Last November 2004, I made a deal with God. I said, “God, I will cross the bridge half-way. I will take the qualifying exams, prepare for it for a grand total of 1 month (which turned out to be 1 week), pay P1,500 for the exam fee, and wake up early on a Sunday morning to take the exams. Should I pass, it means that this path is for me. If not, I will take it as You closing this door on this opportunity and I will treat it as a sign that You have other plans for me.” I have been very consistent. I would always pray for many things from God. But at the end of each prayer, my heart would always whisper, “put me where I am most needed. Your will be done. In this instance, I felt God nodded in compliance with this deal. But, knowing God, I bet that He, or She, has something else in mind.
And so, I woke up early on a Sunday, brought pencils, an eraser, a sharpener, cigarettes and a lighter. I also bought an overpriced drink, which was too sweet. No breakfast, just oatmeal. I didn’t review the night before. I told myself that if this is what God wanted me to be, I would pass the test (rationalizing for not substantially preparing for the exam and coming up with a decent excuse if I don’t pass it).
When I went inside the building there were a lot of people waiting for the exam to start. Most of them were fresh graduates. Fresh meat. Faces filled with hope. Their eyes fervently looking beyond the exam and seeing their lives lived as lawyers. Yes, I was about to take the toughest (according to those who took it and those who prepared it) law entrance exam in the country.
We were accosted to our respective rooms, were given the instructions, and then we started. I wasn’t scared. I took the exam before. But I didn’t pass. It was not meant for me, at least during that time. Like the nervous faces I saw, I, too, was once a fresh graduate who submitted himself to the exam. And I didn’t pass. Not time yet, I told myself.
So I began to answer the questions. Pretty basic. It wasn’t like this before. My recollection was that the questions were harder. Or was I wiser? I got to the reading comprehension part. Very basic. The vocabulary part was a cinch. I was laughing a bit. It wasn’t that hard at all. I cursed when I began to answer the math part. 40 word problems to be answered in 30 minutes. Are they crazy? So I did the most logical thing to do: I guessed the answers. Better not leave any blanks.
After the exam, I went out of the building, lit a cigarette, called a couple of friends to inform them that it is done, and I’ve let go of it. I did my part, God. It’s Your turn.
A week after my birthday, February of 2005, a friend from law school informed me that I passed the entrance exam. At first I could not believe it. I checked the website of the law school and, lo and behold, my name was there. I was stunned. An officemate was jumping up and down, apparently more excited than I am. Finally, God came through for me. But, as I suspected, there’s a catch. Though I passed the written exam, I have to be interviewed by the professors. Of the 200 that passed the exam, from the 2000 that took it, 100 students would have be interviewed to vie for the limited slots. There’s always a twist. God never played fairly.
I found myself taking a leave of absence for work. There were six of us waiting to be interviewed. Five of them were fresh graduates. I told them I also graduated recently. I just finished my master’s degree in the same university. Nervous laughter. We were competing for the available slots. Too bad for them, I’m better at mind games. I’ve always been consistent. Get a job first. Know how the world works. Then go to law school so that you would have a context, a framework to work with.
My turn finally came, five professors in front of me. The oldest caught me off guard. “You are white as paper. How are you feeling?” he asked. “Dehydrated, sir.” I answered. My futile attempt at disarming the interviewers. They remained unperturbed. I answered their questions with confidence and passion. Most of the questions were hypothetical. I was hoping for something more substantial. I wanted to tell them that I’ve been working for the farmers since I graduated. I know how the system works and the reason why I’m endeavoring to take up law is to help the farmers. If that doesn’t get me in, then this law school doesn’t deserve me. But they treated me like I just graduated from college.
I left the room feeling disappointed. That was it? That’s the interview? I’ve encountered nastier interviewers during college. I was expecting more. More issues. More debate. Is this what I truly want? But then again, what I want is not the issue. Your will be done.
A week before the results of the interview came out, I chanced upon a personality test in the internet. One of the questions asked was “what would you rather be: a teacher or a lawyer?” I answered: Teacher. What does that say about my state of mind? Am I decided on what path to take? An officemate of mine provided the answer: a path is just a path. Only the heart can discern its value. And since God already owns my heart, His, or Her, path is the path that I will take.
A day from now, I will be attending the two-day orientation for freshmen at the College of Law in the University of the Philippines. I will be attending night-law since I’ll be working during the day to support myself. I will, yet again, abuse the system and get a loan from the University to pay for my tuition. I’ve already informed my lawyer friends that the “Send Our Friend to Law School” Foundation is accepting donations. Law books, words of encouragement, and cash (cash is much preferred). Everybody’s excited about the whole thing. For five years, I will not be able to travel abroad. Not even domestically. Law school is demanding. At least that’s what they say. It’s a lot like love, you have to commit yourself to it. At least that’s how I see it.
