In Loving Memory of a Very Good Friend Who Regretfully Committed Suicide

My first book is now available, in hardcover,  paperback, e-book formats from my online store, Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, Xlibris.com, Powell's Books, and other online stores. 
We actually met in a nude massage session that used to happen for so many years in an old building almost along the corner of 6th Avenue and 23rd Street in Manhattan. As you would go up the building, you would pass by a gym that had events offering the Brazilian Capoeira to those enthusiastic participants. I would wonder if these fellows had an idea on what had been ongoing in the confines of the walls standing just next to their door. That massage event would usually be posted on Craigslist and I just followed my instincts as I sought out ways to meet up with interesting, unafraid people as soon as I came to stay for good here in New York City (NYC). A number of men showed up that particular night and some of whom created strong impressions on me as each of them, including myself, went about following the voiced out instructions from the organizer, who would demonstrate the various steps, on how to go about giving massages to the one on the massage table up to a certain period and the others would then get onto the table to be massaged. The process is repeated until every one gets massaged. I recall having massaged and gained more confidence in doing massages from at least 15 men that night; I knew I saw a lot of nakedness from among many men, including my own naked self, that night. I would soon find out that that night's session would be more memorable for some other reason. We were not allowed to do beyond massaging and explicitly told not to give happy endings. Everything was supposed to be sensual.

And with that night's massage session being over, I put on my clothes and went out of the building and quickly got into the subway to go home in Jackson Heights, Queens as the weather was cold that night. Inside the system, I saw one of those guys with whom I exchanged massages standing and waiting on the platform; it's not difficult not to miss him as he was lean and tall at 6'4" and was wearing his rimless eyeglasses on. I was soon chatting with him as I decided I would like to get to know him better. Thankfully, he recognized me and we were soon taking the same train going to Queens, which was the 'F,' and we soon surprised ourselves as we were headed to the same directions as we found out we lived one block away from each other. Thinking quickly, I invited him to my building, and suddenly we recognized the need to take action on the attraction that we had for each other. I explained that I live (then) with roommates and I let him in to my tiny bedroom. Nothing happened yet between us at that point. On our way out of my apartment, as it was already becoming late as both of us had to work the next day, we were soon kissing each other on the lips and kept on doing so warmly and intensely. We promised to keep in touch as we exchanged contact numbers. We also kept on kissing each other on the lips as we also groped each other's bodies while waiting for the elevator to come to our floor. It was quick but indeed memorable.

That meeting led to more meetings between us and we would go out to watch Broadway shows together. I would call him the next day and would leave a message, which he returned as soon as he was able to do so. In due time, I was happy being introduced to Broadway culture by someone who moved to NYC precisely to live well and be in the very center of American culture. He would tell me that when he was still a young boy, he pointed out most clearly to his parents that he wanted to move and live in NYC. A Juilliard graduate, he's a musical composer and was then working with a non-profit organization. I would never know why but I would recall having revealed a lot about myself to him, including other stuff that I would now hesitate to share to my closest friends.

With guilt feelings over what I still have in my heart for someone I had lived with for at least 8 years back in the Philippines, I stepped out of my scared feelings and sought out warm company from someone I definitely liked receiving it from. It wasn't difficult to become so involved with him as he's a willing and tireless listener and possessed such a kind hearted personality that I couldn't believe I would meet in NYC. I would just wonder, though, that it was difficult to reach him every now and then. And I had the pleasure of learning that he's from the MidWest and he would go out of his way to interpret and explain the quirks of US culture to someone like me who transplanted himself in the US East Coast. He didn't really explain much, but went out of his way to show me examples so I would better undertand and appreciate better the ins and outs of US culture. For example, we were watching a movie on 'All About Eve' and he would let me watch and note how one of the actors would laugh on screen over hearing that someone's from Wisconsin. I didn't really the get idea at once, but I would later understand the implication, especially because he's from that state.

