he said, he said

is there ever one story to an experience? will two people ever have the same version of the truth on what has transpired between them? will knowing the ‘other’ version give one closure? i ask this because of a guy who i dated more than ten years ago who suddenly reappeared. and this is our story. my version, that is.



2007, three years ago
london

giving in to one’s craving sometimes requires you to freeze your ass off.

i was thinking this as i threw my cigarette butt on the wet gutter of the paddington train station exit. it was densely and messily populated by hundreds of butts in various states of damp decomposition. it was disgusting, i thought, as i wrap my leather jacket tighter around me, willing myself to ignore the cold.

i considered lighting up another before walking to my train.

the contemplation was ongoing when it was stopped short by the sight of a couple walking to my direction. not because they were filipino (which, even at a distance, i’m sure they were), not because they were sweet (which they were), not even because the guy was hot (which i thought he was – but my taste in men is legendary in its inconsistency) - but because i was sure i once dated the man who was holding the woman so protectively as they were walking.

‘hey.’ – he said.

‘hey.’ – i said.

‘where are you going?’ – he asked.

‘i’m taking the heathrow express to catch my flight back to johannesburg.’ – i explained.

‘so you still live in africa.’ – he half-asked, half stated.

‘yes. and you are now based in london?’ – i asked, now increasingly uncomfortable that we are chatting as if oblivious of the woman in his arms.

‘yes,’ he smiled at her, ’give me a call the next time your in london’

‘will do.’ – i smiled, thinking i don’t remember his name much less any information on his contact details.

‘bye, then.’ he said.

‘bye’ – she said, seemingly impervious to the fact that we weren’t introduced.

they walked off.

‘bye.’ i said as i see him look back and give me a knowing smile.

all throughout the train ride, checking in and boarding the plane, i was bothered that i cannot remember his name. now i am the first one to admit that i have gone through a slutty phase and will not claim that i remember everybody i slept with. but i was sure this guy was, well – significant.

i kept on thinking of his name i cannot remember until the plane took-off and the seatbelts lights went off.

‘larry!*’ i muttered to myself as i suddenly remembered his name, prompting the man seating next to me to give me a quizzical look.

as flight attendants started handing out peanuts and serving drinks, memories awash giving my ritual vertigo on plane take-offs and landings a run for head space.



1999, eleven years ago
malate, manila – after the pride march

‘larry!’ i exclaimed because he punched the galvanized iron wall of an empty lot, on a dark area in one of malate side-streets. the wall made a booming sound that i was sure can be heard three blocks away. ‘what’s wrong with you?!’

larry was upset. we agreed to take a walk away from the maddening crowd of the pride street after-parties. we spent some time walking in welcome, if awkwad, silence. suddenly, he stopped. and then histrionics. after punching the wall, he stood there quietly and then sat on an nearby abandoned bench.

he’s brooding and unpredictable. also confused and messed-up about his sexuality. just the kind of guy i found so hot in those days.

‘what’s wrong?’, i touched his shoulder and dropped the ‘with you’ in the hope that it might trigger something other than silent distress.

‘what do you want from me?’

‘what do you mean?’

‘you are dating buddy. you are writing love letters to elmer.* why are you wasting time with me? what do you want?’

‘buddy and i are not in a relationship – he’s a friend. elmer is history – i can’t even explain the stupidity of waking up one night and giving in to the urge of writing him a letter when he’s obviously still with his boyfriend. but you – i want you. i want a relationship with you.’

‘i’m fucked up.’

‘i know.’

‘haha.’ – it sounded both like a smirk and pained laughter. he stood up and i followed. he suddenly pinned me against the wall, both in hands cuffing my wrists, his whole body pressing urgently against mine.

‘is this what you want?’ he was so close i smell the damp heat of his breath on my neck.

‘don’t be an idiot, larry. we’re in public.’

‘no one’s here.’ he said (or grumbled), as he grazed his cheek against mine.

‘why don’t we go back to my place and talk?’

‘haha.’ – again the smirk-laugh. he pressed on me heavier and tighten his grip of my wrists.