As I sit in front of my computer, typing and burning my lungs, I couldn’t help myself and laugh about the whole thing. Last Friday, I rushed to the university to submit a document to get my admission slip in Law School. They wouldn’t give it to me since I don’t have a certificate of graduation. In order for me to get that, I need to get clearance from the University Registrar. That would take 2 weeks. Enrollment is next week. And so, I put on my sweetest smile and convinced the University Registrar to bypass protocol and give me the document. My smile worked and I’m off to Law School.
For someone who is so unsure, I moved heaven and earth to submit that document in order to get in. Maybe I’m not as uncertain as I thought I am. God is not only good all of the time. God has a plan. And God has a plan for me.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Dear readers
Allow me to deviate from the usual pattern of stories and articles posted in my blog to clarify certain points brought to my attention as a result of communicating with some of the readers.
First, I write when inspiration hits me. It might be triggered by a song heard, a phrase read, an uttered word, a silent moment shared, an unexpected image, a whisper from God. This would explain the irregularity of uploads (plus the fact that I have a job and a life to boot). As such, anyone can do it. Just get a pen and a sheet of paper, go to a quiet place, take five deep breaths and clear your mind, and then start writing. Don't edit yourself. Don't think that what you're writing is jibberish. Just put it all down in paper. Tears might start falling from your eyes. Or you might find yourself laughing at what you wrote. But at the end of the exercise you will realize that you actually wrote something.
Second, the emotions expressed in the stories and articles do not necessarily reflect the current state of my mind and my heart. I wrote some of the articles long before they were uploaded. Some I wrote for thirty minutes and immediately posted them. There are other stories that I finished writing but I'm still not contented with the way it is written. There are two stories I wrote that I don't have the courage to post.
Third, I write these stories and essays to explore the thought processes, the heart, and the soul of the Filipino gay man. I nuance and problematize such things in order to contribute to the growing discourse on gay culture in the Philippines. The stories and articles are not necessarily actual events in my life. But they are bits and pieces of the truths held by every gay man in the country- every hurt, every joy, break up, love making, one night stand, etcetera.
So, dear readers, I thank you for reading my musings on being gay. To those who posted their comments, double thanks. I truly enjoy reading all of your comments (especially from the egroups).
And you're right, Yvet. There are many silent readers. I almost lost faith. I was about to be consumed with hopelessness, feeling that I am a lone voice in the wilderness. Then they started to reveal themselves. The world doesn't seem so small after all.
First, I write when inspiration hits me. It might be triggered by a song heard, a phrase read, an uttered word, a silent moment shared, an unexpected image, a whisper from God. This would explain the irregularity of uploads (plus the fact that I have a job and a life to boot). As such, anyone can do it. Just get a pen and a sheet of paper, go to a quiet place, take five deep breaths and clear your mind, and then start writing. Don't edit yourself. Don't think that what you're writing is jibberish. Just put it all down in paper. Tears might start falling from your eyes. Or you might find yourself laughing at what you wrote. But at the end of the exercise you will realize that you actually wrote something.
Second, the emotions expressed in the stories and articles do not necessarily reflect the current state of my mind and my heart. I wrote some of the articles long before they were uploaded. Some I wrote for thirty minutes and immediately posted them. There are other stories that I finished writing but I'm still not contented with the way it is written. There are two stories I wrote that I don't have the courage to post.
Third, I write these stories and essays to explore the thought processes, the heart, and the soul of the Filipino gay man. I nuance and problematize such things in order to contribute to the growing discourse on gay culture in the Philippines. The stories and articles are not necessarily actual events in my life. But they are bits and pieces of the truths held by every gay man in the country- every hurt, every joy, break up, love making, one night stand, etcetera.
So, dear readers, I thank you for reading my musings on being gay. To those who posted their comments, double thanks. I truly enjoy reading all of your comments (especially from the egroups).
And you're right, Yvet. There are many silent readers. I almost lost faith. I was about to be consumed with hopelessness, feeling that I am a lone voice in the wilderness. Then they started to reveal themselves. The world doesn't seem so small after all.
Monday, May 23, 2005
First degree
Pare, I have to tell you something. Last night, I was dreaming. I was lost in a prison cell. Huwag ka mabibigla pero when I woke up, I was screaming. Nagulat ako kasi I was calling out your name. Alam mo, dude, the judge and the jury, they all put the blame on me. ‘Di ko ‘to maintindihan pare, won’t you help me please.
