recognized. I happened to instantly recognize him the minute I saw him. There was no failing on my part as I got surprised at seeing him there. We actually talked, and I tried to control my surprise. He told me has heard of a number cruising activities that were taking place in the Walls. I wonder who must have provided him the info. I was trying to consider why he still has the need to do these cruising scenes when he could have easily have made it out with one of his other admirers. I felt foolish even at my own attempts to explain myself to him, about my own presence in the area. I realized I needed no explanation. He was smiling and trying to look innocent. I was thinking how he could get himself cruised, given all the competition around. I felt lucky somehow. I guess, we just need to be moving soon to get going with the whole scene.

I couldn’t recall if after this meeting, I attempted to search for more. Encountering an ex lover in a place like this makes me confront my other ideals. What do I really want to get into? Can I ever be able to get into another lasting, long-term relationship? I realize soon the whole far reaching effects of the non-evident danger of my own activities.
* * * * * * *

I soon recall someone in cycling shorts, whom I met sitting below Bonifacio Monument, as my ex lover looks similarly like him. He told he was getting married soon with his officemate-girlfriend. Both of them work in the same commercial bank that has been merged recently with another major but bigger bank. I thought he was being defensive as soon I got to know that he’s been into shabu as well. He wanted us to get into the act, yet I wasn’t completely interested. Upon knowing that I haven’t even contemplated of taking shabu, he got challenged to even invite me to join him in his apartment as he could easily get us a piece as we engage in sex. I took note of the apartment building somewhere in Bambang, along Rizal Avenue.

Yet, I continued my search. I remember having encountered a young, Chinese looking, smiling fellow who sucked me while we were standing the open space across the Bonifacio Monument in Lawton, with the Main Post Office at the main background. He was groping me wildly as he was in for some other surprises. I soon learned that he was living with this Aunt who lives across one of those units in a condominium building just across the Pasig River nearest to the point where we were standing. He pointed out to me their lighted dwelling place as he rushed himself towards what has been brought him to this park. Perhaps, never even thought of a longer term friendship with me as he met me “just in that place,” he offered to shake hands with me. With a big smile, he gave me the credit of having been the first man he has blown, and he liked the whole experience as he smiled and walked away.

Back again to some place somewhere in the Walls, where I sat just below Juan Luna’s statue. I felt somewhat so sleepy. Soon, 4 am would pass and I felt I needed to take some rest. Years ago, I made it with two three fellows successively at the same spot where Juan Luna’s statue stands at least 7 feet above me. The first guy lied to me about his real name, as I immediately called him up the next day after I woke up and tried to make sense about the previous night’s chance encounters. I recall that he even invited me to join him in his trip to Batangas where his folks are based. Had I accepted his invitation to come with him to Batangas, I could have known him better (but that time, I felt against giving my real identity to strangers here at the Walls). I marked that night as I though I longed for more, as Juan Luna’s statue makes me recall clearly certain evenings like this.

Some fellows attempted to make a pass at me, yet I was totally uninterested. Yet this disinterest didn’t last until a muscular fellow in black pants approached me, with a bulge that one never attempts to ignore especially on days as random as this. I had an inkling that this fellow must have rejected me many, many nights ago. I saw him once lying on the one those concrete benches along Burgos St, near the National Museum and the Gomburza Building. He was then munching on some kind of cheap snack food. He was behaving like he was just there for the night, as he even mentioned to me that his landlady won’t open the door at that very late hour of the night.

“Sabi nang ‘hwag! ("I told you, 'don't'!"),” he barked at me, and now I remember having approached him, swallowing up the remains of my foolish pride, yet he rejected me right away. I thought that he was just being not serious, so I persisted. He looked like someone from one of those young, tall waiters working in one of those Nakpil bars in Malate. I was sure then that I have met him in one of those previous nights.

This night, I wanted him to “fuck me well and good” in the most pleasing method that he could imagine. Yet after sucking him “dry in the best of my abilities,” I was soon left alone to myself, shoving me away from him, and instantly alone with the Luna Statue hovering at the area. The fellow proceeded to walk away, showing his disbelief in himself after he recognized me, with guilt feelings having eaten up to his conscience. He, nevertheless told me that we might make it “some other time.”
* * * * * * *

Just how do I figure out one time the chance to meet a Filipino high fashion designer who’s currently based in Italy? I particularly recall how he related that he was one of the favorites of the former First Lady Imelda Marcos, as this designer was sent abroad for further studies on his art and craft. This might indicate the level of talent that he has, so much so that he was given a scholarship by the notorious former Philippine first lady who’s fond of supporting creative individuals (perhaps for political mileage that it could give her eventually). Likewise, I remember how he raved in a solemn and soulful voice about the particular emphasis given by the Japanese on their sewing details, even the most nitty gritty details that show high and consistent quality on the fashion pieces that they create and finish. He simply continued on his raving about the tenacity of these creative individuals, and missed how things have been churning out in the local fashion industry. He must have told me indirectly about the incapacity of Philippine fashion designers to compete it out on a sustained basis globally. And he continued about his frustrations in being unable to settle again for good in the Philippines, after having tasted out the highly competitive and individualistic pace abroad. I couldn’t verify anything about what he told me that night as I simply couldn’t say that much to give more depth on the conversation as I wasn’t really that keen on fashion designing.

We were undecided whether we would make it together that night. He was physically very attractive and youthful, with unblemished pink skin that’s constantly treated by the dermatologist. He was open about the fact that he had had his flat nose equipped with the appropriate bridge. He remembered how he used to get guffaws on how funny and ethnic his looks could be to those whose idea of beauty delineate western standards. He certainly had to set his revenge as he continued to describe his lot before, as compared to the relatively luxurious lifestyle that he leads nowadays.

We dwelt on other aspects as he told me he had a Filipino lover who often visits his place somewhere in Makati. He was also undecided with the setup that they have, considering that this lover’s actually the object of envy among his circle of friends. He often comes to town every now and then, as he told me that he had to maintain contact on his roots. Nevertheless, he’s very much married to a beautiful Italian lady who never gave any damn thing towards the kind of preference that he actually possesses all this long. He told me, most Europeans have no hangups on sexuality, moreso, the practice of it. And he added that he fully knows that his wife’s actually after his fame and fortune. He was nonchalant about stating this fact. He lives in a grand villa somewhere in Milan, Italy (if I recall it correctly).

