The Grinch Who Stole Christmas

borrowed from tvguide.com

Okay, I'm being too general here. I don't really hate HATE Christmas, I am just getting close, and closer to my breaking point this season. So many factors too consider, and talk about. Especially today, I've had my ups and downs. It was a rollercoaster of emotions.

My mother thinks I have anger management issues. Not really. I happen to keep my cool rather well under duress, and trust me, every day at work is a challenge.

So what issues have I been battling with today?

It was actually a revelation yesterday from one of my co-managers.

You see, it's our staff's Christmas party this Saturday, and naturally, I am the one in-charge of the budgeting and logistics of the event. Each manager who handles a department has a set budget for the staff's Christmas party, and normally, the budget is not enough. Thus, we end up asking for donations from clients and contractors, and use the extra funds for the party. Regardless, these are often still not enough, and we end up asking the staff to pay up a minimal amount to help out the party's funding. During the party, we also give the staff their grocery bags, filled with ham, and other food items. Last year, we spent about PhP 800.00/head for each grocery bag.

My co-manager called me yesterday, while I was in the middle of the meeting, sounding quite dumbstruck. I had sent an email asking the managers of the departments to inform me how much money has been donated to them. The first manager, the one who called me, had PhP 20,000.00 already. The female manager (aka object of my ire for the past few posts - yes, it's that bitch again) claimed they had only received PhP 2,000.00 in donation. The third manager, also received PhP 2,000.00.

The first manager received a tip from one of bitch manager's staff that she had actually received more than PhP 2,000.00. One check donation alone, according to the mole-staff, was PhP 20,000.00. Another client gave PhP 5,000.00. And there were several whom had given loose change of PhP 1,000.00, and so on. In other words, she had at least PhP 25,000.00 worth of donations with her. Why did she declare that she only had PhP 2,000.00?

At first, I thought this girl was going to pocket everything. I wished it was plain as that. She is planning on a different Christmas party for her department... at the expense of the central Christmas party. She is holding on to all of the donations, not giving any for the staff Christmas party we were organizing, because she is so selfish, and wants to spend the money she received on her staff only.

How ironic that this is coming from a woman who this week sent an email stating "Christmas is the time to cast away individual differences." Well, what did I expect? A day after she sent that email, she was screaming at my assistant over the phone, believing the lies that her assistant had told her, and not listening to a word my assistant was saying at all. Evil.

Which brings me again to my question: why is it that people with this horrible attitude are almost always all women?

I told our direct superior all about this issue. It was taking its toll on the other 2 managers already. They had already started on a "what's yours is yours, and what's mine is mine" tirade already. To the point that even raffles may have been done on a per department basis.

I don't want to wish ill of her, it is Christmas after all, but she is just impossible to forgive. She is the devil incarnate.

borrowed from prlog.org

On the one hand, I had my own pity party just a while ago. While I was picking up the cellphone I had bought for my boyfriend for Christmas, I ended up noticing the gaping scratch on my Blackberry's fascia. Right there and then, I wanted to buy a new phone. However, my budget for a new phone has been eaten up by the phone I bought my boyfriend, and the phone I gave to my mother, both for Christmas.

Why am I not enjoying the season then?

First, I will not be happy until I stop interacting with that bitch in the office. Second, I wish my Christmas shopping was all about me. I really want to buy a new phone, but it is out of budget already. Maybe I have to save money from my teaching gig, and purchase an iPhone by summer. Haaaay. That's the only way I can get through this funk, I suppose.

Tapping on My Window

borrowed from Dom08 of pinoyexchange.com

When I was a freshman in high school, our editor-in-chief asked us to submit poems as fillers for the magazine. I wasn't really much of a creative writer back then and didn't know what to write about. Meetings for the clubs were usually done during the last period on Wednesdays. After the meeting, I was picked up by the driver and headed for home.

borrowed from http://www.flickr.com/photos/menandrew/203689824/

It started to rain, and here in the Philippines, when that happens, expect heavy traffic. My van ended up in a jam under the Katipunan flyover, about to turn to Aurora Boulevard. Since I enjoy the relaxing sound of the rain on the roof of our cars, I was lost in my thoughts oblivious to the horrible traffic outside (one of the reasons why I would always rather let the driver do the driving up until now). I was roused from daydreaming, or rain-dreaming, by a soft tapping on the window of the van. I looked out and I saw a little girl begging for coins in the middle of the rain.

