Movie Me!

I realized just how boring life can be without movies. I mean, I grew up with them.

I basically survived elementary with the endless movies I have watched in the cinema and them endless betamax and VHS tapes that we have borrowed near Bambang High School, from friends, everywhere.

And anyone saying that not one movie has ever changed their lives forever is completely lying. People who exercise produce endorphins in their bodies. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don't shoot their husbands. (It's Elle Woods, duh?)

With the compelling need to see what movies I'd be expecting to either pay to see in the cinema here or download for free in mininova, I checked out Apple. These are what I saw and I recommend the following (Naku sana naman bongga in reel life di tulad ng War. Shet!):

Finishing the Game. It's about some people finding a replacement for the natigok na Bruce Lee to continue with the legend's dream movie. What makes it hilarious are those auditioning for the part, which included Breeze Loo, a Caucasian guy, a heavily bearded mama from Africa, and a South East Asian na so nakakatuwa sa trailer. With my Chinese lineage and the fact that I both love the father and son who are now together in Chinese paradise, I strongly recommend this one. Letswatchet!

Elizabeth, The Golden Age. After applauding with tears in my eyes Cate Blanchett in her Oscar-winning performance in Elizabeth, I was once again enthralled and left breathless with her continuation of portraying Elizabeth. Nakanganga lang ako the whole time on-going ang trailer. Scenic, cinematic and picturesque. Parang di na kailangang maging green ni Cate Blanchet para ipakitang galit sya. The world would be like a room with eggcrate walls once she booms out with , "I too can command the winds, sir! I have a hurricane that can chuva chenelyn cream kylie minogue ever when you dare to try me!" Bukod pa sa papang si Clive Owen. Haaay!

Self-Medicated. Something about independent films that I love so much - they are not hyped. Released in 2005, this independent film is one of the most award-winning movies in many film festivals in the US and abroad. It was a riveting acting by Monty Lapica, who also wrote and directed the film. Based on a true story, it tells about how one teenager faces up to his demons as he redeems himself from a psychiatric facility he was forcibly placed in by his mother due to his drug addiction and tendencies toward violence. Blistering performance, ika nga ng mga movie critics. Ordinary people pulse: parang mga totoong tao, hindi hollywood. Parang tayo.

Rendition. Not because I am just a Reese Witherspoon fanatic that I vouch for this movie. I totally disagree with the notion that she sources out her acting ability from her protruding chin. But then, going back to the movie. Rendition is what the US government calls taking people they suspect as threats to national security and sends them off sans the despedida parties to prisons outside the US, like Guantanamo. I am a political animal who just loves a good socially relevant drama. Parang Bourne Ultimatum?

With that, check out Timothy Olyphant, The Broken Hearts Club star, in Hitman. Delaycious in bald! Rosario Dawson of movie musical Rent and surreal Sin City in Descent. Those lips are like her eyes, windows to the soul! And Sydney White, mean girl versus mean girls! At kung mahilig ka sa bears, go see Beowulf!

Quote for the day from the Queen herself: I envy you best. You are free to have what I cannot have.

O diba ang taray? Taruzh!

For Herman

My heart is filled with so much hurt, frustration and anger.

After reading Mandaya's entry on Herman, I realized just how much homophobia and bigotry have spread throughout the entire earthdom. From where those wearing tiaras and zucchettos order the guillotining and torture of witches and heretics to the white supremacists shooting their Indians, enslaving their Blacks and raping them Asians.

Rooting Gay Hate

The atrocity of gay hate stems from an ultra-conservative, purist mindset perpetuated by the status quo. They don't want change. And when change comes, resist they do. And with so much passion. So much hatred. So much bloodshed.

While I have nothing against religion, it is the historical assimilation and subjugation both by the Spanish colonizers on the Filipino people with the use of the cross. Religion then meant subservience. And blessed are the poor for they shall inherit the kingdom of heaven. Well, subservience remains true until now yet I don't see any heaven around.