And he continued on giving me details about the other celebrities who cruise in the Walls from time to time. As an example, there was one well known hairdresser who’s married with children, whom he gets to talk with every now and then. Yet, they recognize that they had to keep their respective identities highly secret. It seems to me that they recognize the subtle yet cruel reactions of people who get to know about those actively cruise in the Walls, or in any other place, for that matter. People, indeed, can get intolerant of alternative lifestyles, as he seemed to have pointed out to me, for obvious reasons.
* * * * * * *

A noisy red motorcycle once parked near the side of the Gomburza monument fronting the National Museum one late night. I thought of running away, yet my curiosity got me to linger on in the hope that this could be a different encounter. A Chinese-looking fellow in his mid thirties got up from his bike, and started to converse with me. He was rather direct to the point, as he knew that different things actually take place in the area. He asked about me about the place as he has observed on certain nights that men roam in the area even late at night, as he correctly assumed my tastes as I eagerly showed my growing interest in him. Holding his protective helmet, on his side, as he leaned on his bike, we went on to talk about some other things.

He told me he was on the lookout for a prospective sexual partner, or perhaps lover for his lady boss. He described his lady boss to be a wealthy Hong Kong Chinese entrepreneur who’s legally separated from her husband. He serves as her overall executive assistant (he speaks, reads, writes in Chinese), and they maintain a strictly employer-employee relationship all this time. I joked about making himself available to his boss. He described about how his boss has admitted to him her longing for someone who could provide her other needs. He was then in search for some prospective partners. He asked me if I could lead him to some prospects.
Looking back, I realized certain inconsistencies on the other details he told me.

He must be the one who’s in search for a prospective partner. And he must have been undergoing certain stages of dilemma in his life during that period. He must have determined that he needed to deal with his feelings and desires just as to get over them the soonest possible time. I recall having given him my business card, as I thought it’s not exactly a bad idea to explore certain learning opportunities. He left after our talk of about 45 minutes. He never called up, or I must have been out when he decided to give me a call.

“Great love -- the kind that illumines and
transforms us -- always includes a keen
awareness of limitation as well. Though love
may inspire us to expand and develop in new
ways, we can never be all things to the one
we love, or someone other than who we are.
Yet once accepted, limitation also helps us
develop essential qualities, such as patience,
determination, compassion, and humor. When
love comes down to earth -- bringing to light
those dark corners we would prefer to ignore,
encompassing all the different parts of who
we are -- it gains depth and power.”
John Welwood

9. Some Unfinished Ventures

2007-08-29T18:11:00.000-07:00

Index:
a personal discourse to help myself explain poverty in the Philippine setting
the Intramuros viewpoint of Mr Behn Cervantes
a classic encounter with a fellow whose predicament is his size
a seemingly empty cruising night
A Pangasinan fellow who works with the Manila Bulletin
A Bicolano fellow who works in Cavite
A version of Julie Andrews’ My Favorite Things

Just how do I explain streetchildren who dominate the night population in the Walls lately - their presence I do not recall to have been around when I had cruised in the area in the beginning years of my “cruising life.” They seek alms, your pity, your attention as they cover the dark, faceless inroads of the City. Some even behave very awkward and aloof yet at the same longing for some piece of attention from onlookers and other creatures at the Walls. Some look thin, some dirty, some untidy, yet some are really just tired with their presence in this side of the City. Some smell real bad, some smell like burnt skin, some like cheap and over the counter medicines, some reek with lead pollution that emanates from all vehicles that pass at this side of the City. Some are really desirable.

But then again, I like to question “who’s to blame?” We do not expect the government, particularly the respective social work departments of the local government units to file charges to their parents. Will these charges ever prosper, if ever the local social work honchos decide to become severe with the parents? I suppose, the parents must have been one way or another, been “lost” themselves, thus they have no qualms on their children’s “lost” presence in the Walls. God forbid, but these children easily turn out to be pawns in the continuing search for the ideal “partner” for a while by those who gather in the Walls. Some cruisers have grown a taste for them. They look very desirable, and pliable, in a manner that’s is as ghastly as most of us may look at such sexual desires for children by some adults amidst our kind.

“Streetchildren” is a developing phenomenon. It’s everything but a constant element in any major city like Manila - an expansive urban location that has grown beyond its means and borders, of being unable to confront its present status, and just letting the course of the future take assembly and presentation without much required and well thought response, even in a respectable semblance. But then again, London has been described by Charles Dickens in the 19th century of possessing “streechildren” of some other kind, in a few of his novels. I told myself, I must have been seeing beyond the dirty skin surface of these streechildren what others may have been seeing but I have been refusing to see reflective images within myself. In this lifestyle, I realize almost all grow “skin flakes” to help cover up something that is disgusting on the surface. Yet, this attitude is rather very presumptuous. I seem to have been trying to know everything, which is an improbability. I have been trying, all along, to make sense about the whole dynamic scenario of what exists and takes place in the Walls.

Economic indicators point out how bad living conditions have turned out progressively, despite of analysts who point out the otherwise, particularly for the “poorest of the poor.” But who (really) cares? I see them everywhere, not only here at the Walls. They have remained constant reminders of how badly things have turned out in our economic lives, at least.

Surely, I remain unconvinced and pessimistic about the whole show of efforts to help provide bridging facilities to the most poverty stricken among us. Material poverty continues to exist, mainly due to greed, of the extreme kind, that permeates every level of our collective selves. I never fail to see a reflection of myself from the languishing looks of streetchildren that I get to “encounter” in the Walls nowadays. Yet, probing more closely, they are not far different from my kind, as well as the rest of the more, materially wealthy. I can’t help but recognize the utter absence of spirit, that loving kind of spirit, amongst most of those in the privileged sections of our community, even at least, among the local ones in Manila.

How do get to shed myself of the guilt that I had, when I made it with at least, three of these streetchildren, whom prior to the encounter, looked as physically mature as the rest of the others in cruise. We don’t normally announce our age to strangers, unless this is a specification for an invitation to be extended by a prospective partner. I am even quite unsure as to these numbers I have in mind this time. I simply couldn’t discern that I was actually making it with these children. Looking back, I’m bothered about how debased I’ve become when I got to realize this.

