"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
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