Thursday, June 26, 2003


And they say that it's never too late
But you don't get any younger
Well I better learn how to starve the emptiness
And feed the hunger

                -Emily Saliers

I may just make this my new life's motto.

2 songs of wisdom

Hammer and a nail
(Emily Saliers, Indigo Girls)

Clearing webs from the hovel
A blistered hand on the handle of a shovel
I've been digging too deep, I always do.
I see my face on the surface
I look a lot like Narcissus
A dark abyss of an emptiness
Standing on the edge of a drowning blue

I look behind my ears for the green
Even my sweat smells clean
Glare off the white hurts my eyes
Gotta get out of bed get a hammer and a nail
Learn how to use my hands
Not just my head I think myself into jail
Now I know a refuge never grows
From a chin in a hand in a thoughtful pose
Gotta tend the earth if you want a rose.

I had a lot of good intentions
Sit around for fifty years and then collect a pension
Started seeing the road to hell and just where it starts.
But my life is more than a vision
The sweetest part is acting after making a decision
I started seeing the whole as a sum of its' parts

I look behind my ears for the green
Even my sweat smells clean
Glare off the white hurts my eyes
Gotta get out of bed get a hammer and a nail
Learn how to use my hands
Not just my head I think myself into jail
Now I know a refuge never grows
From a chin in a hand in a thoughtful pose
Gotta tend the earth if you want a rose.

My life is part of the global life
I've found myself becoming more immobile
When I'd think a little girl in the world can't do anything
A distant nation my community
A street person my responsibility
If I have a care in the world I have a gift to bring

I look behind my ears for the green
Even my sweat smells clean
Glare off the white hurts my eyes
Gotta get out of bed get a hammer and a nail
Learn how to use my hands
Not just my head I think myself into jail
Now I know a refuge never grows
From a chin in a hand in a thoughtful pose
Gotta tend the earth if you want a rose.

(Emily Saliers, Indigo Girls)

Thought I knew my mind like the back of my hand
The gold and the rainbow, but nothing panned out as I planned.
And they say only milk and honey's
Gonna make your soul satisfied
Well I better learn how to swim
'Cause the crossing is chilly and wide

Twisted guardrail on the highway, broken glass on the cement
A ghost of someone's tragedy
How recklessly my time has been spent
And they say that it's never too late, but you know
You don't get any younger
Well I better learn how to starve the emptiness
And feed the hunger

Up on the Watershed, standing at the fork in the road
You can stand there and agonize
Till your agony's your heaviest load
You'll never fly as the crow flies, get used to a country mile
When you're learning to face the path at your pace
Every choice is worth your while.

Well there's always retrospect to light a clearer path
Every five years or so I look back on my life
And I have a good laugh
You start at the top, go full circle round
Catch a breeze, take a spill
But ending up where I started again
Makes me wanna stand still

Up on the Watershed, standing at the fork in the road
You can stand there and agonize
Till your agony's your heaviest load
You'll never fly as the crow flies, get used to a country mile
When you're learning to face the path at your pace
Every choice is worth your while.

Stepping on a crack, breaking up and looking back
Every tree limb overhead just seems to sit and wait
Until every step you take becomes a twist of fate

Up on the Watershed, standing at the fork in the road
You can stand there and agonize
Till your agony's your heaviest load
You'll never fly as the crow flies, get used to a country mile
When you're learning to face the path at your pace
Every choice is worth your while.

When you're learning to face the path at your pace
Every choice is worth your while.


What gets me through days like the ones I've been having since monday is telling myself that eventually I get a day like yesterday.

I feel much better now.

Tuesday, June 24, 2003

If I'm so smart, how come I feel so crappy right now?

Emode had this to say about me:

Ian, you answered 25 out of 30 questions correctly!

Congratulations! Your score is in the 96th percentile. This means that if one hundred people took the test with you, your score would rank higher than 95 of them on average.

When we analyzed your test, we also discovered that when it comes to quantitative ability, you measure in the 87th percentile. This score indicates you have unusually strong abilities when it comes to solving numerical problems. If there is a numerical pattern to be found, you'll find it. You've got a knack for noticing when something "isn't right." Whether you're conscious of it or not, you have an ability to simply understand when something doesn't add up. Also, when it comes to splitting the check, doing taxes, or determining the number of fans in a baseball stadium, you're the one people turn to.