Actually, do I even have to consider them as streetchildren, or something else? After my coming, I couldn’t help hold myself in disbelief in engaging it out with these poor fellows, like myself. One even asked for some amount to complement his daily school allowance (At least, I told myself, I was able to help, to remove guilt feelings for even for awhile), as we were putting our clothes on inside that motel along Sta Cruz.

Consistently wearing that dirty, raggedy image that makes me ponder on the meaning of my Christian beliefs.

“Who is clean?” (them or myself?), as I murmured to myself as most of them congregate in the Walls just as to have some kind of a spot to sleep on for the night, particularly during warm summer nights. I get to meet a bunch of them nowadays. They look confused, yet they appear cheerful. Definitely, they possessed that different kind of hungry look, unlike the type that I see from those who wander around the Walls for sex.

I’ve seen the Police patrol cars swiftly passing by the area, and they seem to have ignored the presence of these roaming streetchildren. In the process, the Police fail to see these streetchildren into this bad habit of sniffing rugby, the chemical that I think can help them calm their tired nerves, and forget about life’s cares (and develop drug dependency in the process). Do I still expect myself to report to the Police that I’ve seen these young people attempt to destroy themselves? I guess, I must have grown insensitive from engaging in activities deemed to be out of the law. I see most of them in their pre adolescent years. Yet I’ve seen some young looking, reed-thin girls who are already heavily pregnant. And I take a second look at the other young boys who are with them. They must have been friends. They must have copulated in a convenient space that they have discovered in their forays in the Walls. I get the feel that these misplaced youths likewise find time to study the presence of other cruisers like myself. They must have been wondering as well why men frequently walk to and fro in the spot, and like to lurk in dark and leafy areas.

Yet they’re never disdainful. We co-exist, peacefully, somehow. Until perhaps, come another evening, when the Police will hound us out of the area.

I have, nevertheless, observed that they must have thought of me as someone who happened to be passing by. And there were even batches before who have thought of me as the Police, who have come to gather them all to jail or somewhere else. Some even have gone to approach me to ask for some change, which I almost always refuse.

I’ve seen most of these streetchildren along Burgos St just after the passing the National Museum. Some passengers in the jeepneys find time to gawk at them, and I could see the flinching feelings like startled surprises, and boredom, at an instant from their faces.

I’ve thought of them as prospects as well, at one point, yet just how do I make myself think of the erotic, the minute I take a long serious look at them. They actually mirror the kind of countenance that I must have possessed when I was engaged in my first few cruises in the Walls.

In the earlier periods of my cruising activities, I’ve seen a singular young man, every now and then, who is out to sell a piece of himself to any takers. The type has the same studied approach towards his clients. He would be demanding cash immediately in exchange for his body, any which way you may desire him to reach you physically, if you can endure being physically attracted to children in their awkward innocence. What’s bothersome is you have a feeling that these children are already very sophisticated in all practical matters related to sex. They could have learned their first few lessons via the ever present TV, or some abusive adult in the family. They must have been exposed for a long time to pornographic materials we normally see in certain magazines, newspapers, comics, and other free printed materials. They abound our whole growing up environment, it seem. You can, nevertheless, be reassured that there might be poor chances of you being the first initiator of actual sex in their lives. You seldom meet the kind here at the Walls.

I recall one very young teenager whom I’ve seen at least more than 10 times in the area. He doesn’t even recognize that I’ve refused him in the past, yet he persists on having me bite his bait.
* * * * * * *

But of course, as sages before of us have said repeatedly, change do happen all the time. The Walls have been transformed into some kind of a place where other kinds of people now go and congregate for some other reasons, other than to cruise and be cruised. We've gone very far from how people with different sexual orientations have been regarded by polite society. There's still no same-sex marriage recognition, which may happen in time. This will just happen when the common folk become more open minded to other people's way of living. This continues to be a dream. As long as there are no brave human beings out there willing to take the risk to show and be more normal about leading their lives the way they want them led, nothing much will happen on these desired changes. Besides, there will always be the lack for leaders, particularly among those who are in positions of power and authority, who would show and lead the way to make the majority realize "it's great to be different in one's sexual orientation, of being wired-up as such, and over-all make-up." This will always work against efforts to make members of polite society be more accepting, or be more Christian that talks about love, being loved, and loving (to say the least, in a country that prides itself as being one in Asia).

I can see that this place will become a centerpiece attraction in the future to capture the fancies of those who dream of a better Intramuros for everyone. I've ventured this far to share and describe the events and people that I've encountered in my innumerable trips to the Walls. I'll continue filling in pages of my experiences in succeeding books to my memoirs. To provide a contrasting context to my views as described in the earlier chapters of this book, I share here in full the wishful dream I read of Mr. Behn Cervantes’ column from the BusinessWorld Internet Edition in its URL: http://www.bworld.com.ph/current/A&L/artcol3.html
[Image] MANILA, PHILIPPINES Monday,
February 12, 2001
[Take Ten]
Intramuros dream

When I graduated from UP in 1963, I worked
as a local tours coordinator for Your
Travel Guide, a travel agency on Padre
Faura in front of the Filipinas Hotel owned
by an old family friend, Mila de la Rama.
I thoroughly enjoyed the work and the
opportunity to put our best Filipino foot
forward. I conceived of a plan to rebuild
Intramuros, our famed and historic walled
city, into a combined Williamsburg and
Greenwich Village except more colorful and
multi-ethnic, too.

I have always dreamt that the proposal
could come to pass. In 1978, I wrote about
it again, hoping it would catch the eye of
"Imeldific" Marcos, the grandest builder in
Philippine history, who was also then the
powerful governor of Greater Manila. With
her vast reach she could force its
enforcement.

Sometime in 1987, I wrote about it once
more. Now, I am doing the same thing
because I really believe the project is
great and now a real possibility with the
likes of Richard Gordon as the new
Secretary of Tourism.

My dream?

Turn (as much of) Intramuros, the Walled
City, into the city as it was in 1850, or
any given period that is most feasible to
work on. Everything in Intramuros must be
Filipino and/or demonstrate the foreign
influences of that era. Work with the
historians and cultural archeologists to
ensure the needed authenticity.

