Easy Target

So there I was in my room, bumming around, just minding my own business, when I received a text message from a concerned friend. He just though I HAD to know. That there's some NEW negative stuff being said about me.

Jesus Christ. Not again.

I asked him what it was... Another stupid, baseless, completely fabricated rumor! I know I've posted something like this before, and I hate to sound redundant, but i just can't help it. It's easy to say just let those people talk, let them talk about me all they want, let them think what they want to think, it's easy to ignore them, i won't let myself get affected... but it's another thing to really mean those words. It's not easy to simply ignore what others have been saying about you. I often wonder why people get a kick out of talking about others. i wonder even more why some people would completely fabricate stories about another person.

So I replied with some rant, and asked my friend why the fuck were they talking about me in the first place. He said my name just came up, like it often does, since I was one of the prominent people where I used to work. I replied with my name came up like it OFTEN does?! what the f*ck are you talking about?!

C'mon man, you can't be oblivious to the fact that people talk about you. And you can't be oblivious to the fact that you look good. Everyone's eyes were on you from day 1. You were on the radar. Every move you made was watched because you were like royalty who chose to associate himself with commoners. People can't help but talk about you. And since you were such a favorite topic of discussion, rumors were bound to come up. When you left, that didn't stop people from talking. In fact, that gave them another reason to talk about you. But for all its worth, we don't believe any of them. Just wishful thinking on the part of desperate people, like most rumors. I just thought you should know, so you wouldn't be so clueless about it.

Christ. I never wanted to be "prominent". I never asked for these qualities that make me stand out. I'm the type of person who chooses to keep a low profile. I'd rather stay anonymous. Sure, at times I strive for excellence, but most times I'm content at being average, common, just like everyone else. It's part of my personality, I feel uneasy being at the center of attention. Many times when I'm in a pensive mood, i hate it when strangers would approach me and start some conversation, even when I make it as clear as possible that I'm wearing some invisible sign saying I want to be alone. During the past year I tried so hard to blend in, not to stand out and do anything extraordinary. if it was about looks, I didn't care about the way i look, I didn't even have time to fix myself up. But I still kept showing up on the radar, and apparently there was nothing I could've done to make myself hidden.

Is it really about the way a person looks, that makes him or her stand out? If people didn't give such high regard on physical attributes, then maybe i wouldn't be such an easy target. Then maybe those losers would mind their own business and finally leave me alone, as I've always wanted.

I already have a lot of things on my mind. My life's already a mess as it is. Rumors that only serve to further complicate matters are the last things that I need.

Preacher Overload

I stopped reading at volume 3. Volume 1 was great, and volume 2 was even better. But after reading volume 3, I had no interest in buying the succeeding volumes--- which was odd for me, because I normally can't stand cliffhangers. Even when I'm not really that interested in the story, I just have to know how everything ends. It's not the blasphemy that turned me off. Nor was I turned off by the gratuitous sex and graphic violence. I am extremely open minded when it comes to those things. I've always said that for any work of fiction to maintain the reader's interest, the reader should be able to empathize with the characters. A protagonist with no remorse whatsoever is not a character I can empathize with. The fact that the protagonist is extremely cocky and proud--- two characteristics that I hate in people--- isn't helping at all. As I was reading, I keep wishing that he gets killed during one of the many confrontations with his enemies... pretty stupid since I know that his saga stretches up to volume 9. Hoping that the main character would be killed off is not a good sign. Some people may appreciate the series, but it's just not for me. Jesse Custer is no Morpheus, nor is he a Yorick Brown.

Why Should I Be Sad

Yesterday, I did some voluntary work. A friend invited me to one of the charitable activities his organization had planned for the Christmas season. We went to a government hospital and gave out several goods and supplies to the indigent patients. It was heart warming to see their smiles, to hear their thanks, to feel their embrace. Nothing can match the feeling one gets when he realizes that he was able to give a helping hand. That was a great experience. It put me right back on track.

Somewhere along the way, I’ve lost sight of my target. I have been disillusioned. Several distractions have made me mistake my goal for something else. The whole experience reminded me of why I chose the path that I’ve previously taken in the first place. Why did I choose to work in this country, in the land of my birth, when my peers have been leaving in truckloads? Because I preferred to serve my own countrymen--- that was what I said then. It may be true that there are places around the world that are also in dire need of medical help, but why should I go elsewhere when there are already people who can use my help here? And why did I choose to work in a government hospital as opposed to working in a private hospital, where the working conditions are more humane and comfortable? Because I wanted to reach out to those who were mostly in need of help. I wanted to reach out to those who have nothing, to those who have little to turn to. To the oppressed. To the members of society that are largely ignored or looked down upon.

That was my train of thought a year ago.

Somewhere along the way, I’ve looked for other motivations. I began to think of monetary benefits. I equated my work with salary, and was disappointed by the fact that we were grossly underpaid. I’ve let extraneous factors, such as conflicts with other residents and dismay at the rotten system dampen my drive. I never got into this line of work because of money. Although it's great to be able to buy the things I want with what I earn, it wasn't all about the money. Even if I did not really want to be in this profession in the first place, I continued walking along this path because I wanted to help. I knew from the very start that I wouldn’t be getting much in return, but I went through that path because money wasn’t my primary concern… but when I reached the boiling point, what did I do? I took the easy way out. I resigned. Because I said I was no longer happy with what I was doing. I’ve let those other factors distort my definition of happiness. A lot of good that did. I can’t change a rotten system by leaving it. I won’t be able to help anyone by abandoning them. I was a coward. Instead of facing those trials head on, I opted to cop out.

I felt a tinge of regret as I realized that. Even more when i saw familiar faces, my previous co workers who still looked beat from all the work being dumped on them. But they looked happy, probably because the year is about to end, or partly because what they said was somehow true--- that they've missed me terribly and they were happy to see me after such a long time. One thing is evident--- They never lost their drive, while I have lost mine. I made my decisions haphazardly. I’ve let certain emotions cloud my way of thinking. When I visited the department again yesterday, that put the nail in the coffin. Although I resigned months ago and I knew it was inevitable--- they finally updated the roster of residents by the entrance to the wards. It included the list of incoming residents, and though my name was still there last week, now it was no longer there. It wasn’t unexpected, and it was foolish to think that they’ll never remove it--- they should have removed my name months ago… but somehow I was overcome with great sadness.

Why should I be sad? Is it because of “what could’ve been”? If I didn’t quit I would already be an incoming second year resident. Maybe if I accepted that last minute offer from our training officer, if I answered “no” when he asked me if I was sure that I really wanted to leave… if I told him the truth, that I really wasn’t sure about leaving… if I just swallowed my pride and admitted that… then maybe I wouldn’t feel so lost. Why am I so sad? Is it because it’s finally official and tangible, that I am no longer part of the “family”? The past few months since my resignation may not have been a burst of sunshine--- although I was in crisis and spent most of my waking hours wrestling with my thoughts and trying to drown it all out with alcohol, it wasn’t all doom and gloom. I did have fun. I went to parties and did things that would feel awkward for me to do after residency when I’m already in my 30’s. Call it the last hurrah of my youth. I don’t want to be that pathetic guy in his 30’s trying to be an eternal 20 something. I’ve met new people. I tried new things. I’ve rekindled past friendships. And most importantly, I had time to think. I wouldn’t exactly call the past few months a waste.

