Project Revival

I

I just took a quick look at all my past entries and I can't help but wonder: when did my life get so complicated? In my last few months in college, I used to go to school, had a lot of fun with friends, enjoyed my extracurriculars, and generally relished the whole ride.

A few months after, there I was, typing my problems away as if I was the only one who had them. I was selfish....actually, no. I was in love. Now, I'm only furious that some people can't move on and seem to find inventive ways to create drama out of nothing at all. I can provide a long list of when I started falling out of it, but it's all moot and academic.

In reference to a famous pop culture line, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

But honestly, I was thinking about bringing this whole site down altogether, this blog being the force that initiated a series of events that eventually led to the demise of my recent relationship.

I decided against it. I need a PLACE. If I bring this site down, I lose the only place where I can freely express myself without, save for the few people who won't spare themselves the agony of reading this while knowing my identity all along, worrying (too much) about what other people would think.

I would apologize for the rather impolite things that shouldn't have been read by the persons I constantly referred to. I was questioned for every thought I placed in here. But why? Since when were negative thoughts considered wrong? They're my thoughts. I know this is a sour defense, but I am entitled to what I should feel and think. You can't fault me for hating on someone who disrespects his parents, and you certainly can't call me out if I am more excited to get a haircut than to watch a movie.

These are my thoughts. So I stay.

II

SO MUCH HAS HAPPENED--would be an understatement. My first date after the break-up was with a guy a friend of mine set me up with.

He was okay: he didn't look awful, he had a car, and he was a gentleman. So far, so good.

The second time around was when problems crept in. He would call me this disgusting term I expressly told him not to. He gave me flowers. And he kept me waiting until 10 PM.

The worst part is I can't seem to wrench anything sensible from him. I'd talk about how frustrating some criminals get away with their unlawful actions. And what would he do? He'd stare into space driving and pretend that he never heard me all along.

Our parting conversation went like this.

Him: Ok lang worth it naman ang pagiintay eh.

Me: Dont wait kasi.

Him: Ayaw mo ba talaga akong magintay for you?

Me: Oo

Him: Bakit?

Me: I don't think ill ever be ready

Him: You can never conclude something if you haven't even tried it.

Me: Didn't we try?

Him: Is that trying?

Me: To me, yes

Him: Bakit hnd ba nagwork?

Me: I just realized it didnt work for me

Him: how?

Me: hay. dont make me explain

Me: because explaining means you rebutting

Me: and then we'll be in an endless loop of giving reasons and rebutting them

I just realized that the last few things I said set a precedent for situations where I'm asked to explain. May point naman diba? Why explain when there will always be disagreement? Sometimes, a yes or a no is all that matters.

III

I must correct myself. For some reason, I have been misquoted as someone who no longer believe in love. Now, don't I?

For the record, I do. How else would my parents still be together? How else would our family still be as compact if we didn't love each other so much?

But after four relationships gone wrong, you can't expect me to have the same outlook in love as most starters right? I should at least be four levels wiser than the average gay boy. And actually, I think I am. I don't rush into relationships as fast as I used to and make it a point not to go beyond emotional flirting. I can even control my emotions far better now. And my libido, too.

So expect my shock when someone invited me to drink beer (which I regularly do about twice in a year...fine, maybe once a year at most). At an apparently bisexual bar called P1. Or is it P2? I am positively scared at places like that and haven't even gone to Malate. I guess, in many ways, I'm still a prude.

IV

My college friend's mom died last week. When I found out the news, I was so sad. Never mind that she stole the presidency I wanted in our college organization, or that I had second thoughts about her loyalty to our friendship... really. What happened made me realize that the worst thing that could ever happen to me is to lose family.

I haven't gone out of the closet. I don't know if I ever will. I can't hurt them that much. The truth may set me free. But is my freedom more important than their happiness? People who have gone out to their parents will have countless arguments. But for some reason, I can't. I can't break their hearts. I can't let them think twice and look back if they had lapses in the way they raised me. They are perfect. And until I find a good enough reason for me to come out to them that doesn't involve abstractions, I just don't think I should.

How did I connect my friend's mother's death with my coming out? Some people just find a way to make everything about themselves, dont they? Tsk.