The designed plan should cater to the
foreign tourists' expectation, but also
become an educational experience for the
domestic tourists who, while learning of
our glorious past, will develop a deep love
for our country and, therefore, acquire
better self-esteem in the process.
As much of the Intramuros streets should be
given back to pedestrians with only
good-looking calesas and carromatas
(horse-drawn carriages) plying the cobbled
streets. As much of the area should be made
cobble stone streets again. Electrical
wires must be buried underground. A street
or two should be dedicated to ancient
street oil lamps which will be functional
at night.

The facade of buildings must follow a
certain architectural plan, although the
interiors and designs of those edifices are
left to the entrepreneurs. Fire trees and
Golden Showers as well as Banaba trees will
be planted around the city for a colorful
summer when these trees bloom.

When they do, the occasion can be a version
of the cherry blossom festivals in Japan
and Washington D.C., thus providing photo
ops for tourists. Signs of stores,
restaurants and other establishments must
give added touches of history as well as
ambience.

Those modern designs now dominating the
area do little for the historic walled
city.

The city will be a microcosm of Manila
during the early 19th century. No big
hotels will be erected. Instead, they
should be Vigan-type houses or 19th-century
edifices that provide maximum ambience and
a feeling of history.

Hotel as well as store and restaurant
employees must dress in period costumes to
provide ambience and color.

Little chapels will be decorated with as
much church antiquity as possible,
eliminating electric fans and other modern
tools that are out of place. Bookstores and
other stores sell only Philippine products.
Demonstrations of weaving and other native
skills are given at definite hours. An
atmospheric and period theater that seats
about 200 people will be dedicated to
performing zarzuelas, comedies and other
Philippine dramatic works.

The theater will answer the needs of
Manila's students as well as tourists'
desire to see something uniquely Filipino.
The different drama organizations dedicated
to the propagation of Philippine theater
can take turns in staging performances.
Philippine Theater authorities give
pertinent lectures on the genre and
literature after the performances thus
answering the academic needs of the
students, as well. A given area can be
allotted for artists' abodes whose
residence in the walled City will provide
it added dynamism and excitement. Thus, the
city will indeed have the Williamsburg in
Virginia flavor as well as the vitality of
Greenwich Village in Manhattan.

A 200-seat movie house erected as a
historic study will be dedicated to
Philippine classics. A room can be
dedicated to lectures and up-dates on
contemporary cinema. Both theaters can have
bookstores pertinent to its arts.
A beautiful outdoor gazebo presents
different high schools whose students
perform bandurias and other local
instruments as well as demonstrations of
balagtasan (elocution) and tula (poems). A
sports arena has regular displays of arnis,
sipa and other Philippine sports. A kakanin
(native cakes) center will sell our
favorite goodies cooked the traditional
manner. The motif will be provincial. Local
coffee and other drinks will be presented
as interestingly as possible for tourists
to discover Philippine cuisine and
delicacies.

The city can have its European section
where different restaurants specializing
in, e.g. French, English and Italian,
Middle Eastern cuisine can answer
cosmopolitan demands. A section can be made
the Parian where Chinese cuisine and stalls
can be found. An Indian section can be a
colorful spot, too. In effect, we allot
spaces to the early influences to
Philippine culture.

There can also be demonstrations of
indigenous handicrafts as well as
mini-museums of how calesas were made,
print shops, needle factories, blacksmiths'
works and the like. These will have the
appropriate educational literature for
tourists' information as well as the
education of the Philippine students that
will be a major component of the visitors
who come to Intramuros to learn of their
past and, therefore appreciate their
heritage much more. In effect, these will
be mini-museums that will be visual and
intellectual experiences.

The river outside the walls and the water
spots in the Intramuros can be given to
Muslim vinta vendors and the like.
Itinerant vendors of "dirty ice cream,"
balut, puto, pan de sal
and other goods will be allowed to ply the
streets for greater color.

The performances are scheduled throughout
the day at different hours to allow
tourists (foreign and domestic) maximum
enjoyment of the day.

At 5 p.m., the sereno starts to light the
street lamps, done with pomp and
circumstance for fine photo ops.

At 6 p.m., the church bells ring to signal
the angelus. After that, groups go from one
inn to another singing kundimans (Filipino
ballads) as serenades to fair damsels in
various windows with the whole tradition of
the serenade performed for photo ops.
After that, a procession can be held to
commemorate the patron saint of the day
thus providing the religious flavor to the
city and its events.

Intramuros can be a complete tourist spot
unto itself. It will have all the
Philippine activities and items tourists
hope to avail of while in the metropolis.
It will be different from the modern look,
feel, and activities of the rest of Manila
that, after all, differ little from what
they have in the more advanced cities in
Europe and the USA.

Instead, the new Intramuros will provide
tourists with a unique experience during
their visit in Manila. More importantly, it
will likewise answer the needs of the local
tourists who will embrace the area as very
much their own because of its historic,
relevant and "fun" components.

Furthermore, the historic facades and
streets will provide the local film
industry with the period sets and locations
they need to make important historic films.
Filming there will provide extra income and
give tourists extra excitement.

© BusinessWorld Publishing Corporation. ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED.
* * * * * * *
Some personalities hound you from time to time. I have had a good share of the kind, some which I get to encounter and recall every time I pursue efforts in meeting the men who cover the Walls at the same time that I am around the area. Yet, there were instances when I got to meet some few individuals from some spots, and we ended up being together somewhere in the Walls.

A fellow from the Antique crossed my path as I was going out of a theatre in Quiapo. Earlier, I was with some other friends, who were then taking the jeepney ride back home as I was at the other side, right in front of the Quiapo Church facade. A hunk of a man, whose face looks like that of a typical winning boxer, came into the scene. I gave him the look, as I could see everything’s big on him. He was talking in Tagalog with a heavy Southern Philippine accent, which made him looked very vulnerable. Some other friends of mine could have been turned off by this trait yet I felt like doing everything to him, there and then. Everything seems to be physical about him. I even got the temerity to ask him if he’s really big all throughout - he confidently answered me that everything in him is big. Then came a fat woman in dusters and rubbers slippers, walking fast towards us out of the distance, who looked like she was angry at my find. He motioned us to move on, as he told me, the woman’s his aunt, who earlier was telling him to immediately go home. In the jeep, he told me, he just came from the province, and that he opted to give the city a chance, in his efforts to land a job. I could just imagine the kind of jobs that he could land. As a callboy, a security guard, a construction worker, or a driver (if he’s got license to drive), a movie bit player as a stunt man, or perhaps, as a market vendor. I just figured he will eventually go home to the province soon, as I noticed the kind of physical assets that he got.