Why should I feel sad? This was what I wanted then. It was a decision I’ve made, and I stuck with it. It may not have been the best choice, but I thought it was best at that time. i wanted out. I wanted to leave. I wanted to work elsewhere. And every time I wondered if I made the right decision, all I had to do was read the entries on this blog from January to August of this year… then I would remember how unhappy and miserable I was back then. I thought I was in hell. I quit because I was no longer happy, and I believed no one should keep working in a place where he does not find happiness and fulfillment. Call me an Idealist, surrealist, unrealistic. I though that quitting would make me happy… yet here I am, still far from what people would call happy.

In just a few more days, we’re about to say goodbye to the year 2007--- from one point it’s a year I’ve wasted… from another point of view, it’s a year of testing the waters, a year of awakening, a year of sorting out my priorities. It’s all a matter of perspective. Focusing on the negative can only bring me down. Why should I be sad when there are a lot of things to be happy about? The new year ushers in new opportunities, a chance to start over. A clean slate, wherein the mistakes of the previous year has no bearing. Once again I return to the starting point, re-energized. Hopefully this time, no stumbling blocks can hinder me from reaching the finish line.

I shouldn’t be sad just because an episode in my life has ended. I should be happy because I’m about to start a new beginning. But at times like this when my mind is still riddled with doubt and confusion, I can’t help but see the glass as half empty instead of half full. And I still can’t figure out exactly why I am so sad.

Preacher

I was doing some last minute shopping at one of the so called “high-class” shopping areas in the city. I like bargains like everyone else, but I hate crowds, especially during the Christmas rush when crowds tend to get unruly. I’d rather spend a little more dough than be part of the Christmas crowd. Thankfully, the slightly higher prices did deter some people--- though there were also a lot of people roaming around, the place was not exactly what I would call crowded.

So there I was, looking around at the bookstore for Christmas presents, when I saw something I’ve been looking for in vain. I accepted the realization that it probably wasn't available anywhere in the country. My eyes popped and inside my head i screamed:

PREACHER!!!

Haha. I wanted to buy the first 3 volumes at least, but then I won’t be able to buy some of the Christmas presents on my list. Lol. So after several minutes, I settled for the first volume only. I immediately tore the plastic cover when I got home.

Man. I’ve never read anything so blatantly violent, blasphemous, and sacrilegious. Now that that’s out of my system, I have to say... that I love it. LOL.

It tells the story of one reverend Jesse Custer--- a small town minister who’s starting to question his faith. Then in one instant, his life changed forever. An entity named Genesis--- the outcome of the mating of an archangel and a demon, merged with him. Now he’s on a mission to find God, who packed his bags and left heaven, to hopefully turn all the wrongs that were done into rights.

Clearly, based on that short description, the series isn’t for everyone. But blasphemous or not, it's one very compelling reading material. As for me?... I have to go back to that bookstore ASAP before stocks run out. That’s probably the only store that’s carrying the title in the country. Hehe.

Changes

It’s been almost a week since I’ve gotten a haircut. For the third time in my life, I had a haircut in a salon. For as long as I can remember, I had my haircut at this certain barbershop. The haircut is dirt cheap, plus there’s free massage to boot. And there’s no need for much conversation. Strictly business. What more can you ask for? There was one time in college when I tried having a haircut at a salon for the first time, but it was nothing drastic. I didn’t like the feeling of another person shampooing my hair though. It just felt awkward. The stylist was also talking non stop, about this and that, yadda yadda yadda. I only wanted a haircut, not an opportunity to socialize. And the worst part? It cost an arm and a leg. And I still had to tip the girl who shampooed my hair. That simple haircut, all in all, cost an arm, a leg , and a finger.

The second time was around February or March this year. My hair had gotten long and really looked untidy. I had an hour off before the nightly endorsements, so I made a mad rush outside the hospital, looking for a barber shop that was still open at 10 PM. Just my luck, there was only one place that was still open--- and it was a salon. I told the stylist I only wanted a barber’s cut, and though it took longer than usual, he got the job done. The haircut wasn’t that expensive, but it was still triple the amount that I usually pay for a haircut.

Now, I haven’t gotten a haircut since September. So for the first time in my life my hair was actually long… long enough on the side to be partially covering my ears. At first I was just too lazy to get a haircut, but after a while I liked it. It was different. I never had long hair before, so I decided to grow my hair long for a change--- probably for the next year or so, before I revert back to my usual short hair. Last Saturday, I was out shopping with a friend, who asked me if I wanted to get a haircut, because my hair already looked untidy. Just a trim here and there to fix it up. My barber can’t seem to understand the word trim, so I figured if I wanted a trim I’d have to go to some salon. So to make a long story short, I entered a salon for the third time in my life.

I said I only wanted a trim. I was happy the stylist wasn’t the talky type, and he looked like a straight guy to me. I just let him do his business while I read some magazines. When it was all done--- WTF?!

It was long on the front and short on the back. It looked really weird! Especially on the sides! Then I realized something else which horrified me… One of my classmates had the same hairstyle two years ago, and everyone was laughing at him… including me!!! Was this some sort of karma?! Of course the stylist defended his work, in fact he looked a bit proud. And as for my friend? He said it looked good, my hair had “style” for once. Of course he’s going to say it looked good. If he said it looked bad then I’m just going to blame him because he was the one who brought me to that salon in the first place!

Fast forward one day: My sister said my hair looked weird. Yeah, my thoughts exactly. Then my mom asked where I got a haircut, because my previous haircuts looked better. Wow, that’s some NEWSFLASH! My previous haircut was better, even though it only cost me less than 1/10 of the cost of this new haircut?! Wow, this new haircut is really worth every penny!

Fast forward two days, when I visited some friends at the hospital. The first one laughed at my hair. The next one said it really looks weird. Then all the people I met afterwards either said it looked odd or I looked like a Korean actor... I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment.

Fast forward Four days: I went to a party. One friend said I looked good, I looked so different. I wasn’t wearing the usual clothes that she’s used to seeing, being unemployed has been good for me, physically at least--- that's what she said. Tight clothes, nice shoes. What? That’s it? No comment about the hair? So I asked her what she thought of my hair. She said it looked good, something different. Whoa… was that actually a compliment?

Fast forward five days. I’ve been looking at myself in the mirror. After sporting this new hairstyle for several days already, I realized that it’s not really that bad. Actually, it looks okay. I guess I was just not used to such a hairstyle, that’s why I thought it looked weird. Most of my friends aren’t used to such a hairstyle also... i guess that’s why they also thought it looked weird. I’m actually beginning to like it. Criticisms are natural reactions to changes, but not all changes deserve negative reactions, no matter how drastic they are. I’m no longer dwelling on the money I thought I "wasted". What’s done is done. In this case, change is good. :)

Which is more than I can say for a lot of the changes I’ve done recently in my life.