Alam mo ba na only you can set me free. Kasi I’m guilty, guilty as a boy could be. Come on, pare, can’t you see. I stand accused of love in the first degree.
Someday, ‘tol, I believe, you will come to my rescue. Unchain my heart you’re keeping and let me start anew. Kaso, the hours pass so slowly, since they’ve thrown away the key. Ano ba pare, can’t you see that I’m lonely? Won’t you help me please?
Only you can set me free, ‘tol. Kasi I’m guilty, guilty as a boy could be. Hindi ko maintindihan, can’t you see. I stand accused, pare, of loving you in the first degree.
(Lyrics from the song, “Love in the First Degree” by Bananarama)
Alam mo ba na only you can set me free. Kasi I’m guilty, guilty as a boy could be. Come on, pare, can’t you see. I stand accused of love in the first degree.
Someday, ‘tol, I believe, you will come to my rescue. Unchain my heart you’re keeping and let me start anew. Kaso, the hours pass so slowly, since they’ve thrown away the key. Ano ba pare, can’t you see that I’m lonely? Won’t you help me please?
Only you can set me free, ‘tol. Kasi I’m guilty, guilty as a boy could be. Hindi ko maintindihan, can’t you see. I stand accused, pare, of loving you in the first degree.
(Lyrics from the song, “Love in the First Degree” by Bananarama)
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
In our defense
I recently read an interview of a very famous hairdresser/make-up artist who used to be gay. But after finding Jesus, he turned away from his homosexual ways. He admits, though, that he still gets tempted, finding men still very attractive. But the Lord, the Universe, or some unknown force that has unraveled its majestic splendor and power, always finds a way to “deliver him from sin”. As I take a drag from my cigarette (luckily I bought a pack before going home), I pondered on what he said. I didn’t feel outraged, that would be too fundamentalist of me a la Tamil Tigers. Had I been younger, I would have raised hell and ranted about it to my officemates the next day (captured audience for my sanctimonious musings about being gay). Had I been a bit more cynical, I would have agreed with him and rushed to the nearest church, confess my sins, and embrace the normal, straighter life (which is too boring for my taste, perish the thought). But my youth has caused me much to lean on it for understanding. And cynicism is a complete waste of my time. Life is too short to spend on time that has gone by and thinking that the only by-product of time is a jaded heart. However, I cannot sit idly by and settle comfortably being mediocre. Indifference is an allergy much too often welcomed by many but later on develops into a very nasty rash. (Very bad for the skin)
So, I find myself writing a treatise, a discourse of sorts on defending the federation. The make-up artist, together with some of his contemporaries, who, after finding God, Buddha, or reading a book about the practice of mystical Judaism known as Kabbalah, have turned their backs on being gay. Their lifestyle before advocated the beauty, flamboyance and inherent right of every man and woman to revel in their homosexuality. But now, sadly, being gay has become a sin in their eyes. And what is the basis of this realization? The Bible, what else. The book of truth containing the words of God. Images of homosexuals cavorting with each other in Sodom before it was blown into smithereens with an antimatter bomb (yes, I’ve read “Angels and Demons” by Dan Brown, simply unputdownable) come to mind. We are reminded of certain passages that condemn homosexual acts, such as St. Paul’s letter to the Corinthians putting us in league with thieves, robbers, murderers, and adulterers (but in retrospect, with the rising power of the Pink Peso, we have become the target of thieves, robbers and even murderers. I will discuss adultery in another article)
The Bible, its teachings and verses, is clear on the matter. Vatican II extends the argument further: condemn the act (no matter how intimate it may be) but forgive the sinner (the brainless homosexual blinded by his or her carnal desire to copulate with the same sex). Pity the homosexual who acts on his or her nature, for surely their souls will burn in hell (similar to the sulphur-spewn hell of the movie “Constantine”)
But then, I wonder, is God that small, that narrow-minded? Would a loving, benevolent God create such beautiful, fashionably enlightened, articulate and witty beings and condemn them to the eternal fires of hell? Such a conception of God, or Goddess, is like attempting to contain the Pacific Ocean in a test tube. I’m not saying that homosexuals, who miraculously found God after singing a couple of halleluiahs and praying the rosary, are extremely narrow-minded. I am sincerely happy that they’ve discovered God’s grace in this lifetime. What I find cumbersome is the arrogant certainty with which God is confined in a small box. That God has already declared an all out war against homosexuals. Bayots beware!
