Diary 37

Desperate To Get Back To Normal

At age twenty seven I became an intern at Jose Salvador Hospital, this was my last year in Medicine. So far so good. My performance during the past four years was neither excellent not mediocre. Reaching medical internship zipped the mouths of my vile detractors, I defied their predictions of doom. The following year, I'd be a Doctor. I laid out my plans. Despite the heavy baggage I accumulated in the past which made me drag my feet I was determined to establish a lucrative practice, get married and have children. As if the gods were uniting in my favor, I met her. She came and I stood frozen before her stunning personality.

She was one of the regular nurse interns in the Surgery ward. When she pushed open the Operating door and walked in, I was overcome by joy. Could she be the one that would normalize everything for me? I was scheduled to assist Dr. San Diego to perform tracheotomy on a patient who has had respiratory failure. Her presence tickled my spine. I half-closed my eyes, what was I feeling?

"Doctor Policarpio," she approached, "Please give me your hands."

"Call me Robert." I inhaled deeply. I liked her breath. So fresh, so baby-like.

She put on the surgical gloves then turned to Dr. San Diego. I took a glimpse at the cyanotic patient. The respiratory therapists were occupied with the ventilators.

I regained my seriousness. My hands demonstrated dexterity. I inserted the tracheostomy tube into the patient.

"Bulls eye." Dr. San Diego beamed. I was done in less than ten minutes.

I stayed much longer in the operating room while the rest of staff returned to their duties. I washed my already washed hands, listened to the buzzing of an oxygen tank and suction. In a few minutes, the patient regained his normal color.

I wanted to understand the inexplicable emotion building inside me.

"I think he is okay now," the nurse assured me. I nodded. I looked straight into her brown eyes, her jet black hair. She blushed. We stopped for a moment.

She was a beauty. Her white uniform highlighted her brown complexion. Her pearly white teeth were in full view every time she smiled. Her searching eyes seemed to poke my insides.

"Any more orders?" she asked.

"No." I approached the door and took another look at the patient. She shook her head and laughed. "It's all right now, Dr. Policarpio." I closed the door behind me.

When I reached the hospital quarters, I was euphoric. I pulled off my scrubs, put on my jogging gear and warmed up. Her face was stuck in my mind.

I yelled at the top of my voice and zoomed out of the quarters toward Roxas Boulevard.

How would I describe that afternoon? The sea breeze had acquired a different scent and the leaves of coconut trees became brighter, their fruits more golden. I ran effortlessly, under excessive adrenaline, or so I thought.

The next days were filled with eagerness, I had sudden interest in the field of Surgical Med., obsessed to impress the nurse whose name I did not even know.

It was probably two o clock in the afternoon when in my haste toward the operating room, I accidentally bumped her on her way out. The things she held fell on the floor.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, I picked up her things. Her nameplate caught my eyes - Teresa Magbanua.

Teresa did not respond. She obviously got irritated.

"Are you on your way out?" I inquired.

She blushed. "Yes, Robert. Isn't that obvious?"

"I... I thought your duty is until five." I immediately regretted saying that. I was too arrogant. I wasn't even her boss."

"My schedule lasts until five on M-W-Fs, Two on T-Ths."

"Irregular, eh?" What was I saying? My words got stupider, whatever impression I tried to show was not working. "Hey, I'm sorry for this mess." I picked up her last object - a pen - on the floor. "Can I invite you to dinner?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry Robert. I am to attend a Nursing update. It is already planned."

I did not expect to be turned down.

When I resumed my afternoon jog, I failed to gain speed. I was depleted of energy.

Am I falling in love? I imagined Teresa on the bed with me . . . God! God! ... I cannot feel anything. I imagined her naked, her face, her breasts, her legs, the soft laces of her under wear . . . nothing. God! What am I turning into? I made love to women before, is my manliness gone? Or did I have manliness at all? Stop this nonsense. I have to fall in love with her! I love her. She must be my wife. She must bear my children. She must be my partner in my social deals. She must prove my manliness. She . . . she . . . I saw her seating, a mouth gets near to her ears, it whispers something. She turns red, she smiles but her eyes were angry. She looks at me. I... I... her husband. "How can you do this to me?" she asks me. She holds the small hands of our children. "Why didn't you tell us your past? How can we live with your dirt?"