Great Expectations

I found this thing buried beneath all my junk yesterday. It’s one of those tags they put on newborn babies for the purpose of proper identification. It was MY tag. It was given to me by my mom a few years ago, among with other mementos from my childhood--- including hair from my very first haircut, would you believe. She thought I might want to keep those. Yeah, I’m a sentimental fool so I kept them. I wouldn’t dare throw away such irreplaceable relics.

Approximately an inch in diameter... It’s somehow hard to believe that my wrist used to be THAT small. Surreal. Funny how things rarely turn out the way we want them to be. Funny how things rarely reach our expectations, funny how the hands of fate can make the outcome the complete opposite of what we hoped and wished for. More than 27 years ago, who would’ve thought that I would be like this in the future. When every child is born, parents are filled with dreams and hope. What they think would be ideal life for their child. The perfect life in a perfect world--- probably the epitome of wishful thinking, but parents can’t help but hope for the best. I bet my parents never thought I’d grow up to be such a disappointment.

Two weeks ago my mother started talking to me about work... which was unusual because she was usually silent when this topic came up. Saying stuff about my future... she doesn’t want me to become like my uncle who spent many years in school, working hard to be a lawyer--- and still amounted to nothing after all that work. She asked me if I would consider working in this other hospital because her brother has some influence on the place. She said she could help me and she could accompany me if I wanted to. I said NO THANKS. That's it. Just two simple words, but built like some emotional dagger when combined. I felt guilty afterwards. The first time she tried to be proactive in the occupational aspect of my life, something that she probably thought about for a long time before she actually decided on doing--- and I just brushed her off. She didn’t bring up the topic again. She didn’t get mad... but the look of disappointment in her eyes was something that cannot be denied. It was that evident.

Unexpected--- my dad changed his strategy. He seemed to have realized that the imposing dictator persona wouldn’t work. Now he seemed to be in a begging mode. I’m aware of how huge his pride is... to resort to what looked like begging was really something. Sentimental mode... talking about my future. How he only wants what’s best for his children. That he wouldn’t stop trying until we’re all doing fine... until he can see that we’re all stable at least, he wouldn’t stop until we’re having the good life. Extremely cheesy words that would normally nauseate me.

Unexpected--- Those cheesy words seem to have affected me. Normally I would’ve disregarded such a shift in his attitude as one of his strategies, hoping that I would be gullible enough, hoping that he would be able to manipulate me into doing what he wanted. But the words seemed genuine enough. I thought I could sense sincerity. I could sense disappointment. My mother a few days before, and now him. We have many differences, and for most of my life I was indifferent to him--- if I did not hate him outright. But ultimately, all parents only want what’s best for their child. They just differ in their means, and some means are easier to swallow than others. Some may be misguided by their false beliefs, but every parent just strives for what they think is best. Even when parents don’t see eye to eye with their children, no parent wants to see their children turn out to be disappointments. No parent would want their children to be such failures in life.

It’s hard to live up to such great expectations.

Questioning Fashion

For the sake of doing something productive, I accompanied some people who were part of a wedding entourage for garment fitting. The wedding is still months away, but they seem to be rushing preparations. I’m not particularly fond of weddings, but I agreed to go with them because I had nothing else to do, and I probably won’t be able to attend the wedding if I’m back to work by then. hehe. I don’t hate weddings--- I’m just not fond of them. Partly because every wedding I attend to, especially weddings of peers, reminds me that I’m already in the marrying age. Another reason: marriage is not part of plans in the near future. I’d probably get married when I’m 35, when residency and fellowship is over... when I'm already (hopefully) financially stable. And there’s still so much I want to do… places i want to go to... things I want to learn... stuff that I may not be able to do once I settle down. So unless I accidentally impregnate someone, marriage is out of the question for now.

Since I had no interest in the preparations that they were doing, I just browsed some magazines… which were mostly about weddings, plus a number of fashion magazines. Nothing interesting, so I just breezed through them. I had nothing else to do, so just to start some conversation, I made some small talk. Two of the people there were fashion designers, the older one was quite famous--- I actually knew who he was. The younger one probably was his apprentice, who supposedly won some regional fashion designing competition. Out of the blue, I asked the younger one if I could ask him questions about fashion. He said "sure."

“Er... I've been wondering about my taste in clothes... like what I'm wearing now... what do you think of my shirt?” I asked hesitantly.

“It fits your form perfectly. Though it would be better to avoid the logo tees and go for abstract designs.”

Abstract designs. Got that. Then I asked, “are my pants ok?”

“straight leg jeans never go out of style.” He said with a smile.

“Do you think I should wear those slim fit jeans that seem to be the in thing these days? Some friends have been insisting that I should wear those, but I’ve tried fitting them one time, and it felt uncomfortable. My thighs looked like Hungarian sausages, and the girl I was with laughed out loud when I turned around. The fabric was hugging my ass very tightly, it was really embarrassing.”

He laughed. “Slim fit jeans aren’t for everyone. You shouldn’t wear them if they don’t look good on you. And you should never wear something uncomfortable for the sake of being fashionable.”

Ah, my thoughts exactly. “Um... what about my shoes?”

“you mean besides the fact that they look dirty?”

“haha. Yeah. Do they look tacky? Ugly? Out of style?”

“not really. They look okay. Just clean them.”

Then the older fashion designer guy, who was apparently listening to our conversation, spoke. “Let me guess, you’ve been taking fashion advice from self proclaimed fashion gurus… either your girlfriend or gay friends? Am I correct?”, he said smugly.

I laughed again, and then said, “the latter.”

He answered “It’s alright to take fashion advice from gay men every now and then, especially since most men don’t have a clue about fashion… but don’t let them take full control. Straight men and gay men have different tastes. If you heed every advice they make, sooner or later you’re going to look like a gay man yourself.”

I laughed as I realized the truth that he spoke, which wasn’t really all that funny.

The Social Networking Game

I scanned the new messages on my inbox. One had the title : "Check out my Profile at _____!"

Christ, not another invitation to some social networking site.

I'm not one of those people who hate social networking sites. I actually find them somewhat useful... One of the things that I can call guilty pleasures. It’s just that a lot of them have been sprouting here and there, and they all have the same purpose. Most don’t have enough variety to separate them from the others. Presently, I have active accounts on three social networking sites.

Friendster- because it was the first social networking site that I signed up for. That was sometime in 2003. Back then, I thought the whole six degrees of separation was cool. And I got to regain contact with long lost friends. I seldom log in these days. It has become so ubiquitous that even my past patients have accounts there! My friends list has reached more than four hundred--- and most of those people aren’t really people I can call friends. Most are acquaintances. A lot I’ve just met randomly once or twice. In fact, if you want to search for someone, just type their name in the search box and chances are you’ll see their Friendster profile. Whether the account is active or not is another matter. I’ve contemplated on deleting the account… but I changed my mind because of sentimental reasons. Some of the testimonials from my friends are really heart warming. And it’s a convenient way to reach a number of people without much effort, sometimes even more convenient than email.

