In His Eyes

"This is Rye. Flamboyant. Outspoken. Fearless.

A rockstar with a heart as huge as a diva’s stage.

A winnur performer. A proud son. A good friend."

-As Is
http://reyasis.com

Thanks, friend!

To Kill A Mocking Day Off

As soon as T left for work and I wrote is still on holiday, but is up at 9am! what to do? on my Facebook status, I decided I wasn't gonna sit in his apartment all day like a useless flower vase. So what if all my friends were working and there was no one to have lunch or afternoon cocktails with? So what if I only had so much money and it was absolutely impossible for me spend the day shopping? There was no way I would let another untimely day off mock me again. So I donned my white long-sleeved sweatshirt, T's padded bomber vest, jogging pants, baseball hat and trainers, which made me look like a Streetboyz dancer in the late 90's, and hit the road. The plan: to enjoy my last CNY holiday by killing as much time as I could outdoors without spending more than $100.

In order to succeed in this herculean task, it was important that I started my mission well. I had my breakfast bowl--- blueberries, slices of banana, kiwi and strawberries, served on a bed of oats and flax seed in soya milk, and topped with nonfat yogurt--- that T had prepared even before my REM started to slow down.

At 1130, roughly two hours after I finished my breakfast, I went to Mix for my dose of liquid sunshine. A shot of freshly-squeezed wheatgrass juice. $38.00

Then I walked around Central to take pictures and find materials for the new blog that I'll be opening soon. Eventually, my feet led me to the escalators which led me to Worldwide where lots of Pinoys were led to at that very moment as well. It was lunchtime and the place was packed with kababayans who were craving for meals that reminded them-- us-- of home. After going through every store one by one and comparing their menus, I chose the store calle Bisacol and had my labong, bopis and daing. Lunch + a bottle of water= $33.00

After the filling lunch, I headed to IFC to sit in one of the al fresco benches to people watch. I didn't last long though. It was too cold to be sitting idly outdoors. After the last note of Craig Armstrong's "Ruthless Gravity" (Track #5 of the Layer Cake OST) faded, I started my way back to the Lan Kwai Fong/ Hollywood Road area to look for cheap coffee.

I didn't get the coffee that I had planned to get because I got distracted. I called my good friend, Aaron, to ask a favor. And somehow, talking to him made me want to go and pay Dymocks a visit, which I did.

About an hour later, I marched out of the bookstore with a Coelho and a Murakami, worth only $204. The 200 of which wasn't to be accounted for, because I used the gift voucher that Miro (and thank you Miro for this) gave me as a birthday present five months back.

It was time for my siesta so I decided to walk back to T's flat. But like any grandma, I needed a light snack before I took my afternoon nap. I walked down to Wellington to get myself a cup of freshly-squeezed carrot and celery juice. $13.00

AT 3pm, I was back in T's apartment, smiling at congratulating myself for a job well-done. With 2 books, 9 pictures, a nice lunch, 2 snacks, a blog entry and a $12.00-change from my $100-budget, I killed a mocking day-off.

About A Boy Crossing The Border

For the first time in his current journey, the road seemed bleak and uncertain.

For the first time, he felt his arrogance -- the arrogance that he always depended on to conceal his weak, vulnerable, human self -- abandon him as the rest of his defenses melt away and disappear in a heartbeat.

For the first time in his current journey, he wasn't too proud to admit what he was feeling. He wasn't scared or ashamed to say, "Please forgive me. Give me one more chance. And the only reason that I need that one more chance is that I love you."

The boy was, for the first time in so long, at that point where something ends and something bigger begins. He knew what lay ahead beyond that point. And with much hope and faith, he decided to do what felt right for him. What felt good for him.

It was past midnight. Just a few minutes before that, he was on a cab racing against time, crossing the tunnel that connected Lantau and Hong Kong Islands. Then without him noticing, in just a few minutes, half the world transitioned from Jan. 22 to Jan. 23 --- from Thursday to Friday. At about the same time, he crossed another border: that where fascination ends and love begins.

It was the beginning of a new journey.

