Kids Are Supposed To Be Seen

...but when they have a message a strong as this, they deserve to be heard. This is Ethan, 9 years old.

Outside The Rain Begins

Jethro walks into the dining area from the kitchen, shirtless and his hands, wet. He stands there for a minute, waiting for the conversation he has walked into to come to a pause. He doesn't want to interrupt his kuya and his nanay. As soon as an opportunity presents itself, he jumps in. "Kuya Law, do you have a strainer?"

Law turns to him and stares blankly, trying to think whether he has any.

Rye stops what he is doing, looks to their direction and bows his head. He was putting down the wicker magazine racks that hang by the windows to let the cool breeze in.

After a beat, Law replies, "Uhmm... I don't."

"Strainers, we don't have any in this house. But strangers, we have a lot in our lives. Real strangers whom we've never really met, and the other kind of strangers: people who were once important parts of our lives that we chose to become strangers, because if we allow them to linger any longer, they might hurt us again," Rye says, still looking down.

Ryan Lee, who is in the living room, previewing "The Love Of Siam", hears all these and solicits, "Who are they, nay?"

"I don't know, 'nak. I don't know them anymore," Rye claims.

They take a moment to let the energy die down and then they burst into corpulent laughters, applauding themselves for another spontaneous dramatic improvisation. Afterwhich, each one of them goes back doing his own thing. Jethro to the kitchen to solve the absence-of-strainer issue; Law to his chopping board, slicing the veggies for his kare-kare; Ryan Lee to "Love Of Siam", Rye to the window.

It is a stormy Friday. The previous night, at 8pm, Rye overheard from his colleagues that the HK Observatory was predicting that Typhoon 8 would be hoisted by dawn and probably even to 9 mid midday. He knew that this would be a non-working Friday. He packed his getaway bag, called Jethro, organized a get-together at Law's even before Law agreed, and headed to Causeway Bay. They kept themselves up all night, monitoring the direction and the speed of the winds, hoping that the storm doesn't decide to take a re-route.

Albeit a few hours delayed, the storm finally settled in at 7 in the morning, and the suspension of work was made official. Ryan Lee arrived. Those were the circumstances that led them here. Now.

The color of the peanut sauce and that of the achuete start to meld, as the oxtail becomes too tender, it begins to disintegrate. The buzzer sounds off, and Jethro gets up from the couch, where he and his brother, Ryan Lee, have been sitting over the last 2 hours, watching the foreign film that Ryan Lee was previewing since he got here. He opens the door to let Enan and Steve in. They have with them a pot of champorado and a hefty amount of fried danggit.

Later on, Josh, Miro and Dan arrive and the party gets started. Jethro gets on the computer and invites some more friends who, after about an hour, come with enough supply of alcohol to feed the whole household until the storm subsides.

On the 18th floor of Pearl Mansion on Patterson Street, the Beckies get lost in oblivion--- celebrating friendship, sharing love, toasting to an extra dayoff, and making a complete fool of themselves while outside, the rain begins. They pray that it never ends.

Same Time, Last Year

Exactly a year ago, I was at the HK International Airport, excited about my trip to Bohol.



Today, I'm not even sure of my itinerary yet. Enan has already left. Dan and Steve are leaving tonight. My other friends have already packed and are just killing time. My itinerary hasn't been confirmed. Ugh!

So help me God.

Ryeness Creed

I believe in karma. I believe that everything we do has its own consequence.

I believe in the Supreme Being who will lead us to the consequences of our thoughts and actions.

I believe that, as human beings, our littlest actions can make a big difference. The choices that we make, whether made with conviction or half-heartedly, can make others happy or miserable.

I believe in the power of friendship.

Having said all of these, my dear friends, please click on this link:

http://www.rainbowbloggers.com

and vote for Can't You Read? in the Blog Of The Week race. In two clicks, you will make me happy, thus earning you a few good karma points.

OH, and I also believe in love.

I love you all!

Remembering A Lesson Learned

Because I had two hours to kill today, I decided to go to the gym.

Because I loved how it felt parading naked in front of strangers the last time I did it, I decided to do it again today.

Because I almost forgot the lesson I learned from my previous experience, I am reposting this piece to remind me.

Lord, please make me not forget again.

I walked into the locker room and found two men: one, probably in his early 40's and the other, in his late 20's. Judging on body language, they didn't know each other. One was just getting ready for his tennis game while the other was still damp from the shower. They were both chinese, and both naked.

