post-tumble squirt

Its a Saturday afternoon. Having woke up hours before a scheduled meet-up with bloggogatchi girl, i decided to write something to pass the time. i don’t normally sleep in the afternoons, but today, i did. Its a special day, considering that its seldom that i find myself in the metro during weekends. Beside me eyvicat is still sleeping. We were both exhausted, what with the passionate early morning tumble in bed we had, just hours ago; more so with him, as he came here straight from a graveyard shift. so i’ll just let him be for some couple more hours.

Who would have thought that there will be an end to that spiralling madness of casual meet-ups and one nightstands, three years ago? Who would have thought i’d meet someone who would want to embark on a journey with me? someone who saw me not only in my best but also in my worst, and is still with me all these time? caring for me, loving me. Three years, six months and twenty-one days to this day. I couldn’t ask for anything more.

We met at downelink.com. unlike other guys who posted pictures of sculpted torsos or face pictures taken at the best times, i first saw eyvicat with that ‘bagong gising’ look. Hehehe. i dunno, but i immediately took a liking of that picture and decided to send him a message commenting on his shoutout, something about [im]patiently waiting. He answered, saying that he is both patiently and impatiently waiting for the right person; and that became the start of a lengthy exchange, through YM, before finally deciding to meet up.

It was a Monday evening. Straight from work and wearing a long-sleeved barong tagalong, i met him at glorietta. He was wearing an old-rose colored muscle shirt; and though the awkwardness of our attires put side by side made us uncomfortable, it didn’t take long to find ourselves laughing and beaming with relief that the other guy confirmed exactly the image one had formed in his mind in the course of the YM chat. We had dinner at icebergs, and that was the start of something beautiful.

I remember writing something for the “who you’d want to meet” part of my Friendster profile, some years back, before meeting eyvicat. Something about waking up in the mornings with kisses on my back. He sure must have remembered it well, as he kissed my back this morning—tracing a lovely pattern—as a post-tumble gesture of tenderness. At any moment now, he is sure to wake up sporting again that look i fell for, three years ago.—that bagong gising look only my dee could execute in perfect unison with my beating heart. hehehe. Ah, it just keeps getting better.

the emancipation project

Those of you who follow my other blog would surely know by now that i am a librarian. Yes, unbelievable it may seem, i am one of the few who earn a living by tending to pages of information, knowledge, reason and enlightenment (?); collecting, organizing and making them readily available for access to researchers. my work requires one to have a keen eye for details, and also to have lotsa patience, not just for unruly/ noisy researchers (shushing is hardly my style) but especially for use at one helluva boss too, that just seems to come from one. Yes, dear reader, lets just call her Krissy Mae, the librarian from hell.

Recently, all my efforts are being directed at one life project i tentatively call “the emancipation of pie,”—my apologies, Mariah, for borrowing your title without permission; i would have called you but my current workload wouldn’t allow me the luxury of doing such. So if you ever come across this blog entry, please understand and take pity; for i am now undergoing what you’ve just gone through with tommy—only with krissy, it is anything but sexual...oh puhleease.

For five glorious years i have toiled under a burning heat. Yes, i’ve been terribly burnt. I turned to writing, to yoga, to running, to watching movies, to reading escapist fares just to have a seeming normalcy in my otherwise abnormal mindscape. Yes, she invaded my psyche too. It seems krissy mae has a doctorate in psywar, for how else would one explain that i became this frozen delight; a promising career gone stale in just the blink of an eye. Have i known that things would turn out this way, i would have applied in other offices right away, instead of stepping in her lair that fateful day of June, five years ago.

“Ma’am, i thought its only respectful that i tell you first before you get to know it from other people, after all i wouldn’t be here have you not taken notice and took me in. I saw an opening for [state position here] and i am thinking of giving it a try, if its ok with you.”

“no, its not ok with me. In fact sobrang hindi ok para sa akin that i will go to great lengths to go straight to [state name and position here] para sirain kita.”

Now, tell me, how’s that for a telenovela scene?

Pie is in anguish. It is time to act. Whatever the outcome, it is better than not to have acted at all.

pie and chinky : the descent continued

And so pie met codename chinkymae. Chinkymae is a cute older guy from another department that pie used to have a major total crush on. Cute slits for eyes, yummy lips, fair complexion, taller than pie, plus older—he was the stuff of pie's dreams.

When they were introduced by a fellow officemate, riding the company shuttlebus on the way home, pie's harbored feelings got a little more intense! They were not mere faces meeting along corridors anymore; he's chinkymae aquino and he is pie oh pah! This could be a start of something, pie thought. And so pie got to know a little more of chinky, on the daily basis that they rode the shuttlebus.

Slowly, pie's dream bubble deflated the more he got to know chinky. He was wiser than pie in many ways, and that's a good thing; but despite his age, chinky's not the settling down type. he's a player who likes to keep his contacts accessible in case the itch down under got too itchy for self-scratching. Deep in his heart pie knows this is not the kind of set up he wants to end up with, when he got older.

But seeing how chinky seems to be enjoying and having the time of his life meeting guys, pie quickly assimilated the lifestyle that chinky led. Chinky takes credit for pie's initiation to the underground bath houses in the metro. Seeing guys scantily clad in bath towels, prancing around endless mirrored walls and mazes is such a novelty, that pie kept coming back for more.

we all know that one does not just play this kind of game without any battleplan. You go in battle-hardened, never exposing your heart for anybody to pick on. But pie was such a newbie to all of these, that every encounter left a scar on his person. He entered the baths and left a little lonelier and sadder than when he came in. This would go on for months, searching for the one in a place that's not meant to be scoured for the one in the first place. So from crush du jour, chinky slowly assumed the role of a trusted friend and confidant to pie, knowing every heartache incurred from that place and giving what bit of advice he could to make the pain a little less painful.

Pie, in time, learned his lesson and started avoiding the place. he was unsuccessful at first, but in time he mustered the courage to say no to the urges that never seem to die down. His tour over, he set his eyes on online communities that cater to PLUs.

While chinky, well he was everywhere.

pie the resilient

Let me be pie to you, reader. I came here on blogspot by another name. Maybe you’ve read me before and liked me; followed me. Or maybe you just brushed me away as another whinning soul. But aren’t we all?

Been having a blast with my other blog but i had to back up a bit.. i had to reassess. In the months since i started, i was able to gather quite a following. Praises (or insults) were heaped on my nosebleed style of writing. But the question remains... am i truly satisfied with my truckload-full of words produced?

Did the blog serve what its header so blatantly proclaimed? Love, live, laugh and linger? I think not. Most of what pie loves, laughs about and lives for remains unwritten. My blog became so public an affair that my innermost feelings died before seeing the light of publication. So came this birthing process for my attic.

Dear self, what you cannot speak about, what you cannot write about, let me do it. Let pie the resilient handle it; take the pen from your hand and write it down; take the pain from your heart and cast it away; nurture you like no one else will (for who will, actually?) and see you grow into the gentle self you so dream about. For as one blogger have put it: “i am but just a dream” or something like that; let me be your dream. let this be your dreaming attic, weary gentle soul. sleep now.