Anatomy Of Hang-Over

It wasn't even past lunchtime yet when I got an sms from James, asking whether our cookout plans would push through. I eagerly replied in the affirmative. We then agreed to meet up at 3pm.

At 5pm, his kitchen was still quiet and the only activity that was happening was his fixing of two tall glasses of vodka tonic. (I later found out that the drinks that he had mixed for us were more like "vodka with a hint of tonic" rather than "vodka tonic".)

6pm, we were headed to Staunton's to meet up with his best friend, the beautiful, ever-glowing Tricia for two rounds of drinks. We thought of coming up with a 2-drink limit plan. We didn't intend to get smashed at Staunton's because it was a Wednesday night and we wanted to partake in the free vodka that Volume was rationing its patrons with, from 7-9:30. We were quite successful trying to stick to the plan, until James's movie night commitment was cancelled because Madagascar 2 wasn't showing yet. He called his beau, Chris, to tell him the bad news. And as soon as he got off the phone, we yelled for a pitcher of margarita like prisoners demanding food.

7:30pm, James and I had already transformed from young-and-cosmopolitan to juvenile-slurring-and-obnoxious. 7:30! Our fellow Volume parishioners hadn't even arrived in the area and we have completely lost the ability to walk in a straight line. Somehow, we managed to get to Jashan, now made more famous because of the Michelin Guide Bib Gourmand awarded to them, to get our fill of Indian dinner. "So what should I expect from a Michelin-recognized restaurant?", I asked James as we were on the lift.

"Service, food, ambience", he enumerated. He then bolstered his answer impressively, by giving me a 3-minute crash course on the substantial lessons he's learned, quite fast, in less than 2 years of of working in the F&B and hospitality industry.

Few minutes past 8, we were settling our bill. Was Jashan everything Michelin made us to expect? I don't even know. I ordered a plate of dum biryani and a glass of red wine. Until now, that's all I remember: my biryani and my wine. I don't even know which variety of red wine I had. Oh, and yes, I do remember the quotation printed on the drink menu:

"I have two lips, one devoted to wine and
the other apologizing for drunkenness."

From Jashan, James and I decided to give another friend of ours a surprise visit. We knew he was recuperating from a flu and that he was sleeping at that very moment. It was the perfect time to show up unannounced at his doorstep, our main objective, being the compelling desire to pester him. We got there after a 10-minute cab ride and as soon as we were let in, James dove into bed. Before I could even warn him to not fall asleep, he dozed off. Few minutes later, I did too.

I opened my eyes from a 30-minute nap to see James recharged and ready to go for a few more rounds. So after a few rounds of Ice Vodka, we left and headed to Volume. We got there past 10. We laughed at the thought that we didn't make it to free vodka, when it was the main goal that we set for the night. But that didn't stop us from having more cosmopolitans and chardonnays at Volume.

...and a beer at Beyrouth, while James munched down his kebab;

...and champagne at Gecko, while I sat and filmed the first performance of James that I had seen in ages;

...and nothings at Propaganda, where James got reunited with the jacket that he didn't even know he had left there in his drunken stupor on New Year's Eve;

...and to Drop where the infamous "Sad!!! Sad!!!" line was delivered;

...and to 711 where I learned the different intensities by which "Dim ar?!" can be said.

At 4am (I think), our rational selves, finally made an apparition and we called it a night.

I was thinking of ending this post with "...and so the night ended with champagne, candles and all that jazz",

but it would be a lie. It sure was a fun, debauched night, but it didn't end happily ever after. Because an hour after we gave an à tout à l'heure peck on each other's cheek, reality set in. I had to run to the bathroom to kiss the porcelain god.

And even more bitter realities the following day, when I woke up with the worst headache that even 2 Excedrins couldn't cure and the most horrible case of hyperacidity I've ever had. Hangover at its peak.

Morning Has Broken

I am anything but a morning person.

I hate getting up in the morning. It's too much of a chore for me.

