When I used to visit one of those early lgbt-friendly bathhouses back in Metro Manila many years ago (I know it was owned and operated by a couple whose connections with the then powerful Marcos clan were really that strong and dependable), I met one guy with whom I exchanged furtively-narrated brief stories in between our cruising activities in the bathhouse. Of course, I can't recall the complete details now, but I still recall how one of his stories would turn me on and make me imagine more details than what were originally provided to me by this fellow who took a particular liking to me that evening.
He's one of those cute guys who work in one of the major airlines, and you know right away that he's well compensated unlike most workers I'd see those days. He was behaving like he was getting disappointed over his waning prospects of ending up with someone he really likes to be with that night. I saw him walking all over the place, as he would cover the ground floor and the second floor, which was typical with most every one else during that night.
I would soon learn practically everything about his sexual preferences that time. Among his stories, he shared me his encounter with a commercial airline pilot from the Middle East. The fellow who was sharing me these details probably could have been an airline purser, or one of those who checks out airline personnel before a plane flies out or if there's something that has to be delivered personally (probably a reader out there can explain to me if this makes sense). One time, he had to approach the cockpit and had to brief the pilots for one critical reason or another. The pilot, whom he described as goodlooking, middle-aged but with well-preserved physique, gave him a look and asked him to pay him a visit at his hotel later that night. He understood very well the invite.
And he did show up. He was soon knocking on his hotel door, and he was let in, and he saw the pilot had already started having his cocktails. Oh, my storyteller would soon share me how this pilot would soon be penetrating him several times that night. They would share the whole evening together and parted ways the next day when the pilot had to be flying out of Manila.
I was fancying about this recollection of a story I heard many years ago mainly because I had been seeing numerous retired professional pilots on TV lately because they're being interviewed to share their thoughts out because of the missing Malaysian Airlines airplane. It's my fervent wish and hope that the plane would soon be found out somewhere out there in the waters that cover over 70% of this planet where we do all sorts of things that we can ever imagine during our respective lifetimes.
Showing posts with label Manila by night. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Manila by night. Show all posts
That Pedestrian Bridge Connecting the Chinese General Hospital and the College of Nursing
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.
These encounters took place so many years ago that I am struggling to recall and share more vividly a lot of the details I still have in stock memory about them. I would continue to wonder why I recall the encounters once in a while, even if I'm already based in a faraway country from where they originally took place. And I still get snatches of the freshness of the encounters in my mind when I ponder on the best scenes from my intimate experiences, especially when I'm just by myself. The memory of making it with some fellows who happened to be around during those nights when I decided I'd like to cruise somewhere near the Manila North Cemetery still comes into shore as if they just happened yesterday. The memory would usually start with what I had observed from some distance. I had seen many times from my seat in a moving vehicle the street where we were passing by had men who would be running to and fro from the cemetery. They're moving as quickly as they could from something scary and what was similar to what happened to me many times when I used to cruise in the Intramuros Walls.
Just right in front of the main entrance of this well known cemetery in the Philippine capital, you'll see a nondescript single story building that you could easily guess to be a public restroom. I would assume that this public restroom (which in the USA is called a 'bathoom') was built only as an afterthought and without due regard to design, as it looked so incongruous as it stands between the wrought iron gates of the cemetery and the pedestrian bridge. I recall that a deep canal flows next to where this restroom stands. But nobody among the regular folks would venture to go there just to pee. And during those years when I used to pass by this area, this building stands almost under the pedestrian bridge and next to the Chinese General Hospital. I'm not sure if it's still there.
I noticed that pedestrian bridge was barely used, which was confounding to me. Or I must had been mistaken by my biases over seeing growing colonies of squatters who live full time within and among the tombs inside the cemetery. These residents could just be using these structures to relieve themselves when they happened to be nearby and had to go. But I would soon discover that it was used by generations of cruisers, including myself who was around for a few times in the late evenings many years ago. One time I walked up the concrete stairs of the pedestrian bridge, which was totally filthy and in a state of disrepair, I remember having made it out with a young man who was thin, goodlooking, with strong solid facial features and who showed up suddenly from nowhere that rainy night. I even brought with me an umbrella. Upon seeing me, he would right away bring down his pants to his knees and allow me to approach him and give him head until he came. And we didn't have the chance to talk, except for a few instructions from him on how I should work on him while we were together. We were both young, so restless and so full of sexual energy that we were then learning to manage (probably no one among our networks would be willing to instruct us on how to manage these energies oozing from our young bodies) to meet our needs and wants.
As I would soon discover, the public bathroom right under the pedestrian bridge was also known to have been a tryst used by a lot of men who just wanted to have some adventure, a little bit of privacy, and quickly come or just watch other men jerking themselves until they come. Inside, it was reeking with urine smell, dried and fresh feces and other unimaginable dirt. But you'd make up faces of men as your eyes have been exposed to the dark after a while when inside; you would soon figure out that these men had been doing something more. I recall having met another young man there, who was probably of the same age as mine then. We grappled at each other's bodies as soon as we found each other in the dark space. But the strong stench of the place probably got into him so that he decided to invite me to his place, which he said was nearby. We'd walked a few blocks, and I recall the place was close to the Dimasalang Bridge. It was past 3am then, and I noticed all the silent and dark houses whose residents were in deep slumber. The streets were all lighted, and I would quickly recall in mind some movie scenes showing such typical streets in Manila. We stopped before a single family house that has a passenger jeepney standing on its front.