We went as well to nude yoga sessions, which he introduced to me by way of his invites to me to the nude yoga studio so he would have a ready partner to do certain yoga asanas together. We were in the studio for some sessions, and I would soon be entralled by the benefits of yoga, which I continue to engage into up to the time of this writing. Actually, I would stop for some time in engaging in yoga after he passed on. For awhile, I could not help but recall that he was the one who introduced me to yoga.

Probably, he quickly had an idea that I was then really a tyro in the city. And that he had a Filipino lover before, with whom he was involved with for some time until this guy moved to another state to get married. He would describe the guy to be a young fellow, someone reared up by his grandmother, an attractive Asian man, doing work in the medical field, with problems on pimples on his face, and one who introduced him to Filipino sentimental music and language. Through this boyfriend, he would also be introduced to samples of Filipino food, including pancit and lumpia. He didn't really relish, though, those sweets made from rice flour, I would remember him telling me about what he thought of those food stuff. I knew that he had loved this guy, which knowledge I learned from several conversations with him. I don't think they had been in touch during the last few years of my good friend's life.

He's the first person whom I've known up close and personal who admitted to me that he happened to be a bipolar, and that had to undergo weekly sessions with his therapist. I was taken aback somewhat upon learning this. But I heard early on from my other friends that NYC's full of people who have raging, emotional troubles. I learned about this on him only after over a year of going out with him. Learning that fact about him, I would be able to explain to myself why he would be unreachable from time to time (as in he would not even take my calls, although we had an understanding that we're more than friends).

I think I would still see him in one of those last nude massage meetings in Manhattan before these meetings ended because the long time organizer could not find a reasonably priced location where he could move the event. I didn't really think much about us unexpectedly seeing each other in one of these sessions, although we had been dating each other more often by then. But looking back, I would get surprised by the thought that I should have learned early on and would come handy when it comes to dating with men who were born and raised here in the US.  It's important to see this kind of situation from the eyes of an Asian guy like myself who was born and raised back in the Philippines. It would have been a major source of a fight and an exchange of hastily hurled accusations if such a scene happened back in the Philippines between friends who behaved like they've been together and had been intimate with each other. Were we not sufficient for each other's particular needs such that we would still need to go out and find other means to meet them somewhere? I would continue to learn and keep on seeking more learning many other explanations on the dynamics, among other things, of my relationship with him.

He had the chance to sleep one time in my apartment up in Inwood when he had to meet up with his young wards from his job at a nearby school to a weekend culture event, and where he would bring some of them to some places in and out of NYC. I don't recall if we went to bed and had sex that night but we definitely kissed each other before going to sleep as I had to catch my sleep for an early work the next day. I left the apartment before him and left him still in bed that weekend. He would profusely thank me for that as it saved him a lot of travel time from his place in Jackson Heights. Also, I would remember him bringing a busload of his noisy, young and undisciplined wards to Hersheys, Pennsylvania, as well as to Toronto, Canada. He worked hard so that his wards would have the best exposure to works and events on culture and the arts. I once attended an annual musical event that he organized in one of those auditoriums close to the Central Park, where I saw him first hand doing his work for those children who needed to be exposed to the kind of culture that members of the upper elite society of NYC would normally have.

We were together that last night when his much-beloved Mom would breathe her last after a debilitating illness. I recall we watched a Broadway show, and it was a winter night. I would receive a text message from him the next day that he had to rush and get into a flight back to Wisconsin to be with the remains of his Mom who died of cancer. For some months over a period of time, we would meet in his apartment where I would share him my thoughts and the accounts of my own experience from having a Father who died due to lung cancer, which was the same disease that his Mom had.

He would encourage me to move again to Jackson Heights to the same apartment where I used to live, after I told him that I was invited again by my old landlord to consider moving again to the said apartment. He expressed a certain kind of happiness over the possibility that we would be neighbors again, and that we didn't really have to deal about distance (even if most places here in NYC can be reached by public transportation). I would study seriously and would consider to agree to his request but eventually, I would decide to move to another part of the NYC, which was in Chinatown, mainly because I wanted to explore the opportunity that would come with it. I would never know now if he took it personally that I decided against his request.

