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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.