Multiply- This site I find the most useful. I use it as some sort of online storage device since I can upload pictures, videos, and mp3 files in their full size. There’s also a blog feature, but I barely use that. Most of my blog entries aren’t for mass audiences, so I prefer keeping an anonymous blog here in blogger. LOL. Again, my contacts aren’t confined to people I’m close to anymore as the site is gaining popularity, so posting blog entries there isn’t really a good idea.

Facebook- This one I just signed up recently... Due to peer pressure! But I have to admit I find some sort of pleasure each time I log in. Unlike other social networking sites, this one had applications or mini programs. A lot of those programs are trash, but some are quite fun to play around with. Some are even useful. Also, the site asks you to input your exact relationships with your contacts, providing some sort of intimacy, avoiding people who just randomly add contacts. It just gets annoying when many people keep inviting you to install this and that application. The Starbucks application, for instance--- what the heck would I get by installing that? It doesn’t even reflect my personality. I seldom go to Starbucks, and I’m not a coffee person to begin with.

I also have an account on Myspace, an account I haven’t checked for months. I don’t get it how people say it’s the best, when its features are basically the same as the others. I also don’t get why the site seems to promote adding as many people as you can to your friends list, even people you don’t know, for the sake of having your profile viewed by more and more people. It would probably make sense if I was an aspiring singer or part of a band who wants to promote their music. I don’t see the logic in promoting yourself when you have nothing to promote except your personal information.

Oh yeah, I have an account on Orkut and Yahoo 360, simply because you’ll already have an account ready when you have a Google and Yahoo ID, you just have to activate them. But after activating them, I never opened them again.

As for the rest, I just ignored them. What’s the use of making accounts in all these sites, just to build the same network of friends from scratch?

A lot of people also don’t use these sites solely for good clean fun. Child molesters and sexual predators are rampant on these sites, especially on those sites with limited privacy settings. Some even use these sites for promoting pornographic material. These sites are also ideal places to stalk someone.

We’ve all had our fair share of “stalkers”. Thankfully, I’ve never had one of those “Fatal Attraction” types of stalkers. Some are pretty harmless---those who keep checking your profile at some social networking site, leaving anonymous letters, leaving voice messages proclaiming their adoration, anonymous text messages containing sweet nothings, anonymous calls from people who just listen to your voice… some can be bold enough and take your picture without you knowing. Some are bold enough to ask you out anonymously through text messages and email and they’ll keep on pestering you. Some are really brave enough to ask you out personally, and they can’t seem to understand the meaning of the word NO.

Two years ago, I received a message in my inbox at one of those social networking sites, from some girl I didn’t know. She said she really liked what she saw in my profile, and she asked me if I wanted to meet up and have fun. I replied with:

“It depends. What kind of fun? :)”

she was forward enough. “Silly boy. What else? The beneath the sheets kind of fun of course!”

I admit I got excited. I checked out her profile. A couple of beach picture with her wearing a bikini, one was a bedroom shot with her wearing a black bra. I liked what I saw, but I had a girlfriend at that time so I was hesitant. I replied:

“As much as I’d love to, I’m committed to someone at this time. If I was single, I would meet up with you in an instant. :)”

She said: “don’t worry about her. She’ll never know.”

I was about to agree with meeting her, when my girlfriend called that night. She asked “So who’s this girl Rachel?”

I couldn’t say a word. I was speechless with shock. When it was clear that I was not going to speak a word anytime soon, she said some girl named Rachel called her saying I met up with her.

“That’s a lie. I never met with anyone named Rachel.”

“She described the clothes you were wearing that day, and I know for a fact that those are clothes you’re fond of wearing.”

WTF?! How can this girl know my clothes if I haven’t seen her yet? Was she stalking me?!

“She even knows your usual haunts. Where you usually hang out. It seems like you’re so close already, she already knows a lot about you.”

Crap. This Rachel chick was a stalker. Not an ordinary stalker--- she's one whose bent on destroying my relationship. I was being grilled and the tone of her voice was accusing. So I confessed. I told her about this girl who’s sending me messages. Of course I sanitized the story a bit. I told her I wasn’t entertaining her. After a lot of sweet talking, I finally convinced her. And as if being guided by the hand of fate, I saw a picture of the girl who called herself “Rachel” in a magazine. Fully clothed, modeling some clothes--- but it was clearly the same girl... And her name wasn’t Rachel! Some bitch was probably using her picture and playing games!

When I got home and logged in, there was another message.

“what’s taking you so long to reply?”

I replied “No way am I meeting with you. I can’t trust you! She’ll never know you said? You actually called her and told her some fabricated story! Plus the fact that you’re using some other person’s pictures betrays your real intentions!”

She replied that she only did that so that she can be with me without strings attached. And she swore the pictures on her profile was really her. She sent more messages, I ignored each one. Then she called my girlfriend again, and nasty words were exchanged. I never got to know the exact words said, all my girlfriend said was that she’ll never go down without a fight. Needless to say, she assured me the girl would never bother us again.

All was quiet in the stalker front for awhile… she would still occasionally add me as a friend, and I rejected all her friend requests. She greeted me on my birthday and on Christmas, but no more messages of the past sort. It’s been a year since her last friend request. But when I checked my email earlier today:

New Friend Request from Rachel.

Christ, I’ll never understand the psychotic mind. Some people just never let up.

Pay It Forward

I’d like to believe that people are inherently good. How else can one explain the kindness of strangers and how hospitality seems natural when our minds our free from everyday distractions? How else can one explain the emotional high and unexplainable happiness one feels when he has realized that he was able to help another person? Isn’t it true that most criminals were only forced to do such acts due to desperation, acts of last resort brought about by unfortunate circumstances? It’s true that there are several whose minds have been completely polluted that they are capable of acts of pure evil; it’s true that there are several whose minds have been completely numbed, that they are no longer capable of remorse. But for the majority whose perceptions haven’t been distorted, inherently they have the predilection do to what is right. Majority of us just act indifferent due to all the mindless clutter keeping us preoccupied.

As I was driving home past midnight, a blind old lady was being guided by what seemed to be her granddaughter towards the driver’s side of my car. I’ve been taught to ignore beggars since giving them money would only promote complacency--- but I remained stubborn. I’ve been told that if I really wanted to help, I could just volunteer or give donations to some organization whose aim is to help alleviate poverty. Forgive me for being cynical, but I don’t have much faith in organizations governed by such bureaucracy and covered with red tape, wherein their so called leaders would probably keep the donations for themselves. I did some volunteer work before, and though I felt good afterwards, I can’t seem to be doing enough. They say if I really wanted a hands on approach to help beggars on the streets, it would be better to give them food instead. But I normally don’t carry food in my car, so I usually give spare change. Besides, this was an old blind lady. What form of complacency can I possibly promote? It’s not like she’s some able bodied person like most beggars. I doubt if she can get a job. I checked my wallet, found no spare changes. I thought, what the heck--- I gave her a hundred bucks. Yeah I’m very stringy these days because my funds are slowly being depleted. But what will I use the money for? Probably booze, booze, and more booze. I am lucky to be eating three meals a day, have clothes on my back, and a lot of extra cash to spend on needless things. She has more use for the money, and a hundred bucks won’t last long anyway these days. I was going to give her more, but the light turned green already and the car behind me was honking like there’s no tomorrow. As my car moved forward, I heard her say thank you and merry Christmas with utmost sincerity. I’ve done my good deed for the day. Just like that, I’ve touched another person’s life. That gave me more happiness than any of the material things I’ve bought for myself these past few days.