But, when one has to get up at 9am to be able to teach an 11am dance class that ends with a student telling him, "As usual, all the girls in the dressing room are talking about how good they feel after your class. We really enjoyed it. Your Tuesday morning classes are something we look forward to week after week";

or when he has to get up at 830am to pick up stuff from the grocery, and he finds out that someone had scribbled on the shopping list that he left posted on the fridge door;

or when he gets a call from a friend inviting him for an indulgent Sunday breakfast;

or when he gets up early and accomplishes enough by midday to deserve afternoon cocktails at Red with one of closest friends and confidante, while watching the color of the skies change from blue to orange to gray;

or when he gets up at 7am to be able to get freshest prawns in the wet market for the garlic aligue pasta that he's making for a dear friend who lives a block away but whom he hadn't seen for a while;

or when he gets up at 10am to make lunch for his boyfriend who spent the night at his place and he calls him to the table and discovers, as he enters his own bedroom, that his bed has been made;
or when he gets up before lunch to find out that someone is making lunch for him;

then it's all worth saying goodbye to snooze. It's all worth the trouble of rising and greeting the morning that has broken.

Page 1, 2009

Today, I start anew.

A clean slate.

A fresh page.

The older books have been shut closed and all that's left of them are lessons.

Willingly, eagerly --- I now let Life take me anywhere She wants to:

Maybe to sublime lands of castles and many things lovely, where I will be the king, or the slave. Or a mere insignificant member of the kingdom.

Maybe to wild jungles where I can be the prey or the predator. Or a mere lurker perched on a tree watching how organisms attack one other in order to survive.

Maybe to quiet churches or cemeteries, where my solitude will allow Me to converse with Myself so that they may learn about each other more. And from each other more.

Maybe to crossroads or busy streets where I will be fooled again; where I can make mistakes again; where I will hear rumors again and be rumored again; where I can learn from other people's gallantry and diffidence. And other people's heroism and shortfalls.

Maybe to the edge of the horizon where the earth meets eternity. Or to either side of that edge.

Maybe with priests and the noble ones. Or with slaves and the famished. Or with ordinary everyday people.

Maybe to places where things are made. Or where they are destroyed. Or to places where they are forced to materialize.

Maybe to places where I will laugh again. Or cry again. And learn again.

Maybe to places where I will need again. Or be needed again.

Maybe millions of miles away. Or just here, on my couch.

Maybe to places filled with faces and stories that will make this next book more meaningful than the ones that came before it. Or to a place where I can create my own stories.

Today, I start anew. Fresh, clean, unwritten. Ready to be exploited by the hand that holds the pen. The hand that controls my destiny.

Me.

Unwritten (Acoustic Version) - Natasha Bedingfield

"...I break tradition
Sometimes my tries
Are outside the lines, oh yeah yeah
We've been conditioned
To not make mistakes
But I can't live that way oh, oh

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words
That you could not find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
the rest still unwritten..."

-Unwritten,
Natasha Bedingfield

Sat -Through Day

The past month and a half can probably be chronicled as my busiest 6-weekends-in-a-row for 2008.

November 1
was the day Dan, I and a couple of other friends brought our beloved ex-flat mate to the airport. Mamu was flying back to Manila after his stint here in Hong Kong --- another landmark in my HK lifeline, since it was the end of our 3 and a half years of bahay-bahayan. It was the final "Bye! I love you, Dan & Rye!" that he exclaimed as he was getting in the immigration, that marked that finality. It was, however, that finality that marked the beginning of yet another long, rocking night. As soon as Mamu disappeared from our sight, Dan and I wiped the miss-you-already tears off our eyes and took the bus to the city. Lugging our weekend getaway bags and looking forward to a very promising evening, we showed up at Law's doorstep where the rest of the guys were waiting for us. Forty minutes later, we were already being frisked by the bouncers that guarded the door of Cliq. Another Saturday night that went by unnoticed, because we were busy dancing our butts off to the music of DJ Chris and DJ Thomas C of Party Demon.

