Manila Gay Guy

I resonate with this so much, as if I was the one who wrote it.

It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive. (more…)

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I was reading a book while the sun is revealing its golden presence on a Sunday morning at the Santa Barbara beach. The following lines, simple and beautiful, resonated with me. Let me share it with you: “The soul’s joy is in unfolding, in becoming known to the self and being able to live from a deeper and deeper connection with who we really are. While this is an introspective task we have to do for ourselves, there can be no doubt that being seen and known and loved by another offers us the warm light of encouragement that softens our hearts to ourselves when we are discouraged about our human failings.” – Oriah, The Dance

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Anyone who has ever made love knows that part of the pleasure is in anticipating both the familiar and the unknown. The pleasure and intimacy of lovemaking are deepened when I am able to slow down and consciously savor the sharp taste of the moment in between, the second just before, the place where the breath catches in anticipation. I am aware of the scent of heat held in the air between two mouths reaching for each other hungrily. There is hope that sustains, that moves me toward life, in the skin that tingles, waiting, fine hairs at attention, reaching, aching. [from the book The Invitation, by Oriah]

Are you, like me, waiting too?

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I wanna read this book. Anyone who knows where I can buy this here in the US?
(more…)

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People use rituals to help them in their transitions. Endings, in particular, are celebrated in many ways. For some people, when they end relationships, they clean out things given to them by their separated other half. Some would return, some give away, and others burn. For me, it is this. This is my ritual – recording a favorite Neruda poem, translated in Filipino, to formally end my chapter with Marco. This marks the end, but also a new beginning.

Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines
Maisusulat ko ang pinakamalulungkot na tula ngayong gabi
ni Pablo Neruda (Salin ni Jose Lacaba)

Maisusulat ko ang pinakamalulungkot na tula ngayong gabi.

Maisusulat, halimbawa: “Ang gabi’y mabituin,
at nanginginig, asul, ang mga tala sa dako pa roon.”

Umiikot sa langit ang hangin ng gabi, umaawit.

Maisusulat ko ang pinakamalulungkot na tula ngayong gabi.
Siya’y inibig ko, at kung minsan ako’y inibig din niya.

Sa mga gabing tulad nito, niyakap ko siyang mahigpit
at hinagkan sa lilim ng walang-hanggang langit.

Ako’y inibig niya, kung minsan siya’y inibig ko rin.
Paanong hindi iibigin ang mga mata niyang malamlam?

Maisusulat ko ang pinakamalulungkot na tula ngayong gabi.
Isipin lang: Hindi ko siya kapiling. Nawala siya sa akin.

Dinggin ang gabing malawak, mas malawak pagkat wala siya.
At ang tula’y pumapatak sa diwa, parang hamog sa parang.

Ano ngayon kung di siya mapangalagaan ng aking pag-ibig?
Ang gabi’y mabituin, at siya’y hindi ko kapiling.

Iyon lamang. Sa malayo, may umaawit. Sa malayo.
Diwa ko’y hindi mapalagay sa kanyang pagkawala.

Anyong lalapit ang paningin kong naghahanap sa kanya.
Puso’y naghahanap sa kanya, at siya’y hindi kapiling.

Ito ang dating gabing nagpaputi sa mga dating punongkahoy.
Tayo, na nagmula sa panahong iyon, ay di na tulad ng dati.

Hindi ko na siya iniibig, oo, pero inibig ko siyang lubos.
Tinig ko’y humalik sa hangin para dumampi sa kanyang pandinig.

Sa iba. Siya’y sa iba na. Tulad ng mga dati kong halik.
Tinig, maningning na katawan. Mga matang walang-hanggan.

Hindi ko na siya iniibig, oo, pero baka iniibig ko siya.
Napakaikli ng pag-ibig, at napakabata ng paglimot.

Pagkat sa mga gabing tulad nito’y yakap ko siyang mahigpit,
diwa ko’y di mapalagay sa kanyang pagkawala.

Ito marahil ang huling hapding ipadarama niya sa akin,
at ito na marahil ang huling tulang iaalay ko sa kanya.

Listen: (2 min 37 sec)

Download this recording (right click and save) – 2.4 MB

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While reading a book by one of my favorite authors (David Whyte), I found the following poem that struck a chord in my heartstrings. It spoke to me of opportunity, only if we let the universe do its thing. I intuit from it that the magic of chance can only work to those who are open. I invite you to read the poem with me, and tell me, dear, what you think. (more…)

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This has got to be one of the saddest, most appalling stories I’ve read recently. It’s from the latest book I finished reading, just this morning, while I was having my Sunday breakfast at Starbucks along E. Rodriguez Ave. The book is entitled The Velvet Rage: Overcoming the Pain of Growing Up Gay in a Straight Man’s World (Alan Downs). It’s an experience related by the author himself, a psychotherapist.

I thought I’d share this story to show how cruel this world can be as experienced by a young gay man. See, the world is cruel enough — let’s not add to its cruelty, folks. Say with me, “World Peace.”

Read on.

Many years ago in California, I treated Sean, a bright, very handsome young man who was in a residential treatment facility for adolescents. Sean had been placed into the facility for repeatedly running away from home and for frequent bouts of depression. When I met him, it became clear to both of us that Sean was gay. Although he described himself as bisexual, it was evident that his only real romantic feelings had been for other boys.

Sean told me that his maternal grandfather had been the only person who seemed to understand him. He was a wise old man who spent a great deal of time with Sean, taking him fishing and camping in the nearby mountains. These trips away from home were greatly welcomed respites from the frequent beatings he was subjected to by his stepfather. His mother had remarried when Sean was seven years old, and the stepfather had been determined to “whip him into shape.”