‘stop it, larry, you’re hurting me!’ i shouted as i pushed him away. he seemed surprised at being rebuked. he sat again on the bench. i followed and we were quiet. then he said quietly,

‘let’s go to your place’

i don’t remember the ride back home. i do remember we ended up in my bed in just our tighty whities. we lied down next to each other with my arms around him and slept. sometime in the middle of the sexless night, he left while i was sleeping. i woke up thinking that was strange, not knowing it will take more than seven years before i see him again.


2010/present day, quezon city
in my condo, in front of my macbook at night

‘so where’s my pasalubong (gift) from rome?’ a chat box popped up while i was reading friends’ updates in facebook. it was larry. i was surprised he was keeping tabs on me.

‘if you come to manila i might give you a venetian mask i bought.’ – i answered

‘how are you?’ - he asked

‘i’m OK. you?’

‘i’m fine.’

‘i see you are a father now’

‘yes, that makes me very happy’

‘it must be 2AM in london, why are you still awake?’

‘i’m doing the laundry, my wife and the kids are already asleep’

‘i see.’

‘are you happy? you still with your boyfriend, right? are you guys OK?’ –he asked

‘sometimes we are, sometimes we’re not. just like any relationship, i suppose.’

‘there you are again, philosophizing.’

‘we are who we are. but i guess that does not apply to you. you have transformed.’

‘transformed. hahaha’

‘do you miss being with men?’

‘mostly - i miss the sex.’

‘you don’t have to.’

‘i am faithful. not like you.’

‘what?! you don’t know me anymore.’

‘well, you said we are who we are. i remember you tried to juggle me, elmer and buddy at the same time.’

‘that’s your version of the story. not mine’

‘what’s your version?’

‘what’s the point? we cannot ever be.’ i was feeling a little pissed off by this time.

‘was there ever a ‘we’?’

‘you are right. there never was. but why do you insist on painting me as the bad guy?’

‘i don’t. you know what i remember when i think about you? bridges of madison county’

‘what? why?’ wondering what is the relation between me and ms. streep's movie.

‘we watched it in your apartment once. we should reconcile our stories you know.’

‘why?’

‘because it is exciting.’

‘it’s not to me.’

‘wait. the baby is crying. i have to go.’

then, just like that, he was gone again.

i don’t know why larry and i have different versions of the story. more importantly, i don’t know why larry is interested in reconciling our versions of our story. frankly, while i know i fancy myself being in love with him at one point, what i wrote here represents all of my memory of larry. nothing more. and to me what it says is that subjected against the time and the distance between us, that ‘love’ probably was a figment of my own imagination or a product of my heart’s own deceit. better put to rest. along with everything that is left unsaid between us.

my point is, the feeling i might have found so earth-shaking before seems not even probable now. and while he has a story to paint a picture of me as he experienced it, i fail to see its import to the ‘me’ of today.

i may never see larry again. somehow, that thought does not bring any sadness. only lingering questions on the story he feels a need to tell.

*names of men i dated are changed to protect the errr, innocent.

to (temporarily) change a blog title

as a child i believed that your home defines who you are. like a fixed physical space roots your identity.

now i wonder, if you move from one place to the other so quickly, will you remain intact? or will pieces of you fall off, leaving you unraveled?

i ask this because in the last 3 weeks i moved around 6 cities in 4 countries in rapid succession. for work, not for fun. and it has left me – well, exhausted.

not that i am blind to the perks of work that allows (or shall i say, requires?) you to travel. after posting travel pictures, my FB friends send me messages lush with admiration, even envy. and yet after all the high from the ‘likes’, the comments and the messages fade, i am back home and wishing i wasn’t too tired i can’t even make love decently.

truth be told, i am a horrible traveler. not just because my mild vertigo makes my head feel like its exploding in every take-off and landing. mainly because shortly after i arrive in every new city, after the relief that comes from passing through (and not being detained) in passport control, i take the quickest way to my hotel (or wherever i am supposed to stay) and try to recreate a semblance of home-ness. that ranges from unpacking my toiletries and arranging them on the sink or looking for the nearest mcdonald’s for affordable comfort food.

shameful, huh? the consternation did not hit until i stared at my mcdonald’s meal spelling out its name in some sexy language i don’t understand.


