Ledgelife

[ledgelife]

I just read about the fundraising efforts for the restoration of Formula 17, one of the first gay movies I watched in the cinema.

If you watch it now, the story may come off stale since it follows all the tropes of a gay romcom. But back in 2004, it blew my mind. The Taiwan in the film seemed like utopia to me. Now, 2021, it's very real—gay marriage is legal, LGBTQ icons are openly being celebrated, there are safe spaces everywhere—and it's surreal that I'm here.

In Formula 17, every single character is gay. Its world, whether intentional or by circumstantial omission, is void of straight people and all the trauma that comes with living in a heteronormative society. So, when you take away all that unnecessary social drama away, what's left is a cute little love story full of hijinks with a touch of very real human insecurities.

Watching it then as a teen was so refreshing because it painted gay life as normal. And as a gay man in his 30s, I can 100% say that gay life is just that: We make friends. We fall in love. We get busy. We get lonely. We get bored and super horny. It's humanizing.

Anyway, I’m just being sentimental. I didn’t expect to feel these emotions after scrolling through local news. Don’t mind me.

[ledgelife]

If I were active on Instagram, my feed would probably just be photos of all the food I either cooked or ate.

[ledgelife]

Haven't done this here in a while. Hullo, Tumblr. Let's see if I can write here as frequently as I did before.

[ledgelife]

Pinays

On my way to work, I ride a bus that, almost without fail, gets full of Filipinas. They always hop on at the station right before my stop. Depending on how fast the traffic light changes, I'd say I get an average of five minutes observing them, overhearing their candid conversations. These Filipinas—over a dozen of them—for some reason, always talk in a very loud fashion. I don’t find them obnoxious. They're just... loud, as if every syllable enunciated carried the full force of their emotions—variations of joy or worry or indignation, but mostly joy.

I've only been taking that bus for three weeks. And within that very short span of time, they've made their presence very familiar. It's not just the melee of Tagalog and Bisaya and Ilokano battling for lingual dominance that announces they're there, it's also the choreographed flicks of wet hair, the strong smell of Sunsilk, and the chorus of unrestricted laughter. The Taiwanese, I found, rarely laugh that much in public transport, so it's interesting to me how freely these Filipinas express themselves, knowing that no one else on that bus understood whatever sentiments they were blurting out, how frustrated they are with their pay, how alarmed they are at the crises at home, how sleepy they are because of the rain. I didn't mean to burst that little private bubble, but today, they decided to camp out by the bus door, my exit. So I did what Filipinos do: I stuck my hand out, palm flat like vertical karate chop, using it as a makeshift rudder as I squeezed through the human barricade they built. When none of them seemed like they would ever budge, I uttered two words, "Makikiraan po." And, as if Red Sea, they parted.

As I was about to step off, I heard one of them whisper, "Ay, Tagalog pala siya." I wonder if they'll treat me any differently tomorrow.

[ledgelife]

9:55 PM

"I think you're in the middle of a really prolonged meltdown."

Dani said this over Telegram. It's the only way I've been able to communicate lately, through sporadic little messages sent during odd times of the day. I've been sending out dispatches quite a lot. There's enough material there for any WebMD specialist to diagnose me with a condition. I'm not depressed, though. I'm far from it.

I'm more frustrated than I am sad or chemically imbalanced. It's only normal for me to feel this way, I tell myself. When you dream big, the effort required to achieve it would also be great. Big dreams require big effort. This is not some two-minute makeover montage where I suddenly become the best version of myself. Wouldn’t that be nice, though? Ah… It's just... hard. Working to turn your fantasies into reality is hard. And it's made even harder by a string of unlucky circumstances, most of which are results of my decisions. I have no one to blame but myself.

I try not to wallow in frustration, though, since I'm fully aware how toxic it is to wallow in your own self-hate and self-doubt. Those negative emotions, those ugly thoughts, they're paralyzing. And if ever I want to be rid of them, I need to keep moving forward. I need to leave them behind.

No one can say that I never went for it, because I did. Because I still am. I am pursuing a big goal I set for myself. I am leaving what has been my biggest comfort zone—this beautiful motley crew I've chosen and everything that comes with them. I am forcing myself to grow up and wise up. I am exploring every option and seeing just how far I can push myself to get better.

The many setbacks, I expected them when I planned all this. Because I'm that kind of guy. I anticipate the worst. I brace myself for the very worst. But heck, playing out worst-case scenarios in your head is way different when you're living them out.

I really want to take time for myself to process all these changes and all these losses I've incurred... but not right now. I am too busy right now. There is so much to do right now. There is no time to waste right now. Right now, I'm required to focus, to cross off items in a robotic fashion, void of emotions. Right now is the time to work, to earn, to stabilize…

This is me venting. There's not much else to say since I'm still in the middle of this weird and tiring transition period. Maybe I'll be able to make sense of all of this once I've found my bearings? But for now, hello. Apparently, I'm in the middle of meltdown. I'm glad you're keeping me company.

[ledgelife]

For my lover

You don't love me the way I want you to love me. And that's fine. I'm at peace with the fact my standards for love are so high that only very few can meet it. I know you love me, and that's enough, even though it's not really.

I am a tough person to love. Because I demand you to prove it. Because I want a love that requires sacrifice on your end. Because I sure would sacrifice a lot to make you feel just how much I love you. I want you to give up what's most important to you. If it's your time, give me your time. If it's your body, pleasure me with it. If it's your money, spoil me rotten. I want you to give me what's most difficult for you to give up. Because if I love you, I would do the same.

But you don't love me the way I want you to love me. And that's fine. I don't expect you to. I just want you to know how I love and how I want to be loved.