My parents always told me not to give to beggars as doing so would not really help uplift them from their situation and I always listened not thinking that there will come a point when I will start debating whether to do so or not. There was something about this particular little girl, standing barefoot in greasy clothes, wet from the rain, outside of the van. Perhaps it was the fact that I was seated comfortably in the captain-seat, dry and cozy, actually enjoying the reverie I was getting out of the rain only to realize that inches away from me, separated by a thin, lightly tinted glass, was a totally different world. Coming face to face with poverty like that stops you in your tracks.

I had lived in a world where we were shielded from this. My classmates in school perhaps never even bothered to look out of their driver-driven cars, vans, and SUVs. But now, one of us, was faced with what is supposed to be a reality.

When I got home, I wrote a poem about that situation, and what I felt. It was titled Tapping on My Window. Mindlessly, I forgot about the poem after it was submitted to my editor. When the first issue of the magazine came out, I was surprised that the poem was placed on the back cover with an image of a little boy reaching out his open palm asking for alms. I was a freshman, and it was a big deal to have my name plastered at the back of the high school magazine. That launched my career in Hilites. I eventually became editor-in-chief when I was a Senior.

Looking back now, I never really thanked that little girl who started this for me. I could have just been another random writer in a magazine. I would've gotten bored and eventually transferred to a different organization. But the discovery that I could write came about because I woke up, looked out, and saw her.

Ever since then, I would always have a soft spot for little girls begging on the streets. I would always pity them, which is horrible. I would always end up comparing them to my little sister, my only sister. She's our youngest, the little princess, and she gets whatever she wants. After all, girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice. How come some are not given what they want then? How come some resort to begging, staying as late an ungodly hour as possible for coins?

I had a recent brash with them. My boyfriend and I were in the Ortigas area, on our way home to Makati. We were stuck in traffic under the Shaw flyover, turning right to EDSA. I usually am the one driving, but I was so exhausted he had to take the wheel. I looked out and saw a girl holding a baby, possible hers, begging for coins. I almost cried. I tried to keep it in, but my boyfriend saw me. I told him, I have to give them something. Hurriedly, he looked around for random coins inside the Montero and handed these over to me.

I opened the window, and placed the coins on the baby's palm. The girl said thank you.

This was the first time someone like her had said thank you. The gratitude that I was one of the few who opened my window.

What's my point? We all have to know how to look back. I always look back at the journey that I went through to get to where I am right now. I don't think I'm all that, or that I'm perfect, and there are several things that I have regretted along the way. What's important is not to lose sight of where you started.

The bitch I was ranting about last week, doesn't know how to look back. She thinks she's perfect. Only a dumb person will think that she is perfect. She will wake up one day and realize that she doesn't have anything or anyone, because of her ugali.

Shut The Hell Up B*TCH!

borrowed from roflposters.com

I really hate this certain woman at work! She’s one of the co-managers, but we don’t treat her like an employee.  She is treated like one of the clients who have to be given special attention! She is so dumb! She allegedly studied in an exclusive co-ed school located inside an exclusive and expensive village, but she mispronounces words! Like GYM, is pronounced as JIM, and CONTRACTORS as CON-TRUCK-TORS. That is just so jolog! I HATE HER. She is such a bitch. She lies a lot, she’s a backstabber! She recants her promises and statements. She doesn’t give people what is their just due. All my staff hate her. She’s the main reason of the huge chasm between her department and other departments in the office.

Honestly, is it just me, or is it difficult to work with women? Yes, yes, not all women are like that, but in instances when I encounter issues in the work place, chances are, it’s because of a bitch who thinks she’s all that. I’ve worked in 2 other companies, and the challenge would stem from someone just like her! Gender and attitude-wise. They all mispronounce words, they all think they’re pretty and perfect, when really, they’re not!

One girl I used to work with was in HR of a hotel located in Ortigas, and she was in training. But she was absolutely BOBO! How can you be in training and have subject-verb agreement issues!? Really? Believe it or not, that bitch now works in a hotel in Makati, under training pa rin! HUWAAAT! That woman was so ugly, her face looked like a siopao! And she was in her 30s, but she looked like she was in her late 40s! Plus, she’s disgrasyada pa! Nagkaroon ng anak, out of wedlock! Putang ina, yung panget na yun, nakantot at nabuntis?! Sinong nagkamali na gagalaw dun? Rape siguro!

And now this girl! She had her fortune told, and she was informed that if her attitude didn’t change, she would be raped. Ha! Serves her right in the event that it does happen!