Gays came and went. And unfortunately, that culture of subservience is imbibed and subconsciously embraced by the gay people. For in a patriarchal society, a woman has to be always under their men. And since the effeminate gays align themselves with the women, they have to be just the same - a servant, a slave, never an equal.

This time around, however, when we simply want recognition and the acceptance for us to practice our rights and freedoms publicly, these things happen. When we simply want equality, they simply don't budge.

Our existence and practis is just not man enough. It just is not in the Bible.

And hence, it is just natural to wipe us off this face of the earth.

Changing Culture

The culture of subservience will take a long while to change. You may win certain battles but the war is far from over.

That's why People Power 1 and 2 did not stop there. That's why waving the rainbow flag and the proliferation of gay pride marches all over the world did not mean the end of homophobia. That's why even when women can now rule, it does not mean the liberation of women.

At the same time....

That's why some of us would face wide-eyed shock and complete refusal from friends when we start becoming vocal about our views. That's why it takes a lot of convincing on our part. That's why gays become political but would never run for office. Except for some (and sadly albeit expectedly, they become "straight".)

Yet, the strong tendency to resist any oppression is innate in many of us, especially for those who strongly feel it.

Objective resistance is not something that comes out of the closet. It does not happen in a vacuum. The Buddhist monks in Burma, for example, took a collective decision to take their strong sentiments on the street. And who said walking on the street, protesting and airing your grievance are violent?

Between the monks and the military junta, maybe we can ask who the real brute is.

For Herman

I may not truly understand why those men stabbed Herman. But the mere fact it happened to him, it can happen to any gay person.

Discrimination and gay hate can never be bought off with a hefty salary just so one can run away in a private yacht, a resort or anywhere gay-friendly. Not many gay people have the cash to bring themselves out of this rut.

While the well-offs can easily buy their way out and possibly create a world they want to live in, the majority that are the poor gays (parloristas, palengkeras, magsasakas and all) will have to face this bigotry, atrocity and ostracism so systemic it runs so deeply in the veins of every man and woman.

We have to face up to this. In Herman's case, the village heads would have to take this case seriously and go for a manhunt on the murderer and his accomplices. I do hope though that the gays in the village could and would do something about this.

The only instance we bow down so low is when we blow. That is the only instance.

(photo is from flickr.)

BNTM: Burma's New Top Models

This is how it is worn: an outer garment called the tricivara is placed over the undergarment called the uttarasanga. A cloak called the samghati is placed around the whole get-up, possibly to protect the wearer from cold. The whole outfit when worn would symbolize great respect. In this country of recent talk, it comes only in one color.

Protest has put on a new dress. And it is colored maroon.

By now, you've seen it in the dailies, caught a glimpse of it in the teevee, and chanced upon it in the net.

For days, I have been following the people wearing it as they strut through the long rampway that are the thoroughfares of Yangon and other major cities in Burma/Myanmar. And I am A-M-A-Z-E-D by the sheer huge following they are having from the people.

I am of course talking about the Burmese Buddhist monks who are now taking on the streets their indignation over the military junta's continued rule in the said country.

After the spate of price hikes, the Buddhist monks have expressed their discontent with the State Peace and Development Council (SPDC), denounced the latter's continued human rights violations (which included the case of Aung Sang Suu Kyi under house arrest, the 88 Generation activists continually detained and tortured, and several other heinous crimes against the Burmese people, both inside Burma and along its borders.) Now, they are calling for the SPDC to step down and allow democratic elections to ensue.

When they went out in droves, complete with robes, beads and all, the people just started to follow. And suddenly, the climate of fear is slowly dissipating away, albeit not completely.

Protest in Burma became an in-thing. Well, more likely, a should-be thing!

People, I am happy to say, are starting to speak up. In a Buddhist country like Burma, the monks are the most highly-respected people and anything they do would be revered and emulated. And yes, what they are doing right now is simply what, I believe, the people there have been wanting to do all this time.


The SPDC is most definitely not taking this sitting down. I am sure as hell they have resorted to bad out-of-fashion tactics once again, like dispersals, strafing, harassment and a complete senseless attempt at bloodbath. Not to mention, of course, this state-versus-religion whatever!

