4. Some Engaging Evenings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5. Some Nagging Personalities

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. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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