but despite my apparent lack of travel élan, there were magical moments. passing minutes stolen from the cracks of grueling work hours – like meeting a german girl on a train to berlin and chatting away for hours, or being serenaded to sleep by a long-haired british guitarist in my own room because we got stuck there together by mere chance, or stumbling into a student rally in istanbul and ogling the luscious riot police.

it is in this magical moments that i realize i can be swept away and forget who i am. that’s probably the reason for marking my territory of things familiar in a strange place. it’s like leaving the home lights on so you can remember where to go back to.

torn between the lure of the unknown and the comfort of the familiar i prayed for a sign and it came to me as a graffiti on the elevator of my last hotel:


now, i may not exactly be able to travel with my pussy, but i can sure stop being a pussy and just enjoy taking a journey and the opportunity to come back home.

follow your road

'have you ever wondered where your road will lead you?'

- pauline wilson



i have passed by SLEX more than 10 times this month.

i traversed the highway for different reasons: to escape the city, to perform social obligations, to be with my partner, to rush in aid of a friend.

always. always i find myself back to where i started.

i'm starting to wonder if this pattern is an analogy to my own life's journey.

so i ask the question dear adele asked,

'should i give up
or should i keep on chasing pavements
even if it leads nowhere?'

and i ask my own question: they say each of us have to find his own path. how do you know it is yours if you don't know where you want to go?

remembering the tinman, finale

i started this series early 2009 and lost interest in finishing it. last month, a mutual friend told me that M got married recently. i thought, that’s a good reason to finish this story. to close the book symbolically, so to speak.

although much can still be told about this affair that spanned more than 2 years across 2 continents, i thought i should end with the start of the end. we met again a few times after this episode in london, but i never felt the same way about him after this.

for those who are interested, the story started here.


ten years ago, london – by the river thames

cranes. i noticed these modern apparatus as i look at the london city skyline. they spring from the gaps of ancient buildings that seem to be oblivious of their presence and are complacent of their places in this world. the city was replete with these giant mechanical limbs with what seemed to be an effort to resist its limits. wanting to grow bigger. newer. greater. i look at the metal arms reaching out to the grey skies and feel something within me calling out its affinity with their spirit. i, too, would like to reach out and burst away from myself.

i think the cranes are doing a better job.

i turned to the street musician who kept on playing his poignant song despite the drizzle in the cold grey afternoon. tourists passed by and acknowledged his efforts with loose change without really looking at him or listening to his song. he punctuated his rendition of don’t let me be lonely tonight with ‘thank you!’ every time a coin dropped at his guitar case spread before him. i wonder what’s more important to him, for people to give him money or listen to his song. his voice was more kenny rogers than james taylor. i’ll be damned if that gives me a clue to his motivation. besides, i’ve got no loose change.


framing him was hms belfast. the gargantuan ship seems world weary from war yet resentful to be docked forever in the river, humiliated to be transformed from peacekeeper (or more accurately war-keeper?) to mere tourist bait.

people, boats and the river moved on and we kept to our places– the musician, the warship and me. lost in a world that moves too fast.

still, his mournful crooning and the ship’s silent resentment provided perfect backdrop for the way i’m feeling. i sit in one of the benches by the river sipping the cappuccino i got from a nearby street-side café and tried to ignore that my cigarette is increasingly harder to smoke as it becomes wet from the rain. i have an umbrella in my bag but i didn’t bother to open it. what’s the point? i’m wet already. nothing beats the sitting in the rain-sipping cappuccino-smoking-moping combination when you’re feeling blue anyway.

i put out my already dying wet cigarette in my paper cup realising too late that i wanted that last sip of cappuccino.

shit.

i tore my gaze from the musical tableau and turned to look for something cheerful. an asian couple was kissing passionately framed by the tower bridge, like us, unmindful of the rain. unlike us, however, their entwined form presented a picture hallmark cards are made of. i felt the equal parts sinking and bursting sensation in the pit of my stomach.

it’s not fair for my 7 wonderful sunny days in england to be ruined by one single event. i met with M. and today it started raining.


the night before

after having dinner at my friend’s flat in wimbledon, M and i took a walk to have some privacy.