And they did. The updates I got from friends there, the police and military have been shooting down on them monks while some stupid Buddhist cohort is calling on the monks to do away with protesting. It just isn't "chic".

But the monks, with the people, are not backing down. Never without a fight.

They have had enough of blood-red and a sickening green color of fear.

Military fashion is just so demode. Let maroon and a splash of bright colors rule Burma.

For more information on the Burma protest, click here.

Mula sa Nota Republic

Thousands of years ago, nung bata pa ako at purong mousse-green ang dugo, lagi akong dinadala ng mga gayut bayot friends ko sa Nota Republic, isang already-defunct gay bar sa may Quezon City.

Bar sa ground floor. Dark room sa upper floor.

Pag-aari ng mga baklang aktibista at mga business-minded. Zhongga naman kasi mura ang drinks at very simple ang arrive. Not so screaming. Medyo nasa kalagitnaan nga lang ng parang.

Naalala ko one time ang baklang Oca ng Pro-Gay na chumenes sa mga fellow dinggers regarding VFA, o Visiting Forces Agreement. Attentive naman ang mga bakla. Respected kasi ang Lola at ever ang political yawyaw. Ang moda nga namin, chika with a purpose.

Nakakasama ko pa ang Lola Allan at iba pang mga political badings sa Metro Manila.

I remember my first gay pride march. Kami lang ang nasa dyip at ako na siguro ang pinakadeglamorized participant sa paradang ito -- extra-large t-shirt and chaka acid-wash pants. Wala pa akong konsepto ng aesthetics non, nakaboxer shorts lang ako pag pumapasok sa klase.

I don't chagrin at the memory of it, though. It was a political awakening for me. (Defensive!)

Political Fashion

Syempre, I finally got introduced to political fashion. At the height of the Oust Erap campaign, nagfashion show ang Gabriela. Sumali akez of karz.

Nagdesign at gumawa ako ng damitchinang gawa sa dyaryo: Press Freedom versus Repression ang moda. The bustier top and the A-line skirt were a papier mache of headlines and pictures featuring Joseph Estrada's blunders, corruption and many wives as well as the violent dispersals of protests, the Manila Times issue, etc.

Ang moda ng modelong charing, walk walk ng medyo kabagalan at punung-puno ng emote sa rampa with a taped mouth and bound hands. Pabalik sa entrada, haharap muli ang jelay sa audience at mag-eemote na parang angry little inch. Sa pinnacle ng emote, sisirain nya ang chains sa kamay, aalisin ang masking tape sa kanyang bibig at magii-strike a pose ng paglaban.

Aghast ang mga audience and then applause ever. Ngingiti ako mula sa gilid. Hihihi, natuwa sila.

Fallen Angel

Last gay pride ko sa Pinas ay sa Quezon City ginanap. Gumawa ng mga winner angel wings ang bakla at isa ako sa mga pinalad na pinagsuot nito.

Eh ang moda, candle-light vigil. Bow down habang prayer ang isang di-joklang pari for the victims of harassment, discrimination and all ek.

Nag-iinit ako habang yawyaw ng yawyaw ang the priest. Remember ko ang lahat ng mga bayots na biniktima ng mga bigots, mga nategras because of gay hate, et cetera et cetera. Nag-iinit ako sa galit.

Hanggang feeling kong umiinit ang ulo ko. Literally. At nakaamoy ako ng usok.

Punyemaz, nasusunog ang aking wings. Ang hitad sa likuran ko, sinet on fire ang aking paper wings.

Ayun, fallen angel ang moda. Nawalan ako ng wings.


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Pinag-iisipan kong mabuti kung paano pa maidedevelop ang blog na ito. Naalala ko, aktibista nga pala ako, hindi lang bakla. Puro kabaklaan na lang nailalagay ko dito. Not that I am unhappy with it.

But things have to change around here. I need to do some spring cleaning. Malapit na ang autumn.