We alighted at the Round Table, and proceeded to walk to Luna Street. He lived among the squatters, somewhere near the San Agustin Church. It’s been past twelve midnight as I noticed on my watch. At the wooden gate entrance, he pulled down his crotch’s zipper, and, immediately, I saw a reddish cock with such a hefty size that I’ve seen so far. I just had a hard time working on it, while I soon realized we could easily get caught by anyone who could be passing by anytime.

We moved on to his house, which he shares with some other relatives, who were then already fast asleep. We entered the room in complete silence, as he signaled me to hush up with my barrage of questions. There were about five small children in the same room upstairs that serves as their sleeping room as well. He just got something, and then led me to downstairs. We proceeded to the bathroom that was stocked with barrels full of water. In all the heat that room emits, we progressed with all the works we both had in mind, as he related to me just how he got to be recently accepted as a dancer trainee in a gay bar somewhere in Recto, prior to our meeting. I could see he was being happy for having recently landed a job, which I was quite unsure to remark back that he easily fits the job to a T. Along with, I could see that the ceiling had many holes, from which sparks of light pass through. I remember having promised to meet him again, the next week, yet I failed to recall that I had to join my company’s summer outing. He’s actually one of the few ones whom I actually want to meet again, if given the same chance.
* * * * * * *

One long evening, I decided I should be trying it out again in the Walls after a long absence, in the period of which I felt like being completely clean again. This particular night was quite like the past nights that were dotted by rejections, refusals and tireless walkthroughs to and fro the whole vicinity.

Earlier I saw a desirable fellow sitting in one of the concrete benches fronting the National Museum, where the Gomburza Monument stands. In combined black tees and denims, he has this boyish looks with short curly hair that instantly caught my attention yet I thought I should still proceed with my efforts to cruise for far more interesting types. He was predictably good-looking and clean as he sat anxiously and staring at me as gave me a cute smile. I just took mental note of him, just in case, I end up the evening feeling lost and out later in the period.
I had then completed the usual tour of the Walls, where I got walk from area near the Manila City Hall, until I came full circle again at the same point where I begun my walk. Usually, I end up frustrated and tired. I felt like taking some snacks at a foodstall near the buses that are waiting for passengers bound for Batangas. There might be good chances for me to make it with someone who might come along anytime time, while I was having my coffee and sandwich, or a piece of hardboiled egg. Then, something in me prodded my feet to proceed, and repeat the whole walk. I could sense, I could very well meet someone along Bonifacio Drive.

Along Burgos Street, the usual darkness has crept in the whole scene. I just don’t know exactly if I’d be scared of the whole idea of cruising in this place. I just felt, I have always known what I wanted. In the dark, I could see three men grouped closely together. A short guy was then being sucked by someone, while the third guy was beating himself while watching the whole scene. I’ve seen the short guy several times before and there were instances before when he tried to approach me in order to make it with him. Also, I’ve seen similar scenes before and I felt disinterest in participating in the whole scene whatsoever. I was simply bored by the whole scene, so I felt like moving on. Yet, I saw on closer look that the guy who was seated and doing the sucking was the boyish-looking guy whom I’ve seen a lot earlier that evening. I felt enraged by the sight of him working on that short guy who looked ridiculously out of place in the Walls. I thought, I was just being very envious since I could have been his partner if I decided on go after him the minute I saw him. I decided to proceed with my pursuit as the whole has turned to be quite enraging to me.

Soon, the short guy who was earlier being sucked was following me. He invited me to freely join them, which idea wasn’t really an interesting one yet I followed him. He thought I might get excited watching him receiving the works. I got introduced to the boyish-looking fellow who then continued sucking the small guy. I could very well see how well hung the short guy has been, yet I noticed that they seem to have known each other for long. I sat down and just watched them. I didn’t want to be joining them, I just want to be merely a spectator in the silently ongoing event in the darkness of the space. I soon saw the small guy coming, as he cupped both his hands on the boyish-looking guy’s head towards him more closely. The boyish-looking guy appeared so businesslike by the whole thing. He was handed a fifty peso bill by the short guy who was then asking me, if I’d like myself to be worked on as well, as he noted to me how good the boyish guy’s service could get. He then added, that they’ve known each other way back before. And that, actually, the boyish-looking guy wanted actually to suck me, which fact I just ignored and motioned to the boyish-looking guy for us to walk away from the scene.

We walked in order to run away from the short guy. The boyish-looking guy seemed to recognize how much I desire him actually, as we continued walking. This boyish-looking guy was a definitely taller than myself, with a wide, well-built chest, a pair of large long legs, and I could see his being quite new in the Walls. He actually looked very desirable and sprightly as we went about holding our hands together. I found this unusual as I get clammy hands almost everytime I do get into the holding hands scene already. I just get so pretty excited that I wanted to get over the whole fiery state. Then I cooled down just as to make myself relax. I figured out that he must have heard about the Walls from some other people through the word of mouth. We sat on a bench by a lighted portion of the Walls, I could see the National Museum at a distance. We just continued talking and soon, we have covered the usual exchange of basic data about our respective selves. I grew somewhat weary. I soon learned that he wanted to find for someplace to sleep in for the night, a reason which I believed was truthful that night, yet in the past, I simply ignored from some other guys whom I got to meet in the place, who were telling me a similar defense of their innocence (of showing the effect that they just happened to be there without any plausible reason whatsoever). He also explained that he to meet the short guy in a theater in Recto, where he complained about the short guy’s stinginess in doling out more money on those who got the guts to work on him. This boyish-looking guy was indirectly explaining to me that he needed the dough, just as to keep on going with his studies and other expenses. I could see through the whole façade, yet I could sense that he was just being convenient with his reasons. I just figured out that he’d like to be enjoying himself while earning somehow in the process, a typical behavior among some men who thought they could get away with such a dubious approach on events taking place in this side of the Walls. He was hustling his way through his life, and I wonder how far can he get. I pity him in making a fool out of himself in situations like this. In principle, I believe I wanted to engage in these activities because I want them. Period. No other excuses, unless perhaps if it’s my profession. I just wanted to kiss him nevertheless, yet I felt like a prospective customer to him. He showed me his openness for us to get into the act, yet something lighted in my mind. I didn’t long to get involved in an opportunistic commercial transaction for the night. I stood up and decided to give him a 20-peso bill, at least to provide for his cigarettes for the night.
* * * * * * *

