I’d like to be the angel,
not the meanie gnome.
I’d like to be sweet little one,
not the wrecker of your home.

In my little thoughts,
I’d like to keep you by
In my little calls,
I’d like to let you fly

For if I cannot
I’d rather walk away
I gave you my soul
I came not to play

I have been loved
and you can’t
I have been thought of
and you just spent.

Let me see the good in me
Let me be free.

SUNINGA (When will I see you?)
Richard Bona

And this is my story.

He introduced me to this song. He said it is hard to translate this song but roughly it is a sad song about a man who finds a woman and eventually loses sight of this woman. He goes on and on and looks for this woman in the forest, in the mountains…

I guess the ending is that he never really found her again.

This is my song and it started when I met him. He was a man who made me happy but hurt me along the way. Despite all, I saw in him the purity of what a human being could be… as close to perfectible as the limits of imperfectible is. He would not mean to hurt… so compassionate and yet so strong, so proud and yet so simple, so quiet and yet so meaning… He is so beautiful to the core without knowing it. I admired him and I am still in awe of the way he becomes a better person each day.

I know that for the rest of my life I will be “looking” for this man I once met in my life. Recently, we’ve decided not to talk anymore. I wanted him to fulfill his promises and I wanted him to be trusted. The other side of the coin is that I wanted to stop hurting myself and pretending not be hurt whenever I relive his loss. It was a goodbye that seemed right and wrong at the same time. It was giving up friendship while still vowing to keep it. It was a commitment to deal with our own lives the best we could and to be better people along the way.

I know I will be looking all my life. I will always be wondering if he is ok. I will always be “searching” so that I could bug him about my life’s kid stuff concerns and rebutting him for his sometimes funny logic and insightful claims. I will always be wishing I could listen to his stories about his dear ones and his pretty projects. I will always be looking forward to one day we could be proud and share what better people we have become and yet I know that I will never find him again…

It is a sad song… and a truly soulful one.

I was very pleased to have picked a good umbrella. It was a blue one with a simple case. I bought it for 500 pesos.

Then, one day I was on a tour, I had a bright idea. I will sell the umbrella to make a profit out of it. I approached two young guys I knew from the UPCM. I talked them into buying it. I told them, you will be getting a good deal if you buy from me because I am selling it to you for 70 pesos. I told myself, wow! what a brilliant idea to sell the umbrella that way. The guy was matter-of-factly in saying, “Ok. Here’s a deal. I’ll get it for 60 pesos.” I was still very pleased with myself that I was so wise. I could easily get the same umbrella from the store I bought it from. And the guy certainly didn’t know how to bargain. You don’t bargain with a price that is just marginally lower than the original price the item is being sold. So there, I made the deal. I gave the guy the umbrella for 60 pesos and I thought I was starting to know how to earn money in the real world.

The thing is, as the guy was walking away, he said he will pay me a bit later after he is done with his shopping, that’s the only time I had this thought: “Oh my, I think I made the wrong deal. Yes, I did get a good gain with the price I sold it. But damn. I should have asked for the money first before I handed the guy the umbrella.”

So stupid. Hehehe. How could anyone forget a dream like that?

what is hormone replacement therapy?

Somebody I value told me once:

You know, there is this percent of the other sex in each one of us. Me, I’m a guy and yet I have about 3% female in me.
And you… You have about 26.32% male in you.

I asked him why he thought so. He said that I had these certain boyish ways and I don’t have a bag. Also, he says I don’t wear earrings or bracelet or even a watch. I never wear a skirt. I play with the elevator.

I just laughed it off. I tried to playfully debunk the premises of the claim of male-ness several times. I told him that not all women carry bags or purses. I said that I do wear accessories or skirts when the need arises. It’s just not practical to do so in everyday life.

Months later, somebody I’ve known only for 4 days asked me if I was a lesbian. I was taken aback. I think I was offended and worried a bit. (No, this was not the first time that I was asked this question. I could recall 2 or 3 instances I was asked directly or in jest about this. Yes, I had the same awkwardness and offense taken.) I, then, asked this valued person again. Did you ever think I’m lesbian? He said that I had these certain ways that made it suspicious. He continued, but I was supposed to ask you if you are “bi”, I just didn’t get the chance. Again, I took no offense in what he said.

