Another Survival

Why did it take so long for me to update again?

Well, see here, I've mentioned about being the middle child and coming from a broken home. In this broken home set up, we have already reached the pre empty nest stage wherein we, the kids, should be taking off, however, the broken home per se as one of the factors, our eldest brother has a combination of the failure to launch syndrome and the Prince of Wales syndrome. If my mother made a miscalculation by treating me like crap, she made a bigger miscalculation by treating our eldest first born as a buddha. Thus the buoyant, bouncy and corpulent shape with the matching sluggish and sloth like lifestyle married with the illusions of grandeur that everything is as feasible as a fairytale (especially if he cries and dramatizes)-- mama would simply melt and give him his candy. Awww (fuck it.)

It gets on our mom's nerves but hey, she spoiled him before and she never will stop spoiling him. I told her that, but noooo-- like the complex equation above just said: she treats me like crap.

And yes she does and it shows as a warrant of arrest with my name on it was presented by a policeman outside our house nearly two weeks ago. I'm not at fault, but let's just say since my signature is on a check for a business of ours and my mother, bright and devious as she is in balancing and upping the ante to her favor, with me expendable of course, deffered payment to a supplying company.

It's not her name. It's mine. So yeah, she'd probably do a gung ho accounting stunt since it wasn't her goose that was gonna get cooked. I had to run and hide at my dad's subdivision in Laguna where the long arm of the law won't be able to reach my poor waning CD4 cells, who were just dying to find out that I was being charged by the Republic of the Philippines.

Surprised, I was solid that day it happened. I just kept quiet and smug about everything. Hey, she treats me like shit anyway, so what's new? It's just a degree higher (or should I say lower?). Am I this numb already? My younger sister was definitely pissed, probably because she saw everything from neutral ground, seeing that I'm doing what I can too help out with the businessess, as our Happy Buddha of an older brother stays happy as the buddha he is, chomping on the pie in the sky that's his girlfriend, who, by the way, will probably never make it to my christmas Card list or anyone in our family's at all for quite sometime.

We can spot a user a mile away, Fatso! Use your head!

Well, after hiding, I posted bail with the help of my mum's attorney. Well at least she thought of HELPING the dirt beneath her feet.

Thank goodness I'm still alive, OK, and amazingly not questioning why these are happening. Honestly, I don't wanna mind them too much. It's not good for me. I'm focusing on my closer friends who I play sports with regularly.

Some of them know, some of them don't, but they're real people. They're not the Ladida Society that go out clubbing and acting so nuveau and pleasing people, who don't care about the new stuff that they bought, or the expensive adventures and latest drugs that they shoved up their noses. Nope, they ain't that. They're people I can talk to when I'm feeling odd and they really listen and help out. They won't stab you on the back because they're not the Gossip Girl type shit that everyone's trying to be nowadays.

All this angst and I'm still ok and smiling coz I know that with the company I'm keeping, the sun is shining on this side of Manila for me.

It helps me survive. It's just that as life will always continue to pour the sweetness and the bitterness and all other kinds of bruhaha, as I have passion for my friends, their problems also affect me and just today a bitter ordeal has struck one of my close friends.

A break up. A gay break up. Usually, for most, they're as common as the jeepneys that add a silvery shade of bull shit to our Metro traffic, gay relationships come and go fast, hard and you wouldn't even know it happened if you don't update regularly.

Here's the sad part: in our team, we all love both of them. Of course, both probably made a mistake, but one had to cheat, and it was the younger one (as usual). They're age gap's kinda big, so I wasn't surprised, it's a technical you-ought-to-know, but it's still different when it really happens to people close to you. This is the part I really don't like: I don't mind if I'm the one getting rained on, but if it's someone I care about, it really affects me (eg Michael Jackson, I cried for him already, he will always be the King of Pop and media treated him worse than how my mum treated me, so I'm really sorry for it, MJ. We love you).

I survived. I'm gonna get through this. We're in this together. It's not game over for me. It won't be game over for you. There's tomorrow. Life goes on. Love goes on. Everything changes and movesin fidgets or leaps and bounds. Everything.