Looking back, I would have wanted to be more closer to him but he must have deliberately kept distance, mainly because of his sickness, his daily job demands, and his other personal concerns. There would be periods when we won't get in touch with each other, but we would always find ways to catch up with each other whenever certain critical events would happen in our respective lives. I would definitely learn that he would also meet other guys thru online means; I even saw his profile from time to time whenever I would check what had been happening in those sites. We would go out to bars together, drinking and dancing. And I would kiss him on the lips tenderly, and I would recall now that he must have been wondering why I was behaving like I was telling him that we should be more exclusive to each other. I now know that I was being mistaken. We just simply understood each other, and had recognized each other's  roles in our respective lives. I know he would tell his therapist about me, too. And I never had the chance to ask him what his therapist had thought about me. Every time I would visit him in his apartment (or every time he would invite me over), we would end up being in bed together, which was almost always wonderful to me. I do hope he had occasions when enjoyed himself as well being with me, which I like to believe he did, as he would come most of the time he and I went to bed together. His queen size bed had satiny-like and very dark-colored, it must have been deep rose in color, sheets, and we must had been in that bed a minimum of at least 30 times. I would particularly remember him on his bed while sleeping in that darkened room, where the form of his body would glisten mainly because of his really pale, white skin.

I would learn much later after he passed on that I was one of the very few people he knew and whom he invited over to his place.  One of his sisters knew that I was her brother's boyfriend, which she asked me upon meeting me at the funeral. Except for his relatives or probably those he met online and he had gone to bed with, he never invited people or his other closest friends to visit him in his apartment.

I was the one who convinced him to create a Facebook profile, which he did one evening I was in his place. I gave him instructions on how to go about it; I noticed how surprised and annoyed he was over seeing very familiar faces on Facebook, some of whom he'd rather would not even even deal with in the first place. I didn't really want to ask why as it's not my business. This Facebook profile is the only link I have of him in my social network that still reminds me strongly of a lot of experiences we shared together; I would notice that his profile pic has been removed by someone (most probably upon learning of his death). 

Now, I can relate some probable reasons that prompted him to commit suicide. What precipitated the event was the prospect of losing a job that he loved at his last employer. He probably couldn't stand being unemployed again, given the situation of the economy then. He was being asked to teach children, but he definitely would not want to do that, even if he was doing coaching gigs for certain students of music. His direct boss, who talked too much that annoyed him endlessly, threw him into the lions' den, so to speak. During budgeting time, his position was sacrificed so that a more efficient structure in their group would come about following ideas from top ranking officers of the non-profit organization where he worked when I met him. It was a few days after his birthday, which period I would recall brought about heavy rains in NYC, when I would learn he committed suicide from a member of his family who called me at home earlier that grim day to inquire of the last time when got to talk to each other. My friend, during the last few days of his life, was unreachable by me, except for a single text message he sent me in reply to my calls and text messages (which was really nothing new, as he would do that to me, every now and then) -- he promised to be in touch (and I'd known he had been in touch with me, in his own special way, even if I knew from him that he didn't really believe in the afterlife). But I would always appreciate he made sure we'd go out together last time prior to his death; we watched a nice film somewhere in Chelsea; we went to a dinner and ended up having some bottles of beer together in a leather bar somewhere in the same district. Strangely, I would recall now during that last night that we were together that he wore the mien of death on his face, which I inadvertently ignored (who would have thought he'd take his own life? and who would like that to happen to him?).

One of the last few times we went to bed together, he would give me a good rimming, which I only allowed after I had to excuse myself so I could clean that part of me below my stomach and so I won't get embarrassed, just in case. He asked, "Is it that bad?" as we had to break after we had indulged in drinks and food that he prepared himself. I wondered why I had to answer and decided not to respond as I stepped out from his huge lounge  chair to excuse myself to the bathroom set next to the wall upon which the chair was placed. After going back, what followed and happened between us was certainly  so memorable as I recall having to ask him to fuck me, which he did and he used his fingers to penetrate me.