I, in principle, claim that I have nothing against gay people. I have lots of gay guy friends. I am proud to be part of free Philippines where the individual is afforded so much freedom. I, out of righteousness, claim to be a tolerant person.  Yet, this issue pushed me to take a look at myself. Why was I offended when everybody else but this valued friend asked me about my sexual orientation?

1. The label and the underlying stigma. The word ‘lesbian’ incited a certain shudder inside of me. The word just took with it the social stigma. Philippine society has had a long exposure to homosexuality in men. They have become prominent members of the society. The stigma isn’t entirely gone but it has been attenuated through the years. It is a different case for lesbians. They are a lot of steps behind gay men in diluting this stigma. It now surfaces to my consciousness that I am a thread in this fiber of resistance to seeing them as just  obvious realities. Like many, I overtly claim they’re just one of us but I do still try to hide the fact that I am uncomfortable seeing lesbian couples but not gay men together.

2. Compliance vs Stigmatization. I was comfortable about the issue of my sexual orientation with my valued someone. Yes, I tried to push the lowering of my male percentage a couple of times by bringing his attention to the ‘girly’ things I do. But I never really felt uncomfortable negotiating these percentages with him. Why is it that I am very uncomfortable when it comes to other people? The thing is, I already know a lot of these things that make it seem like I have more testosterone than an average female has. I’ve got a very low voice (oh yeah, the songs I sing in videoke with ease are sung by male singers). I slouch a lot. I have this very unrefined gait. I have secretly justified these irregularities to myself–maybe I have a cerebellar or basal ganglia lesion, maybe I have an endocrine imbalance. That need to justify arises from my felt need to be at least in compliance with the expectations of my society because I fear to be part of that segment that experiences largely unelaborated yet pervasive discrimination. The females have to be “girly”. And because it seems like I have no hope of being “girly”, I try to blame it on biology so it would seem like trying would be a futile thing to do. Yet, I know deep inside of me, I could take extra effort to be more girly… but I just like this carelessness. Aggregating all these “girly” ways… it just seems to take a lot of time!!! I’d rather rest than do these things! I like myself this way. Yet, I don’t like the label of being lesbian because of the stigma–which I, myself, propagate–attached to it. That is why, for people like my valued friend discussing it is not associated with any offense taken. I am secure that he knows that I’m not a lesbian and that I’m just different. This seeming compulsion to compliance to the norm isn’t rooted from a conformist way. It is rooted in my struggling suppression of, but often resurfacing, discrimination of lesbians.

Again, I can’t find any justified reason to judge gayness as unacceptable. The unfamiliar is just scary. Give me and this society a few years. I’ve seen all these talk about showbiz folks claiming they are lesbians(true or not)… It does help. Showbiz is just too powerful.

what is presbycusis?

Back in the Philippine General Hospital, I have had an affinity to geriatric patients. I just get too lucky to always pick them amongst the lot that lines up to be seen. And they do have a long lot of problems… and side stories… and shaking… and rambling… and shuffling… and pauses. Basically, they’ll eat your time. On one hand, I say with spite: I got another geria. I know by then, my efficiency is doomed. Yet, I just can’t stop the seeping compassion to take time to be there for them–healing in its purest sense. You know those delicate girls who suddenly fold at the site of a poor kitten in distress? That’s very much what my heart turns into with them… if I just uncover the impatient front. I can’t deny. They are special to me.

Here in Dublin, I chuckle quietly to myself as I get more and more exposed to the schema of my neighborhood as geriatrics land. Well, at least these are the people who I see hop on and off the bus near my hostel. Um… I meant shuffle and shake on and off the bus. They are a sight to behold. Irish oldies look more classically old. The men, in particular, have a leprechaunish touch with plump cheeks and brown curly beards or mustache often matched with darkly-framed glasses. They seem to be more laid back. They walk amongst the young in a busy street as if they are walking across a field of tulips amidst the crispy breeze. In contrast, the Filipino oldies seem to be toned with either poignant anxiety or a paradoxically quiet and helpless agony… with the air of musty oil blend amongst the men. What we are through colors are aging, I think. And here, it shows that tranquility about the Irish is probably the difference welfare makes. Hahaha. Or maybe, I just can see through and feel for the Filipino old and their struggles more that I tend to read more through the lines of their face.