Sabi ko nga, chika with a purpose. That has to be this blog's major mode. That has to be my major mode. (Ay, mode ba talaga?)

As of now, check out this fun shirt. So gay!

A Goldfish Called Peanuts

Naalala nyo si Peanuts? Isa ito sa mga kwento nya.


Chapter I

Minsan isang araw, napagkadiskitahan ng mga girls sa dorm ang goldfish sa aquarium.

Lumaki kasi ng sobra si goldfish. As in sobrang laki, malalaman mo lang ang species nya sa kulay ng kanyang kaliskis at, ayon nga sa isang dormgirl, a very distinct mole (mata yon, actually).

Lapang ng lapang lang si isda pero di naman naglalalangoy. Sobra na syang mabigat at pabigat. Too fat for comfort, ika nga. Mamamatay rin naman.

Chapter II

Bilang solusyon, ni-euthanasia nila si goldfish. By electric stove.

Nilapag nila si goldfish sa dinner table. At fumlay for their usual gimmick.

Chapter III

Bumalik sila sa dorm at nadatnan si Peanuts na lumalafang.

Nang biglang nagtanong si Peanuts, "Nasaan na si goldfish?"

Hindi nakapagsalita ang mga dormgirls. Nagkatinginan sila.

Tumingin sa kanila si Peanuts. Matagal. At nagsalita.

"Deadma na. Tikman nyo na lang tong prito, masarap. Nakita ko sa table."

I want to

They say it is always fun to dream. Dream big, dream long, dream far and wide.

(With eyes opened wide and bright a la Ate Sienna) Parang mga bata sa Amerika habang wiling-wiling gumagawa ng mga angel wings. Parang mga bata sa probinsya habang nakahiga sa may madamong burol at pinagmamasdan ang mga bituin sa langit.

Parang tayong mga bakla kapag naiwan sa kung saan at biglang nagchikahan tungkol sa buhay-buhay. Ay, usually melancholic 'to. Fraught with bitterness and whatever kachuvahan. No. Tse!

So habang bed-ridden ako at walang magawa, pinatay ko ang ilaw sa kwarto, hinawi ang lahat ng mga kurtina sa bintana at pinagtitignan ang mga bituing pumupuno sa kalakhan ng Nathan Road and beyond. At nagsimula akong nangarap...


1. Makapagbasa ng play/musical script version ng blog ni Mandaya Moore, replete with characters, chorus, dance numbers, costume designs, setting, the works! Kahit hindi maging production number sa Broadway o CCP, basta me SCRIPT!
2. Makapag-aral ng Spanish, Mandarin, Bahasa Indonesia at Hindi. Spanish is said to be the poor man's language in Europe. So? Mandarin is spoken by more than a billion people. Hindi is spoken by the second largest population in the world. Bahasa, of course, Indonesians, Malays, Southern Thais and some parts of the Pacific. Deadma na muna sa Russian.
3. Makapunta sa India at alamin bakit tumatagal ng 30 minutos ang pagkanta ng kanilang mga nursery rhymes. Sila rin pala ang may pinakamurang Book Sale at Mercury Drug sa Asya.
4. Makausap ang lahat ng indigenous mothers and babaylans sa buong mundo. Syet, pangarap ko talaga to. Some of my closest friends are indigenous - a Maori, a Karbi and some Igorots. Matapos ko pang mapanood ang Priscilla. Matapos kong makilala si Macli-ing Dulag. Matapos kong mabasa si Witi Ihamaera.
5. Makakain ulit ng kyampung na luto ng tatay ko.
6. Makainom ng Cuervo Gold Tequila kasama ang mga pinakamasasayang kaibigan sa beach. Kahit walang sex na mangyari afterwards.
7. Makabisita sa mga cacao plantations sa Africa, Asia at Latin America at ma-compute ang tantos ng pagsasamantala ng mga coffee moguls sa kanila.
8. Makabili ng laptop na malaki ang memory, mabilis, may WI-FI and bluetooth, maganda ang keyboard, formidable pero light and just right for a normal-looking backpack.
9. Makapagsuot ng real-quality boots. I am thinking Camper, Ecco or this German brand. At suspenders din pala. I find them very sexy. Tee-hee.
10. Mahalikan si Brad Pitt. Kahit sa biceps o kili-kili.
11. Mayakap ang pinakamatandang puno sa New Zealand.
12. Makapaglaro sa bukid kasama ang boypren ko. A la Ligaya.
13. Makahitit ng blueberry-flavored shisha.
14. Makagawa ng mga video documentaries for urban-based consumers na maaaring matignan ito sa isang video blog na ipu-put up ko. Para mas mura at madaling ma-access. Not the Michael Moore type - he's overrated.
15. Makapaglakad sa beach.
16. Makapaligo sa isang falls sa atin habang nakasuot ng puting kamison. Habang kinukuhanan ako ni Steven Meisel. Kung buhay pa sya.
17. Maakyat ang Mt. Kinabalu. Sabi ni Patricia Evangelista, maganda raw talaga.
18. Sumali sa isang Miss Gay at malaman talaga kung maipapanalo ba ako ng aking short-legged legs at pug nose.
19. Mapatalsik na si Gloria. Once and for all.
20. Makatikim ng pili roll, bibingkang hitik sa latik at pansit ni Ado's habang nagse-celebrate sa pagpapatalsik kay Gloria. Basta not through military junta or coup.