As soon as I deposited my stuff in my assigned locker, I marched into the shower cubicle. I was in my trunks and a towel hung in my shoulder. Twenty minutes later, I was wiping myself dry. I was going to wrap the towel around my loin but it was too small for one end to even reach the other. I decided to wear my trunks again. And then I decided otherwise. Come to think of it, I have never experienced parading in any changing room completely naked. Not in the dressing rooms of the company I used to work for, not in any public changing room I have ever been. Other people can do it, why can't I?

With much pride and dignity, I swung the shower curtain open and walked to the locker stark naked. The two men I had walked into weren't around anymore, but another character had appeared: the boy who, about an hour ago got me pissed because he moved the dumbells I was using for my Arnold Press. Few minutes later, I heard somebody walking out of the steam room. And another one coming out of the toilet. We were all bare-assed. Nothing to be coy about.

Although I didn't pretend to be straight, I also didn't announce I was gay. Maybe they knew and didn't mind at all. Or maybe they were too busy to even examine. Or maybe, they really thought I was straight even though my blonde lock screamed faggotry. Here in HK, I have learned that to judge a book by its cover is truly unwise; because here in HK, metrosexuals do exist.

Everything was going well. By that, I meant I wasn't having trouble co-existing in an enclosed space with other men in such vulnerable state. Neither were they. I could say so because none of them made me feel they were uncomfortable. Well, until I headed to the sink, and, out of habit, applied my cheek tint right after applying my moisturizer.

Convincing Dan

I'm a feline lover. But Dan is not. I wanna adopt a cat but I can't do it without Dan's consent.

Although Dan and I are not a couple, but his opinions on domestic matters are essential because we share a common roof. We are technically domestic partners, besides being best friends.

Tonight, I intend to talk to him again about adopting a cat. The animal welfare has a package that might make him say "yes".



Dan, don't we need to get our windows washed too?

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!

The Boy Scout Vs. The Drama Queen

"I'm gonna need to call in today," the drama queen exclaimed in frustration.

"No, stupid!"

"Ok, maybe I won't. I'll just call them and tell the truth."

"Tell them what?" the boy scout, close to the end of his patience, asked, almost in a condescending manner.

"That I can't come to work because I don't have dancewear today. And I don't have access to all my essentials: my wallet, my Ipod, my Octopus, my phone even.. (Oh shit! How will I call them anyway?) ...because everything's inside the house, and..."

"And we locked ourselves out. You think they'd think that's cute?"

After just a beat, the Drama Queen's face lit up as an idea suddenly popped up. "Oh my God! Maybe I should just go and meet up with Dan in Disney so I can borrow his housekeys. Do I have time? If I go now..."

"In boxers? You're actually thinking to travel to Disney in boxers?" The boy scout was now torn. They were standing behind Kenny, the landlord's son who was relentlessly trying to open the steel door with two pieces of 3-foot iron wire. He slid both wires between the grills which were on the same level as their heads and painstakingly tried to get their hooked ends to clasp onto the door latch inside. It had been 10 minutes, and still, there was absolutely no sign of salvation. Kenny was in his mid-30's, a bit chubby and quite nerdy too. His fashion sense was what a lot of people might consider passe; and his english vocabulary was limited to "hi" and "sorry". He certainly was not, in fact he was not even remotely close to being, the drama queen's type of guy. And this only made the situation worse, because the boy scout knew that if the drama queen fancied Kenny, even the slightest bit, she wouldn't be as panicky as she was at that moment. Standing beside the drama queen, the boy scout was having a hard time deciding which of his urges to act on first: the urge to mock and belittle her concerns by laughing at her, or the urge to put her bickering to a screeching halt by spanking her in the head.

"You're right. I can't take the train to Disney. My Octopus is inside the flat." Her voice started to shake as if her world was about to shatter to a million pieces and she was ready for a major breakdown scene. Like the way she did when she was 9 and her grandma refused to buy her a toy iron and ironing board because they were for girls.

At this point, the boy scout had already moved from where his was standing over the past 15 minutes. He looked out the window that was on the other end of the hall. "Kenny!", he called out enthusiastically. "Don't bother anymore. I think I know what to do."

Kenny stopped what he was doing and stared at him. He obviously didn't understand what the boy scout said.

"What are you gonna do?!" the drama queen asked with both excitement and fear, and she was ignored by the boy scout.

" I. Go. Out. Here. Go There. Go. In." In the most elementary of words and the biggest, most indicating of gestures, the boy scout spelled out the plan to Kenny. He was gonna go out of the window, onto the hanging ledge and into their balcony, where the door was unlocked. He smiled at Kenny and waited for him to reciprocate, as a sign of approval, but Kenny just stared at him, dumbfounded. He smiled at the drama queen briefly and looked away before she could even try to stop him.