As I write these words, I am reminded of a book that I’ve read years ago. Its unconventional packaging added grace and class to its core message. Most of us, I hope by now, are familiar with the book “Letters from the Closet.” It is a collection of postcards, journal entries, and letters between a closet gay priest, his ex-girlfriend who turned out to be a lesbian, and his mother. The exchanges revealed the struggles of a gay man as he tried to reconcile his homosexuality with his family, his friend, and God. As I recall the liberating message of the book, I am reminded of Ruth’s unyielding love for Naomi. I am reminded of Jonathan’s unconditional love for David. I recall a passage written by St. John, “Remember that the world hated Me before you”. I am reminded of God as a jar maker and us being his masterpieces. One being different from the other. One neither less nor greater than the other. As His, or Her, creations, we have our individual paths and purposes in this life. I am created this way, who am I to question the design of my creator. God is so much bigger than our intellect, world constructs, and conceptions of what is right and what is wrong. “God is so much bigger than our attempts to confine him.” God will understand.
I don’t go to church regularly but I abide by God’s law: love one another. Everyday, I try to live a life that would please God. I transcend my homosexuality and live up to the honor of being a child of God. Does loving another gay man make me less qualified to be God’s child? Does having a loving and nurturing relationship with another man assure me of a one-way ticket to hell? God is so much bigger than this. God understands.
For a split-second, I feel sorry for gay men who successfully rationalized their denial of homosexuality based on an epiphany of God. But, like I said, only for a split-second. What I feel for them is happiness for they have found God’s “sacred delight” (read Max Lucado’s “Applause of Heaven”, though he does not approve of homosexuality. Nor does C. S. Lewis in “Mere Christianity”) I cannot rob them of this profound discovery nor judge them as denying their true nature. Only God is in a position to judge all of us. What I want to say, however, is this: Cottlestone Pie. This is my Inner Nature. (“Tao of Pooh” is a great read but I’m still struggling with its application in good governance).
As a gay man living in these modern times, I have, through God’s grace, reconciled with my homosexuality. I am attracted to other men. I want to explore a romantic relationship with another gay man. And if, God willing, I meet my match, I would love and cherish him till the Angel of Death takes the last breath in my body. So that when I appear before God and He, or She, asks me what I have done in this lifetime, I will humbly say, “I am your child who tried to live my faith. I was a good son to my parents, an understanding brother to my siblings, a loyal friend, and a good citizen who served my country. I loved one man in my life with all my heart. And now he is crying because he has yet to understand why you took me away from him. I just wish he’s not bawling his eyes out and crying like a drama queen.” If God asks, “You’re gay?” “You made me this way”, I would respond. If God shakes his head and says, “Gay? I did not create you as such. Homosexuals are forbidden to enter heaven. Helping AIDS victims in third world countries and adopting stray cats cannot serve as your pass in Heaven. Too bad, you’re going to receive a post-humus Nobel Peace Prize for serving the people.” “I won a Nobel Peace Prize?” I’d ask. “Yes. And your gay lover would receive it in your behalf. Don’t worry, you’ll see him in hell after six months.” (God, indeed, has a sense of humor. That I know for a fact) Sadly then, I would bow my head and slowly descend to hell where the party is just getting started.
But, if God smiles and says, “Well done My son. I have prepared a two-story town house for you with a view and a coffee shop nearby where you can write.” I would sing the loudest halleluiah and wave the trademark rainbow flag as I saunter into the pearly gates of heaven.
I have a hunch, though. By the time I die and slowly ascend towards the pearly white gates for judgment, I’ll see the trademark rainbow flag waving proudly beside St. Peter. But seeing the old man wearing a shirt with the imprint, “We’re queer, we’re here, get used to it” would be a stretch. One could only hope.