Call me a coward but I'm helpless when I see my prospects with Teresa. I find her the loveliest woman I have ever met, but I am an incomplete man, not worthy of her. I am darkness. She is light. Her eyes scrutinize me, asking who I am. How can I explain my past to her? And when nights descend and I hold her in my arms, how can I distinguish her from the men I held before? When our children grow, how will I explain things about my past without hurting them? How? How? I am Roberto Policarpio, a survivor, a future doctor, a past model, a past hooker. How can I mix these and earn respect from the people I love? My past is tearing me apart. How can I erase it? I am its virtual prisoner. I can't move. I think I love Teresa, I will say that over and over again. But I am afraid I just want to use her, to take her loveliness as my own mask, I want her innocence to shield me, I want her feminine to overturn my homosexuality. I want her so I could be welcomed back to the fold of normalcy. I want her decency to get me accepted by society.

I sought ways to meet her, to explain, to find if there is a future for the two of us together. I got clumsy instead, ending mute, unable to verbalize anything except clinical topics. I blamed myself for failing to be more honest and open. Yes, I was paranoid.

It was in one of my visits to the Surgical Wards when I was approached by George, another intern.

"Robert, you must come with us."

"Where?" I asked.

"To my party. It is my birthday."

Teresa looked up from behind the Nurse's station, I could see she was listening intently. George stared back to her, she bowed her head and resumed writing.

"Sure, happy birthday, pare. Where are we going?"

"Tia Maria, pare. You'll love nachos and zombies."

Tia Maria, how many times have I been there? Two years ago, if my recollection don't fail me, Arnie Te introduced me to a movie casting director. A real masochist on bed. I brushed off the thought and regained seriousness.

Teresa moved away. At first, I interpreted this as disapproval. She's an anti-vice, I thought. George followed her. They whispered something to each other. At that instant, I knew something was going on between them.

She returned to the Nurse's station, beaming.

"Well," she said, "So you will be out drinking tonight with the boys."

I nodded. I became suspicious. She turned her eyes to George who winked at her. They both giggled.

"Don't touch those boys," she said.

What did she mean by that?

That evening, our small company went to Tia Maria Green hills. We, the boys, toasted zombies, the women cheered with pinacoladas amidst an abundant supply of nachos for teasers. The ambiance of the pub was dark. Guitarists in Mexican outfits played Spanish songs accompanied by the laughter of the crowd. I was happy, after years of anonymous encounters, I finally belonged.

Drunk, I immersed myself in the crowd, laughing, shouting, joking, cajoling.

"Mga pare, my feet are anesthetic." I screamed above the sound system. I was met by growls and howls and Spanish tunes.

George, who was probably the most drunk among us started something that made me stop. His words, since the beginning of the night, were filled with insinuations and meanings. As the night deepened he became more direct, blunt. For example, when he dipped nachos in the chili cream he said, "I remember some other fluid when I see this cream."

I jeered. I know what it is.

Then the eyes of the others veered toward me, as if the comment was meant for me.

"What do you mean?" asked Jake, another intern. His voice was loud and clear, intended to be heard.

The conversation that followed put me in distress. "That creamy fluid - thick, white, nice to swallow when hot." George chuckled.

"Hey boys, there are women here," the ladies complained.

The two ignored them, still their eyes were fixed on me, checking my reaction. "Others swallow that, really."

I tightened my grip around my glass, nervously.

"Please, will you two stop?" Anne said.

"Oh yeah, some people swallow a lot for pleasure and money," George said. He abruptly turned to me. I was jolted. "Have you tried that before?" he asked me.

Anne pounded the table nearly toppling her glass of pinacolada. "That's it! I've had enough!" She stood but her drunkenness made her drop back on her seat.

George continued sneering at me. "Robert, how does it feel doing it with another man?" Suddenly the rest became quiet. The ladies closed their eyes, in disgust. The men looked at me. Closely.

