#30DayWritingChallenge: Something that happened in a car.

Day Twenty-Two: Something that happened in a car.

The world started spinning the moment I stood from my seat.

“Can I stay over at your place?” I asked the guy I just met. He was friends with my friends and I thought he was trustworthy. Cute and trustworthy.

It didn’t help, the short walk to the roadway. Every step felt like a tumble and I begun feeling like my stomach was starting to protest.

It wasn’t the only one. I vaguely remembered one of our companions complaining. He wanted to be with the guy. How did I ever get so lucky?

The cab driver might have had misgivings if he should let us in. His instincts were right, of course, but he still agreed to bring us to Pasig.

I can’t remember what the ride was like, now. It was probably awkward and quiet. I wouldn’t trust myself talking while trying to hold my beer down. The world was hazy and my eyes couldn’t focus.

It happened when the cab was about a hundred meters from the guy’s place, like a bad sitcom sequence. That point where I could have waited just another minute and things would not have been as embarrassing. I threw up.

No one throws up with dignity. One can hope that he can at least open the cab window and let puke fall out to the street. I didn’t do that.

Damn manual car windows. I barfed while the window was still halfway open with some vomit falling on the cab floor. The driver should have listened to his instincts.

At least I didn’t puke on the guy. He wouldn’t have slept with me if I did.

#30DayWritingChallenge: The one that got away.

Day Twenty-One: The one that got away.

I don’t think have ever written anything about Jemai. So here is one for Throwback Thursday.

Jemai

We met in someone’s birthday party in the early 2000s. A friend in Livejournal decided he will celebrate his twenty-first birthday by kissing twenty-one guys.

(Was it his twenty-first? There must still be some record of it in Livejournal somewhere, but I’m not going to look for it; I will eventually discover loads of other stuff. Anyways, humor me on this recollection.)

I was, I think, Guy #11. Jemai was Guy #12. After we had our separate turns making out with the birthday guy, a common girl friend introduced us to each other and asked that we make out. She was into guys kissing. Jemai and I made out on the spot.

It became a frequent sight after that, Jemai getting drunk and making out with me in parties, sometimes in front of our friends. We even had photos of it. Fun times.

But we also started seeing each other.

#30DayWritingChallenge: My secret shame.

Day Nineteen: My secret shame.

Be wary of someone who claims their life is an open book. Everyone is hiding something.

That’s the irony of the social media (and the internet in general): it allows us the ability to show our true selves, so of course we take the time to show only the best side of our supposedly true selves. Rarely (or never) the ugly bits.

Even those who supposedly show the less pretty aspects of their lives still manage to keep them within some level of acceptability: It’s funny, or instructional, or it attempts to humanize the sharer.

Of course there are those who willingly share questionable content online: demeaning low-income workers, mistreating children, or even killing dogs. Except for cases where the sharer seem to exhibit serious mental issues, there is an element of pride in these shared posts. The people sharing them do not feel shame in doing so.

There’s that thing, shame. It’s curiously absent from the internet. There those who shame people for their posts or actions, it has become of the favorite pasttimes online. And there are those who thrive in shamelessness. But not much is shared that was driven by shame.

There are many things I have done that I am ashamed of.

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#30DayWritingChallenge: Something that happened in a mall.

SM Aura

Day Nine: Something that happened in a mall.

“SM Aura would be good,” I wrote in my text message. “There’s a Coffee Bean at the open garden thingy.”

He asked me for a tarot reading about an hour ago. I’ve only talked to Nim on Twitter so far; that was the first time we would be meeting in person.

Like most people who never had a tarot reading, he was quite nervous. He blamed the romantic depictions of tarot in media, with the mysterious reader and the vaguely sinister, magical cards. I could probably achieve that with proper lack of lighting and a smoke machine.

I let him hold my deck (hehe) and browse through the cards so he can be at ease. He asked about each of the suits and what each character of the Majors meant.

It was a short reading, as those things go. He asked a few questions, the answers of which he noted down. I asked him to tell me six months down the road if any of what I said were true.

We were laughing through most of it, too, because he adopted what he called a “faux Catholic schoolgirl” persona while we were talking. Repeatedly, he asked me if that annoyed me. Repeatedly, I assured him that he didn’t.

I’ve had much, much worse clients.

The rest of our stay in the coffee shop, we talked about other things: common friends and acquaintances, work, gay people dating, and the local LGBT movement.

Like many educated, middle class gay men who are also interested in LGBT issues, we’re both frustrated at the seemingly lackluster progress of LGBT rights in the Philippines. Maybe because many gay people from our social class (the class that can potentially have the most influence in LGBT politics) are very uninterested.

We talked about local social media influencers and I told him of my dislike for people who think it is their life’s mission to influence others. “Like evil spirits,” he joked.

We would have stayed longer, but he needed to go home and video chat with his siblings. While I needed to go back and feed my cats.

Next time we hang out, we’ll probably be in the company of other gay Twitter friends. Twitter really has become like a virtual mall for me: A place where I spent lots of hours killing time while talking to friends. Occasionally, there will be something interesting to look at, but not too interesting for me to be buying.

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#30DayWritingChallenge: A neighbor.

Day Seven: A neighbor.

Next week is Spirit Day, and international LGBTQ campaign against bullying, especially those targetted at LGBTQ youths. Though not directly related to bullying, I will write about a particular neighbor I see in our street.

I am not the most sociable person. My social media accounts might claim otherwise, but I lived for decades on the same street without knowing the names of most of the neighbors. I don’t even know the names of the tenants living within our compound. But, people-watcher that I am, I know their faces.

There is this kid in his early teenage years. He’s maybe fourteen, tall and slender. His voice still occasionally cracks when he speaks, something that a guy learns to really control only at fifteen or sixteen.

He is also effiminate.