It reminded me of the many times I shelled out money for patients. Yeah, it gets really annoying when every patient keeps begging for your help, i.e. asking for money. A lot of them are even pretending they have no money because they see some doctors shelling out for their patients--- why pay for something, no matter how measly it is, when you can get it for free? I really get pissed when some of those free loaders can be so blatant about it. Some patients must think we’re millionaires that they can milk freely and constantly. Sometimes though, they do seem genuine, and our hearts are constantly tugged. Many times I gave in. A number of times I shelled out too much, I can give up half of my monthly salary just for one patient. Even when I’m constantly complaining that we were grossly underpaid, I can give out that much. Because of the huge amount (if I thought the amount was huge, I could only imagine how much it was worth for the less fortunate), they always promised that they would pay me back. But I took those words with a grain of salt. As expected, on the day the patients are to be discharged, a relative would approach me continuously giving apologies. More promises that they will still pay me, or if they can do some other thing--- like doing my laundry, cleaning my house, because they still don’t have enough money. I just say it’s okay. They don’t have to pay me back. One time a patient did try to pay me back, but I knew there were more expenses, I knew she had better use for the money. I told her to just keep it. I didn’t expect her to cry, and the words she said as her tears fell down her cheeks gave me the impression that she thought I was heaven sent, some angel sent to her by God. I never felt as if I’m wasting money during those times. How can one waste money by helping, by touching another person’s life?

Yesterday, I did a huge favor for a friend. It wasn’t really much, it’s something I could’ve easily done, but it was apparently a big deal to him. He said he’s going to do anything I wanted--- just nothing monetary if I wanted it immediately because he was still short on cash. Lol. I told him to forget it, it was no big deal. I didn’t help him just to get something in return. But he insisted. I don’t really want anything. There was nothing I needed help with as of now. He still insisted, saying something like his conscience is going to bother him. So I said, if you really insist on doing something--- instead of paying me back, just pay it forward. The expression on his face clearly showed that he had no idea what I was talking about.

Pay It Forward is an old movie which starred Kevin Spacey, Helen Hunt, and Haley Joel Osment (that kid from The Sixth Sense). The kid had this school project: Do a good deed, and instead of having the person on the receiving end pay you back, ask him or her to pay it forward instead--- i.e. do another good deed to another person. When enough people keep paying it forward, asking nothing else in return, it would theoretically create a chain reaction, gradually making this world a better place. I didn’t really like the movie--- it tends to be overly cheesy and melodramatic at times… but the message that it sent me was clear. I’d like to think people aren’t really inherently selfish beings. We are capable of doing great things and expect nothing in return. Most people just need a little nudge to wake them up from all the apathy. One good deed done to some individual can shock him out of his indifference. Small steps I make may amount to nothing--- such small steps are barely noticeable. But I hope these small steps are noticed by the people whose lives I’ve touched. Immediate radical changes may be just dreams and illusions for now, but small changes are attainable. Drastic changes start with little things. If enough people remove their cloaks of indifference and free their minds from all things that they mistake as essential… if people shed their skins of selfishness, contempt, pride and greed so that they may show the beauty beneath such harsh exteriors… If we choose to pay it forward instead of expecting people to pay us back… then maybe this world wouldn’t be as fucked up as it is now.

It all begins with one small step from each of us.

The Outsider

There are times when I feel so out of place, like I belong somewhere else. Sometimes I feel that I'm not the person that I should be... i can't seem to figure out my purpose in this life because I'm not living the life I wanted.

Through med school, I'm surrounded by people who seem to have a clear purpose. Most of them knew what they wanted to be, and they're on the road leading to their destination. There were very few kindred souls who have gone astray like me, but most chose to stop the charades early in the journey. I was one of the few lost souls who chose to finish. Many times i envied them. Their drive, their energy, their dedication, their goals. They had the constant supply of energy to draw from because they were on the road to their dreams. No matter how hard it became, they can miraculously draw some strength by focusing on their target. Med school was just one rocky road--- no trials are insurmountable for a person determined to reach his goals. There's a constant supply of inspiration when you like what you're doing... even moreso when you are aware that every step leads you towards your ambition in life.

Even during residency I felt like an outsider. There were moments when I really liked what I was doing-- most especially when I knew that I was able to give help to those who are less fortunate. But like most things done halfheartedly, what was once fun turned into a chore. How I wished I felt like some of my co-residents, who didn't mind every trial they went through because they were on the way to fulfill their dreams. Each succeeding operation never became trite, no matter how many times they were repeated. Patients brought in during the wee hours of the morning gave them excitement instead of dread. Every operation was seen as an opportunity for learning, and not as another exercise in redundancy. How I wished I had the same dedication so I no longer needed to pretend. How I wish my smiles were as genuine as theirs. How I wish that like them, I chose the life that I wanted to live, so I wouldn't feel so miserable, that mere consultations from friends can start to irritate me when they reach a certain point. How I wish becoming a doctor was my dream, so I wouldn't get pissed every time my sickly grandmother cries out complaints daily, even hourly. If this is the life I wanted, I wouldn't mind monitoring her blood pressure constantly. i wouldn't mind friends asking me never ending questions about health. i wouldn't view circumstances such as those as constant reminders that I've picked the wrong path, I've made the wrong choice. I wish this was my dream, this was my ambition. Stuck in a medical career, I'm in a world full of strangers... pretending to be one of them, one with the team spirit when in truth I'm in the wrong team. If only I chose to be true to myself and refused to be dictated upon, then maybe i wouldn't feel like I'm in the constant company of strangers. If i listened to my own voice instead of somebody else's, then maybe I wouldn't feel like such an outsider.