November 8
started rather early. Even before the clock went past the thin red midnight line, Enan, Steve, Law & I were already painting the town pink. Around 3am, all four of us headed to Law's for some sinigang then we evacuated to Steve's to continue on with our intimate bonding. We couldn't abuse Law's hospitality because we didn't want to wake his parents (whom we were to have lunch with that day) who were visiting from Manila and were dead-tired after spending a whole day at Disney. After a while, Enan got tired and slept. So did Steve about three hours later. I tried to keep my eyes shut so I could eventually succumb to sleep, but it never came. It was 10 in the morning when I got a surprise sms from a good friend, Christy. She wanted to meet up for coffee. Wasting no time, I hurriedly put on the same clothes I wore the previous night and hailed a cab that brought me to Central. Later that afternoon, I got a call from James and he invited me over to his. "I have company though," I warned him.

"Huh?!" He seemed to be disappointed. He probably thought it would be an afternoon spent exclusively for us two.

"Christy."

"Whaaaa?!?! Get that bitch over to my place!" He sounded more excited that he was two minutes back.

By sunset, I had to leave and meet up with T. I spent that next few hours at his place, trying to catch up on sleep but excitement won me over. We'd been invited for dinner at his Italian neighbor's place. Who wouldn't be excited? Italian. That meant a splendid full-set meal. And boy, was I not disappointed!

November 15 started with me and my anak, Jethro running around my flat like goats trying to flee castration. It was Volume's 2-year anniversary, and we were putting together the perfect outfit for the night. The three perfect outfits for the night: the cocktails ensemble, the costume, and the after-party attire. After cutting the low-turtleneck of one of my most antiquated articles of clothing into a low-V, he laced the boots that he wanted me to wear after the show and packed them in my bag. Then I set off for Central, trying to get there before my 4pm-call time. The last run for the release of DJ Stonedog's Rainbows finished a few minutes earlier than scheduled. That meant that drinking started earlier than anticipated as well. By midnight, as we were going up the stairs to the dressing room to change into our Rainbows costume, I was already a few kilometers ahead of tipsy. Lucky, we got through the whole number blunder-free.

November 22 was when, for a few hours I thought I didn't want to be a rockstar anymore. That time, being a groupie started to seem more appealing to me. It was the night of the Party that a good friend, Brad Schofield, had organized for a quaint but sophisticated restaurant on Gough Street called Palate. It was also the night I had been too excited about for many days --- Hed Kandi night at Club JJ's. I almost decided not to go to either party for so many reasons. But that's another post altogether, so allow me to digress. The Palate party was fun, because it gave me (and the rest of the familiar guests) a chance to interact in a totally different atmosphere. It wasn't too late in the evening and people were sharply dressed, so there was very little drunken talk, if there ever was any. The crowd was neither too big that people were encouraged to shove one another to get to the bar or to the john; nor too little that people were encouraged to talk things less sensible than rumors. By midnight, T and I walked up the hill to Dragon-I to catch the Hed Kandi shuttle that would take us to the Grand Hyatt. But after two minutes of looking around, the impatient Virgos that we were just decided to take a cab. As soon as the Club JJ's lift opened, I was just shot with extreme gladness that I didn't give in to my bratinella attack. I would've regretted it for months had I decided to snub the Hed Kandi party. Duh! I was a fucking groupie for the night, for Chrissakes! I (and T) drank from the Hed Kandi Moet bottle and partook in their refreshments. Thanks to the graciousness of our dear friends, James and Noel who led the team to make that event possible and oh-so-fucking-successful!

The November 29
gaiety started on November 27, the KylieX night. It was Law's birthday weekend. Enough said. (P.s. I didn't like KylieX. But, again, that's another entry altogether. So moving on…)

December 6
was the day I sat Saturday through, for a change. An excerpt:

(Around 2AM)

Rye: Chardonnay?

T: Sure.

Rye: What time is it anyway?

T (teasingly): It's the time you normally would only be starting to have fun on a Saturday night.

Rye: Oh! By now, I would guess, the guys are drunk already.

T: You would be too if you were out tonight.

I would be too if I was out that night. But I wasn't. I had no internet connection and my phone was disconnected. I was neither dressed in my clubber outfit nor in my champagne-and-strawberries smarts. I was in faraway Tung Chung, totally disjointed from the islands that lie beneath the boundaries of Lantau. I was in my boxers and robe. All I had was a half-empty bottle of shiraz, a fresh bottle of chardonnay, a can of beer, some crisps, the complete first season of Lipstick Jungle and T, whose arms kept me warm all night. I was having more fun than I thought I would, sitting my Saturday through than dancing it away on oblivion. There was no party I'd rather be than were I was.