My mother’s a feminist, and I know I shouldn’t be talking shit about their gender, but straight women like these two, make it SOOOO easy to think that women should be considered 2nd class citizens. Seriously! I don’t have issues like this with straight men in the work place. I don’t have issues like this with homosexual men in the work place. And you know what, I have no issues like this with homosexual women in the work place, but a straight woman! Oh man, forget it. They probably belong at home, tending to home and hearth, if that’s the case. Make your children’s lives miserable. Hell, make your husband miserable. But don’t bring your mother-fucking horrible attitude to the work place, where it doesn’t belong! Before companies hire straight women in the workplace, maybe they should undergo a psychiatric evaluation first, to see if they are bipolar. The world will be better if that were implemented. Maybe the economy of the Philippines would improve! Think about it, when did the economy go downhill? When Ferdinand Marcos let Imelda loose running the country. When the Filipinos elected a housewife to run the government. When a man who had so many housewives end up doing whatever it took for his housewives to live comfortably. And lastly, when an ambitious straight woman become president. 

If there are feminists, I want to start a movement. I want to be a homonist. I want to start homonism. Women try so hard to fight for their equality, and shit like that, well its time I start fighting for my equality, for the equality of the homosexuals! We shouldn’t let women be given preferential treatment, their reign is over. Homosexual men and women should be the ones given preferential treatment, because straight women don’t know how to handle power! Hello, give them a car, and they don’t know how to a handle a car! A machine that should work in the most logical means, and they don’t know how to handle it! What more if they were given actual power and influence?

I know I may offend people with what I am ranting about, and I don’t want to be branded a bigot, and I know I shouldn’t generalize women based on the two that I cited here. And maybe you’re right. My mother is a straight woman, and she is not at all like these two.

You know who I should blame? Their parents! They were not raised right. So whoever the parents are of these two women, you guys totally suck! You should have been neutered so as not to produce more offspring like these bitches!

Random Googling

When I started this blog, I remember I googled it, and nothing appeared. Which I kinda liked, because it meant I could write in peace.

Randomly, I googled again today, and this is the result:

Seriously, I don't know how I reached page 2 of Google. I tried googling how I got there, and it was all techno-mumbo-jumbo, which I obviously did not understand. And here I thought there was nobody reading my blog. I don't even believe the stats that Blogspot would show me. I feel like Dexter whose "Dark Passenger" is on the verge of being discovered, which I pray to whatever higher power that doesn't happen.

For what its worth, there was a small part of me that was quite happy that I appeared on the 2nd page of Google. What search words I used, I will not tell, though, because what are the chances that somebody else would be googling the exact same set of words, right?

Christmas Is Near

borrowed from http://lukepraterswordsalad.com/2010/12/12/two-verses-on-the-modern-christmas-experience/

Christmas is a month and a day from now. I hate it. I hate it because most of my bonus will go to Christmas gift shopping. If you belong to my family, trust me, my bonus will go to Christmas gift shopping. Everybody's a spoiled brat in my family, including my mother. My sister especially, being the only girl, gets whatever she wants.

More importantly, I can't think of anything to get my boyfriend. Seriously, what do you get the guy who has everything? And when I say everything, I mean my boyfriend is rich, so I don't know what to get him. We're talking about a guy who would easily drop PhP 20,000.00 for a pair of sneakers that would look like, well, sneakers! When you say sneakers, I think Converse, or Skechers. He doesn't wear those. He wears Givenchy, Christian Dior Homme, and other wtf-sounding designer label that I didn't know made sneakers pala.

Don't get me started on bags. Who would have thought Balenciaga had bags for men? That cost more than PhP 50,000.00?

So when I complain that I don't know what to get him, because what do you get the man who has everything, I mean it.

Time to put my thinking cap on.

borrowed from http://critical-thinkers.com/2010/06/critical-thinking-skills-are-too-important-to-keep-from-employees/thinking-cap/

I do realize one thing, he is technophobic. He has this crappy Nokia QWERTY phone that I absolutely abhor, because every time I see it, I remember one of the staff in the office that has the same model, and I absolutely hate that guy because he is tall, stick-thin, and really fugly. I exaggerate not.

I hate his piece of shit phone. That Nokia phone, no matter what designer case you place it in just screams fugly. I know he wants a certain phone, which he caught me canvassing the other day. I was asking the sales clerk how much that particular phone cost, a Blackberry, I think, and he came in the store to fetch me. He saw the phone, and said he liked it. He didn't assume, though, that I was going to buy it for him, because my boyfriend can buy anything, so I was so afraid he was going to tell the sales clerk to wrap it up. Naturally, I had to do something, so I told him that particular model was going to be phased out already. Of course, being the technophobe that he is, that scared him, and hopefully stopped him from planning on getting the phone any time soon.

Honestly, that's the only thing I can get him for Christmas, because that's the only thing he doesn't have right now, a good reliable phone. So next year, would be another problem.