[ledgelife]

Rosie

I am fading. In her mind, I’m fading.

I could see it the way she looked at me when she asked what my first name was. It’s Robert. I had to repeat it twice for her to get it right. Robert. She smiled up at me as the word triggered a memory. She knew of a Robert—Jaworski, the basketball player. Jaworski. She repeated the word, looking at me as if she had just won the top prize at bingo. It didn’t matter that I was actually named after a slain senator. What were trivial details when I was quickly fading away before her? And she… she was fading right before me.

We were quickly becoming strangers.

There was a time I was inconsolable. It was a weekend, and we had school the next day. I was sobbing into the front of her shirt as I asked where mommy was. She was telling me to stop crying, and that I would be okay, and that my mommy would come and get me and my brother very, very soon. She was telling me to stay strong. But I couldn’t because I didn’t understand why things were happening. And she hugged me. She hugged me as I kept on wailing. If ever she cried with me, I hadn’t noticed.

Her embrace still reminds me of afternoons spent picking hibiscus flowers from neighbors’ backyards and blowing bubbles from its paste, of scraped knees treated with alcohol and a gentle kiss, of crossword puzzle cutouts she’d pore over for hours, of constant reminders to not run down the stairs while granddad was sleeping, of silk flowers carefully stitched together into table runners, of classical music on her transistor radio, of her soft and wrinkled skin, of her gentleness and her love.

It won’t be long until she forgets me; all bits of me erased as if Robert, her grandson, had never existed. The very thought of it breaks my heart. It’s selfish of me to ask her to stay strong when all she really wants to do is lay down and rest. This beautiful lady had always been an image of strength in my head. To see her so weak—her frail hands barely grasping mine as I walk her home… well, I have no words for that. I can only hope, at 84, she’s happy, even as her present slowly disappears with her past.

Soon, she’ll get reunited with my granddad. It’s been 25 long years since their last embrace. I bet their reunion will be beautiful. I’ll just be here helping her get ready.

[indierawk-blog]

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[ledgelife]

"It takes an ocean not to break." (via indierawk)

[ledgelife]

I haven't been visiting your page for quite some time. Right now, I am back reading your posts I missed. You never fail to amaze me. And what's another thing that keeps me coming back to your page is that I see myself so much in you. I see myself through your experiences, your feelings, your rants. Please don't stop.

Hello. Thank you. This note just made my day. I haven’t been really writing here a lot; not the way I used to, at least. I miss this kind of interaction. It’s nice knowing that I’m not alone, you know, and that people actually feel the way I feel or think the way I think sometimes.

I do try to keep the very personal rants in my private journal, the random burst of trivial feelings on my Twitter feed. I guess my Tumblr account’s right in the middle of those two. I miss it here. I’ve been too busy to update stuff, but it’s nice seeing your message even though I post very rarely. Thanks for the very kind words. Thank you!

[ledgelife]

Visit Original Link

All I really want is for you to understand that I'm a mess. I know you'd like me to go wrong, you'd like me to be gone.

Nothing's gonna hurt me with my eyes shut. I can see through them. I can see through them. I'm drawing pictures I'm evading. I will not use them. I will not use them again.

[ledgelife]

Mandaluyong from the 20th floor. I will remember this view for the rest of my life. It may not be as picturesque as Paris at night or as glamorous as the New York skyline, but for almost two years (or at least those late nights I've stayed up looking out from the balcony), this view has never failed to take my breath away. A crappy photograph just doesn't do it any justice. To me, it'll always be a view of freedom, of reckless hopes, of fun mistakes and drunken conversations. But it's also a visual reminder of nights like this, of me, writing quietly on my bed, and my two best friends sitting in comfortable silence around the kitchen table, doing the things that we like at our own pace, sharing this experience. This is a view I'll cherish.

[junkyardkid-blog]

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[ledgelife]

junkyardkid: Let us die young, let us live forever.

[ledgelife]

One night in August

Everybody goes, eventually, and you can feel it, that space they leave behind. It's the dip in the bed, the empty seat at the table, that pause in the middle of a one-way conversation.

You never did like talking back. You'd just sit there with a smile, crooked teeth on display. You'd look at me like I was the most interesting thing on earth, and we'd stretch the silence that way.

The times you did speak, I listened. I listened over dinner as you talked about work, and family, and how my cacciatore could have used more salt. I listened when you laughed mid-apology, your arms around my waist, and your cheek warm against my neck. I listened when you whispered you loved me in the middle of August, cuddled under the sheets, stifling a giggle. And I had kissed you that time, tasting more than Rum and Coke on your tongue.

I still talk to you, you know? It's often about my day, and how I'm doing, and how you would have loved this or that, and how I miss you. I miss you. But you don't talk back.

[ledgelife]

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[ledgelife]

A quick fix

Boot up. Autopilot. Shut down. Monotony lubricates my limbs. It's the grease that makes every cog in my body run like clockwork, ticking off task after task programmed into the machine I've become. It's the humdrum outdrumming the beats of my mechanical heart, the static this and that overruling the kinetic surges of my flesh, the very little of what's left of my humanity.

Boot up. Autopilot. Shut down. Eventually, it will break down. All machines do when they succumb to wears and tears, to rust that latches onto them without warning—like fears and second-guesses—and creeps into their very cores until they disintegrate, cease to function, cease to exist. And so, monotony, for the lack of better salves, coats every part of me, momentarily.

Boot up.

[ledgelife]

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I've never learned from my mistakes It’s all my fault; you’re hard to break There's nothing I can’t do for you It’s good to know

[ledgelife]

weird hair stage a.k.a. the season of hats