‘can you believe this?’ he said pointing out to a picture of a flat for sale for a hundred thousand pounds as we passed by a real estate office. ‘i hate these people tying themselves up for life for a piece of property.’

‘M, why are you so angry?’

‘what?!’ he asked getting angrier.

‘since you arrived, throughout dinner, and now. all you did is complain about things. the underground, the people of london, the bus driver, my friends. we haven’t seen each other for almost three months, can’t you just chill and be happy?’

‘i don’t know what you are talking about.’

we continued walking in silence until we passed by a churchyard.



‘let’s go inside and sit on the grass.’

we sat in silence for a short while. after a few minutes he reached out wihtout a word. he kissed me without saying anything. soon things got heavy and he was pinning me down on the grass, dry humping me in the dark. i pulled back.

‘someone can walk by anytime,’ i said feebly.

‘you look so hot with your blonde hair. reminds me of a korean footballer i saw on the telly,’ he said reaching out for my hand and rubbing it against his distended crotch.

‘let’s go back to the flat.’ i said standing up.

we went back and fucked the whole night. at one point he smoked a cigarette and bent over an open window. i entered him from behind, thinking i didn’t really like him. anymore.


the morning after

‘she thought you are coming to stay and will refuse to leave,’ M was explaining why his girlfriend whose living room in greenwich we were sitting at won’t meet me.

‘and you believed her?’ i asked, fighting back the urge to hurt him. if only to make him feel the pain i was feeling inside. i don’t know what was more hurting, the idea that he thinks so lowly of me or that the prospect of me insinuating myself into his life is so frightening for him.

‘i didn’t. but i didn’t know what to think. and you always were so hectic about us. i don’t know...’ his voice faded mid-sentence.

again, the silence.

i was thinking that after my detached thoughts during sex the night before, the morning seemed to offer a different picture. when he woke up, he invited me to see where he lives (with his girlfriend), took me to greenwich where he showed me the maritime museum, the meridian and cutty sark. then we had lunch at the weekend market before we went to his place. we were having one of those once familiar bromance-with-benefits time that showed definite glimpses of the reason why i fancied myself in love with him. until he had to talk about his girlfriend and how he might get married. which was fine, only he felt he needed to justify this by saying hurtful things.

‘i think i should go,’ i said - getting up to leave. ‘i’ll let myself out.’

he also got up and caught up with me at the door, and touched my arm.

‘don’t be like this.’ he said, when i stopped, trying to catch my eye.

‘and exactly how should i be like?’ i said without looking at him.

i waited for a few seconds, when he didn’t answer i pulled away.

‘goodbye, M.’

as i was walking to the train station i felt i wanted to burst out of myself. i thought, i can’t see my friends like this, i should wait, take a walk till i calm down.

i took a train to westminster, and took a walk by the river thames.

i noticed the cranes.

2009: my year in pictures

as i look back to the year that was 2009 . i thought of many ways do a year-end post.

i decided i'd make it simple - just share with you some significant things that happened last year.



the first thing will have to be celebrating new year in sagada. going back there after 9 years (when G & i celebrated the turn of the millenium), i had a chance to see how much the place changed and how much of what was important remained the same. much like the people i reconnected with when i got back from africa.



i also spoke of the role of civil society (that is, the non-profit sector) in development in the asean people's forum in bangkok in february. living it is one thing, trying to discuss it with people who are non-profit development workers themselves was like, well - selling nips to the kids in charlie & the chocolate factory. tough crowd.



here i am signing an agreement in washington on behalf of some network to facilitate a civil society campaign project in asia. in one of the schmoozy dinners some of the representatives from other countries had an animated discussion whether we (the non-profit sector) have indeed made it to the negotiating table of powers in the world. i somehow spoiled the fun when i said - 'personally, the issue of whether or not we have the power is incidental. the more important question is whether what we are doing is contributing to preventing a labour leader from being killed or a women's group activist from being discriminated or a HIV activist from being ridiculed.' they were silent and looked at me reproachfully. (i am thinking they were thinking - there goes the 3rd world activist again with his dream world) oh well. my dinner was gourmet inedible anyway.