Case solved. Now I can remove my thinking cap.

Honestly, I don't enjoy the Christmas season. Why? Because my birthday is usually on the last week of November and I live in a country where the Christmas season starts right after November 1. Damn these trigger-happy holiday-loving people. I don't get to enjoy the anticipation of my birthday because I end up getting caught in the Christmas season!

Discoveries from Reading Blogs

While reading through some of the gay blogs online, I chanced on a CEO in the closet. More than his writing, I saw that he would post from his iPad, which honestly is pretty difficult. Until I saw his signature, directing me to search for BlogPress in the appstore.

Guess what, it's only $2.99. So I downloaded it, and I'm testing how it works. As a preview, I put the wallpaper of my beloved iPad to share to everyone who has ever read my blog on the 10 inch screen of an iPad.

I don't want to sound like an advertisement here, but I cannot live without this thing. I used to be obsessed with the Blackberry, but the iPad quickly trumped that fad.

If you happen to be reading this on an iPad, please leave a comment so that I know I am not the only fanboy on cyberspace.

Hope to hear from the readers out there.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad2

My Alter Ego

borrowed from last.fm

This blog is my alter ego. No, I am not dark and brooding and EMO when I'm out. My friends actually enjoy my company. My boyfriend loves me, but he doesn't really know that I have so much hate, and sadness brewing inside me. I have to let it out also, I otherwise will not have a sound mind if its just kept inside.

I'm too perky. In my actual life, I'm too perky, and happy. And when people look at me, they want my life. They probably think that everything's perfect with me. That just because I seem to have everything, I'm happy. My friends are all like me. You look at us from outside, and you think, they must be happy because they seem to have it all. Maybe my friends are like me, they all hide sadness and hate and hurt deep inside.

When I was in college, somebody prophesied that I would belong to the elite. I was an elite gay. Sounds gross, I know, but that's what that guy said. The thing is, if you live in a bubble, like the world I feel I'm constrained in, you're not happy.

What would make me happy, then? To heal. To heal finally would make me happy.

8th Monthsary

borrowed from a post in Pinoy Exchange

I was woken up today by my boyfriend who had greeted me happy 8th monthsary. Seriously, I am bad with dates, and I totally forgot about our monthsary. I now realize that's why he was asking me to make plans last night for tonight's dinner. I was thinking, why make plans? It's not like there's a special occasion. As it turns out, there is.

I used to be good with dates. I'd know when a birthday, anniversary, or what-not was dated. I really had to think back when I started slipping with dates.

Contrary to how others would perceive me, I had my first boyfriend after I graduated from college. I wasn't really the type that I wanted to study first and in order to concentrate on doing so had to put a lovelife or a semblance thereof in the backseat. Contrary to that, I was too picky. There were guys in school who would make me ligaw, but I would say no to them, for the smallest of flaws that I would see in them.

There was a guy who made me ligaw from the department of Mechanical Engineering in the College of Engineering. He was hot, around 5'8", was a varsity swimmer, so his body was chiseled. He was a cross between Robin Padilla, and Wendell Ramos, and he drove a car, just a Toyota Corona, which didn't really fare well to the sports car I was driving at the time. I said no to him because although this chap graduated from San Beda High School, which although isn't as exclusive as my lineage in Ateneo, was still a fairly good all-boys school, he sounded like he grew up in the kanto of Tondo. I mean, it was so difficult to bring him to parties, because although he was eye candy, the moment he'd open his mouth, my friends, who were UP's elite back then, would just stop and stare, dumbstruck that such a beautiful doll had a weird provincial accent.

There was another boy, who was a year older than me in my college's department, and was very smart. He graduated Magna or Summa cum Laude, I forget which one. His body was pretty buffed at the time, and was very maputi, and he'd stand at around 5'9". He drove a Vios, which was kinda lame, and lived in the far-flung mountains of Bulacan. Last time I checked he recently joined one of those bikini contests. My problem with him, his teeth. They were crooked.

So I did not have a boyfriend in college, nope.

My first boyfriend was after college. He had actually been courting me for about 6 months before I said yes. He was introduced to me by an ex-high school classmate, and I say ex because he asked to be transferred out of our section. He was a Nursing student from UST, but I didn't take his school against him, because I fell in love. He was my first, and I was his first.

I was often staying over his place, and his mom really loved me. The mother knew me of course as the son's best friend. For all intensive purposes, let's call my first boyfriend Lou. Even though they lived in a ramshackle apartment in San Juan, I was always there, and I fell in love with his mom and little brother. The father worked in Brunei, but I did get to meet him also when he went home during the Christmas season we were together.