Inside the jeepney, I saw a man sleeping and heard him softly snoring. My companion volunteered to tell me the guy's their driver; his family has a jeepney for business, apparently. We moved and walked along the side on an unlighted short alleyway that leads to the front door of the house. It was dark, and he stopped just in front of the door. In an instant, we started kissing and hugging each other as we continued with undressing each other. Our shirts were off, then followed by our pants, and our underpants. We just continued kissing, hugging, cuddling, and moaning.
I could see that the door might be opened by anyone from inside the house. But who would think somebody might do that at such an unholy hour? We silently proceeded to suck each other's cocks. We were soon coming on each other's laps. It was over in 15 minutes or so, the prelude of which was started in that very dirty public restroom. I was glad I did come. I recall that good looking guy wanted us to meet again some time; I might have been given his phone number so that I could get in touch with him. I paid more attention to his good looks; he's a skin tone lighter than myself, which quality in the Philippines is generally given more premium when it comes to physical looks. We were similar in height, built and weight, plus with similar middle class social background (we were both in college then). I felt like I was being attracted to another version of myself as I continued observing him. He was friendly, I recall. And just like typical properly reared adolescents, we said thanks to each other. But I don't think I went out of my way to contact him again. I recall he had then been studying at the nearby University of Santo Tomas (known as Asia's oldest university). I was still then not sure if I wanted to be in touch with someone I surreptitiously had quick sex with. But I knew I totally enjoyed the brief encounter.
I never went back again to that tiny cruising ground in front of the Manila North Cemetery. I would just go back there mainly because I knew one of my brothers, in his very young age as a baby of around 7 days old, was buried there. Unfortunately, we couldn't locate his tomb anymore during the last time we were there during the traditional annual day of visit to honor the memory of the dead. The authorities must have placed his body with those others whose families or relatives have failed to pay the annual dues to the city government, which happens as a way to control the dead population being buried in that cemetery that has among its permanent residents the rich and famous of the Philippine state, and that has a grand collection of very elaborate, unique and awesome tomb structures (a must-see destination of any curious, open minded tourist in Manila). To this day, I'm still sorry our family never got the chance to keep and maintain my brother's tomb.
These encounters took place so many years ago that I am struggling to recall and share more vividly a lot of the details I still have in stock memory about them. I would continue to wonder why I recall the encounters once in a while, even if I'm already based in a faraway country from where they originally took place. And I still get snatches of the freshness of the encounters in my mind when I ponder on the best scenes from my intimate experiences, especially when I'm just by myself. The memory of making it with some fellows who happened to be around during those nights when I decided I'd like to cruise somewhere near the Manila North Cemetery still comes into shore as if they just happened yesterday. The memory would usually start with what I had observed from some distance. I had seen many times from my seat in a moving vehicle the street where we were passing by had men who would be running to and fro from the cemetery. They're moving as quickly as they could from something scary and what was similar to what happened to me many times when I used to cruise in the Intramuros Walls.
Just right in front of the main entrance of this well known cemetery in the Philippine capital, you'll see a nondescript single story building that you could easily guess to be a public restroom. I would assume that this public restroom (which in the USA is called a 'bathoom') was built only as an afterthought and without due regard to design, as it looked so incongruous as it stands between the wrought iron gates of the cemetery and the pedestrian bridge. I recall that a deep canal flows next to where this restroom stands. But nobody among the regular folks would venture to go there just to pee. And during those years when I used to pass by this area, this building stands almost under the pedestrian bridge and next to the Chinese General Hospital. I'm not sure if it's still there.
I noticed that pedestrian bridge was barely used, which was confounding to me. Or I must had been mistaken by my biases over seeing growing colonies of squatters who live full time within and among the tombs inside the cemetery. These residents could just be using these structures to relieve themselves when they happened to be nearby and had to go. But I would soon discover that it was used by generations of cruisers, including myself who was around for a few times in the late evenings many years ago. One time I walked up the concrete stairs of the pedestrian bridge, which was totally filthy and in a state of disrepair, I remember having made it out with a young man who was thin, goodlooking, with strong solid facial features and who showed up suddenly from nowhere that rainy night. I even brought with me an umbrella. Upon seeing me, he would right away bring down his pants to his knees and allow me to approach him and give him head until he came. And we didn't have the chance to talk, except for a few instructions from him on how I should work on him while we were together. We were both young, so restless and so full of sexual energy that we were then learning to manage (probably no one among our networks would be willing to instruct us on how to manage these energies oozing from our young bodies) to meet our needs and wants.