This is supposed to really bother me, but it's not anymore. Maybe because the worst has happened. Or maybe I'm as numb as the corns on my feet. Hah!

Survival. It's a jungle everywhere nowadays.

*Snaps for Everyone*

Compromise

Compromise is a virtue honed not a weakness detremental.

With that very line that I saw at the beginning of an episode of Star Wars Clone Wars, every fork that I pass has gained much more value than I could possibly imagine.

Being young and thinking aggressively, I initially saw that being HIV positive was a certain 'cheat' knowing that you're time is much more limited than you know. It empowers, knowing that you have a transluscent time table that allows you to know when the game can be over. Not a hundred percent sure but it's still an edge. Being optimistic? Maybe. Making a fool of myself? Maybe as well.

The rain that falls now upon Metro Manila is a welcome relief from the overwhelming heat that this cruel summer has brought. Each of the rain's tiny hands that pitter-patter upon the charred concrete jungle of mine is a temporary haven of pause.

That being said, I break myself into pieces and try to know my place in this life as of now. 

To be honest, I my love for family is throbbing within compared to my restraint in displaying affection for my siblings. Throbbing because I want to let it out by letting my mother and father know but I am restraining myself as of the moment because of love for them too. It's gonna hurt them to know. Letting my 70 year old dad know is totally out of the question. Even though he may be that open minded, he's already been through two or three strokes ergo he prides that his being 70 is his 'last two minutes' title to keep drinking and smoking. Affable fellow, might as well be consistent eh, dad? As for my mother, she will probably be the one who will find out soon but it's too early. The chances of her going balistic are 50-50. I'm still pondering on how this will come out, but with the situation and the stigma crawling around, I am being patient and tending to other things.

Today, I caught my boyfriend talking to a male voice on the phone. I was resting in my room when he said he'd go down to fix his things. It took some time and I wondered where he was. Arriving at our kitchen, I asked our staff where he was and one of them said he was in the front porch talking to someone on the phone. So before I opened the door behind him, I heard a male voice reciprocate through the phone to him as he was mentioning sweet nothings, sighs and cheesy stuff. I did not twist the knob as I was moved to rest my ear upon the door that concealed my accidental deed of espionage. As I felt him twisting the knob, I went ahead and opened it as if I was motioning to just go out for some fresh air. He had that shocked face and so I vacantly asked him.

"Who were you speaking to?"

"Maricel. My office mate."

He replied.

For a 'Maricel' her voice sounded like she had 10 balls hanging under her cunt. Doing the math, I cut it straight to the point and said.

"I was hearing your conversation behind the door. That Maricel sounds manlier than the two of us in Spartan armor."

He goes on the defensive and asks me why I was listening. 

Hey, if I wasn't listening then I wouldn't find out that 'Maricel" had 10 balls!

He moves on, the phone stuck to his ear and tells me he'll fix his things as I was going to bring him to the MRT station.

In the car, I gave him the cold treatment and told him that he wouldn't be going defensive and baffled if he didn't get caught. And why hide a man under the name of Maricel? And further more, you can talk to 'Maricel' in front of me if there was nothing that wasn't bad going on, right? And so, the cold shoulder was served upon his drop off.

A text message comes from him, apologizing that it was his officemate 'Jack'. Oh hohoho, "Just Jack!" huh? He's not good at covering up his mess. Not a convincing liar either. Obviously he couldn't formulate a rouse. Tsk. I know this manouver with my eyes closed.

Being older, I should have the initiative to speak to him but, alas, the way I deal with things, I take time to observe and be temperemental.

Is my value as a person less now that any intimate partner can see me as a push over because I am positive?

Not being stubborn but I believe esteem for myself won't change, but I will compromise now because every second that I breath, in addition to the moment that I found out that I was positive, is a bonus. There has to be a better way around things. There will always be yet it will not instantly come out, the moment friction begins.

As much as patience is a virtue, in the state I am in and with the virus I am carrying, compromise is an imperrative to be honed as well.

As every second is a bonus as bountiful as every tiny hand that the welcome rain sprays upon a weary and radiated Metro.

*SNAPS FOR EVERYONE*