i had the opportunity to visit prague for a conference - the most beautiful place i have ever been (imagine a vineyard in the middle of the town!). most gay boys wondered if i stumbled into the bel-ami boys. sadly, errr, no. but the absence of the smooth gay porn demigods did not take away anything from the lovely, lovely city.



for a while, i volunteered with task force pride representing rainbow bloggers. here we had a die-in in the middle of BED's ledge in commemoration of the international day against homophobia (with the rest of the clientele thinking we have gone stark raving mad). unfortunately, the demands of my day job made me opt out of the TF later. thus dousing my hopes of being the philippines answer to harvey milk. just kidding.



in may, jp and i celebrated his birthday by going to the crater of taal. it was his first volcano while it was my first crater. we also ziplined in picnic grove. i have many fond memories of sharing many firsts with my life partner in tagaytay.




one of the most memorable places i've been in last year was the bencab museum. in august 3 gay couples made a road trip to baguio. very chilled getaway. we spent the time in the road discussing whether we think harvey keitel is fuckable enough... (or maybe that was just me justifying my lust for the bad leiutenant?)




in september i finally travelled overseas with my longtime friend E. i have always imaagined it will be a blast to travel with her and i was right. stockholm was memorable not because it was pretty (which it was) but because i was there with her. here we were pretending to be interested in some british guy's talk of human rights situation in colombia (while there were colombians in the audience. absurd? don't ask!) our pretending only went too far as 20 minutes and then we left our dinner tables in favour of cam-whoring.



en-route back to manila, E & i stopped by a couple of days in amsterdam to do 'tourist-y' stuff. we enjoyed shopping most of all (H&M is god's gift to the budget shoppers wanting to still look up to date). we also spent almost a day in the street market (they have tiangge's in holland!) but realised that the things that we want there were beyond our budget. it was fun to compare the stalls with the ones we had in the philippines, anyway.



early december, i finally landed in paris (which every self-respecting gay boy should visit) for a series of meetings. meetings that lasted much shorter than the travel (this is the story of my life, by the way). i was with E again and it was fun. we went all the way to paris to walk the fashionable champs elysees only to find.. mud. (i swear i am not making this up). but the significant thing about paris is that the friends i met in south africa almost a decade ago flew in for a night out (!) - one from chad, the others from canada & london. here we did our obligatory group pic inside a ID photo booth in the paris metro. i love these guys.



and then, (despite my resistance) i turned 40. here - i am flanked by my former girlfriends who managed to accept (even celebrate) my sexual preference transition and remain friends. G & jp threw the party for me. bff & bf wanting to make you happy - what more can a guy ask for?



for christmas i rented a resort of some sort in quezon city for my whole family. the kids (these include my brothers, mind you) had a blast playing games in the swimming pool. it was a good way to reconnect and re-affirm ties that bind not only because of blood and shared history.



speaking of shared history, the gang had a party between christmas and the new year. we all had a rough year and it it was a comfort that friends you had when you were young remain to be there.



and then for the new year, G threw a 2010 countdown party in his condo. fun and gay. perfect way to toast 2009 and welcome the new year.

so what's the verdict for 2009. it was a tough year of transition and finding my feet. it was challenging to balance a relationship, keep my friends, hold on to my job and maintain my various involvements. over-all, i have to say, it was a pretty good year.

so 2010, hit me with your best shot.

i'm ready.

memory like elephants

all of my memories of elephants are happy:

like the elephant that swings from side to side that one day me and my brothers bullied my father to take us to manila zoo;

or the elephant that chased our little hired car once on a road trip and we got hopelessly lost in a wildlife reserve in limpopo province;

or the elephant that scared my mother when i took her to a night safari in kruger's park;

and very recently the hundred elephants parade that my friend id and i followed all throughout amsterdam because we were hopeless tourists.

they say 'an elephant never forgets'. in fact, some studies show the verity of this claim. specifically, the ability of the matriarch in an elephant herd to 'remember' and recognise danger, migration route and source of food is crucial it the herd's survival.


lately, my brothers and i are noticing that my mother is losing her memory. it started with her repeating herself. then she started to forget where she places things. now she is starting to forget details of events.