Hindi ito deathwish, acheng! Feeling ko magagawa ko tong lahat.

Except the last two. Kailangan dyan, group effort!

Bukod sa malaman kung ano nangyari kay Hulk, ano ang wish mo?

For the complete story of Hulk in Heat, side trip ka sa old posts. He's in one of those. So porn kasi eh. Hehe.

LP Misadventures

Pouting my lips a la Warrior Princess, I told Lili Ana in an email that I won't go to Tanzania for the meeting.

While I was writing her, I realized that my dream of becoming a real-life jungle princess Virga will never be fulfilled. It will forever be halukipkipped within the webbed corners of my mind and the yellowing pages of Pinoy Komiks.

After successfully sending the letter, I realized too na mali ang English ko:

"I just discharged the hospital..."

Ilang araw na kasing nakalubog ang ulo ko sa unan at ang katawan ko sa kama. Totoo, masarap maglagi, matulog, magbate, kumain, mag-internet at magbloghop habang nakahilata sa kama. Pero ibang bagay kapag more than a day na.

According to wikipedia, my doctor and the winningest nurse ever, these bouts of headache are normal side-effects of lumbar puncture. It occurs in 10-30% of the patients and would usually last from 1 day to 1 week. I am on my third day.

Nung sinabi ko sa isang kasama sa bahay ito, ang tanong nya:

"Masakit ba ang lumber puncture?"

I think it is the thought of a larger needle stuck in your spine that makes lumbar puncture painful. Actually, it is only when the foreign object that is the needle enters the skin that is painful. After that, nothing.

For the second victorious time, I had to go through it since my syphillis got active again. They wanted to know if the virus has gotten into my nervous system.

In both occasions, the doctors who "did" me were young, smooth, goodlooking Chinese men. They made me lie on my left side and curl in a strictly fetal position, with my knees almost touching my chin and my elbows. While I don't have a thing for Chinitos, I couldn't help but utter the famous lines:

"Please be very gentle, doc. I am still a virgin."

I received a dressing down from my doctor for contracting the syphillis again. He told me that he, like my parents, can only do so much. It is up to me, the son, the patient, to decide what is best for this body.

He identified the ulcers on the soles of my feet, my palms, my head and yes, my scrotum as symptomatic of syphillis. My skin dashed into a whiter shade of pale after hearing the solution, the only solution - penicillin, two shots for three sessions.

I was very concerned about the ulcers. Mawawala daw yon, pero ang virus hindi kapag hindi inaksyunan. Noticing that some of the ulcers are actually peeling away, I glanced back at him with the sweetest smile I can possibly offer.