So, I find myself writing a treatise, a discourse of sorts on defending the federation. The make-up artist, together with some of his contemporaries, who, after finding God, Buddha, or reading a book about the practice of mystical Judaism known as Kabbalah, have turned their backs on being gay. Their lifestyle before advocated the beauty, flamboyance and inherent right of every man and woman to revel in their homosexuality. But now, sadly, being gay has become a sin in their eyes. And what is the basis of this realization? The Bible, what else. The book of truth containing the words of God. Images of homosexuals cavorting with each other in Sodom before it was blown into smithereens with an antimatter bomb (yes, I’ve read “Angels and Demons” by Dan Brown, simply unputdownable) come to mind. We are reminded of certain passages that condemn homosexual acts, such as St. Paul’s letter to the Corinthians putting us in league with thieves, robbers, murderers, and adulterers (but in retrospect, with the rising power of the Pink Peso, we have become the target of thieves, robbers and even murderers. I will discuss adultery in another article)
The Bible, its teachings and verses, is clear on the matter. Vatican II extends the argument further: condemn the act (no matter how intimate it may be) but forgive the sinner (the brainless homosexual blinded by his or her carnal desire to copulate with the same sex). Pity the homosexual who acts on his or her nature, for surely their souls will burn in hell (similar to the sulphur-spewn hell of the movie “Constantine”)
But then, I wonder, is God that small, that narrow-minded? Would a loving, benevolent God create such beautiful, fashionably enlightened, articulate and witty beings and condemn them to the eternal fires of hell? Such a conception of God, or Goddess, is like attempting to contain the Pacific Ocean in a test tube. I’m not saying that homosexuals, who miraculously found God after singing a couple of halleluiahs and praying the rosary, are extremely narrow-minded. I am sincerely happy that they’ve discovered God’s grace in this lifetime. What I find cumbersome is the arrogant certainty with which God is confined in a small box. That God has already declared an all out war against homosexuals. Bayots beware!
As I write these words, I am reminded of a book that I’ve read years ago. Its unconventional packaging added grace and class to its core message. Most of us, I hope by now, are familiar with the book “Letters from the Closet.” It is a collection of postcards, journal entries, and letters between a closet gay priest, his ex-girlfriend who turned out to be a lesbian, and his mother. The exchanges revealed the struggles of a gay man as he tried to reconcile his homosexuality with his family, his friend, and God. As I recall the liberating message of the book, I am reminded of Ruth’s unyielding love for Naomi. I am reminded of Jonathan’s unconditional love for David. I recall a passage written by St. John, “Remember that the world hated Me before you”. I am reminded of God as a jar maker and us being his masterpieces. One being different from the other. One neither less nor greater than the other. As His, or Her, creations, we have our individual paths and purposes in this life. I am created this way, who am I to question the design of my creator. God is so much bigger than our intellect, world constructs, and conceptions of what is right and what is wrong. “God is so much bigger than our attempts to confine him.” God will understand.
I don’t go to church regularly but I abide by God’s law: love one another. Everyday, I try to live a life that would please God. I transcend my homosexuality and live up to the honor of being a child of God. Does loving another gay man make me less qualified to be God’s child? Does having a loving and nurturing relationship with another man assure me of a one-way ticket to hell? God is so much bigger than this. God understands.
For a split-second, I feel sorry for gay men who successfully rationalized their denial of homosexuality based on an epiphany of God. But, like I said, only for a split-second. What I feel for them is happiness for they have found God’s “sacred delight” (read Max Lucado’s “Applause of Heaven”, though he does not approve of homosexuality. Nor does C. S. Lewis in “Mere Christianity”) I cannot rob them of this profound discovery nor judge them as denying their true nature. Only God is in a position to judge all of us. What I want to say, however, is this: Cottlestone Pie. This is my Inner Nature. (“Tao of Pooh” is a great read but I’m still struggling with its application in good governance).
As a gay man living in these modern times, I have, through God’s grace, reconciled with my homosexuality. I am attracted to other men. I want to explore a romantic relationship with another gay man. And if, God willing, I meet my match, I would love and cherish him till the Angel of Death takes the last breath in my body. So that when I appear before God and He, or She, asks me what I have done in this lifetime, I will humbly say, “I am your child who tried to live my faith. I was a good son to my parents, an understanding brother to my siblings, a loyal friend, and a good citizen who served my country. I loved one man in my life with all my heart. And now he is crying because he has yet to understand why you took me away from him. I just wish he’s not bawling his eyes out and crying like a drama queen.” If God asks, “You’re gay?” “You made me this way”, I would respond. If God shakes his head and says, “Gay? I did not create you as such. Homosexuals are forbidden to enter heaven. Helping AIDS victims in third world countries and adopting stray cats cannot serve as your pass in Heaven. Too bad, you’re going to receive a post-humus Nobel Peace Prize for serving the people.” “I won a Nobel Peace Prize?” I’d ask. “Yes. And your gay lover would receive it in your behalf. Don’t worry, you’ll see him in hell after six months.” (God, indeed, has a sense of humor. That I know for a fact) Sadly then, I would bow my head and slowly descend to hell where the party is just getting started.
But, if God smiles and says, “Well done My son. I have prepared a two-story town house for you with a view and a coffee shop nearby where you can write.” I would sing the loudest halleluiah and wave the trademark rainbow flag as I saunter into the pearly gates of heaven.