To be honest, there were some questions there (the numerical ones) that I was totally stumped with and just guessed. I may have guessed correctly and that may have skewed the results somewhat. The pattern recognition ones were easy and I knew I would do well with those, although I didn't consider how that ability could be used for "noticing when something isn't right". Heh. Cool. I should listen to my instincts more then.

Now if I can just get out of the doldrums I'm in....

Tell me something I don't know


brought to you by Quizilla


Today was one of those days where the only good thing you can say about it is that it's almost over.

Monday, June 23, 2003


Acoustic performances have become the latest rage...well, everywhere. Look in the paper, and you see mall appearances by artsits you never heard of, promising to play acoustic. Clubs and bars put up huge banners promising unplugged performances. Hell, even established long time heavy rockers like the Greyhoundz have jumped on the bandwagon.

This was precisely the movement that I had been predicting for years; that the pendulum would swing in the opposite direction from all the heaviness. (a similar movement was predicated by the rise of the folk-tinged Hootie and the Blowfish, after years of Seattle grunge Rock) I have been playing acoustic for years, and I should be utterly pleased that I have been proven right, and the music that I love has gained such prominence. Instead though, when I see or hear an ad about an acoustic performance, I feel a rising disgust welling within me. And I'm not quite sure why.

I mean, I can think of several reasons. First and foremost, to get it out of the way, my frustration at myself. Here it is, the wave that I have been steadfastly riding on when everyone was listening to Korn and Limp Bizkit, and it feels like once again I fear I will allow it to pass me by. Where's Joe recently lost 2 of it's members Adam & Charmaine, although it stands to reason they were lost a long time ago, I just refused to see it (and that's all I'll say on the matter). The truth is, I haven't developed as far as I should (I have developed, just not enough in my view) and now I see all of these people playing in places I feel I should be playing. It's selfish and irrational, blaming others for my own laziness, but there it is.

Another reason is the feelling of homogenization and commercialization that it has turned into. Jimmy Bondoc and Paolo Santos both have CD singles on the Music One top 50, selling for P190 and P200 respectively. Thats' singles. Bondoc has 3 versions of the same song on his cd, while Santos has 2 versions and one cover. And yet they are selling them as they would a full album. I know bands who are selling full ablums at a fucking FRACTION of that!!! The idea that these people are greedily charing exorbitant prices for a mini-album make my sick. Don't get me wrong, I know they are brilliant musicians, and could probably play circles around me, blah blah blah. But there's a difference between craftsmanship and art, and quite frankly I think their stuff is about as challenging as a kitten.

That's the commercialization. As for the homogenization, if you listen to the stuff from the respective artists, you'll note it's bascially romantic balladeering. While there's nothing wrong with that per se, where the hell's the fricking edge in their sound? They rock just about as hard as Stephen Speaks, and I don't mean that as a complement.

Yeah, yeah, I know: The masa likes their music cuddly and nonthreatening. What else is new? But I feel a proprietary fury like a parent over a child being abused and exploited. I suddenly know what the rock and punk purists must have felt when their own genres were mined and turned into mainstream fodder. Along with the sweet guitar-pop, the rest of the other players out there just do covers of the "hot" artists on the radio (e.g. John Mayer, Jason Mraz, Stephen Speaks, etc.). Either they cover them or if they write their own songs, they're so influenced by the afotrementioned artists they might as well be covering them.

It's the showband syndrome all over again, only with different instruments and artists. When I pass by a club advertising an acoustic performance and I start to feel jealous, I remember that they're probably playing a predetermined (as in, whatever's popular on the radio) setlist and original songs, let alone rocking out, are probably discouraged; and I don't feel so angry.

It's gotten so bad that whenever I hear about Jimmy Bondoc, or Acoustic Jive or whoever, it makes me want to chuck my Ovation, pick up my electric guitar and start making the noisiest, crunchiest, loudest riffs I can think of. My songwriting and singing style is sweet and sentimental by nature, hearing it ad nauseum on the radio makes me want to go all the more darker and harder.