my mother's loss of memory fill me with a deep sense of sadness. i guess my mother has always been the bastion of strength in the family. to the extent that she is the one true person you can always rely on. now, i have to contend with the fact that that strength is affected by age. of her being in the sunset of her life. and in contending with my mothers' mortality, i have to contend with my own.

some people tell me, 'you have a memory like an elephant.'

maybe because things are fleeting that i hold on to the memories of people, things and event that are dear.

and i never want to forget my elephants.

vanity flair 2

i have been trying to revive my blogdrive (drive to update my blog, that is).

unfortunately, i always seem to be behind with work that all i can do when i get home is watch a movie (to clear my mind), drink (to manage my stress) or worse, work some more.

at any rate i decided i would update my blog by posting pics of myself (i'm not vain, really - i'm not) in stockholm where i am at the moment. that way i don't really have to think about what i am going to say.



after dinner & drinks at the theater


freezing my ass off in front of the royal palace


strutting my stuff in front of the stockholm international fairs and congress center, in the hope that the hot janitor would notice me (he didn't).


and finally, channeling my inner model by sitting on scandinavian furniture (realising too late that i cannot out stage those fixtures) at the swedish international development office

if you want to see pictures of stockholm without my eager mug blocking the way, scroll down and wait for the slide show to load.

but hey, winter came early in sweden. it so happened i cannot stay in the nordic countries for an extended period of time because the wet, drab and grey weather gets to me. so if this post blows, blame it on climate change.

vanity flair

my mother said, if you don't have anything good to say, keep your mouth shut.

so i have been quiet. but i opened my blog in this dark, grey and rainy day (coming home after work) and it stared back at me with the eyes of a neglected child.

so i decided i'll post something -

even if it is just a vanity post of pictures of me in prague and amsterdam. it's the reason i have to catch up with the work that was left behind and ignore my blog anyway.

here's me thinking i was in the tower next to the bridge where tom hanks saved matt damon's privates - not.



here's me trying to toss in a fountain (turned on by the cherubic angels) - drat that colleague who keeps on taking my pics!



and then so - tired from all that...



finally - i couldn't leave prague without paying homage to kawadjan for that obligatory jumpshot. (apologies to the ultimate jump shot goddess - i can't pout while doing this and instead open my mouth like an idiot)



in amsterdam i laid low and killed time in a sidewalk cafe near the flower market



but i guess even when you are travelling incognito the paparazzi will still catch you as you leave the esprit shop thinking how outrageously you spent your hard earned money on something you don't need.



OK that's it. my mother is probably right - i should've just keep my mouth and blog shut. but hey - any self-respecting faggot should indulge his vanity once in a while, right?

memories are deceitful above all things

...

caloocan city, midnight, 1995

having survived what must have been the worst ‘date’ of all time; a torturous dinner in cafe ysabel worthy of all sorts of indigestion, i felt a certain relief. i put the word ‘date’ in quotation marks because i didn’t know what exactly just happened.

despite the disastrous rendezvous j was dropping me off at my place. still, the drive home proved to be be just like the dinner, a series of uncomfortable silences punctuated by awkward small talk. it was a few blocks from home so i was not taking any more of it.

“why do we even bother?”

i saw his forearms flex in the steering wheel and his jaw muscles clench. his dark brooding eyes peered through his long hair, “i think we both know why we want this.”

i didn’t know what he meant and i wanted to ask, but it was my street corner. his big car couldn’t go much further into the urban poor side streets. so he stopped. again, the silence.

“goodbye, then.” i said as i reached for the door handle.

“goodbye, kiel.”

i felt there were things that were to be said but it was not the time. i stepped out of his car. as i closed the door i saw that he was already looking ahead. i stood there and watched him drive off, his car’s rear end lights blinking farewell in the dimly lit side street.

i knew i will probably never see him again.



washington dc, close to midnight, 2009

after finishing his lobster dinner, j and i asked the fil-am waitress if we can smoke outside. the dinner was unlike the one that we had more than 10 years ago. though i didn’t eat (on the account of having to endure some ghastly vegetarian dinner earlier while schmoozing with NGOs from all over the world, contemplating on our raison d’etre and our changing place in the power tables), it went well because we actually talked.

getting the blessing of our waitress, we were standing in the curb of a shabby chic restaurant cum bookshop near dupont station. smoking thoughtfully. it was almost midnight.



