Diary 9

"I am what I am, I am my own special creation..." I began humming the popular Donna Summers tune. The Idolized Queen of Manila Gays.

He ignored my humming. He continued talking, "You know, I was brought up by a mother who was obsessed to having a baby girl. She lived in an illusion of Me as her daughter."

"Don't worry," I quipped, "You are."

He didn't hear me.

"I lived in confusion. In her tiny world, I was a baby girl, always beautiful in pink, with curls. All that shit.", he said.

"AND you are also a fag, a sward, a fruitcake, a fairy, a tootsie etcetera." I added.

He slapped my nape. "Stop it."

"Ouch! Roberto, face the truth."

"I'm trying. Hard. Can't you see?"

"It always begins with brooding like this, you'd get over it. This is called "coming out". Go ahead," I said.

"The trouble is - when illusion clashes with reality, you escape them both by creating another illusion; this goes on and on and on. Jeff, I am tired," he said.

"Well, at least that makes you creative eh? My real name is Antonio Salamanca." What the heck. No way I feel like Jeff tonight. I feel lousy and rotten, penniless, hence my real name.

"Occasionally, the illusion is so beautiful that its death could mean a long mourning," Roberto continued.

"Ain't that the truth?" I said with sarcasm. But I am beginning to understand his feelings. His pain is surging deep in me. I released a forced laughter. Sadness was written all over his face. Severe depression, I guess. He'd get over it in a little while. Man, if there was one thing about illusions and realities, they were like old soldiers ...never die but fade away. I was lost between McArthur and John Wayne, which of the two said that?

He was not finished with his life's story. "When I was in Pre-Med I told myself that if I would decide about my sex orientation I should decide now. Be straight or gay forever. I refused to be gay and tried to develop bonds with those who would accept and respect me for trying to be straight. At least. I used it for survival. I failed in the end. I searched for a girlfriend, I failed. Being a weak man, I surrendered and began to live a solitary life, call it selfishness. Here I am, abandoned and lonesome."

Strain rose on his face - a more beautiful face was beginning to unravel before me. The Nameless Adonis was no more.

"Still," his lips were saying, "In my isolation, the past would not leave me alone. It seems to find happiness through my miseries."

"Certainly," was the only word I could say to comfort him, concealing the impact of his words to me. Our eyes locked. I could not veer away from them as my mind began wandering...

Who would understand?

Who would understand gays in the City called Manila?

Bushes and herbs dance with the wind, as moonlight pierces the thick leaves that shield the sins man commits against his nature, here in Lawton. Thank God there is still the moonlight tracing reality. Silence permeates the space between us as we both survey the bay of Manila. Nothing matters anymore except the images we see in our minds. Reality is gone, only images, fantasies, illusions, masks are left to fill our lives.

My eyes became heavy and I fell asleep. Robert invaded my dream. He was cloaked in white, behind him was the quiet Manila Bay.

He spoke further:

"The full moon is moving towards the west as its rays give shadows to the solid matters on earth. Tonight, the moon's heart is mine alone, my only love and friend; it is as sad as the gray clouds in the sky, but as happy as the flickering lights on the bay. No one can take away the moon's loveliness from me, it is Someone watching over me. One day I will fly riding on its light, while I dance to the soft music of sea breeze, and when tired, I'd rest on serene branches of coconut trees. Time will come when this night of the moon will no longer end. Together, we will travel from star to star, to other moons, from galaxy to galaxy, from cosmos to cosmos, from eternity to eternity."

I did not know what happened next.

But this I could tell. The clear signs of the next day had awaken me from my sleep in the bosom of CCP complex. This time, running steps awakened my consciousness as my blurry eyes figured out the men and women running and walking swiftly before me. I felt my back damp, wet with dew. I sat up. People were taking a brief look and getting amused by my poor state, caught by the morning unprepared and without any companion. I checked my knapsack and wallet, everything was intact. I still didn't have money. I regretted not getting Roberto's phone number. He was nice to talk with. He probably had left after finding how poor a listener I was.

Now is the time to be a man.

I stood up and walked slowly towards Vito Cruz. I checked the time in my watch, it was five o clock in the morning. I should have left earlier because it was a Sunday. I knew that on Sundays, CCP became a coliseum of people who do nothing but run, exercises, play sports - AND to be noticed or to notice others.

I took a last look at the thick canopy lining the seawall that provided haven to the sins of men just last night. It was surprisingly empty as the morning dragonflies and butterflies flocked to its flowers and leaves. It seems Robert and I were the only ones who saw a peculiar party there last night. How barren it is now. How empty. The party is over. Where could his home be?

Alex Maskara