Pieces

I tried to be perfect
But nothing was worth it
I don’t believe it makes me real
I thought it’d be easy
But no one believes me
I meant all the things I said

If you believe it’s in my soul
I’d say all the words that I know
Just to see if it would show
That I’m trying to let you know
That I’m better off on my own

This place is so empty
My thoughts are so tempting
I don’t know how it got so bad
Sometimes it’s so crazy
That nothing can save me
But it’s the only thing that I have

If you believe it’s in my soul
I’d say all the words that I know
Just to see if it would show
That I’m trying to let you know
That I’m better off on my own

I tried to be perfect
It just wasn’t worth it
Nothing could ever be so wrong
It’s hard to believe me
It never gets easy
I guess I knew that all along

If you believe it’s in my soul
I’d say all the words that I know
Just to see if it would show
That I’m trying to let you know
That I’m better off on my own

performed by Sum 41
From the album Chuck

Rude Awakening

I’ve been having trouble sleeping early again. I’ve been going out for most nights and the sun is usually up by the time I get home. Hence, my sleep wake cycle is fucked up again. It was around 9 this morning, I think I’ve just slept for less than 20 minutes when the dad came barging into my room. He was saying I should call back the person I called yesterday, to follow up the status of my re-employment. Yup, he’s still trying to get me back at the hellhole, manipulating people here and there, exhausting his connections. I just had a scripted conversation yesterday, and I said lines such as “yes sir, I really want to go back” because he was listening, checking if I’m saying the right words. I felt sick to my stomach having words put into my mouth. And this morning he was asking me to do the same thing again. I was in no mood for such charades. I was cranky due to lack of sleep. So I pretended not to hear him and just continued sleeping. Then when it was apparent that I won’t wake up, he grabbed the pillow from my head and shouted with all his might, a number of expletives in rapid succession. Between those expletives I heard him say how irresponsible I am, something about work, something about maturity plus some more other shit that was vaguely comprehensible. It took a lot of will power to not shout back at him and just pretend to be sleeping. Jesus Christ, what a hypocrite! In the 27 years that I’ve known him to be the father, I doubt if he ever knew the real meaning of responsibility. And he’s not one who should lecture me about work either, being the father who was unemployed for most of my living years in this world--- not because there were no jobs available, but because he refused to work for anyone. He SHOULD be the boss. And if my refusing to be controlled, my reluctance to be forced into something that I don’t want to do proves that I am immature, then so be it. I believe though, that trying not to say these words to his face, trying not to shout back at him and shut him up, entails a certain degree of maturity on my part. Knowing how stubborn he is, answering back will lead to no resolution. It will only make things worse.

I have to leave. I really have to. Sometime next year, I’m not sure when exactly. I’m just sure I have to leave this place. Not necessarily out of the country--- I can’t afford that with my own money... at least not yet. Maybe somewhere south. Or way down south. I still have some savings left in my bank account. Enough for plane fare, rent and food for one month. I could easily get a job at some hospital in one of the cities there. Facilities are up to par with the ones here, and the training is arguably just as good. Plus there’s the extra benefit of being far away from it all. I’d spend the next few years away from the place I call home. And if everything goes smoothly, I might spend the rest of my life there. No more looking back.

I find it pathetic how I got homesick after several weeks on duty at the hospital a few months ago. I had the wrong perspective then, that’s why I lost sight of the target. Whenever I get homesick, I just have to think of certain encounters, like the one I had this morning. The perfect cure. Just reliving one or two encounters would be enough for me to believe that I’m better off in any other place but home.

From Hero to Zero

We all know people who seem to be on top of the world. A famous politician, a pop superstar, or socialite who’s heir to millions. Isn’t it pitiful when all of a sudden they fall from grace. Just like that, with a sudden twist of fate, they lose everything.

That’s the same feeling I get while watching each episode of the TV show Heroes this season. How can such an excellent show during its first season fall to such depths? It isn’t your usual sophomore slump. It’s a complete disaster. Last season, every episode was compelling and exciting. This season, episodes are dull at best. I actually saw a glimmer of hope from episode 8, entitled Four Months Ago. That episode was interesting, it kept me hooked. Then again, with all the loopholes and question marks left by the previous seven episodes, any answers given would keep my interest. Then episode 9 came. It blew me away. That was the type of episode typical to Heroes a year ago. It’s funny that the Bennet family story arc AKA Heroes 90210, which was one of the most nauseating story arcs this season, became the most compelling. The ending was also a bit surprising.

Then this week’s episode came. Looks like I spoke too soon. Another episode that should’ve gone directly to the trash bin. Monica? Stupid. That Maya character? Really stupid. Suresh? For a scientist he is remarkably stupid. Peter? The character everyone used to cheer for has become stupid stupid stupid. Claire’s confrontation with Elle? What the fuck was that? Sloppily executed, that it looked so stupid. And Elle, who was such a feisty character in the previous episodes suddenly became meek… and downright stupid. Plus all the emotional impact that we could’ve gotten from the grieving Bennet family has been neutered by the revelation that Noah was still alive after all. And the cliffhanger ending, Hiro vs. Peter? It was so haphazardly executed that I just scratched my head when the words To Be Continued was shown. For a show to succeed, they need to have characters that the audience can relate to, characters that viewers would care about. With such stupid characters and plot lines, I just wish they’d kill off all these stupid characters and get it over with.

I find it impossible to believe this season’s story arcs came from the same group of writers responsible for the first season. If they did change their writers, they better fire all of the present ones and hire all of the previous ones back, before the show totally loses its audience.

They better show something remarkable on the finale of volume 2 next week, else I might not stick around for volume 3.

Beowulf... in 3D

I’ve seen the movie two times now. No, I didn’t think it was so good that I had to watch it twice. I blame it on peer pressure. The first time I watched it was on IMAX, after our family’s thanksgiving dinner. The second time, I just watched it in an ordinary theater. That was when I realized that I wasted money on the IMAX version, which was allegedly in full 3D, in contrast to most mainstream IMAX flicks wherein there are only selected 3D scenes.

I know 3D scenes can’t salvage a bad movie. *cough* harry potter *cough* *cough* *cough*, but I knew that it can enhance the viewing experience. Advertisements saying that the whole movie was in 3D made it difficult for me to pass up. But since the movie was filmed in motion capture technology blended with full CGI environments, the movie already looked 3D to begin with. There’s not much noticeable differences except for a few scenes when certain objects seemed to be thrown at you. Obviously the IMAX version was rushed, and not much effort was put into it. Most scenes only had two layers, so the full 3D effect was hardly noticeable. It’s a pity, since the 3D effects were breathtaking in certain scenes. The opening credits were the most impressive scene. What more if the same effort was given for the rest of the movie! Although they weren’t exactly lying when they said that the whole movie was in 3D, the 3D effects weren’t constant, so it seemed like some sort of a rip-off.

The movie itself was quite good. I’m not sure how faithful it was to the source material--- 3^rd year high school seems like eons ago… but I’m willing to bet liberal changes were made to make it appeal to mass audiences. I remember thinking back then that Beowulf was boring as hell. Using the image of Angelina Jolie as Grendel’s Mother was a good decision. Making Grendel look like that however, was not. I imagine Grendel to be menacing, a monster evoking fear. In the movie, he does look gross, but far from menacing. Instead of being afraid, he looked like something you’d laugh at. And his voice was clearly not helping. Who’d be afraid of a monster who sounded like some retard? And I’ll never get used to motion captured acting. Yeah, the technological advancements are indeed amazing, but wouldn’t it be cheaper to just make the actors act in front of the camera themselves since they’d still have to pay them for the use of their likeness? Why waste so much effort trying to make the characters look as real as possible when you could easily make the actual person act in front of the camera? Plus it’s hard to relate to characters whose eyes look so empty. No matter how advanced technology has become, they still won’t be able to capture all the nuances of human expression. Leave the CG effects to animals, monsters, spaceships, backgrounds, whatever. It’s still best to use real people to play the part of people in movies.

