Ergo...

Assume. Presume. Like empathy and sympathy, the ambiguity between them is a mere hairline thick. Explain.

July 12, 2006. OrientalGardens, Makati. It’s raining outside and it’s not men.

It’s been quite some time since I last blogged and this time I can really tell the itch to banter over what transpired in my so-called fabulous life these past three weeks. I want to write about all of them but one event happened after another even before I could find myself sitting in front of the computer and chronicle them in quirky narration. Or was I simply too preoccupied stitching an unending gamut of life experiences I could hardly catch up on writing them. Thank heavens, I finally made it to this screen and… BLOG!

I remember (do you) writing about my shameless reply to my niece’s query as to why wouldn’t I attend our family reunion. I said, I would if it’s a funeral. Well, four days after I said that, my cousin in Bacolod died. Don’t tell me nag-dilang anghel ako because I have so many people I like to pronounce dead. Don’t tempt me or you’d be an accessory.

True to my words I went off to Bacolod. I was originally planning to fly to Zamboanga to join Bagbag for his birthday (he was there to relieve a friend on derma) and I thought I might as well start with Bacolod. I thought this was also a good chance to start a long standing writing project on local foods by traveling from one province to another. So I also put Iloilo in the itinerary. Last leg would be Zamboanga. No, no, no, no... I’m not going to blog about that particular project. You have to buy the magazine once it gets published. I see I have two faithful fans around here that I could predict with absolutely certainty that, once published, the magazine’s sale would skyrocket into orbit. More than just an unintelligent forecast, my prediction could also be one for dilang anghel. But I assume. Presume. I won't explain.

Let’s not focus on the dead so I’ll spare you the details from funeral to burial. First let me focus on several observations about men that seem to escape conclusion. Our first subject, one straight married guy with kids. He drives me around Bacolod as I could no longer find myself around town. Cute guy. My age. Straight. Yeah. He knows I’m gay. Yeah. Before I left for Iloilo we exchanged numbers. He wanted to make sure I text him when I visit Dumaguete where he tends the family business. He would love to show me around. While in Iloilo, downing beer with my brother and sister and their wife and husband, accordingly, I received a text. It was this guy making sure I got his number. Again, again, again… he is one straight married guy. Happy with kids. Wait, did I say he’s happy with his wife? Hmmm… Am I assuming? Presuming? Explain.

While on a ship from Iloilo to Zamboanga I met another cutie. He walks, stands, dresses, talks, and looks like, ahm… let’s not recall sewers (hint). He kept prodding me about my sexual escapades which I was not ready to reveal to a complete stranger. Seventeen hours past sailing the archipelago, the ship was about to dock Zamboanga port, or so we thought. We got stranded as there was no space for the ship to dock. We were simply there several hundred feet off the harbor for seven hours! And I thought Filipinos have been ushered into the 21^st century for climbing Mt. Everest. And here we are still in need of more harbor spaces. So we whiled our time tossing coins on to the Badjaos below. While doing so, he simply blurted out that he is gay and that I am also a PLU (People Like, er, U!).

How dare he assume that?! Presume! His explanation: my tattoo gave me away. He saw it at guys4men.com, ergo…

Remind me to edit my G4M pics. Thank you.

On my second night in Zamboanga, Bagbag’s friend, her husband, and her brother-in-law took us to dinner. Beer followed. Sitting beside me, the brother-in-law begun to satisfy his curiosity about gays with a question: Ang straight ba kapag nakipag-sex sa bading, bading na rin?

I was gulping beer when he dropped the question and I almost swallowed the whole bottle. Way back 1994, a straight guy asked me that very same question. I thought it was a happy question of great possibilities that I was more than willing to simply answer. I mean MORE. You know, action speaks louder than words. It could have been easier to answer the question by positing whether a person having sex with a dog also becomes a dog but instead of eliciting laughter, I’d rather have fun. I mean manipulatively fun. Hey, I was talking about the guy of 1994, not about bro-in-law. You’re assuming too much. Presuming? No need to explain.

Guys, particular attention to the straight ones - or so those who want us to believe that they are - if you want everyone to believe, including yourself, that you have no intention of having sex with fellows guys, please refrain from asking that question. Just don't.

How did I reply to bro-in-law’s question? I was clever enough to chose laughter this time. I am not one to ruin Bagbag's lucrative employment. First, I cleared out the definition of gay. Homosexuality, academically. That such depends on one’s attraction to the same sex. And I don’t think one gets to be attracted to one’s own hands when he gets the sexual stimulation out of masturbation. He found it to be an excellent answer worthy of a beauty pageant that he further inquired on gay life. Alcohol was beginning to unlock my tongue that I went further to tell him about our sex clubs and bath houses. He was dumbfounded! Astonished! Thunderstruck! Flabbergasted! (Yes, you are right in assuming and presuming that I am using MSWord thesaurus. Go check.)

Still couldn’t pacify himself, he asked, “Pwede bang pumasok doon… mag observe lang?” Huh? Will somebody explain that to me? This question could have caused me to swallow a second beer bottle. There was also a tray of humongous crabs on the table and I had the urge to stuff my mouth with all this crustaceans, claws and all. And tray! I wish he could have asked me in chabacano so I could simply get lost in translation and pretended I didn’t understand the question. I was groping for words. I can’t assume. I refuse to presume. I just want to be stupid. Why!?

By the way, when I went back to Manila ahead of Bagbag, bro-in-law would mistakenly call Bagbag by my name. Explain that to me.

A couple of days ago, back in Manila, Bagbag and I had a belated birthday shindig with Jenny at Ilog, Marikina’s version of Singapore’s River(something). With us were some other friends of Bagbag. Right next to us were a group of young rowdy guys having their own celebration. As we sing refrains of Happy Birthday in between drinks, they would join in like they knew us from birth. Hmmm… Nakaka-relate sila ha. Am I assuming and presuming too much that they are...

O, let’s not stretch an already farfetched explanation.

Here’s one for a visual blog(vlog):

We moved to a bar next to where we met the rowdy group. It was supposed to be a straight bar if not for a restroom assigned for gays only. Ok, now assume. Presume. Not even Malate's Bed has one.

Explain.