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Check the drafts of a memoir (available in leading online stores) in long blog posting-format that account on how I coped with youthful urges with having no positive role models and growing up under restrictive social conditions, in Manila, Philippines, circa 1980s way much until after I moved to NYC. Drafts of my other book projects are here, too. God be praised!

Showing posts with label mehan garden. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mehan garden. Show all posts

2. The Cruisin' Domain

The book is now available, in hardcover,  paperback & ebook formats from my online storeAmazon.com,Barnes and Noble,Xlibris.comPowell's Books, and other online stores. 




courtesy of Facebook's OLD MANILAcourtesy of Facebook's OLD MANILA

"Victoria Kapauan-Gaerlan photos"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Creative Commons License
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.

4. Some Engaging Evenings

The book is now available, in hardcover,  paperback & ebook formats from my online storeAmazon.com,Barnes and Noble,Xlibris.comPowell'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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pride of place

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

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

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

Why not fix and reuse the
existing City College
building?

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

8. Inconsequentials

The book is now available, in hardcover, paperback & ebook formats, from my online storeAmazon.com,Barnes and Noble,Xlibris.comPowell's Books, and other online stores. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My "GoodReads" reviews

The Garden of Two Dragons Fucking The Garden of Two Dragons Fucking by Jerusalino V. Araos

My review

rating: 5 of 5 stars
remarkably 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.