Oh yeah, the obligatory rating… I’d give the movie 4 stars, IMAX version or not. I would’ve given it another point or half a point if they used real actors instead. It had the epic movie potential that it never got to reach since the essential human connection was severely lacking.

Homophobia

A friend asked me to keep her company while she did some early Christmas shopping earlier today. I was reluctant at first. One of the things I hate doing is shopping. If ever I have to buy something, I just go directly to the most likely place to make my purchase and get it over with quickly. I don’t find pleasure in window shopping, and I don’t have much patience for bargain hunting. And I most especially hate shopping with girls. They take their sweet time before deciding on buying something. And even when they don’t intend to buy something, they seem to find pleasure in trying on every dress, every shoe in every store. I on the other hand, find that embarrassing, even if I’m just accompanying them. During those times when I went shopping with my past girlfriends, they know it’s a supreme sacrifice for me. LOL. The mere fact that I agreed to shop with her earlier just shows how bored I am these days. Better to go shopping instead of spending another day at home doing nothing.

While we were walking around the mall, I made a sudden detour. I must have changed directions so abruptly that she couldn’t help but notice. When she looked back at the direction we were previously headed, she giggled. Then she said “My God, You are such a HOMOPHOBE!”

I said “what the hell are you talking about? How can I be a homophobe when two of my closest friends are gays?”

She answered, “just because a person has gone to a Bar Mitzvah once or twice doesn’t make him Jewish”, a quote so familiar it must have been from a movie or something. Then she continued “you having gay friends doesn’t disguise the fact that you’re so afraid of the rest of them!”

I replied “you’re crazy, I’m not afraid of gays.”

“You’re so in denial! You were obviously trying to avoid that group of gay men having coffee there! I’ve seen you do that sudden detour of yours several times in the past!”

“Look, I had bad experiences with gay men clustered like that. Several times I’ve been given catcalls and uncomfortable stares when I passed by a group of gay men. It’s so embarrassing! When they’re clustered together like that, the gay mob seems to develop a mind of its own. They’re prone to transform into lions hunting for their prey.”

“Stop the BS. Things like that can’t make you a homophobe. There’s a deeper reason, probably the way you were brought up. You hate gay men in general and you know it. Your propensity in using the word FAGGOT gives you away”.

“C’mon, The word FAGGOT is just a word. Queer, Fruit, Fag, Gay. Same Banana.”

“Black, Nigger, African-American. You once topped English class. Those words are not the same and you know it.”

I didn’t give an answer, then after a few minutes of silence, she saw a dress she wanted to try out. End of argument.

She was right though. I say I’m not, but I am homophobic. I’m remarkably more open minded now, but I’m still a homophobe. I just wasn’t aware that it was that obvious. Partly, it’s the way I was brought up. My grandfather is very vocal with his hatred of gays. He can be civil when talking to them, but always curse them when he’s beyond hearing range. And whenever a gay man appears on TV, he shouts expletives at them, calling them freaks of nature, vessels of doom, the bane of this Earth. He’s not the only family member like that. My grandmother talks about gays as if they have some form of deadly communicable disease. Sinners. Outcasts. Pariahs. Although my dad has gay friends, he sees those gays on the streets as objects of ridicule. Abnormal. Inferior. Expendable. My cousin in his teenage years seems to be showing signs of homosexuality, and all my relatives can’t stop whispering, saying he’ll just give shame to our clan. He better behave and not come out of the closet if ever he was indeed gay, or else… he’ll probably be disowned. Such views are typical in a highly conservative family. And even though the society we’re in now is more tolerant than it was several years ago, the fact remains that gays are still discriminated and looked down upon. Just last week one of my friends was kept out of an establishment because cross dressers are not allowed inside. Another person I know doesn’t tell his co-workers that he’s gay for fear of losing his job in a male dominated field. A lot of people act so warm and nice when talking to gays straight to their faces, then say a lot of awful things behind their backs. Since childhood, I’ve seen gays as people we make fun of… Also as people whom little boys should be afraid of. I’ve been given a few warnings as a child, never to approach that gay man, never be alone with that beautician, etc. I was taught to exercise extreme caution when I’m with them, even though I didn’t know exactly what harm these people can do back then.

Chalk up another one for the Skeletons in the Closet list. When I was around 12 years old, I was struggling for some sort of independence. Typical of every person in the early years of puberty. Doing things alone was a way of showing independence. I bought stuff in the malls alone. I tried taking cabs alone. I tried watching movies alone. I can’t remember the first two movies I watched alone, but I’ll never forget the third one. Some generic sci-fi alien invasion movie, another rehash of the body snatchers premise. Halfway through the movie, a tall, muscular, extremely huge man sat beside me. No one sat beside me during the first two times I watched a movie alone, so I was quickly suspicious… and very terrified. I’ve heard stories of hold-uppers in cinemas, where these criminals would be on the lookout for prospective victims, usually people watching movies alone. On knife-point or gun point, they would ask for your valuables. Dare to refuse and you’d wind up getting hurt, or even wind up dead. I didn’t have many valuables back then; I only had a few bucks on my wallet, the remains of my allowance. I only had a cheap watch, I never wore any jewelry. My shirt was pretty expensive; I was worried that I might go home shirtless if I refused to comply. Embarrassment was a small price to pay if I’d get my life in exchange, that’s what I though. Amidst all the fear, many thoughts were rumbling through my head. I was just a skinny 12 year old kid, I was no match to this huge man. I couldn’t put up a fight. I was so oblivious to the world back then, I never imagined that what would happen would be much much worse than anything I could ever think of.

He put one of his huge hands on one of my skinny thighs. I looked at him, and he was just poker faced. He whispered something like “be quiet if you don’t want to get hurt”. I had no intention of shouting or crying for help… he could quickly stab me as I was shouting. I thought of running but surely he would catch up with me and stab me or shoot me. He seemed to be caressing my thigh as I was shaking all over. I still didn’t know what he wanted, he never said anything about money and other valuables. Then after what seemed like an eternity he opened my zipper and put his hand inside my underwear. I was filled with horror. I never knew things like that happened inside cinemas! I was one pampered child completely unaware of the different forms of evil in the world. I tried to struggle but he twisted my arm and grabbed my crotch, squeezing it then whispering something like “be quiet and sit still or I’ll rip your balls off” as he licked my ear. I was mortified. I was already crying then. He pulled down my pants and underwear to my knees, and I was still crying, afraid of what he’s going to do, afraid that someone else might see me in all my naked glory, afraid of what else he might do to me if I didn’t comply. He played with my thing for minutes, and I wondered what pleasure this horrible person can get just by fondling and stroking another person’s sexual organ. Jesus Christ, I wasn’t even in my teens then, I barely have pubic hair, and this adult derived pleasure in playing with a child’s sexual organ? Shouldn’t these monsters prefer playing with the penises of men their age?! He whispered something like “why isn’t it hard? Make it hard! Make it hard!” Stupid faggot! How could I have made it hard when I was trembling with fear! He was getting angry, squeezing my thing to the point that it already hurt. After what seemed like another eternity, he must have realized that it was an exercise in futility. He let go of my thing, shook my hand, and then left.