It's the natural contratian in me; when something becomes popular, I naturally gravitate away from it. The problem is, where do I go now? Going electric and heavy, while fun, would be going on ground already tread (and I don't want to look like I'm trading places with bands like the Greyhoundz). So where do I go next? R&B? Dance? Gangsta Rap?

Geez, when did I become so bitter?

Wednesday, June 18, 2003


Well. I don't really know how to properly start this entry, so I'll just go.

This morning I was woken up by my phone chiming that it had received a txt message. I was rather bleary from going to bed at 3:30 in the morning (I've recently been undergoing a bout of insomnia as I suspect my body clock is slowly changing), but after reading the message's contents all the sleepiness in me was instantly replaced by a numb horror.

Sometime last night, the mother of my friend from college died. It turns out she had been kidnapped (she was of a wealthy chinese family) and the police gave chase. In the ensuing shootout, the 3 kidnappers were killed, and she was dead. I didn't want to believe it at first; hoping it was just some sick hoax. but it was true. The wake is to be held tonight at a funeral home in Araneta Ave.

To make things even more surreal, I'll first be coming from Mayrics where I'll be attending a birthday party/gig of my friends Annette and Donna from the Fatal Posporos. So tonight, in what is perhaps the most extreme shift in mood temperature one can imagine, I'll be going from a birthday party to a wake in one night. "Surreal" doesn't even begin to describe it. Hell, No words can.

When people are faced with death in their lives (via a loved one or perhaps a celebrity) it is a time for pensiveness, and reflection. The one bright spot in these instances, if one can call it that, is that the death of others remind us of our own mortality; That we are all here for just a limited time. We are reminded that we should cherish our lives and the people we love around us every single fucking day. In Death, life is affirmed.

It's one thing to lose a loved on to illness, to infirmity, even to an accident. But what the FUCK is one supposed to come away with from a tragedy like this? That in an instant your life can go from fine to everything falling apart? That there are forces lurking in this world that can at any moment shit all over your life, and take away from you the people that matter most ? Tragedies like this make you lose your belief in justice, in a cosmic balance, in karma, in the existence of a god. Tragedies like this lend credence to the notion that life is random; cold, harsh and cruel.

Right now, Life doesn't make much sense.

Tuesday, June 17, 2003


I think Al, the clown from the Amazing Race is gay.

It never really became apparent (as he hasn't had that much screentime) but after seeing their exclusive video on Cbs.com and hearing him speak, the very first thing that came to my head was: "I've heard that accent before." Add to that him being partnered with John, who has this essential.... guyness that is lacking in Al makes it all the more glaring. It's nothing I can put my finger on really, but the only thing missing was a lisp.

I realize I am going on nothing more than gaydar and gut feel, but let me say that I have become very, VERY good at sniffing people out on nothing more than the way they walk, a single giveaway piece of apparel, or in this instance, their manner of speaking.

And with this new perspective, I've been REALLY looking at Al to see if it was just a fluke, but the more I see, the more it makes sense: Here's a guy who is sharp, compassionate (waited for Chuck and Millie when she was having her attack), has a sense of humor, good grooming habits; So of COURSE he's gay! ;)

Add to that I think he is just soooooooooooooooooo hot. He has this bearish quality (stocky yet in shape) with lovely pinchable cheeks covered with a five o'clock shadow that holds promise to a really thick beard..... sighhhhhhhhh...... He has this aura of kindness and gentleness to him (proven by his helping out Millie, possibly to their own detriment).

A combination of kind AND cute? I just melt. He has become my eye candy on the show. He is definitely on my List of Celebrities I Can Sleep With. (Along with John Goodman, Sean Astin, Michael Cudlitz, and Kevin Smith)

If my hunch is correct, if you add Chip and Reichen (out gay couple), David & Jeff (in the closet, Nikka insists), Chuck (12 years and STILL virgins?? Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease...) and Al, then you have the most number of gay characters on a single reality show EVER!

I knew there was a reason I loved this show.

Monday, June 16, 2003


For those of you who are wondering what The Mister Donut Creamy Crown Cake-style Donuts taste like, picture the wonderful, wonderful Country Style Old Fashioned Sour Cream donuts (crisp and moist and chewy all at once), if they were available in chocolate and original flavor; with an array of beautiful and tasty toppings pleasing to the palate and the eye. And at P16 a pop, a very affordable treat as well.