I reckon I must have repeatedly come full circle on certain stages of my cruising life in the Walls. Once, I just came out from a theatre when I decided I’d like to take a cruise for the night. Crossing the McArthur Bridge, I stationed myself along the steps of the Main Post Office. Soon, I got tired of waiting for someone to come along, I grew impatient from psyching myself, that tonight’s going to be one of those earlier nights, at least in the quality of those whom I’d encounter in the Walls. I stood up, and walked down, to fix myself for while along the street at the level where the jeepneys get to pass by, and tried to act as if I was waiting for my ride home. It’s turning 11 PM in a few minutes, as the Manila City Hall clock tower showed. I saw someone approaching. I didn’t recognize him at once. Coming more closely to where I was standing, I saw a very familiar figure. He was one of those who interviewed me, probed into the other usual details of my life, who’s working in one of those companies that have seriously considered me for a job, yet refused in the end. He never smiled. I guess, we soon were wearing poker faces towards each other at that instant. I didn’t really need to explain. Actually, I saw him much, much earlier inside the theatre where I knew, some similar activities are engaged. He actually saw me as well, and we actually talked for a while. This time, we decided, perhaps, that there’s no point in continuing our talk. There’s no point in explaining. Suffice it to say that we’ve seen each other in the Walls.
* * * * * * *

After I quit from almost making it with a another fellow one early late, hot Saturday afternoon, I sought out to walk idly on top of the Walls fronting the Bonifacio Drive and Burgos St. Earlier that morning, I was among those hopeful individuals who went showed up early in the morning in the Walls. I had a fleeting encounter inside one of the corner brick-made posts of the Walls, where I gave a blow job to a tall law student, who was then panting in his athletic gear that time. He was just visiting for a chance encounter as he went on his regular jog every weekend morning. He knew about these things that have been taking place in the Walls, and simply shows up when the urgent need calls for it. The chance encounter lasted for a few minutes that were brought forth after he naughtily glanced at me while I was actively cruising for a fix.

Later, I spent some few hours lying on one shaded portion of the Walls, while I pondered on the events that have just taken place in my life, in general. I simply couldn’t help but to engage in pondering about events that have been taking place in my life. Such a variety of questions came forward that afternoon, yet todate, most of them remain unanswered. Before long, I was even able to enjoy a short nap, as I continued pondering on the kind of solitude that has enveloped me while I kept on being alone in this private section that I have all by myself. I should have brought a book, to while away the time here. But this accouterment would have simply lost its purpose in a cruising adventure this weekend. I would be deemed too intelligent looking in a place as sexual as this one.

I woke up from my dreamy state as I soon realized that it was turning late in the afternoon after I have observed the sun has slowly but surely set along the horizon. I have noticed that layer of dust that has accumulated on my skin while I lied serenely a few hours earlier. I thought I should get some food but I felt no hunger at all. I was hungry for something else. Soon I met someone who has that certain animal look, yet when we were almost engaged into it with all our clothes still on, a guard popped out from out of nowhere. I then lost all interest, even if I had a cool conversation earlier with that fellow. He actually belonged to a family who had recently encountered a tragic event, a massacre, that was given full blown reportage in the papers lately. There were other interesting facts about his life that we talked about, particularly that of his elder sister’s lover, a prominent Policeman, whose name I get to read or hear from the news. I continued my idle walk. I had a few other memorable events that I want to rehash every now and then. There was the particular encounter one lunch time with a worker from the Bulletin Publishing firm.

I particularly remember having been stared at enviously by the other cruisers in the Walls after they saw me walking intently with that fellow. He looked thin, and was just wearing the usual gear in the Walls, plain shirt and denims. His family is based in Pangasinan, where he used to be a mere farmer with three small children. Looking neat and tidy, he was rather so casual about everything sexual that’s taking place very near his workplace. I was soon engorging the whole of him, in a few minutes, in a secluded open space on the upper landing of the Walls. I recall how bright the whole blinding and roundly shape of the sun that was gleaming above us. I knew and understood then why those other cruisers were at awe towards me. He was really that big underneath. I simply couldn’t take him all in. Thinking that there would be limited chances to meet someone who’s as big as this one, I worked all the way in the best manner that I could. I couldn’t help but be pornographic about it - as his size amazed me. They say size doesn’t matter, but at that particular time, I knew I felt otherwise. While his naked body gyrated continuously in full ecstatic passionate speed, he was shoving harder everything deep into my throat, as I was amazed the whole length was soon inside for quite awhile in my salivating mouth.

Just then, a small child appeared swiftly, as if being chased upon by a playmate, from the solid concrete stairs around the corner that leads to where we were busy with our stint. The child was clearly stunned as he saw me flat perched while the fellow was shoving himself aggressively towards me with his pants down to his knees and his white buns gleaming towards the child.