I have a hunch, though. By the time I die and slowly ascend towards the pearly white gates for judgment, I’ll see the trademark rainbow flag waving proudly beside St. Peter. But seeing the old man wearing a shirt with the imprint, “We’re queer, we’re here, get used to it” would be a stretch. One could only hope.
Monday, May 09, 2005
I am Joe’s heart
Since Joe was inside his mother’s womb, I have been pumping blood all over his body. Through his childhood, puberty and adulthood, I have grown with Joe. I felt his passion for the arts, his hunger for knowledge, and his devotion to his loved ones. But there’s something peculiar about Joe, about me. Whenever Joe would look at another man, I would skip a beat. Joe and I find their bodies sexy. We were drawn to them like a magnet. Later on I realized that I beat not for women but for men. I’m attracted to another man’s heart. And through time, I didn’t find it peculiar anymore. I am Joe’s gay heart.
I am Joe’ active heart. I usually beat fast when Joe goes to the gym, when he’s climbing walls at the local climbing center, or when he has to meet a deadline at work. But something is different, something delightful is happening within Joe right now. All of this started when Joe met Jack.
I was beating normally, well more normal than usual since Joe was drinking coffee in a café while writing in his notebook. I was trying to cope with the amount of caffeine and nicotine Joe was consuming when suddenly, I began to beat faster. I tried to make sense of it by asking Brain what is happening. Brain told me that Eyes saw a man looking at Joe. At first, according to the news of Brain (he’s somewhat of a gossip) that the man was glancing at Joe furtively. Then, as reported by Eyes, the man smiled at Joe. It was about the same time that I began to palpitate. I thought it was the combined effects of cigarettes and coffee. But then, other chemicals were flooding Joe’s system. Brain told me that endorphins and adrenaline were being released in huge amounts. Electrical bursts in Joe’s synapses are going off like fireworks. Then, I began to beat at a faster pace. I was feeling anxious and excited. It was at the exact time when the man Joe was looking at approached our table and introduced himself. Ears told Brain who told me that the man’s name was Jack. Eyes said that Jack was very attractive, exactly the type that Joe dreams of during REM stage. Nose said that Jack smelled really nice. Nose doesn’t have a wide vocabulary but we still love him. Ears was in full attention, listening to the voice of Jack. The information Ears received was immediately transmitted to Brain. And Brain, the over-thinker that he is, began to match the information with the data of Joe’s ideal man. A perfect match. I told Brain, Eyes, Ears, and Nose to maintain a low profile and be cautious. We’ve been here before. Joe can’t take another beating. I can only be broken so many times. But Brain was insistent. He was all over the place. He told Lungs the news and Lungs, for his part, had to control Joe’s breathing. Joe’s groin area was a different story. They were all abuzz about the news, surely brought about by Brain’s instigation. But I told them, keep it down. This has happened before; the initial excitement of meeting someone new always registers this effect on Joe. But in the end, it is I who will Joe ask for answers. I am Joe’s cautious heart.
I am Joe’s beating heart. I’ve been skipping a beat, so to speak, after Joe met Jack. They’ve been seeing each other for quite some time now. Eyes is all over Jack: his face, his hands, his lips. Eyes can’t even focus on the movies Joe and Jack watched. Ears was more attentive than usual, clinging on every word of Jack. Ears was making sure that he heard everything correctly because, by now, Brain was asking for a detailed report every minute. Brain tends to over analyze everything. Brain thinks too much. He interprets Jack’s words, every syllable, even the way it was said and the tones used. A simple phrase such as, “Do you want to go now”, has numerous interpretations: “is he bored, does he want to go without me, should I say I still want to talk to him.” Poor Brain, he’s been working overtime since Joe met Jack. Brain has replayed all of the dates of Joe with Jack. Every time, he would focus on a single moment: a touch, a smile, a nod, and come up with a thousand interpretations. But I kept telling everyone, especially brain, to slow down. I have to be sure. I have to be certain about what Joe feels about Jack, what I feel about Jack’s heart. I am Joe’s doubtful heart.