Sunday, June 15, 2003


Yesterday was the birthday of Myles, One of my bestest buddies in the whole wide world. Incidentally, it was also his very first Father's day as a papa. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, buddy! :)

Magpakain ka! (charing, pare!)

Wednesday, June 11, 2003

Angry all these years

i just want you to understand
that i know what all the fighting was for
and i just want you to understand
that i'm not angry anymore
i'm not angry anymore

              - Ani Difranco, "Angry Anymore"

Reading some blogs online, recurring themes I've gleaned are a lot of Old Grudges and Unresolved Issues going on. One friend in particular was very, very, very good at keeping grudges against people who had wronged him in the past -- high school? College? -- and was quite vocal in how he would very much like to be a part of any discomfort they might experience.

Likewise, Nelz has voiced his frustration over a certain person due to his inability to let go -- the irony of him being so upset making him somewhat guilty of the same thing either going over his head or not giving a damn (bet on the latter) -- even though it has been two years after the fact.

It got me to thinking: Anyone who knows me knows that whenever my the subject of my old high school and it's denizens comes up, I automatically respond with "I hate them all". It's true, that it was one of the worst periods in my life, where being massively overweight, my parents' marriage breaking down, and being picked on by cruel classmates all combined to make a nightmarish existence that rivalled anything you have ever seen on the most cartoonish of Hollywood portrayals of high school.

It was so bad that I remember retching into the toilet bowl every sunday evening, throwing up in terror because I knew that that my respite was over, and the anguish would begin all over again. After reading the aforementioned blogs, I looked back into my memory to see if anyone had similarly earned a place in a pantheon of hatred for past transgressions against me.

The surprise? I couldn't come up with a single person. Not one.

Don't get me wrong; I will now and forevermore be uneasy when I see or remember anyone who is associated with that time; even the few that were nice to me (If I encounter someone from my batch, I usually just pretend I don't recognize them to simplify things). The thing about my personality and how it deals with anger is almost a diametric opposite to Nelz's: I explode in fury almost instantly, but it takes genuine effort for me to stay mad at someone. Given enough time, I can forgive pretty much anyone of their trespasses. And most importantly, I know quite well the crucial difference between forgiving and forgetting.

But I don't hold seething, festering grudges that others can for up to years at a time. If I were to meet my tormentors on the street and they recognized me, chances are I would be cautiously cordial; not friendly, but I wouldn't consider picking a fight with them either. Chances are they've grown up and have moved far beyond the jerks they were in high school and have either regretted their past actions or forgotten them entirely. And in the unlikely case that they haven't grown up and are still the obnoxious assholes they were in high school? Well that's just fucking pathetic. I wouldn't be angry at them, I'd pity them.

I've blocked a lot of the ordeals from my memory (I believe my poor short-term recall is a result of some sort of defense mechanism), but some of the things I do remember is, aside from the requisite teasing, being punched in the face by a bully student while surrounded by cheering students clamoring for my blood, to such things as books and rocks being thrown at my head, to outright ridicule and contempt, all of which scarred my psyche deeply for more years than I care to count. Unlike other high school underdogs, I didn't have the advantage of wielding political power in the form of something like an attendance sheet that granted a degree of immunity; nor was I lucky enough to possess a physically intimidating presence that discouraged cowardly bullies from picking on me. I was an easy target, and everyone knew it.

It's because of this that when I see stories such as the Columbine Massacre where students can't take it anymore, snap and start killing people, I have always felt empathy for the students involved; because I've been there. I have no doubt in my heart that had guns been as easily available in this country as they are in the states, I would have been one of those very kids. It's a sad thing for one's heart to be dominated by anger, justified or no.