I met him again, yet nothing happened next time. I knew I made a promise to him yet I failed to deliver my promise. I have always remembered having this fantasy of making it with him again in a wide open rice field in his Pangasinan farm, the whole expanse of which he once lovingly related to me the first time we met. We even had the time to plan somewhere that we would visit his wife and children in Pangasinan, and we could pretend that we were just friends. There are indeed guys like him, amidst all these fellows whom we encounter every now and then. Though, I never thought well of the role of a charitable lover to the type. I clearly saw myself in a role like that essayed by Ricky Davao in that well crafted Carlos Siguion Reyna’s film, Ang Lalaki sa Buhay ni Selya, only that time, I felt rather awkward and funny, and thought I would not bother to be a crafty lover of a very much married well hung male.
* * * * * * *

Recently, I met a small young fellow, the type of whom you get to see in those cigarette vendors you usually meet as they approach jeepneys and private cars particularly in traffic hours. He was just having fun by being around the area along Bonifacio Drive one dark night I was around the vicinity. He told me that he recently experienced being held up in the Quiapo underpass by three burly fellows. His whole yearend bonus was gone in a few seconds. He described that he had to ran away from them as fast as he could as he took a taxi going towards Baclaran where he thought he won’t be seeing any of those holduppers. I advised him that he should have gone instead to the Police Station to report the crime. This will help him get all the necessary documents that will enable him to get back faster the other documents that he lost to the holduppers. All this time, I took a close look at him and realized that he is actually the type of fellow whom holduppers actually look for, as he is rather small in built yet he’s attired to the hilt, and has this proud gait. I soon got to know that he left Bicol and then started working in a factory located in one of those one of those export processing zones in Cavite, where his uncle is also working. He loudly complained about his companions in the house who must have been envious of him, as he once went home to discover that his other personal things, i.e. TV, VHS, clothes, have been stolen.

Two weeks earlier, I got to meet someone riding a bike as he followed me while walking towards the Manila Hotel. I soon got to know that he was one of those who work in the port area as I noticed that he was wearing the prescribed shirt. As we were finished with each other, I got to know that he had a policeman for a lover. He complained about this lover who was then in their house that night. The policeman lover has been a shabu user for some time already, and he has always insisted that both of them engage in a shabu session which usually ends up in endless sexual sessions that last for two nights in a row. He didn’t relish this idea that night as he opted actually to cruise for some prospective fellow (who was actually me, perhaps, if he didn’t happen to make it with another fellow earlier that night).

These two fellows ended up making it up with me almost in the same room in a motel nearby the Luneta. Strangely, I remember certain details now. Whereas with the first one, I got fucked quite well, I got to fuck quite as well with the second one. Nevertheless, I looked forward to meeting just one of them again, and I wish, he will go out of his way to call me, as I remember having given him our house number.

These two actually were built almost the same way as they stood at the same height. We were passionate as we were into these sexually engaging activities. Meanwhile, I kept on getting images that eventually, I will have to confront myself on the consequences of these encounters. There are actually nights like this which happen every now and then.
* * * * * * *

From a forwarded email:
Subject: Fwd: [Fwd: Natural Highs]
Date: Mon, 02 Oct 2000 03:52:00 GMT
“……….This is one of the best emails that I have received in a long
time.
Take a few minutes and read these. Think about them one at a time
>> > > > >BEFORE going on to the next one.........IT DOES MAKE YOU FEEL GOOD
>> > > > >especially the thought at the end…………..” (a note from the source).
Falling in love.
Laughing so hard your face hurts.
>> > > > > A hot shower.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > No lines at the Super Wal-Mart.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > A special glance.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Getting mail. (or) Email
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Taking a drive on a pretty road.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Hearing your favorite song on the radio.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Lying in bed listening to the rain outside.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Hot towels out of the dryer.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Finding the sweater you want is on sale for half
>>price.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Chocolate milkshake. (or vanilla!)
>> > > > >
>> > > > > A long distance phone call.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > A bubble bath.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Giggling.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > A good conversation.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > The beach.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Finding a $20 bill in your coat from last winter.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Laughing at yourself.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Midnight phone calls that last for hours.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Running through sprinklers.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Laughing for absolutely no reason at all.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Having someone tell you that you're beautiful.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Laughing at an inside joke.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Friends.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Accidentally overhearing someone say something nice
>>about
>> > >you.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Waking up and realizing you still have a few hours
>>left to
>> > > > >sleep.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Your first kiss.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Making new friends or spending time with old ones.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Playing with a new puppy.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Having someone play with your hair.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Sweet dreams.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Hot chocolate.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Road trips with friends.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Swinging on swings.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Wrapping presents under the Christmas tree while
>>eating
>> > > > cookies
>> > > >
>> > > > > and drinking eggnog.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Song lyrics printed inside your new CD so you can
>>sing along
>> > > > > without feeling stupid.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Going to a really good concert.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Making eye contact with a cute stranger.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Winning a really competitive game.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Making chocolate chip cookies.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Having your friends send you homemade cookies.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Spending time with close friends.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Seeing smiles and hearing laughter from your friends.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Holding hands with someone you care about.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Running into an old friend and realizing that some
>>things
>> > > > > (good or bad) never change.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Riding the best roller coasters over and over.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Watching the expression on someone's face as they
open a much desired present from you.
>> > > > >
>> > > > > Getting out of bed every morning and thanking God for
>> > > > another beautiful day.
>> > > > >
>> > > > >I believe that friends are quiet angels who lift us to our feet
>> > > > >when our wings have trouble remembering how to fly.

Epilogue

2007-08-29T15:47:00.000-07:00

"Curt Urbanozo pictures"

Epiloque

“When guilt rears its ugly head confront it, discuss it and let it go. The past is over. It is time to ask what can we do right, not what did we do wrong. Forgive yourself and move on. Have the courage to reach out for help.”
Bernie S. Siegel, MD

I keep rewriting the more appropriate end to this self account. Exceedingly, I may have over strained my efforts, considering developments these days. I can’t decide on which point to emphasize, just as to cancel everything out, given all these descriptions here. Well, as others before me, needlessly, might have said, this “written undertaking has not been easy.” The idea of leaping beyond the unseen borders of pornography and graphic writing will always be opened to challenges of conventions. It takes an uncluttered mind to do this, which state obviously has hounded me in this endeavor.

“Where do you wanna sit?” as she pointed to me the chairs where I have the option to sit during my visit to my therapist. First, I recall that the idea wasn’t really as dreadful as most of us would like to believe. I chose to sit beside the office window that overlooks the busy thoroughfare where lots of passenger jeeps pass by. Laid on the small table are those photo mementos of my therapist’s beloved ones – her husband whose looks remind me of a Latino matinee idol, and perhaps, her children.