It's All A Matter Of Perspective

*inspired by the insightful la vite e bella-themed blog entry written by Pau

Friday night. Volume.
The boy sees an old acquaintance, the Entrepreneur, and playfully pokes him on the shoulder.

Entrepreneur: Hey! It's been so long. What do you do now?

Boy: I'm a fitness instructor now. I teach group exercise classes. And a few technique dance classes on the side.

Entrepreneur: You enjoy your new career?

Boy: Immensely.

Entrepreneur: Nice to hear that. Looks like you're the only person in Hong Kong that life's been treating kindly.

Boy: I'm just thankful that, in this time of recession, I am caught in a city where people invest a lot on health and vanity. They may cut down on other things, but there will always be enough budget set aside for an-hour-a-day fitness classes.

___________________

"Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact.
Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth."
-Marcus Aurelius

"...So I guess it won't hurt
to form our own opinion
and see things from our own perspective,
if only to make life less difficult to bear."
-Ryeness

Something To Smile About

"Friend, thank you for a great weekend
and for spending your time with me."

-via sms
24 Nov 2008
10:48:43

Seeking Answers In Central One Friday Afternoon

Sometimes I just want to hate myself for always thinking I am privileged enough that I can get what I want at anytime that I want, in any way that I want it.

Like last Friday. I needed an emergency haircut and color touch-up badly for the Volume Anniversary show which I was gonna perform for. So I browsed through my phonebook and dialled Paul Gerrard. As soon as the guy on the other end of the line said, "Hello?", I inquired: "Hi! I was wondering whether you can accommodate my last-minute appointment booking for Brad?"

With Brad,
my post-Disney makeover hairstylist,
after my first ever session with him

The guy, trying to be polite, answered, "Well, you'll have to call the salon." It was Paul Gerrard himself.

My stupid ass dialled Paul Gerrard the person, instead of Paul Gerrard Salon. How humiliating is that?

Then he said, "And Brad won't be in until the 17th."

In an instant, my world shattered.

So I went to see another hairstylist. I told him what I wanted with my hair and what my problems with it were. I thought I had already told him everything when I asked him for suggestions. He spoke rather eloquently and described what would become of my hair, with utmost pride and confidence, as if he was one fine chef and I was his sumptuous 7-course dinner claim to fame. I got excited, and with sparkling, dreamy eyes and a million-dollar Hollywood diva smile, I commanded him to commence.

Two minutes into the session, I looked away from the mirror as he started to razor the sides of my head. Brad and I were growing my hair! He was supposed to make it thin, not short. But he's done the right side already so I just decided to keep my mouth shut. We all know that more often than not, I unintentionally piss people off when I go by the impulse of verbalizing the first words that come to my mind. He had a pair of scissors, a razor and huge hair clips in his hand. I wasn't gonna risk it. In my mind, I just told myself, I could always go back to the shaved head look (which my very good friend Christian Glassl insists to be the best look he's seen on me) if it didn't work.

Twenty minutes later, he was brushing hair off my neck and unhooking my salon gown. I looked in the mirror and realized it wasn't so bad as I had foreseen it would be. He looked at me in the mirror and with a satisfied smile, he said to me, "It frames your face." Then he asked his assistant to lead me to the wet area and have my hair rinsed.

He started applying the bleach solution to the roots of my hair and when he finished, he put me under the ring of heat and gave me some magazines to spend my idle time on, which I gracefully turned down. I had my own stash: "Me Talk Pretty One Day" by David Sedaris, which Steve gave me on the eve of my birthday as a prelude to the expensive main gift. I was roasted for 10 minutes. And another 10. And another 10.