Nang tumingin si father doctor, kulang na lang sigawan nya ako:

"Puta ka. Burikak ka. Pagerper ka."

Pero hindi nya ginawa. Hindi sya taga-San Pablo.

Huling Sulyap: Venezuela

Nakakailang tulog na ako dito sa Hong Kong at nakalimutan ko na ang Venezuela.

Pero di ako pinapatulog ng ilang mga alaala. At ng mga litratong naiwan kong nagsasardinas sa loob ng 512MB card.

Kaya't itataktak ko na dito ang mga natitirang imaheng nakahalukipkip sa aking sumasakit na ulo. Sa abot ng aking makakaya:

a) Lugar

Walang pinagkaiba ang Caracas sa Maynila. May metro, palengke, beauty parlor, tindahan ng prutas, mani at kung anik-anik sa labas. May museo, internet shop, inuman, at tindahan ng mga chino.

Wala lang silang peanut butter, pedicab station at mga bumbay na nakasakay sa motorsiklo. Wala naman tayong mga papang manchu na tumatambay sa mga panaderya't tindahan. Tulad nito:

b) Sining

Mahilig din sila sa art. Mula contemporary art hanggang sa mga impressionist. Natuwa ako syempre sa mga political art. Madali kasing maintindihan ng ordinaryong tao. Sino naman naniniwala sa peskeng art for art's sake na yan? Bukas ang museo nila at LIBRE tuwing family day, Sunday!

Ito ang winner. Nitong 2006, nagwalk at nagtalk sa sanlaksang Venezolanos at Venezolanas ang kilalang installation artist na si Spencer Tunick ng US para makumbinseng magpakuha ng hubo sa publiko. And there you go, after the US, Spain, Chile, Germany and Holland, ating iwelcome ang Venezuela.

Sya ang fave ko: si Starley. Katulad ko, baka inenjoy na lang nya ang moment kahit di nya magets bakit sya nandun. He's better off though, he can take notes.

c) Boys

Ginalugad ko na ang lahat ng sulok ng memory card pero sila lang ang nahanap ko. Wala si Rimi pero nandito ang 18-yr old na kaibigan nyang si Etienne. Bata pa lang, me talent na. As for the others, sadyang pinaninindigan nila ang love handles. Haaay.







So ito na talaga ang last? Si, ito na.

Ubersexuals 1: Photo Aperitifs

Enough brouhaha over the metrosexuals. Welcome the ubersexuals.

Bago pa nagland ang funda sa mga fez ng mga metrosexual hopefuls, laganap na sa buong daigdig ang mga ubersexuals.

Ubersexuals, according to today's politically-inclined fashionistas, are men who ooze such manly aura, have a great sense of style (without even trying) and most importantly, are very passionate with changing the world. Tru, tanging mga mhen lang ang ubersexuals.

So, for starters, iilan lamang ang mga manchung ito sa mga bagong breed of the ubersexuals na aking nameet sa Caracas. Well, they are not necessarily ubersexuals. Me mga possibilities lang.

Eurolatino ang datetch ni Papang in short hair. Nakalimutan ko na kung sino ang kamukha nitetch sa American showbusiness pero day, oozing ang hitad. Bedroomic ang voice at talaga naman, pag ngumite. Once nagsmile ang papang, di lang liliwanag sa buong kaparangan ng Gobi desert, mala-lockjaw ka pa sa ganda ng pearly whites ng hayup. Hayup!

Ito naman ang mga youth of the Slovaks. Eastern Europeans. Me pagka-anarkista ang arrive. Pero Bel ami ang pumasok sa aketch nang masight ang mga youngish activists na mga iterlz. Waving the red flag ang emote habang suot-suot ang mga tight-fitting black pants and DM-look alike boots. Dugyot ang moda pero deadma. I'm sorry pero in-imagine ko silang tumatakbo sa kagubatan ng Rusya bearing the red flag. And only with a red flag.

Ito si Julio, isang latinong winner ang fez, winner ang boses. Nangilid na lang ang luha ko nung makita't napakinggan ko sya. Parang inihehele nya ako ng kanyang boses while I suck... my thumb to sleep. Tse!