I felt my blood gushing up in my head. Not this time please, don't do this to me.

George leaned on the table, "Robert, once and for all, tell us the truth. Are you what they say you are? Did you hustle men before?" His voice was insulting, mocking.

I could not say a word, I was shocked.

"I... I think I'm gonna puke." I ran to the bathroom.

I stooped over the sink. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I raised my head and stared at a mirror in front of me. It was George.

"Have you heard of Mikael Sarmiento?" he asked.

"I used to know him."

"He told me everything about you."

He unzipped his pants. "Robert look at me. " I was horrified. Why are you persecuting me? You don't even know me at all. Who gave you the right?

"I heard you are good at this, show me."

"You son of a bitch!" I swung my fist to him. He was quick to catch it. He glared close to my face. "You know, you can't hide behind that good look. Don't even think of mixing in my crowd. Everyone knows who you are, every doctor talks about you, every nurse is disgusted. You are an abomination to the medical profession."

"I survived! I did what I did to get even with people like you!"

"Ha! The moment you become a doctor, a lot of us will demand your expulsion from medical practice. We don't tolerate people like you."

His threats tore me apart. They shattered my ears.

I straightened up, balanced myself against the sink. "I curse you," I whispered, "I curse your children. May they become like me so people like you will treat them the way you do." I wiped my tears.

I found myself rushing out the bathroom, the crowd was grinning at me, even the guitarists were hooting. Outside the pub, I ran and tripped on a rock. I got up and went on running. God, why am I always running away?

...I sat atop the seawall of Manila Bay, motionless in the dark. I refused to see anything. Teresa, her picture flashed before me, her eyes were smiling, questioning. Will she understand? How can I go on from here? I've done everything I could to stop this pain.

I isolated myself inside my apartment. My stomach could not take food anymore. I stopped returning the calls from the hospital. I was holding my pen, writing, just writing. After two days, I emptied my room, I brought them in Tondo Smokey mountains, to be burned. I gathered all my past, the masks, the clothes, the books and sealed them in a plastic container for garbage disposal. I arranged my diaries and placed them on my table.

June 1990

Dear Lord,

Now, my Lord, it is over. I cannot think anymore in this cage called Manila. I will no longer beg you for anything, neither meaning nor direction nor happiness. You will no longer get sick hearing my endless questions. I want you to know that I love you. But I never listened. All I did was a mistake.

The Painful Truth

I stood in front of Arnie Te.

"Look Robert, who can match our success? Those moral crusaders never broke us. We will make them kneel and worship your Medical degree and my Photography Studio." He pointed at the diamond ring around his finger. It sparkled. I looked around his studio - lovely pictures on the walls, beautiful faces, bodies - none belonged to me. I've always been faceless, my portraits hidden inside drawers.

"Beautiful," I said.

"Ah -ha! You are now seeing all these, expect more to come. One day, my studio will be the haven of Manila's elite, they will pay me thousands for the magic I create. "Thousands and thousands and thousands."

"I've always envied you Arnie. You're so sure of yourself."

He broke into laughter. "Robeeert, after all these years, you still act like a child. I can't imagine how you survived Medicine without knowing the basics of life. Robert, people thrive on illusions. Promise them a good self-portrait and they'd take you as their god. And all you do is take away the wrinkles, shape their lips in graceful smiles, brighten their skins, in short, get rid of their ugliness."

"And I was part of that illusion."

"Yes . . . now you are learning. You fed their illusion by showing them what they wanted to see, refused to see, and feel what they wanted to feel."

"I lied to them and myself Arnie."

"That is the only way to create beautiful illusions."

"Arnie, God gave me up because I lied."

"What the heck . . . God has nothing to do with it." Arnie began to sound impatient.

"I paid a heavy price for my sins." I wept.

"Ah, stop your immaturity Robert. Many have gone before you and succeeded. All you need to do now is to rebuild yourself. Forget the past."

I covered my face with my hands. "I did not succeed. God knows I did not."

Alex Maskara