Without hestitation, the boy scout raised his left foot chest-high, climbed the windowsill and pushed himself out. The drama queen clutched his pearls in horror and gasped, praying that the wind wouldn't blow and throw him off-balance. Less than two minutes later, the front door opened and the boy scout showed himself to Kenny who was still holding the wires and didn't seem to know what was happening.

"Oh, good!" Kenny said, which surprised the boy and the drama queen. They didn't know Kenny knew a third word in english.

"No sweat," the boy scout affirmed. And he wasn't lying. Contrary to what the drama queen might have projected, it wasn't that dangerous. The ledge was about 2 feet wide and the concrete fence that separated their balcony from the ledge wasn't more than 4 feet tall. And their flat was only on the second (first floor, in HK) floor. Even if he fell, the worst that could happen was a sprain.

Still, the drama queen thought it was a scene from "Mission: Impossible". So as soon as I got my hands on my computer, the drama queen in me defied the boy scout in me and typed: "Rye did the unthinkable" in my Facebook status.

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.

Candidate #3, Please Step Forward

Host: So.. are we consenting prisoners of our own boyfriends or are they of us, we, unrelenting watchguards?

Ms. Sheung Wan: Sus, eh iba't iba lang ang style ng mga hirit. But in truth, LAHAT tayo paalaga lang! Kaya nga nadevelop yung Stockholm Syndrome diba, which explains how victims develop a loyalty to their kidnappers. SO to answer your question, we are never strictly top or bottom. Deep in our hearts, we are all versatile. I thank you. *wave*

Can't Stop Christmas

With Pride & Feathers

It was the 13th of December. With clear skies and a thousand participants, the first-ever Pride March of Hong Kong was realized. And with much pride and some feathers, I was there, taking part as the gay men and women of Hong Kong marched their way from Causeway Bay to Wan Chai and made history.

Everybody, genuflect. It's the Pride flag.

Dan said, "If you wanna attract attention,
which really is the point of Pride march,
wear the follies headdress that we used for Halloween last year."
And boy, was he right!
The attention whore that I am could never wish
for so much attention in the streets, in broad daylight!

Crowd was too thick, it was difficult to find me at certain times.

A Pride card for La Rems. On it, I wrote --
"I am proud to be gay because my momma loves me!"

Birds of a feather
With Glenn and OutinHK's Antonio Licon

The silk rainbow flags prepared by Eric of Fruits in Suits

photos courtesy of Ad Takumi, Rey Asis, Prash Prashoun, Bhisan Rai

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.

Two More Celebrations Pre-Christmas

December 1 is World AIDS Day.
What have you done to show you care?
Wear a shirt?

"Please post this image on your super walls.
Help me circulate my advocacy posters.
http://delfindjmontano.blogspot.com/"
Love Brian Gorell

This year marks the first-ever official gay pride celebrations in HK.
Let's stand up and be heard.

"Hong Kong is a cosmopolitan city, so it’s not hard to notice LGBTs more openly on the streets, and occasionally you will see them display their affections by publicly holding hands. Do you admire them? Or does that trigger conflicts within you?

Everyone loves their partners with a sense of pride. It’s the love between us that makes us proud. Our sexual orientation is not as important as our love.

Every person is born equal and free. If we truly believe that we all have the same human rights to live proudly under the same sun, we can live honestly as our real selves.

Will you live in the shadows of the closet feeling sorry for yourself, or will you march proudly together with us under the rainbow?

Rainbow colors represent accepting diversity and respecting differences. We encourage lesbians, gays, bisexuals, pansexuals, the transgendered, cross dressers, transsexuals, BDSM, queers, peoples of any sexual orientation or gender identification, and straights who respect sexual orientation and gender diversity, regardless of age, race, religion, or physical capability to join us to march on the street for love.

Don't miss the chance to shine, and join us in our Pride Parade.

December 13 Tongzhi March for Love at Causeway Bay at 2 pm. See you there!"

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.

Calling All HK-Based Gay Men!!

This group of students from the HK University is conducting a survey among gay men based here in HK. They're probably proving that tops and bottoms do differ in their taste of clothes. Wanna know why? Take this 15-item survey. It's easy and fun. And you don't have to give your real name, but don't leave that field blank or type in ANONYMOUS.

Come on, guys! Don't be such party-poopers... Please? He promised to take me out to dinner if he reaches his quota. Imagine how happy you will make me if you just took 3 minutes out of y0our time to answer this.

Here's the link---

http://www.online-survey.net/survey-2324#