They were not well-off, so naturally, I would end up giving him really expensive gifts. I had just started working, and was able to put aside some cash for this PhP 30,000.00++ Sony Ericsson S700i I had been eye-ing.

borrowed from extragsm.com

When I realized he had an old beat up phone, I ended up buying him a Nokia 6260, which at that time cost around PhP 20,000.00.

borrowed from extragsm.com

They did not have a car.  So there was one time I bought a second hand car for PhP 25,000.00 for them to use. It was a Toyota Corona SE.

I ended up selling the car for PhP 35,000.00 because it was too much of a fixer-upper, and because he did not know how to drive.

For his birthday, since he was turning 21, I bought 21 gifts and distributed it to 20 of his classmates to give to him in sequential order. Each gift had a story, and the last gift would give the conclusion of the story, and I was going to give it to him in UST, after my work, personally. The story went:

Once upon a time, a little boy had a wish. He was told that only a certain powerful genie could grant him this wish. He went high and low, to the ends of the earth to look for this powerful genie so that his wish would be granted. 

When he found the genie, the genie asked what his wish was. The boy said, "I want to be brave and strong, so that I could protect the world."


The genie, perplexed, asked why a little boy would want such a responsibility. The genie persuaded the boy to ask for riches, and fame, as all the other little boys would usually hope for. 


The boy looked up to the genie, and with a tear rolling down his eye said, "Because Lou is my world."

Damn, I gave him all of me. I loved him with all of me, and I didn't leave anything for myself. I thought it was for keeps. I thought we were going to be together for the rest of our lives. Perhaps the reason I'm no longer mushy sweet is because he dried me up of my mushiness.

On our 8th monthsary, I sent him a text saying, "Do you love me?" I had sent this message for the past 7 monthsaries, and I felt it was my way of greeting him a happy monthsary.

He replied, "No, I don't love you anymore. Let's end this."

My first boyfriend broke up with me via a text message. I didn't know what had happened. I called him, but he wouldn't answer his phone. I went to his house, and the house was empty except for him. I went to his room and short of begging him not to let him go, asked him why. He couldn't give me an answer. We said our last goodbyes, and I left.

My world fell apart. You know the scene in One More Chance where Popoy would just stare, and remember a random thing, and start tearing up... that was me, before that damn movie came out.

borrowed from FTmovie.com

My officemates, whom all knew my boyfriend, would come to work and find me hiding underneath my desk, crying. I went to my boss, Anton, and asked for guidance, since he was gay also. He gave me good advice, told and taught me how to move on. He tried to help me out.

I was in Glorietta 4 with a good friend of mine from the office one day. We were shopping, to help me forget about the pain. I saw Anton and Lou walking, together, their hands clasped.

It dawned on me. Lou left me for Anton. The two, had been seeing each other behind my back. My boss, whom I considered a good friend helping me move on, had gone behind my back and slept with my boyfriend, and now they were together.

My friend saw my reaction and brought me to the Starbucks in front of the cinema. As soon as I sat down, I called Lou's mother and asked if Anton had been visiting Lou. She was glad to hear from me, and told me that she missed me, and that Anton had been introduced to her and had been to their house several times already.

My world stopped.

Then I did something that was unimaginable. I came out to Lou's mother. I told her that I was Lou's boyfriend. That Lou had broken up with me, because he was now sleeping with Anton. The mother cried. I thought she would get mad at me, but instead she said, sana ikaw na lang ang boyfriend ni Lou. Mahal kita. Ayoko si Anton. Isusumbong ko siya sa tatay niya. 

I heard when Lou's father came back that Christmas, he received a beating.

I was lucky. I lost a lot of weight, because I spent 5 hours in the gym everyday. I wasn't eating at home. Then one night, my mom went inside my room and asked what was going on with me. I told her I just wasn't feeling myself. She asked, "Is it because of your boyfriend? Did he break up with you? Bobo siya, pinakawalan ka pa niya."

Then my dad came in and asked, "Naghiwalay nga sila? Okay lang 'yun anak, marami pang iba diyan."

So they knew all along, I didn't have to come out to them.

I know they're still together. Lou's a nurse in Medical City, and Anton is a call center whatever in Makati. I see them around in Greenbelt. Of course, when they see me, I'm wearing designer clothes, and tote expensive cellphones, and usually have a lot of shopping bags with me. They both look like trash in their thrifted get-up and old cellphones (wala nang pambili ng bago.) I don't know if their lives have improved as much, but I am glad that they are still together. I helped bring them together. They owe it to me to still be together. Because I went through hell with the shit that they did to me, they sure might as well be worth it to each other. The bastards.