I hadn’t been treating Sean for very long when I learned that he had recently had a sexual affair with another male resident. Of course, sexual relations among any of the residents were strictly forbidden in treatment-the subsequent persecution brought from the other male residents was just one of the many good reasons why. The other boys whispered loud enough for Sean to hear “queer” and “homo” when he walked by. The taunting and embarrassment had become unbearable for Sean. The other resident with whom he had the affair denied having participated in anything and completely ignored Sean when the affair became public knowledge.

One Friday in July, I met with Sean just before he was to have a two-hour visit with his mother. He was so excited to see her and told me that he had convinced her that he was ready to return home now. As he told it, they were going to make plans for his discharge in the next week.

That Sunday, sitting out on the patio of my favorite coffee shop, my cell phone rang. The voice on the other end was frantic. “Dr. Downs, you’ve got to come to the office quickly.” Concerned, I questioned the caller, a junior staff member at the facility, carefully. As he choked out the details, I started running to the car. One of the male residents had hung himself.

On the drive to the treatment facility, I somehow knew that Sean was the person in question, but the staffer who had called me said that he wasn’t sure. As I walked onto the grounds, I’ll never forget what I saw. There, swinging from a rope tied to a tree not more than a hundred yards from my office, was Sean.

After his death I learned that the visit with Sean’s mother had gone poorly and that she had told him that he could not return because his stepfather wouldn’t allow a homosexual in the house. She told him he was to spend the next six months in treatment and hopefully “get over” his sexual problems. Undoubtedly, Sean had been drowned in overwhelming shame, not only from his parents but by a treatment center that had failed to keep him safe from the cruel tauntings of the other young men. It had been unbearable, and he chose the only escape he could think of.

Sean left behind two notes. One was to his mother telling her not to worry because he had gone to heaven to be with his beloved grandfather. And the other was addressed to me, apologizing for having killed himself. He closed the note with these brief words scrawled in distressed handwriting: “You were the only one who understood.”

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Would you write a gay children’s storybook? Aside from it being a breakthrough in Philippine children’s book industry, you can win Php35,000 cash.

From artist-blogger friend, Palma Tayona:

we have a short-story writing competition for children and there’s still a month left to submit entries. i read through some of those who write you and it can easily be seen that some of them do have a good grasp of story telling. they have what is called the gift of gab. i just wonder though if they can actually translate this gift of writing about themselves to writing for others, specifically children.

now why am i telling you, someone who advances the cause of gay people, about this? contemporary literature is moved these days by liberal thoughts and ideas. many current issues and relevant topics are slowly being written about today in stories that children can absorb and help them relate towards the bigger and real world, the same kind of topics that were only spoken of in whispers a few decades ago. for example, i was reading through a children’s book written by Augie Rivera entitled “ANG LIHIM NI LEA”. it is about a very sensitive topic – incest. it is highly relevant and about time that someone wrote about it for the specific audience – our children – that must guard itself against. the book is well-crafted, beautifull illustrated and very well written. you can see it online here.

i have seen and read so many good stories written for children and yet i still have to see something about being different and being okay with it. i just wonder, how an excellent gay writer would write a story for children.

Interested to join the contest? Mechanics here.

(Palma is also inviting you to a children’s book launching at Serendra on March 8, 2009.)

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Recently dubbed “the closest thing to a living saint” by the Australian media, Louise L. Hay is also known as one of the founders of the self-help movement. Her first book, Heal Your Body, was published in 1976, long before it was fashionable to discuss the connection between the mind and body. Revised and expanded in 1988, this best-selling book introduced Louise’s concepts to people in 33 different countries and has been translated into 25 languages throughout the world.

Through Louise’s healing techniques and positive philosophy, millions have learned how to create more of what they want in their lives, including more wellness in their bodies, minds, and spirits. Her own personal philosophy was forged from her tormented upbringing. Her childhood was unstable and impoverished, and her teen years were marked by abuse. Louise ran away from home and ended up in New York City, where she became a model and married a prosperous businessman. Although it appeared that her life had turned around, it was not until the marriage ended 14 years later that her healing really began. [source]

Hay moved to Los Angeles around 1980 and began seeing private clients for spiritual counseling. “I had several gay men in my practice,” Hay told me. “One day, one of them called me up and said, ‘Louise, do you think you could start a group for gay men with AIDS?’ A few men came for dinner one night, and I said: ‘I have no idea what we’re doing, but I know what we’re not going to do. We’re not going to play ‘Ain’t it awful.’ So we talked and did affirmations and ended with a song. The next day, one of them called me and said, ‘Last night was the first time I slept in three weeks.’ The next week we had 90 men, and soon someone gave us a space in a gym in West Hollywood. For two years we met, but we outgrew the gymnasium in a month and a half.” The city of West Hollywood gave the Hay Rides, as they were soon known, a bigger space. “Soon we had 850 people every Wednesday night. We had mothers who came, and whenever a mother came we gave them a standing ovation, because so many mothers weren’t speaking to their sons.” Her eyes teared up noticeably. “The fathers almost never came — they couldn’t forgive.” Hay often presided at the men’s funerals. “Who else was going to do it?” she asked me. “Religions wouldn’t touch them.” [Source]

Louise is a truly remarkable woman. Listen to her here, a snippet from a recording of her powerful affirmations. In this particular snippet she talks about accepting and embracing our sexuality, being at peace with it. Go, listen (4 minutes only).

Download the MP3 here (right click and save) 1.8 MB

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