For the longest time, what motivated me towards huge, unreachably impossible goals was not because I wanted them per se, but first and foremost to prove them all wrong. Now that may actually work for some people, but for me, when the foundation is built on something that I don't even want, it is destined to crumble. I wasted many years that way; as anger can only take me so far before I start asking "what's the point?" It's particularly sad because of the fact that the them I was trying so hard to prove wrong had most probably forgotten all about me and would probably not care either way even if I did attain those goals. Now, the goals I have are comparably small in scope -- cut an album for Where's Joe, get radio and MTV airlplay, play at the NU Rock Awards, build my store into a successful business, have a loving and stable relationship, maybe a family -- are wonderfully mundane. They are also things that I know I want, and make me happy.

I would be the last person to condemn anger -- righteous anger at that -- but I also know first-hand how these things can affect you and your relationships with other people far longer than it should. But the realization that after a lifetime of being driven to prove myself to ghosts of people who have long since moved on, that I'm happy enough to finally start looking forward instead of looking back?...

It's a great feeling.

Moving on feels so sweet
Now that I've let you go and found my peace in me

              - Where's Joe, "Peace in Me"

Something Wholesome

2 days ago I was watching this segment on Magandang Tanghali Bayan where they had party-type entertainers competing for cash. One contestant was a father-son pair of acrobats, where the father would lay down on his back with his feet sticking straight up which he used to perform various tricks with his son like spinning him around like a log or balancing foot-to-foot.

What caught my attention was this apparatus he used, a sort of fanny pack: Imagine a belt with a firm pillow attached in the lower back, the better to lift your butt and legs up higher and easier without strain on your lower back. I looked at it for about .00005 seconds and immediately thought of a better use for it; not necessarily for entertaining people. Well, not KIDS, anyway.

It's a testament to how much my new lifestyle has corrupted my sweet, angelic self (just ask the people who knew me pre-coming out how innocent I was!) with the dirty, filthy, disgusting little mind I have now that can take something as pure and good as acrobats entertaining children, and come up with something utterly lewd and unsavory. It's quite horrible, really.

I wonder where I can get one of those belts for myself.

Sunday, June 08, 2003

Poetry Share

I wrote this a few years ago after the demise of a fairly lengthy long-term relationship. The funny thing is, I fell for TWO more writers after that, The Goddess included.

What is it with me and writers, seriously?

Don’t Fall in Love with a Writer

Don’t fall in love with a writer because when it ends…
And it WILL end…
And you have that discussion between the two of you
Of what went wrong and who was at fault

She will use all the abilities at her disposal
To make sure that she leaves you with parting words
Far more memorable and painful and beautiful
Than you could ever leave her

Words like:
“My life has revolved around this
And the longest time
It’s revolved around nothing”

All at once concise and memorable
Guaranteed to creep in your mind
During that every once in a while that you remember her
And wonder

And even when you’ve forgotten who did what
to whom
at wherever
at what time
You still remember her words
Because that’s what writers do.

They say that history is written
by those with the loudest voices
But I find that in this particular case
it’s written by the most eloquent.

So I tell you this, dear listeners,
This knowledge I impart to you
Oh don’t
Ever fall in love with a writer.

Unless you too possess the ability
To turn a phrase and shape words into things
That can insinuate themselves into memory
Transcending mere facts

Like songs.

Song Share

Stories from the 13th Floor (The Saddest Thing)
by Where's Joe

There was a couple you knew they were the perfect pair
Textbook chemistry whirlwind love affair
Every time that you seen them it felt like they were flyin’

But now I notice that something it just isn’t right
Every sorry’s a prelude to the next fight
Whatever blossomed between them has withered on the vine

But still they cling to the people they were back in better days
The ruins of their relationship refuse to face
To each other like a chain connected to a heavy stone
But the alternative for them’s still better over being alone

And it’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen

There was a man who’s the head of a family
Loving wife cutest children that you’ll ever see
But when he looks in the mirror there’s a secret that he hides

Denies the truth in light of the evidence
Sticks his head in the sand scared of the consequence
In the closet he keeps it and slowly dies inside

And now he’s tortured by what he’s chosen to never be
So he takes out all of his frustrations on his family
To his children he bequeaths the gift dysfunctionality
The beginning of a sad and tragic family legacy

And it’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen

There was a guy all he wanted was a chance to sing
The sweet release it provided more than anything
When finally given his moment he was too afraid to try, I

The fear of failure contained him and he couldn’t move
A broken needle revolving on a vinyl groove
So he stifles his passion his dreams unrealized

He's always looking for the next distraction to keep him down
On a human hamster wheel that just goes round and round
If you never join the race well then you’ll never win
And condemn yourself to a lifetime of woulda-coulda-been

And it’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen

And it’s the saddest thing
The saddest thing
Don't be the saddest thing I’ve ever seen


I regret not being more financially secure
that I might be able to take you away from your 9-to-5 drudgery.
So that we could go to places
that we've only dreamt and joked about.
And you would never have to worry about anything
as mundane as paying the bills ever again.

