Archive for April, 2006

I went to Father’s office yesterday. He was busy with work and so I sat at the sofa to wait. Minutes later, he got off from his chair and came near me, then gave me 2 raised eyebrows and a wide smile, as if asking me if I’m ready. I then nodded in affirmation.

He asked me where I would want the conversation to be–by his table or just by the sofa. I moved a little to tell him that I wanted to remain in the sofa, and so he grabbed a pillow and sat beside me.

He began by asking me how life was, I told him it was fine, and that this conversation is all that was missing. Words then started to come out of my mouth, telling him of my current situation, making him picture the crisis I’m currently having. Once or twice he nodded, and whenever he did I would look at him, then continue on with my story.

When I was over, he began talking. He comforted me with words I never heard before. He made me feel light by telling me that I am special, and that talking to him about those things that day was a really brave and bold move. He continued further making me feel better, and assured me that there’s nothing wrong with me.

When we had nothing more to talk about, he asked, in a joking manner, how I was and the girl he always saw me with. I laughed real hard because of all things, this was the last thing I wanted to talk about. But I told him the story, the one he never heard before, and I could tell by his smile that he’s happy about it.

When we ended, I gave him a smiling face and thanked him for being there for me. We shook hands and exchanged wide smiles–his wide smile I could never forget, he is well-known for that. When our hands parted he asked me for one thing, one thing he never asked me before, and one thing I never gave him before. “Pa-hug?” was his request, and with that we opened arms and received one another in each other’s embrace. We locked arms and bodies, and the feeling was just awesome, inexplicable to be very exact. We never hugged before, and my eyes almost welled up in tears. It was a new feeling, a refreshing one! For that was the first time father hugged me, and I hugged him back. It felt like somebody else was hugging me, somebody else was taking me in his arms, and beyond what Father has given me, I know somebody else out there has received me in His arms, wholeheartedly.

But the Father is not my real father; he’s a priest, and I went to confession.

(Many thanks to Fr. Mon Borja, SDB, for that wonderful confession I had yesterday! I love you, fadz!)

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When I was little, my elder brother and I would fight a lot. And when I say a lot, I mean A LOT. We would fight about anything — from who gets the last pringle to who gets to take a bath first — practically anything to do with who must have what or who must go first. We were sibling rivalry personified. We would quarell and brawl all the time, even in front of our parents.

Our grandmother would always tell us, “Your mom and your aunt didn’t use to fight like that! They were the best of friends!” But we won’t mind her and continue on our boxing match. I even remember one time when I threw the computer chair at him and missed — and it went straight to our glass dinner table! Good thing it didn’t shatter, or else my dreams would’ve. Being the younger one, I would always be on the lowerhand since he’s got more hand power than I do. And when the brawling ends, I would most of the time be the one left crying.

And when I’d cry, they’d always tease me, “Bakla ka ba? Ba’t ka umiiyak?! Tumayo ka nga diyan!” By then I would wipe my tears dry, stand in composure and put on a pouty face telling them I’m not “bakla”.

I guess that was the time I stopped crying. I was a cry baby when I was young. But when I grew up, I just stopped crying. I couldn’t even cry at the greatest of heartbreaks. I only remember crying during funerals, or farewells. Some people may cry easily at tearjerker movies, but I know I don’t.

It’s society wringing in my ear whenever I would have the urge to cry: “Bakla ka ba? Bakla ka ba? Bakla lang ang umiiyak!” By then the tears would stop welling up in my eyes and back to their ducts.

But you know what I learned? Tears don’t make you less of a man than you already are. It even makes you more of a man than everybody thinks you are! Because when a man cries, he acknowledges his being human, he acknowledges his weaknesses, he acknowledges his imperfetions. When a man cries, he stands up for what he feels, and he does not hide in his bulky physique or deep, manly voice. Crying is a sign of maturity, more than being labeled as gay. Tears are there for a reason. And if you’re really man enough, you’ll find out what that reason is.

So who’s the cry baby now, huh? I know whenever I cry, it’s really special because it’s rare.

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“Bakit 200 lang?”
“Dapat nga wala ka nang parte diyan eh. Sobra na gastos sayo. Bakasyong bakasyon gala ka nang gala!”

That’s my dad’s idea of greeting me “good morning” after I came home from a mountain climbing trip with some friends. I asked him why only 200 pesos was left of the money mom gave as our allowance for the day. We still had to split it in four so that makes for only 50 pesos for each of us. That was his reply to me. I immediately grew agitated; it’s 7 o’ clock in the morning and I have become the black sheep of the family, all because of a two-day weekend trip with friends.

And it won’t even be considered “gala” or “lakwatsa”, since it’s a mountain climbing trip. Sure, we had some swimming and mall tripping on the side, but it wasn’t your typical teenage “gala” where most prefer going out to bars or malls. We climbed a mountain, for crying out loud! And I didn’t even ask mom for so much, only 200 bucks so that I could thrive for the whole weekend.

I’ve already grown tired of my dad’s irrational remarks about my escapades. I understand that he doesn’t understand me because he doesn’t even know a thing about the stuff that I’m doing. He always makes comments like these, mindless and most of the time without factual basis, and I’m getting pretty much used to it. He’s well-known for always blowing things way out of proportion.

And I guess I can forgive him for being so. He’s a parent and as every normal parent out there, he thinks he knows everything about his children when actually he knows nothing at all. And why doesn’t he know anything? Because we don’t talk. I’m not open to him, and he’s not receptive either.

I think that’s one of the central problems of families these days. Because of the generation gap between parents and their children and the numerous distractions in our society, the lines of communication have been blurred immensely. Most children nowadays are more open to their friends than their parents, I know I am. Most parents, on the other hand, are having a hard time to reach out to their children, for reasons far beyond my comprehension. This is the reason teenagers grow rebel and run away from home.

Communication, as in every relationship, is very vital. Without communication, we tend to look at things as how we see it, without even considering the whole scenario. We don’t see the big picture because we don’t even know what that big picture is, thanks to lack of communication. Because of this, we tend to judge people and things out of context because we fail to see the reason behind their actions. We just see things as they are, just like how my dad saw me “going out” of the house most of the time. He doesn’t even know where I go when I go out, that’s why he makes irrational comments when I get back.

But really, I totally understand that he doesn’t understand me or the things that I’m doing. If I’m not going to understand him, who else will? Are we just going to leave our lives a tangled web of misunderstandings? I understand not.


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What’s 45 to you? (It means food to us!)
(Jollibee SLEX waiting for our food)

An inch closer to death
(Mt. Maculot – Cuenca, Batangas)

I believe I can fly
(Shercon Resort, Lipa Batangas)

It’s a long shot come short
(Visiting Jerome, Aries and Marnel in
Don Bosco Seminary, Canlubang)

Happy Birthday Ron!
(April 2)

More pics at our multiply account.

I promised I’d post this:
*Ringtone plays…*
Uy! Ang ganda ng ringtone. Ano nga yan ulet?
Cholo: High.
JM: High? Anong High?
Cholo: Yey-yey.

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