With Steve,
a very dear friend who Me Talk Pretty One Day was from;
and my blonde lock with their black roots

The next part, that where he took off the foil and rinsed my hair, was when I realized the mistake of forgetting the most important problem with my hair that Brad and I learned the hard way. My hair strands are thick and they are way too black. They have too much melanin that they require long hours to be bleached, and even so, they could only be bleached so far. In other words, the roots of my hair didn't lighten so much as the ends. He wanted to reapply the bleach but if he did, I was gonna be late for work. So I said, "Never mind, we'll color it green anyway."

"It will probably take almost an hour for the color to settle," predicted Nostradamus' soul which had entered his mortal body at that particular moment.

"Oh? I don't have that much time. I'll be late for work." So I decided that, over the next two or three weeks, I will just pretend that the gradient in my hair was done deliberately and that I am happy about it.

I was quite content with my haircut. That, I had to admit as I was staring at myself in the mirror while settling my bill. That satisfaction would later be fueled by my students, colleagues and friends who think that the 'do actually framed my face and made my cheekbones more prominent, thereby highlighting my smile. (Although personally, I think it's my ever-reliable weight loss program that actually made my cheekbones more prominent. So I deserve the credit for that, not my new second-fiddle hairstylist.) BUT...

Looking at myself at the elevator mirror, I noticed something peculiar. I knew, deep in my heart of hearts that he more or less achieved what he wanted to do with my hair, but I knew too that I wasn't quite getting the overall look that the hairstyle promised. With the thickness of the top section and the thinness of the sides --- something that looks like a fusion of the conservative mohawk and the clean military cut --- I was supposed to look more butch. (I know... I know... High hopes, yeah! But I can try, dammit! And stop rolling your eyes, my beloved reader!)

So I walked the busy streets of Hong Kong Central, trying to seek answers to my questions, "Why not?" and "How?" Half an hour later, I still couldn't find the answer to the former. But to the latter, the answer stared at me directly in the eye. So how? Here's how ---

A dogtag.


For the butch in me.

Facebooking

About The Birthday Cake And The Mickey Hat (Pt.1)

Years and years from now --- long after I've retired from the party scene and all that's left of my hair are a few strands of grey --- I shall look back at my youth and remember the two weeks that had just passed with much fondness. It will be written in my personal chronicles as a milestone that culminated with a sudden debilitation of my immune system brought about by extreme physical fatigue and emotional exhaustion from too much fun, too much tears, too much physical activity, too much partying, too much drinking, too little sleep, too little eating. In other words, from trying too much to live la vida rockstar.

Because of the enormity of the energy I had to put in, in order to secure the life I was to start building outside the castle, there was virtually none left for my own birthday. It was gonna be the first time for me to not plan anything fabulous (or at least blog-worthy) for "big day". And there wasn't even enough energy left to feel bad about it. Nonetheless, I knew that whatever happened, there was no way I was gonna miss reflecting on my life and re-examining my values. That was one tradition I couldn't afford to break, no matter how difficult the circumstances got. With that to look forward to, I knew my birthday would be worthwhile, in spite of.

The eve of my birthday, I was invited to a dinner which would be hosted by a friend of a friend. There were only 6 of us (2 more came by after dinner and joined us for drinks) and I knew everyone except for the host. At midnight, they sang me a Happy Birthday song and a good friend whom I hadn't seen for so long, Corrine, popped the Veuve Clicquot Rose that Steve brought. Later that night, Steve remarked, "Friend, it is your birthday." And it was. An evening with friends, good food, champagne, strawberries, and a surprise visit from a dearly beloved friend whom I have missed so dearly. What more could I ask for?

The following day, September 21st, was of course, just as exhilarating. I woke up to a full SMS inbox of birthday messages on my mobile phone. And as if that wasn't enough to start my Sunday brightly, I logged on to my online accounts which revealed even more touching greetings. Then there was the community singing of the birthday song at work, and the heart-warming happy-birthday-hug from 2 people whom I knew didn't like me that much. By mid-afternoon, a lengthy sms-exchange with two of my exes took place. One of them commented, "We may not have worked as a couple, but that doesn't change the fact that you are a good person, Rye. You are a bitch, but you are a good person. That's why you are loved by many." In the evening, I went to FINDS where I was treated to on-the-house glasses of Moët et Chandon courtesy of Pink Taskmaster James. I was joined by Dan, Enan & Steve, who were still tired from the previous night but were loving enough to show up in their cargos and flipflops to spend my birthday with me, and my sai lo, Heihei, who missed dinner with family and traveled all the way from Sheung Shui to give his birthday present --- a white Starbucks mug.