I regret not having a firmer understanding
the human condition, specifically yours.
So that the next time you were sad or depressed,
and I was comforting you,
I would always know just the right thing to say to cheer you up.

I regret not being a more competently mature person,
more fully control of his emotions.
Someone who never lost his temper,
or acted like a jerk,
or thought with his penis.
It doesn't happen often, but when it does
I feel terrible and hate myself for it.
And I would give anything to take it all back.

These are the things I am sorry about.
That despite my best efforts,
you deserve so much more that what I can offer.
Yet you stand by me, gracing me with your presence
that loving look in your eyes and the smile on your face.
Simply put, all that I have to give, is yours.

My biggest regret is that is can’t be more.

Wednesday, June 04, 2003

Ang galing ever, PARE!

A couple of months back, I took Diwa out to lunch at Pinoydon, partly because it was my belated bday treat to her, and partly because I hadn't seen her for so long. We caught up about a lot of stuff: mutual friends, job status, and whether certain closeted people had come out or not yet. Then she said something that got my attention.

"Alam mo, mas bading ka na."


"Yung galaw mo, yung mga kamay mo, pati nag salita mo, umiba na!"

"No way!!"


It got me thinking: I take a certain type of perhaps misguided pride in being a naturally straight-acting gay guy -- I'm not a self-loathing homophobe, I just like the incongrousness of my image, and I love breaking stereotypes as a rule --. I don't make "tili" (shrill sounds), I don't sashay when I walk, and I don't have the gay 'accent'. Yet here was Diwa saying that I had become more gay in the time we had been apart?

I began looking at myself more closely. It turns out I had been communicating with my hands more that before. And I've noticed a certain sort of....... grace, in the way I move my hands, flowing from the wrist. And as for language; anyone who's heard me speak knows that I pick up accents and inflections really well; people still think I grew up in the US when the truth is I just watched a ton of Seame Street as a child. Expose me to an accent or manner of speaking long enough, and I end up adopting some of it.

Sure enough, I've caught myself saying the standard gayspeak lingo like Chenez, Chika, Charing, 'La lang, Dedma, Ever, sometimes not even in Nelz's presence. Nelz knows that I pick up languages easily; whether or not he's doing it on purpose, I'm not quite sure yet. So now as a stopgap of sorts, when I let a fag-slang word slip out, I quickly follow it up with something typically straight, like pare or chong. Example:

"Ang sarap ng Dulce de Leche Cheesecake ever!..."


It's not the best of solutions and it comes out kind of awkward; add to the fact that Dulce de Leche Cheesecake isn't exactly the straightest of foods to begin with.

Add to that my newly blonde hair. It's a fairly benign change that straight, even really macho guys use (Dennis Rodman, Asi Taulava, etc). But taken as a whole in my image, it could look like yet another gay stereotype. Turning my hair blonde was my idea, but I concede that I partly got the inspiration and the courage to do so from Nelz. Chances are if we weren't togehter I never would have acted on my impulse. Had Nelz really been that much of an influence on me? And if so, how come the same didn't work in reverse, dammit?

And finally, for my birthday, Diwa gave me a lovely little chain-type thing that attaches to my celphone. It has my name in tiny metal blocks along a little black rope. Don't get me wrong, it's a lovely little accesory and I adore it. The problem? The letters are in bright PINK, with tiny little hearts on either side to boot!! If anyone was unsure about my sexuality before with the wrists and the hair and the charing, one look at that chain will seal the deal.

What is with everyone trying to turn me gay??

Okay, fine: GayER. Leche.