So there you have it. From now on, I will start remembering dates again. See you readers around, I still have to plan where to have dinner tonight, and pick up my boyfriend from his office after 7PM, the Montero's banned kasi.

On The First Time I Got Engaged

borrowed from blog.apartmentsearch.com

It was my 4th boyfriend whom first asked me to marry him. It was late in the evening and we were walking in Legaspi Village, in Makati, crossing Salcedo Street, if I recall. I crossed first and was surprised that he was still on the other side. He asked me if I would marry him, and I said yes. It was the first time a boyfriend had asked me if I wanted to get married. And I was happy.

It was a long engagement. Partly because gay marriage wasn't a highly discussed issue at the time. It's not a topic that people are open about, unlike now. Pretty soon, the Philippines will have divorce, and it's a small step but it will bring us closer to same sex marriage here. But then again, nowadays, you can just fly abroad and get married; it won't be recognized here, though, but the commitment will be solidified.

It was a long engagement and it ended not on the best of terms.

We lived together, for 3 years. And I just needed to be going home to my family at that time, leaving him temporarily in our apartment in Makati. So I've been shuttling from our apartment, to my parents' home, to work for several weeks. On our last weekend together, we were supposed to attend a wedding scheduled on that Saturday. We didn't go, because I had just arrived at our apartment, and we decided to just spend time together. I had planned on staying with him that night, but unfortunately, according to him, he had to go to work. Too bad for me, I had to go home to my parents if that were the case.

Sunday, I spent with my family, but during the evening, when I was going through what I wanted to wear for work for Monday, I realized the pair of shoes I wanted to wear was in our Makati apartment. Since it was late, I didn't text him anymore that I was going to pass by early in the morning to get my shoes.

Come Monday, I had woken up early, so I decided to bring the car that was banned for the day, since I knew that I had so much work to do, I would probably end up leaving the office past 7:00PM. I got to our apartment at 5:30AM. I went up with my keys, and I tried opening our apartment but it was double locked from the inside. I tried knocking, because if it were double locked inside it means he's inside asleep. He wasn't answering. I tried calling the landline of the apartment, and I could hear the cordless phone ringing from inside. He wasn't answering. Now, I was worried. What if something had happened? What if he was dead inside, and I wasn't there for him?

The door opened. He opened it. And behind him was someone. A guy. A guy shorter than me. Looks like he was educated in a lesser-school. He had slightly long disheveled hair. And he was obviously gay.

My world was about to crash, because I knew what it meant. But I tried to keep things together. The guy left, even said hi to me. I went in our apartment, and proceeded to look for that damn shoe.

He was asking me what was wrong, but I wasn't even saying anything so how could he know that there was something wrong. I just said, I needed my shoe. I found it, put it on, carried my Birkenstock's in my hand, and left. I got into the Pajero, and drove off.

The drive from that apartment to my office takes only 7 minutes without traffic. It was the longest 7 minutes of my life. I was fighting back tears. I didn't want to cry while I was on the road, because I knew my eyes would fog up, and I might get into a car accident. By the time I reached the corner of Ayala Avenue and Buendia Ave., my eyes were so moist and red I was praying to God already because I knew I was going to die. I knew I was going to get into an accident, and I would lose consciousness, and since I had an SUV with me, people wouldn't help me, they'd take the car, and I would be left on the sidewalk with nobody to call, because I had caught my boyfriend cheating on me.

I didn't get into an accident. I reached the driveway of my office building. I got down, and my assistant saw me because she was in the lobby, and approached me. The moment she touched me, as I had just opened the back of the Pajero to bring down my things, I broke down. I broke down and fell to the curb, and cried. She brought me inside the car, and I started to drive up the ramp to my parking slot, where I continued to cried.

I was brought to my office, and I was still crying. I didn't go home to our apartment after that. I went home to my parents' house. I asked him to pack my clothes, and later that week, I picked them up and left. When I was on my way to pick up my clothes, I called him to confirm if these were ready, and I could tell that he was crying.

I told him not to cry because he was the one who did this. He was the one who broke us. I told him whatever insecurities he had had in the relationship could've been solved if he just talked to me. I told him that his previous boyfriend, whom he was with for 4 years, did this to him also. He walked in on his ex and another guy having sex, so why could he have done this to me when he knew exactly what it would feel like.

I picked my things up and left, and he texted me that he just stood at the sidewalk as I drove off, and he realized that it was the last time he was going to see me, and that it had dawned on him that we are finally over... for real.