Bah. Just the same. The old are old. And my affinity to them rings through even here. They are my bestfriends along O’ Connell Street, the main thoroughfare of Dublin. You see, I am a lost person and my poor sense of direction has literally brought me to places. I have a map… and a lot of guesswork to go with it… and a lot of asking about. I am alone and I have to be at least wary of the people who I ask. It’s enough that I am a bit wishywashy about my tourist look carrying around a map and hovering about for the street names. So I am picky about who to ask. My favorite targets… the geriatrics amongst the busy crowd. They are not in a hurry. They are less likely to muster force to hurt you. They just care and take more time to explain. They are the best navigators I must say.

I love oldies. I don’t know if they can hear me. They’re great to listen to, though.

what is UTI?

This is the story of Mercy, a Filipino caregiver in Ireland. She has worked here for 5 years now. She earns 400 euros a week. She feeds her family from here. And she hates it here.

I asked her if Dublin Zoo were any good. She said, “Ay naku. Hindi. Mas maganda pa ang Manila Zoo.” Shitness. That was scary. I was looking forward to going to the zoo. And shitness that it will be turning out to be worse than the sick, sloppy and emaciated elephants of Manila Zoo. And it has less attractions than Manila zoo’s collection of eagles, monkeys, and um… what else do we have there again? Sheesh.

She asks, “Nagagandahan ka dito?” I said yes. I said I love the bricks the houses are made of. I like the old structures. She doesn’t like it. She says, “mas maganda pa rin sa Asia.”

She goes on to say, “Ang babaduy nila dito. Yung mga nag-oopisina, parang sa mga magbubukid lang sa tin.” Hmn. Really?

An Irish tells me, medical practice here is good especially in the north when there was still a lot of violence there and the surgeons are great. Mercy says the medical doctors and dentists here are no good. And she says with bitterness that everything must be by appointment. Even if it were an emergency–“kahit mamatay ka na”, she says, you’d have to have an appointment. That is incredulous, I thought. And she claims back, “siguro yung talagang mamatay ka na yun talagang emergency, yun titingnan ka.” There. She’s just like the people who are squeamish and go to the ER and claim they have an emergency… but, really, they don’t. She goes on and says “Dati nga nung akala ko may appendix ako, 4 hours bago ako natingnan.” I was jumping at a diagnosis when she said, “masakit dito ko tapos namamanhid hanggang hita” That seemed acute in course. So I figured it was UTI. And she’s ok now. She didn’t die. I thought, at least we’re disposing such anxious patients faster in Ambu. No matter what other people say about how harsh the PGH brood is, I think that the Ambulatory care is doing well with their patch-it-now-let’s-resolve-it-somewhere-else deal. Most patients do go home in less than 2 hours. Mercy will be proud if she knew that.

Then I go on to talk about the nurses. She then snaps bitterly, “mayayabang yung mga yun dito. Mga isnabera”. Hay. How could anybody be so bitter about everything?!

I am insensitive. That shouldn’t be a question. Imagine leaving your family, being cramped in a rented 1200 euro-house with 5 other folks, taking day-offs just to spend them doing part-time job still, and opting to take a bus just so you wouldn’t pass by the stores and get sad that you have to scrimp and not buy anything you want. I asked her if she wanted to stay here for good. She laughed and said she won’t stay here for good. She’ll go back to her family. For a moment there, I thought I saw longing in her eyes. It is a hard life they live here and I hope she does have a good life. It is what she deserves. It is what the Filipino who shines through with the spirit of resilience deserves.

Mercy’s UTI reminds me so much of her life. Who has ever had urinary tract infection? It is the story of my people who walk the many cities of the world. You know the feeling of having to urinate every now and then? Sometimes it is even painful urinating. Sometimes you even have to wake up just to empty your bladder. That isn’t too comfortable. Yet you do take time to urinate. You fight against the stasis in your inner filters so that the bugs won’t thrive. And you will live through that uprising they put up with you. You drink more so as to feed the wells of your filters so that you urinate more. That gives you more discomfort. Yet, you go on. You just wish that this fighting will someday end and you are back to where you were before they bugged you. The Filipino diaspora is all about this thriving and fighting to make a life in the hopes of having good end. It is our story that I await a good end to.

Anyway, I’ve decided to still go to the Dublin Zoo. I’ve missed the Thai Zoo. I’ve lost my pictures of the Darwin Zoo. So there. I can’t miss this one even if it were worse than the Manila Zoo.