Monday, June 02, 2003

Tea on the brain

In a twist worthy of something you'd see on the Hallmark Channel, for our first year anniversary we inadvertently exchanged gifts of a similar nature: I gave Nelz a filtered teapot and a jar of chamomile tea blossoms, and he gave me a lovely light green japanese tea set.

It's so funny, and at the same time greatly reassuring, to see that we were totally thinking on the same wavelength without even realizing it. :-)

Sunday, June 01, 2003


What I meant to say yesterday if I was a better speaker (but not necessarily a better writer):

I love you because of your kindness and great capacity for love which, despite all of your self-proclaimed bitchiness, inevitably shines through. Classic example: Your brother. Even though he consistently annoys you with frequent bouts of reckless irresponsiblity, in the end you are the one who bails him out. Your ability to love exceeds even my own, which may be why you choose to shut yourself down sometimes because you care too much. But no matter what you do, it always shines through. Which is why so very many people care deeply for you.

I love you for your strength. For you to have gone totally independent for almost 10 years now; to take care of yourself and to an extent, your little brother. To eke out a living with no help from anyone else. I've been sheltered and helped out by my family all my life. If I were to face one-tenth of what you have, I know I would have folded a long time ago. To take all the hardships that life has handed to you and have the guts to keep going. It is my fervent hope one day to have the inner strength that you possess.

I love you for your beauty, from outside and from within. I admit it, I am as motivated by my aesthetics as I am from my emotions. I gaze at your beautiful visage (something which I could do for hours at a time), and my insides swell with a symphony of joy. I hear you talk about your friends, and see the love and concern for them therein, and I am amazed and thankful and honored that someone who cares so much about people has chosen to love me.

I love you for your belief in yourself. That you have the courage to not hide your being gay from anyone, letting everyone else deal with who you are instead of the other way around. How you have the courage to sing in front of a crowd despite not always being on-key. That you can wear a pair of pek-pek shorts in public and not be frozen with embarassment. Your courage inspires me, and makes me love you even more.

I love the way you taste. The way your body feels against mine. Your musky scent which makes me heady with desire. The little sounds you make as I show you without words how much I love you. The way your body hitches up as we move as one to our inevitable crescendo.

I love your smile. Out of all your many, many physical gifts, your smile is the one that stands out above all the others. You can charm the grumpiest of people with it, dazzling them with it's brilliance. And when you smile at me, I feel so damed good inside I could just explode.

I love you because of your patience with me. Despite my years, in many ways I am still a child, naive to the ways of the world. Prone to childish outbursts of temper. Still wounded by past transgressions, the scars of which I allow to influence my actions. I can be childish, petulant, stubborn, lazy, spoiled, and yes, driven by my hormones. I am aware of my failings, and that sometimes I will inevitably stumble. But I am trying hard every day to overcome myself, and you recognize that. For that I am grateful.

I love you because of your Belief in Us. In the face of the high mortality rates among gay relationships, to the desintegration of your parent's marriage, to the tragic self-destruction of your previous relationship, you had every right in the world to give into pessimism and become cynical, but you didn't. Instead, between the two of us you are the one with the most faith. Your boundless optimism sustains me when my own old wounds threaten to make me falter.

Your face is like poetry, with a smile that burns brightly as any sun. Your kindness, even when you try to wrap it up with a veneer of hardness, shines through. The seemingly contradictory nature An Earth Mother's gentleness within your large bearish frame fascinates, intrigues, and attracts me simultaneously. Your laugh is full-bodied and infectious, like an explosion of colored fireworks. The taste of your sweat on my tongue. The feel of your hand holding mine. Your voice singing to me in it's sometimes-dubious key.

I love you so much that sometimes it feels my body will tear itself in half because there isn't enough room inside of me to hold it all. I am consumed by you even as you offer yourself to me, without asking for anything in return. You challenge me to raise myself up to new heights, and console me in the depths of my sadness. I love everything about you, the intensity of which sometimes scares me. I love the physical, the emotional, the sexual and the spiritual of you. Your highs and your lows, and everything in between. Your Alpha and your Omega. What I feel for you is beyond any text I could write, it is beyond any words that I could say to you, it is beyond any rational thought I could possibly think.

Happy anniversary, Nelz. Here's to us, and to many, many more.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?