I am Joe’s guarded heart. Through the years, I have been broken many times. Joe loved all of them. I loved all of them. Every time I feel a connection, I would speak to the heart of Joe’s current object of affection. All of them told me that they love me, they love Joe. That Joe, I, was the one they’ve been looking for. I am flattered, of course. All of them promised the moon and the stars. Most of them kept with my pace. Some of them even made me quiver by quoting Neruda. But all of them said goodbye to me, to Joe. Joe couldn’t understand. Brain tried to theorize every break-up. But Brain couldn’t give Joe answers. Joe would always end up with questions for me. I cannot answer him because I am broken. After each break up, I would build a wall around me. Every time that I would be broken, another brick would be laid and cemented. When Joe asks if I could still love again, I would tell him to give me some time to rest. Eventually, I would tell Joe to be hopeful for love would find us inevitably. But I am scared. What’s the point of finding love if I would still end up broken? I am Joe’s jaded heart.
I am Joe’s feeling heart. You’d think Joe only listens to Brain. As Joe learned from the past, love is truly an affair of the heart. This is my domain, my area of expertise. Joe asked me a lot of questions about Jack. He kept nagging me about how I feel about Jack. I’d tell him that I’ve built a wall around me to protect myself from being broken again. But the truth always escapes me. I had to be honest with Joe. “Jack’s the one, Joe.” I’d say. I’ve spoken to Jack’s heart and we are in agreement. Jack’s heart is in love. Jack is in love with Joe. And I told Joe, affirming Brain’s proposition that Joe was in love with Jack. I am Joe’s loved heart.
I am Joe’s bleeding heart. Last night I felt a knife pierce through me. I tried to do my usual work, pretend that everything is as it should be. I kept telling myself that if I just wait and patiently count the hours, I would feel Jack’s beating heart again. But Eyes has been crying since last night. Ears are deafened by the silence in Joe’s room. Hands long to touch Jack’s Hands. But Jack was nowhere to be found. Brain has replayed the scene over and over. Like watching a big T.V. screen, all of Joe’s organs, the entire body of Joe, recalled what happened. Jack broke up with Joe. Jack said it wasn’t working out and that he met someone else. Mouth had no words to tell Jack that he’s making a mistake. Lips were shut tight while Eyes fought back the tears. But the heaviest of burdens was pressed against me last night. I was feeling Joe’s pain. Brain’s questions are now my questions: why, what happened, what went wrong, am I not enough. And I listened. I asked. I pleaded for Jack’s heart to respond. But Jack’s heart was silent. Jack’s heart was afraid that he was making a mistake, a huge mistake. Jack’s heart was terrified of my honesty, my commitment, and my love. Jack’s heart cannot fathom the depths of my love for him. So he withdrew. He kept his distance. He remained quiet. In his silence, we both knew the truth. Jack didn’t meet anyone new. Jack wasn’t seeing another guy. Jack’s heart was afraid. Afraid of what I was prepared to give: a love with no conditions, no doubts, and no questions. I was willing to compromise, to overlook Jack’s shortcomings. I love him despite his weaknesses, his faults, his frailties. It was too much for Jack’s heart to take.
I am Joe’s broken heart.
I am Joe’ active heart. I usually beat fast when Joe goes to the gym, when he’s climbing walls at the local climbing center, or when he has to meet a deadline at work. But something is different, something delightful is happening within Joe right now. All of this started when Joe met Jack.
I was beating normally, well more normal than usual since Joe was drinking coffee in a café while writing in his notebook. I was trying to cope with the amount of caffeine and nicotine Joe was consuming when suddenly, I began to beat faster. I tried to make sense of it by asking Brain what is happening. Brain told me that Eyes saw a man looking at Joe. At first, according to the news of Brain (he’s somewhat of a gossip) that the man was glancing at Joe furtively. Then, as reported by Eyes, the man smiled at Joe. It was about the same time that I began to palpitate. I thought it was the combined effects of cigarettes and coffee. But then, other chemicals were flooding Joe’s system. Brain told me that endorphins and adrenaline were being released in huge amounts. Electrical bursts in Joe’s synapses are going off like fireworks. Then, I began to beat at a faster pace. I was feeling anxious and excited. It was at the exact time when the man Joe was looking at approached our table and introduced himself. Ears told Brain who told me that the man’s name was Jack. Eyes said that Jack was very attractive, exactly the type that Joe dreams of during REM stage. Nose said that Jack smelled really nice. Nose doesn’t have a wide vocabulary but we still love him. Ears was in full attention, listening to the voice of Jack. The information Ears received was immediately transmitted to Brain. And Brain, the over-thinker that he is, began to match the information with the data of Joe’s ideal man. A perfect match. I told Brain, Eyes, Ears, and Nose to maintain a low profile and be cautious. We’ve been here before. Joe can’t take another beating. I can only be broken so many times. But Brain was insistent. He was all over the place. He told Lungs the news and Lungs, for his part, had to control Joe’s breathing. Joe’s groin area was a different story. They were all abuzz about the news, surely brought about by Brain’s instigation. But I told them, keep it down. This has happened before; the initial excitement of meeting someone new always registers this effect on Joe. But in the end, it is I who will Joe ask for answers. I am Joe’s cautious heart.