And dito, I was finally convinced na good looks can only bring you to such distance. Pero ang purpose, day ang purpose, parang flour (floor, ika nga ni Mrs. M.)

With good looks, 6packs and a tight butt, aabot ka lang sa fashion magazine, commercials at possibly porn na makakalimutan din afterwards. Ang sense of greater self and purpose, wit. Although di naman pinangarap ng mga papa with a purpose ang lumanding sa history books, revolutionary songs at sa puso ng maraming aktibista.

Unfortunately, commercialism took advantage at ayun, nasa mga boutique racks na ang mga fezlak ng mga tetz.

Tinanong ko minsan ang isang nakasuot ng t-shirt na me mukha ni Che: Sino sya?

(Nakaturo sa textong nakadikit sa fez ni Papang, dilaw pa ata ang color) Si Che!

Sino si Che?

Si Che.

Tinalikuran ko sya.

(More pics next time.)

The Promise

Huli man daw at magaling, papanoorin pa rin.

I broke my promise of posting the pics last Monday. Before I have my long, muy caliente date with my doctor tomorrow until Friday, ilalagay ko na sila.

Ilalagay ko na sila.

(Sa boses at pamamaraang tanging ang late Inday Badiday lang ang makakagawa)

Promise.

Life in Cartoon Motion

Pardon the uber delayedness of the trip pictures.

In that region where politics and yes, sometimes sex, reign supreme, I was politically active and vibrant as everyone else was but was astonishingly prude at the same time.

I think I subconsciously silenced my sexual id while I engaged with men, and women, of color with politics. At the back of my head, however, I felt like Daria except I didn't believe in existentialism. That is so Gen X, even Madonna's career outlived such a concept.

Well, I was just procrastinating with the real reason for the delay of picture postage: I was horribly too timid to take pictures of the men upfront. I did take some good photos of some men though. But the men, the men I liked, and the man I mislabeled as love, I unfortunately didn't.

Rimi

Now that I mentioned that object of mislabeled emotion, I was pertaining to Rimi, the French but not the rat. He came in just about the same time as the movie Ratatouille. I hate repeating myself in different occasions; I find it very trite, unoriginal and almost treading the threshold of extreme ordinariness.

On Rimi, he was like an image torn out of a cereal carton. He was like some Japanese character, except he was French. He was strangely goodlooking.

He had deep orange curly locks which frame his melon seed face so beautifully. He had very light pastel-green eyes, like pumpkin seeds gone pale, rounded and molded into his eyelids. He had small pouting lips that were so red, it was like his heart pumped so much life into them.

He was tall and lanky. He was almost pale white yet so fiery deep inside. He was like a furnace made of cold adobe and cement yet incessantly burning with so much coals.

As soon as we laid eyes on each other, we just kept looking. I was in the panel discussing about Asia Pacific and he was in the first row listening intently with eyes fixed on the one speaking. We only got to talk two days after and we were almost inseparable had it not been for his friends who constantly watched over him. And us.

The French have a way of greeting one another. They would kiss each other twice in both cheeks, almost close to the ears.

On the day he left, he did the same to me, except he did it close to my lips.

My cheeks almost burned, as if the life he transmuted was so strong I almost reddened like a a minute-old infant. But I didn't blush.

That was the closest we got to being physical. After that, we barely took notice of each other. We wouldn't have known of stolen glances until that final moment I went back into the hotel and he entered the bus.

I felt a hidden camera was panning back and forth, between me and Rimi. Flashes of him looking towards nothingness then me staring blankly at the lift doors. The colors would gradually pale to grey and slowly back into a monochrome of red. As the red dissolves with dark grey until all space completes itself into a void of black, a voice thundered from behind so vividly yet so softly, almost tangibly I thought it was mine:

The last time we talked, Mr. Smith, you reduced me to tears. I promise you it won't happen again.

I wanted to be Julie Delpy but I guess I became too Grace Kelly. And he, too Humphrey Bogart.