captioned fittingly on the Pink Sundays at FINDS Facebook Group page as:
"The Pink Taskmaster with the aforementioned fabulous birthday gal,
both looking shockingly sober"

September 22 was the day the HK Government gave me its present. Still dressed in the floral shirt I wore to FINDS the previous night, I walked in to the IRD Building to settle my tax. After less than 15 minutes, I finished the whole process, which comprised of getting on the elevator 6 times in order to do business in 4 different floors with 5 different civil servants, and going for the loo twice. 15 minutes. That's all it took. The best part: I left the building with a cheque for tax refund.

Later that night, I went over to Victor & Vincent's, two of my favorite straight boys, for a couple of drinks. They tried to throw me a small surprise party for two nights, but because I was scared to sit still and get bored on my birthday weekend, it had been difficult to get a hold of me. SO when I finally showed up, the bottles of Chardonnay that Victor bought for me and the pasta that they made were already extinct.

Jethro slept over that night and when we woke up the following day, I found out that he had raped me. Kidding! Jethro slept over that night and when we woke up the following day, I asked him to make us lunch. He willingly obliged and even after we've consumed what he prepared, he made sure I wasn't going anywhere that day. The reason being, we were expecting another friend of ours to come at 3pm. I was sitting in front of my computer when Ryan arrived without me noticing. He came into my room and took advantage of me. Kidding again! He came into my room and said hi, at which point, Jethro went into the kitchen. Few minutes later, Ryan excused himself and I went back to my computer. And before Facebook even loaded, they went back to room and burst into a birthday song. I turned around and saw them marching in with a chocolate cake in their hands.

The chocolate cake and the Mickey hat aptly define the 2 weeks that passed.

In Oprah Winfrey's 50th birthday, her best friend Gail said that no birthday is complete without a cake. The cake that Ryan and Jethro surprised me with was my first birthday cake for this year. It marked the completion of my birthday, and the Mickey hat they made me wear for the photo opp marked the beginning of another story.

_____________
....Part 2 coming up

A Rockstar Is Only As Good As His Last Party

I didn't forget. I didn't try to forget; nor did I try to make my friends forget.

It's just that, with all my social activities over the last 3 months, and with the job-shift that will happen on the same week as my birthday, I couldn't muster enough energy, interest and resources to come up with something for my 28^th birthday. And you know what they say, "A rockstar is only as good as his last party". If I can't top my weeklong 27^th birthday festivities, I'd rather not do anything this year.

However, there are still personal tasks that need to be done. These are traditions that I have grown accustomed with over the years, and none of my birthdays is ever complete without them. They are, in no particular order, the following:

• get hammered;
  
• get laid;
  
• be nice (at least once) to at least person I dislike;
  
• sms Rems, Mai and any of my exes;
  
• offer a minute of silence for Oca;
  
• meditate;
  
• reflect on where I was, where I am now and where I want & do not want to be;
  
• and accept gifts (my wishlist this year is composed of, but not limited to--- "Oprah Winfrey: The 20^th Anniversary DVD Collection"; books by David Sedaris; books by Haruki Murakami; orchestra seat tickets to October performances in HK of Nederlands Dans Theater l, Paul Taylor Dance Co., and Rodgers & Hammersteins' Cinderella starring Lea Salonga)
  

It normally takes me more than four days to accomplish all these. So if you're a friend or a drinking buddy who wants so badly to spend time with me on my birthday week and but can't because I need to complete my self-assigned birthday tasks, you can help speed up the process by sending a gift. That way, the last task on the list is finished quickly.

Moi as a debutante and a bartender
on Day 7 of my 27th birthday week.
Party at Volume, Music by DJ Stonedog, hair and make-up by Chris,
party coordination and documentation by Dan,
beauty courtesy of Rems & Oca