I am Joe’s beating heart. I’ve been skipping a beat, so to speak, after Joe met Jack. They’ve been seeing each other for quite some time now. Eyes is all over Jack: his face, his hands, his lips. Eyes can’t even focus on the movies Joe and Jack watched. Ears was more attentive than usual, clinging on every word of Jack. Ears was making sure that he heard everything correctly because, by now, Brain was asking for a detailed report every minute. Brain tends to over analyze everything. Brain thinks too much. He interprets Jack’s words, every syllable, even the way it was said and the tones used. A simple phrase such as, “Do you want to go now”, has numerous interpretations: “is he bored, does he want to go without me, should I say I still want to talk to him.” Poor Brain, he’s been working overtime since Joe met Jack. Brain has replayed all of the dates of Joe with Jack. Every time, he would focus on a single moment: a touch, a smile, a nod, and come up with a thousand interpretations. But I kept telling everyone, especially brain, to slow down. I have to be sure. I have to be certain about what Joe feels about Jack, what I feel about Jack’s heart. I am Joe’s doubtful heart.
I am Joe’s guarded heart. Through the years, I have been broken many times. Joe loved all of them. I loved all of them. Every time I feel a connection, I would speak to the heart of Joe’s current object of affection. All of them told me that they love me, they love Joe. That Joe, I, was the one they’ve been looking for. I am flattered, of course. All of them promised the moon and the stars. Most of them kept with my pace. Some of them even made me quiver by quoting Neruda. But all of them said goodbye to me, to Joe. Joe couldn’t understand. Brain tried to theorize every break-up. But Brain couldn’t give Joe answers. Joe would always end up with questions for me. I cannot answer him because I am broken. After each break up, I would build a wall around me. Every time that I would be broken, another brick would be laid and cemented. When Joe asks if I could still love again, I would tell him to give me some time to rest. Eventually, I would tell Joe to be hopeful for love would find us inevitably. But I am scared. What’s the point of finding love if I would still end up broken? I am Joe’s jaded heart.
I am Joe’s feeling heart. You’d think Joe only listens to Brain. As Joe learned from the past, love is truly an affair of the heart. This is my domain, my area of expertise. Joe asked me a lot of questions about Jack. He kept nagging me about how I feel about Jack. I’d tell him that I’ve built a wall around me to protect myself from being broken again. But the truth always escapes me. I had to be honest with Joe. “Jack’s the one, Joe.” I’d say. I’ve spoken to Jack’s heart and we are in agreement. Jack’s heart is in love. Jack is in love with Joe. And I told Joe, affirming Brain’s proposition that Joe was in love with Jack. I am Joe’s loved heart.
I am Joe’s bleeding heart. Last night I felt a knife pierce through me. I tried to do my usual work, pretend that everything is as it should be. I kept telling myself that if I just wait and patiently count the hours, I would feel Jack’s beating heart again. But Eyes has been crying since last night. Ears are deafened by the silence in Joe’s room. Hands long to touch Jack’s Hands. But Jack was nowhere to be found. Brain has replayed the scene over and over. Like watching a big T.V. screen, all of Joe’s organs, the entire body of Joe, recalled what happened. Jack broke up with Joe. Jack said it wasn’t working out and that he met someone else. Mouth had no words to tell Jack that he’s making a mistake. Lips were shut tight while Eyes fought back the tears. But the heaviest of burdens was pressed against me last night. I was feeling Joe’s pain. Brain’s questions are now my questions: why, what happened, what went wrong, am I not enough. And I listened. I asked. I pleaded for Jack’s heart to respond. But Jack’s heart was silent. Jack’s heart was afraid that he was making a mistake, a huge mistake. Jack’s heart was terrified of my honesty, my commitment, and my love. Jack’s heart cannot fathom the depths of my love for him. So he withdrew. He kept his distance. He remained quiet. In his silence, we both knew the truth. Jack didn’t meet anyone new. Jack wasn’t seeing another guy. Jack’s heart was afraid. Afraid of what I was prepared to give: a love with no conditions, no doubts, and no questions. I was willing to compromise, to overlook Jack’s shortcomings. I love him despite his weaknesses, his faults, his frailties. It was too much for Jack’s heart to take.
I am Joe’s broken heart.
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