As I would soon discover, the public bathroom right under the pedestrian bridge was also known to have been a tryst used by a lot of men who just wanted to have some adventure, a little bit of privacy, and quickly come or just watch other men jerking themselves until they come. Inside, it was reeking with urine smell, dried and fresh feces and other unimaginable dirt. But you'd make up faces of men as your eyes have been exposed to the dark after a while when inside; you would soon figure out that these men had been doing something more. I recall having met another young man there, who was probably of the same age as mine then. We grappled at each other's bodies as soon as we found each other in the dark space. But the strong stench of the place probably got into him so that he decided to invite me to his place, which he said was nearby. We'd walked a few blocks, and I recall the place was close to the Dimasalang Bridge. It was past 3am then, and I noticed all the silent and dark houses whose residents were in deep slumber. The streets were all lighted, and I would quickly recall in mind some movie scenes showing such typical streets in Manila. We stopped before a single family house that has a passenger jeepney standing on its front.
Inside the jeepney, I saw a man sleeping and heard him softly snoring. My companion volunteered to tell me the guy's their driver; his family has a jeepney for business, apparently. We moved and walked along the side on an unlighted short alleyway that leads to the front door of the house. It was dark, and he stopped just in front of the door. In an instant, we started kissing and hugging each other as we continued with undressing each other. Our shirts were off, then followed by our pants, and our underpants. We just continued kissing, hugging, cuddling, and moaning.
I could see that the door might be opened by anyone from inside the house. But who would think somebody might do that at such an unholy hour? We silently proceeded to suck each other's cocks. We were soon coming on each other's laps. It was over in 15 minutes or so, the prelude of which was started in that very dirty public restroom. I was glad I did come. I recall that good looking guy wanted us to meet again some time; I might have been given his phone number so that I could get in touch with him. I paid more attention to his good looks; he's a skin tone lighter than myself, which quality in the Philippines is generally given more premium when it comes to physical looks. We were similar in height, built and weight, plus with similar middle class social background (we were both in college then). I felt like I was being attracted to another version of myself as I continued observing him. He was friendly, I recall. And just like typical properly reared adolescents, we said thanks to each other. But I don't think I went out of my way to contact him again. I recall he had then been studying at the nearby University of Santo Tomas (known as Asia's oldest university). I was still then not sure if I wanted to be in touch with someone I surreptitiously had quick sex with. But I knew I totally enjoyed the brief encounter.
I never went back again to that tiny cruising ground in front of the Manila North Cemetery. I would just go back there mainly because I knew one of my brothers, in his very young age as a baby of around 7 days old, was buried there. Unfortunately, we couldn't locate his tomb anymore during the last time we were there during the traditional annual day of visit to honor the memory of the dead. The authorities must have placed his body with those others whose families or relatives have failed to pay the annual dues to the city government, which happens as a way to control the dead population being buried in that cemetery that has among its permanent residents the rich and famous of the Philippine state, and that has a grand collection of very elaborate, unique and awesome tomb structures (a must-see destination of any curious, open minded tourist in Manila). To this day, I'm still sorry our family never got the chance to keep and maintain my brother's tomb.
The book is now available, in hardcover, paperback & ebook formats from my online store, Amazon.com,Barnes and Noble,Xlibris.com, Powell's Books, and other online stores.
courtesy of Facebook's OLD MANILA
Prelude
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
Grenville Kleiser
"If things do not turn out as we wish, we should wish for them as they turn out."
Aristotle
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
The book is now available, in hardcover, paperback & ebook formats from my online store, Amazon.com,Barnes and Noble,Xlibris.com, Powell's Books, and other online stores.
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
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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)
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.
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.
3. The Beginning Encounters
The book is now available, in hardcover, paperback & ebook formats from my online store, Amazon.com,Barnes and Noble,Xlibris.com, Powell's Books, and other online stores.
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.
Index:
A guy in fresh denims
A former college athletic (soccer) scholar
An uptight and not-so-truthful fellow
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
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.
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 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.
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
The book is now available, in hardcover, paperback & ebook formats from my online store, Amazon.com,Barnes and Noble,Xlibris.com, Powell's Books, and other online stores.
"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.
"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.
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 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.
* * * * * * *
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
* * * * * * *
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
My "GoodReads" reviews
The Garden of Two Dragons Fucking by Jerusalino V. AraosMy review
rating: 5 of 5 starsremarkably illustrated, concise, and irreverent (not a porno book, whatsoever)!!! an old friend lent me a copy years ago, and have found it very fascinating. of course, part of the excitement of reading this book is it's "curious" title. it's actually a children's book, (would you believe?), by araos, a respected artist in the philippines. the title may be offensive to most adults who have concerns about "fucking," but i'd believe parents would become more authentic as "persons" (who get hurt, need to be loved, need to love as well, etc.) to their children, if they get to have them read this book. you may not need to explain the title, as there's really no need for it. its being "irreverent" is mainly because of the use of the word 'fucking' & nothing else. it's all about discovering your being you as a person, pursuing your dreams, and not that one person others may have in mind when they see you. i could not get hard copies of this book myself, so i kept a xeroxed copy of it in my library back in the philippines.
View all my reviews.
Posts