“Hmmm, I must have seen him (her husband) somewhere” as I told myself after pondering that his looks can indeed be overbearing. There were other pictures, and some framed paintings. I felt comfortable. The city looks dirty and rather overbearing, and on that particular day, I felt hot about the immense heat of the sun casting its beam all over that side of the metropolis.

She arrived in a light colored pantsuit made of fine material, in a tailored-cut that fits her thin figure rather well. Rather tall, she was expectedly quite articulate. We hit each other instantly quite well, though looking back, she must have considered me a difficult case. I remember that she mainly uses group therapy to work on her cases. Remarkably, she pointed out the many numbers of clients she have, belying the notion that people generally disdain at the idea of visiting a therapist. This is pretty interesting in a society where most people I’ve met practically lead dual lives (perhaps, this explains the observed trait that most Filipinos make it well in adjusting to the living demands of far-away and culturally different, materially advanced countries, but this is another point, altogether). She pointed that I can eventually join the “groups” if I feel like doing so, or she thinks I’m ready for the idea – I didn’t really feel like joining them, anyway. To be fair with her now, she provides group counseling. Within the context of the “group,” an individual sees himself / herself in a wider context. Expressed “support” then comes in the form of views from all the members of the “group.” As for my therapist, I saw her name from an article written, perhaps, by one of the participants in her “groups.” The Philippine Daily Inquirer’s (I must have been mistaken by now on this) article gave me an idea where to seek help on how to cope with these ongoing complexes of emotions. I felt she could professionally provide relief to some extent.

If I recall it correctly, we majored in the same undergraduate course. Apparently, she had to explain that her son is gay (as if it matters to me). I like to give her credit for being brave about the fact, as she continued to point out certain commonalities that may exist between her son and myself. Her son stays in San Francisco, USA as he finds the Philippines to be extra homophobic, particularly, at the “wrong places.’

Nevertheless, I felt her endearing sympathy, somehow. She exhibited an interesting kind of flair in handling my case, very motherly yet rather sophisticated at the same time. Though I’ve noticed that she’s coping herself with basic issues related to this kind of different sexual orientation. Particularly, she apparently, finds it hard to have a very goodlooking son who may be unable to provide a continuation of their family’s lineage. But how basic things can get indeed, I was sarcastically telling myself on this kind of somewhat disturbing attitude towards those whom they know personally as having this kind of preference. But between her son and myself, a very wide gape of range of activities exists. We simply do not compare, it seems to me.

“Why do I like to engage in casual, anonymous sex? The wilder the variety, the more varied, the better?” I tell myself I attempt to put my condition in a basic statement. She couldn’t hear me, of course. She wouldn’t dare give me an answer.

It seems to me that she was trying to cast off her bewilderment, but I must have been imagining things then. To be fair, she was trying to be rather helpful. But she must have been disturbed somehow, as she was telling me that her son has been lately into crossdressing, which activity I do not find tasteful, nor funny. I guess, it’s a matter of taste (as they say).

“Do you think I can really help you?” as she was stressing some point, during the talk on some concerns I had to press on to her, thinking I’ve been unable to cope with the demands of long, complex string of chance encounters amidst attempts to develop a long term.

She has not been able to answer my queries satisfactorily. “You’re too complex,” as she heaved a deep sigh at the apparent inadequacy of meeting my sexual needs.

I figured “Does it really need to center only on sex? Maybe, I must have focused too much on that mainly with my anonymous activities?”

Certain events have been disturbing me. Why bother to account in writing for all these, as I kept telling some friends in the many circles that I’ve been moving in and out all along. I must have met the wrong persons, but I had to convince myself that all these took place for me to learn from them.

In some pages of my other journal that I’ve maintained all these years, I’ve attempted to work on some explanations, no matter how confused my entries way back then (reading them now, I personally find them, rather tiresome, redundant):

“………………............................................................Having garnered that number of encounters at this point, I like to offer some attempts to explain briefly why I’ve grown somewhat tired and weary of these encounters. The motivation behind all these encounters must have been the fleeting (momentary, physical) pleasure that I experience from each encounter. Moreso, I tend to acquire some learnings along the way as I garner more experiences. Hence, likewise, the preparation of this book. Perhaps, I can find some relief on how economists explain the decreasing level of pleasure and satisfaction that I derive as I get to engage more and more in this kind of casual sex that I’ve gone out to explain in this narrative effort. Of course, there’s no denial that there’s something more psychological beneath all these activities, which the interested reader must have figured out on his/her own by this time. Yet, it seems that the more I get to engage in casual sex, the less the satisfaction I receive. And this is not being blasé about the whole set of encounters I have had so far. And at the same time, I don’t want to engage in a monologue as to my own psychoanalytic viewpoint on what has been ongoing in my life these past few years. I guess, this emerging psychoanalytic interpretation is better left to professionals.

Rather cheekily, I like to smile as I find consolation that this desire to engage more and more in casual sex, despite its inherent AIDs related scary scenarios / possibilities, can be explained by what most economists explain behind the law of diminishing marginal utility (no matter irrelevant this definition could get, but nevertheless, it’s an attempt to provide some kind of outlook at all these). This, likewise explains why, at this point in time, I have gained a certain level of distaste in engaging in this kind of casual sex, after gaining a certain big number of encounters in this kind of lifestyle. This actually happens on certain nights. It’s as if the number of encounters presents an appropriate measure of knowledge about this whole kind of different lifestyle. Perhaps, I’ve nevertheless reached a certain level of plateau with regards to my efforts to engage in casual sex. Perhaps, I like to admit that it is certainly due to this recognition after having pondered on the meaning behind all these encounters. Certainly, I like to explain my self somehow, that’s why I tend to engage in conversations with each of these chance prospects I’ve met in the Walls (to exclude all the other areas where I have met all the others). It is in the desire as well to keep myself from engaging in solitary psychoanalysis, no matter how absurd and stupid this idea can get. "

Meanwhile, I like to spread fully the wide expanse of my clipped wings this time. The diverse awe-inspiring souls hover lightly beyond there. They’re merely waiting patiently for my advent. I reckon, I will have to join them as well. The remainder of this continuing chronicle will have to be provided by all the rest of those delightful, loving yet lost souls out there.

“I am part of all I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world whose margins fades
For ever and ever when I move”

Alfred, Lord Tennyson