I have had so many pains and hurts that I need to be moving on from. This is one of them. I would sometimes catch myself remembering random things about my life with him. Life with him was hard. And there were times when we'd be financially strapped, and didn't have money, but we were okay. We were happy. At least I thought we were. I am more comfortable now that I am not with him.

I loved him. It was the first time someone asked me to marry him, and I thought that was it. I loved him, and he hurt me. And now, I need to start healing from him. I need to start healing. I thought he might've been the one. But now I know he wasn't.

Goal Setting

borrowed from michaelhyatt.com

Like Julie/Julia, I woke up in the middle of the night and realized I should be setting a goal for this blog. It's not going to be a tangible goal, like in Julie's blog. I am not giving myself 365 days to finish cooking an entire cookbook's worth of recipes.

I'm going to be a bit less ambitious. I will tell the internet world something I don't usually tell anybody, though. I am 28 years old. Yes, I lie about my age, must've gotten it from my mother. Whenever they'd ask me what my age is, I always tell them I'm 26. Yes, my family forgets my age. I hope they believe that I'm 26. But I am 28. I will be turning 29 in 17 days. That would give me 382 days. 382 days for what?

Well, the internet is my shrink. I am complaining that I am damaged, and I want to heal. I want to heal because I am turning 30 next year. I want to heal because I am expecting a lot of changes by next year. I'm expecting that my boyfriend might ask me to marry him next year, before I turn 30. And when I say yes, I want to say yes with all of me, whole, fully healed.

So I will continue doing this. I want to see this through. And I will tell the internet world on the day that my boyfriend asks me to marry him how it will go.

So there you have it. Goals.

Frustration Overload

borrowed from etwinninguk.typepad.com

Two posts in one evening. Wow, this online journal thing must be getting to me. More of growing into writing, this post is more to vent out my frustration.. over work.

I've been on medical leave for the past 2-3 weeks because I had to have an operation during the last week of October. Recuperation from my surgery takes 2 months, which is such a bitch.

Anyway, I am still bleeding where the incision was made, and I obviously have to rest up if I want to go back to work next week. But how can I rest if the people in the office constantly call or text me? And for the simplest of reasons! Reasons which shouldn't even amount to their having to call me if they did this on their own to begin with.

I know, I know, I'm being vague and all. I just had to write it down, otherwise risk my blood pressure shooting up. All I'm asking is, what if I died? The world has to go on moving without me right? Life in the office doesn't stop when I'm gone... if, and only if, people were really doing their jobs. I'm sick of picking up the slack. So sick.

This opens up more issues I have of people in the office, which I will get to writing about eventually, if I really want to be mentally healthy and rid myself of the emotional baggage they bring.

I got sick. Because of the stress at work, no doubt. Okay, partially because of the stress at work, not even 25% from them. But they're still a factor that's still there.

Okay, I'm breathing again, now. Not because I was able to vent out, but because my boyfriend realized I was typing away with so much anger he asked me to put the humongous laptop down and hug him. Plus he lit a Voluspa Makassar Ebony and Peach candle from Cura V. Life is good pa rin naman.

First Love Damage

I've been gay since high school, I guess. I probably had it coming because I studied in an all-boys school. I didn't have a concept of how gay relationships are supposed to work. But the first time I fell in-love was in high school. I actually thought I was saved from these things, but it happened during my senior year. I fell in love with a junior. What was so difficult about it was he was a really good friend of mine, and it just happened. I didn't know I was in love with him. He had just told me, like a good friend, no, more like a best friend, that he had shortcomings, and that one of these was his being constantly horny. He told me that when he was in first year he had phone sex with a batchmate of his. I wasn't bothered by the fact that he had phone sex with a guy (that I knew, might I add), but at the fact that he had phone sex with someone. I was furious. I got into my car (yes, I was driving in 4th year high school, an expensive sports car) and left him.

He kept on calling the devoted landline in my room that evening. He kept sending messages to my phone. But I wasn't answering. I answered at around 1:00AM, and all he could ask me was, "What's wrong?" I didn't know. He kept on apologizing, until I asked myself, what was he apologizing for? We both didn't get off the phone that night. At 6:00AM, I had to tell him that we needed to prepare to go to school. Not one of us got any sleep. Driving to school, that's when I realized, I was in love with him.

I didn't tell him right away. It took months before I was really able to tell him, just weeks shy of my graduation. I was trying not to act weird and all around him. My gay friends knew, and they would constantly tease me, but I had my fair share of information that would always get them to shut up. But I did tell him. We drove to a quiet spot inside the campus, parked and just stared at the sky from the grass. We love doing that, talking about endless nothings. His head tended to run off also. And I told him. It was quiet.