“so, you don’t live in the city, right?” i asked.

“that’s right. i live in virginia, about 45 minutes via the metro,” he gestured vaguely at the direction of the station.

“so what time’s the last trip?”

“midnight.”

“we better get going then.”

“it’s alright,” he said, taking a long drag from his flickering cigarette.

“alternatively, you can stay at my hotel and i can do funny things with your body,” i offered deadpan.

“i appreciate the gesture but, no thanks, ” he paused thoughtfully, “ besides i have work tomorrow.”

“good. i really don’t want to sleep with you. but you were being so nice i thought it would be rude not to make a pass.’

we looked at each other and then we started laughing while putting out our cigarettes.

back at our table, we both reached for our drinks quietly, the laughing fading to smiles.

“a lot of people think i’m gay, but i’m not – you know,” he said suddenly serious, looking me in the eye.

“we dated once, j.”

“really? i don’t remember. all i remember is that i felt you were always judging me. and how i proved you right being mr. establishment, working for the bank. while you are still an activist.”

i studied him, looking for signs of denial. the thinning clean cut hair and boxy marks & spencer suit have taken the place of the long silky hair and tight fitting shirts of old. the ‘suit’ looked earnest. if he was lying it didn’t show in his countenance.

“i wasn’t exactly memorable, but yes – we did go out once. and i never judged you.”

the silence that once was the trademark of our time together came back.

”so what are you doing tomorrow night?” he asked. but before i can answer, he continued, “ oh no, i have a date with this girl tomorrow.” he was frowning.

“that’s ok" i said, adding promptly, "we should go, or you will miss your train.”

we paid the bill and walked outside.

“well, enjoy the rest of your stay in washington” he said.

”i will. goodbye, j.”

we hugged tentatively.

“check me out if you come back, in case i’m still here.”

“sure,” i said quietly, not knowing if i was being truthful.

i turned and walked away, zipping my jacket to ward away the cold. i was already thinking that for 14 years i thought that there were things to be said between us and it turned out there was none.

i don’t know if he was watching my departure because i didn’t look back.

the beauty is in the detail

this post should be in a blog called "life as a slide-show"

i kept on dissing travelling and my work as if they’re the most painful thing imaginable.

to be fair, there is beauty in these travels. and i thought id share with you some:

most recently, in geneva - the 3 days was a full-on airport-hotel-meeting venue-hotel-airport affair. despite that in my 30 minutes in the airport i found these...

the smokers' lounge was lit by these floating orbs that exude soft yellow light

just in case the smokers feel too marginalised and decide to set the airport on fire, they made the fire alarm cute and non threatening


and they can ponder on their evil deeds while sitting in this bench

while of course, flicking their ashes in this ashtray.

i raved enough about the beijing airport, but let me show you just how i started being awed by it...

i drank in this fountain and as i brought my head up, i noticed the clean and crisp design. (which goes to show you'll never know what you will discover after bending over)

this made me think should there be posh garbage for this bin that can easily be functional art

and this toilet entrance made me feel like there's a ramp and i had to strut my way in.

in istanbul, the almost eight hours lay-over got me stuck in the business lounge of the modern airport. the lounge, however, attempts at highlighting east meets west design...

the lounge was lit by this chandelier.

for the most part, i watched tv. and my, they did try to make high tech blend in with old world charm

before leaving i went to pee and used these faucets to wash my hands.

in bishkek, i had time to go to the national park for 30 minutes and i found
painted rocks

a cafe bar signage

and a dilapidated seat in their national park

but i will be amiss if i fail to say that beauty can be found in (where else?) my own shoes!

my black kurt geiger lace-ups (featured here with my quirky socks).

and my personal favourite, camper suede ankle high boots topped by viktor cords

these shoes take me to these places, after all.

the pics are a sorry excuse, i know. but it reminds me that, despite the drudgery, there is so much beauty in the world.