I was dumbfounded. Time stood still. I was frozen in shock that I didn’t pull my pants up immediately. The movie ended and I still couldn’t move. I just sat there, staring at the empty screen, and then the next screening started. Suddenly, another guy sat beside me. I was immediately suspicious. He wasn’t exactly doing anything, but he kept making glances at me, and I knew he was up to something. I looked at him warily. He must be some sort of office guy, wearing a neck tie, carrying what looked like an attaché case. Then to my surprise, another guy sat on the empty seat on my other side. What the fuck was this, some sort of tag team?! That other guy looked at me and he was smiling. Some old guy with a moustache, and wrinkles all over his face. Old guy, gaunt face, one who fits the typical profile of a pedophile. Then he poked my hand. That was it. I shouted an expletive at them as I quickly stood up. I ran away as quickly as I could. I didn’t care anymore if they ran after me with a knife or a gun. I’d rather die than experience something like that again. I never told my parents. It took years before I told anyone about that traumatic experience.

A week later, I was at a mall looking for a comic book, minding my own business. Then a person, obviously another fag, approached me, saying he was following me for some time already, and he was wondering if I could be friends with him. He asked if I was hungry and if I wanted to eat somewhere. I said “GO AWAY!” But he was one persistent mother fuck, he still followed me, asking for my number at least. I ignored him and walked faster. I looked back and the asshole was still following me! It’s possible that he really wanted just friendship, but I’m sure that’s highly improbable. Still fresh from an untoward incident, I believed that was impossible. The quasi cat and mouse chase led to the parking lot, and he was screaming something like he only wanted to be friends, to get to know me better. He was almost directly beside me. I turned towards him and punched him in the face as hard as I could. He shrieked. I thought I hit him in the eye, but maybe I also hit his nose bridge because there was minute bleeding from his nose. There was a taxi approaching, I hailed it, told the driver to take me home as fast as he could, and we left the screaming faggot behind, shouting something like I’m going to pay for what I did. I wasn’t thinking of any possible consequences at that time. Who cares if he sued me or sent me to jail. I didn’t give a shit. What I did felt good. It felt really really good. I couldn’t help but smile.

That was the only instance that I hurt some fag. Although I wanted to beat up several of them badly at one point or another in the past. I can be civil with them, no problem. I can be friends with them, no problem at all. It’s not like every gay man has the uncontrollable urge to grab some peen. As I’ve said, two close friends of mine are gay men, and their friendship and company I’ll forever treasure. But a lot of them really give all homosexuals a bad name. I’d hate to generalize, but majority of the gay men I encounter randomly are like that. While walking on the streets, inside malls… I hear catcalls clearly directed towards me. Don’t these people have any shame? Does being homosexual give them the right to throw away all discretion and decency to the wind? And they wonder why homosexuals are discriminated and looked down upon. Twice in my lifetime, I’ve fallen victim to faggots spreading rumors, saying I’m their boyfriend, and that I’m doing a lot of gross homo things with them. Wishful thinking on their part, yes… but what does it do to my reputation? Why would some people fabricate scenarios, create outright lies? How was I to know that my being nice and friendly would be seen as a perfect opportunity for them to exploit? How I wanted to beat them up. It’s not just about one’s reputation being tarnished. It’s also about trust, and trust is a big deal to me. At times I got so mad I wanted to murder them just to shut them up forever. And they have to nerve to cry out when they feel oppressed, they have the audacity to complain when people look down upon them and think they’re desperate and pathetic. They have the gall to act so cocky, and act as if they’re always the victim. Several months back, I was introduced to what looked like the prototype of the filthy, noisy, dirty type of faggot. He had the nerve to drop hints that he wanted to take me home, and he was not even doing it discreetly! On another encounter he told me pointblank that I looked like the type of guy who liked getting his dick sucked by a faggot just for the kicks of it, or because it felt better because “gays suck dick better than girls”. If I wasn’t that type, then I was one of those who think it’s okay to have their dick sucked by gays since a mouth is still a mouth, just like any other mouth. If I wasn’t any of those types, then I’m one of those who were willing to try, at least once. Jesus Christ. What a pathetic little son of a bitch. Was all that talk meant to entice me? How low can one person go just to get some dick. I just tried to act as a gentleman would… I just laughed even though I didn’t think he was funny, I just smiled as I said “no, you’re mistaken”, even though all I wanted to do was leave, else I might end up punching his dirty little mouth just so I can shut him up.

I couldn’t count the times when gays would approach me and ask for my number, wanting to be “friends”. Friends my ass! I seldom make friends with people I meet randomly, what more if that random person seemed to have some ulterior motive. And what about those many times when I’m caught during rush hour in public transport? All of a sudden someone will grope my crotch for a second or two. And since people are cramped like sardines in trains and subways during rush hour, I have no way of telling whose hand that was. Some even act discreetly, rubbing their ass against my crotch in such gently motion, ill-synchronized with the movement of the train. I wasn’t born yesterday. Even though I want to strangle them from behind or shove a pipe up their ass to give them more than they asked for, I chose to act civilized and simply turn around, shaking my head, thinking how pathetic and desperate some people can get.

My friend was right. Deep inside, I am homophobic--- but don’t I have reason to be angry, to be afraid? Don’t I have reason to be wary of them, at least those I’m not close to? I hate it when people generalize, and I hate myself when I generalize… but based from past experiences, both trivial and traumatic, I couldn’t help but generalize. I can’t shake the initial impression I have towards these people. I can act civil and all, but I would always remain guarded. I would only put my guard down completely when I give complete trust to these people, when they’ve already become friends. Friends wouldn’t dare destroy the trust they give each other. Friends think way above the superficial. Friends share and care for things that are not limited to skin deep.

She was right about another thing. The words FAGGOT and GAY, despite having the same meaning, have different connotations. I don’t use the word Faggot to describe my gay friends. I know that word has a derogatory connotation, a fact that I relish every time I use it to describe someone I detest. I would never describe a friend by using such a derogatory term, not even in jokes… friends can only be described with praises and terms of endearment. I call my gay friends simply FRIENDS. I don’t call them queer, I don’t call them gay. I don’t use other terms to define them, derogatory or not. I’ve looked beyond their homosexuality and saw the great person lying beneath the surface.

As for the rest of them? I’m fine with calling them by any other name. I’m fine with labeling them as fags. Because based from past experiences, unless proven otherwise --- they’re after only one thing. Call me assuming, call me ignorant… call me boastful, egotistic, so full of myself. Call me anything and I still won’t give a fuck. Even in the guise of friendship and good will, I assume that all they really want in the end is to get inside my pants.