Finally he told me that he was not ready. I accepted that. We probably weren't going to see each other anymore, I said. I was off to college, and he had his senior year to go.

So I went to college, and started a different life. A couple of months shy of my freshman year in the university, his friends from class sent me a text message. I needed to go back to the high school and talk to him because he wasn't functioning well. He wasn't applying himself to his studies, or to his extra-curricular activities. I didn't see him during the summer, and I was pretty damn sure I was over him, but I had to go back and at least find out what was wrong.

It was a Friday when I drove back to the high school. The grounds were pretty empty because it was almost 8:00PM. He and his classmates were still in school because he had an important 3-day event that he was spearheading, and everything was about to come undone because he just wasn't himself. His classmates blinfolded him, and led him to the driveway, into my car, where I was waiting. I didn't say a word.

"I know you're here. I know this is your car. I wouldn't forget its smell," he said with his blindfold still on.

I told him that his classmates were worried about him and that they had called me to talk to him. He asked me to bring him to my favorite spot in my college's campus. Fine, I thought. I drove to a secluded running track in my university. He took off his blindfold, got out of the car, and asked me to sit on the grass with him.

"I spent the entire summer not thinking about you," he started to talk. "And I tried not to think that I should have done something when you told me the truth about what you felt."

I was quiet, staring at the track field.

"Then at the start of the school year, even before the first month ended, my class had its silent retreat. I shared the room with a classmate of mine. One night, he went to my bed and started touching me. He took my shirt and shorts off, and he started to touch me. He put my cock in his mouth, and I let him," he said.

I was still quiet, I really didn't know what to think at that point.

"I had sex with him, during our retreat. But throughout, I kept my eyes closed, and I was thinking of you. I was imagining that it was you I was having sex with. I wanted it to be you," he said.

I didn't know what to say. I just sat there with him, quiet for another 30 minutes, until I said, it was time I brought him back to the high school.

We still saw each other after that because he ended up studying in my college, but I tried not to feel anything for him anymore. I'm sure he was hiding his feelings too. Eventually, I had moved on. I'm not sure about him, but I didn't love him anymore.

I saw him again recently, and we've kept in touch. But I don't text him anymore. What happened between us was just tough. And the damnedest thing is he never ever said that he loved me. Just that he wished it was me.

This Blog Isn't What You Think

borrowed from Psychcentral.com

So the title of the blog can be a little bit misleading. If you chanced upon this because you thought I was going to post actual confessions of philandering moments in my life, I'm sorry to disappoint you.

This is for my own consumption really, but if you want to join me in my journey to be whole again, I'm cool with it. Shrinks aren't really an option here in the Philippines. The only time you go see one is if you have to be heading towards the basement of Makati Med. But there are just so many things going on in my head right now, that I need to let out, and I don't know anybody who'd be able to understand.

You see, I'm trapped in my thoughts. Give me a quiet moment all to myself, and I get consumed by my mind. So many things just pop up, randomly. What I hate the most is if the random thought that comes to mind is something that I have tried to hide for so long; the hurts that have crushed to the point when I feel as if I'm hopeless, and beyond saving.

Blame it on Ateneo for creating a monster. This all started when I was in high school anyway. My thoughts went haywire during that time.

The truth is, I am broken. I woke up today, and while watching Grey's Anatomy Season 5, I realized I'm broken. The bad experiences I have had left me broken. Untrusting. Perhaps incapable of opening up to anybody. Maybe afraid to love. People have cheated me, have cheated on me, and now I am left cheating myself because I only realize now that I am so emotionally scarred, I'm exhausted of breathing already.

I want to pick up the pieces and start fixing myself. Because I don't want to cheat myself. Because I don't my want to cheat my partner. He deserves all of me. And not just the pieces that are good, but all of me.

Oh, there you have it. Its because of love. Now you want to turn away and revert back to the previous blog you were reading. No it's not about love, and yes it is. I need to do this for my boyfriend. But more importantly, I need to do this for myself.

It's 6:30PM, and I'm looking out the window of the condo watching the cars pass by Ayala Avenue. It took more than a decade for me to reach this point. And nobody knows that I'm hurt. Because when people see me in the office, they think everything is perfect with me, that I seem to have everything. And when I'm with my family, I am just the best son, the strong one. And when I'm with my boyfriend, I am his soulmate. And sometimes, I even convince myself of these concepts when I see me in the mirror.

I'm done denying. I am broken. So many people have broken me. And I refuse to stay broken. I'm done cheating the people around me. I'm done cheating my family. I'm done cheating my boyfriend. So this is me, fixing me.