this is where we say goodbye (first part)

(inspired by imaginary events.)

the last time the pope was here, almost twenty years ago, my heart was broken. it was so badly broken that i thought it would no longer heal. that i would no longer be myself again.

it was january nineteen ninety-five and i was a struggling financial reporter, still new in the industry. still could not differentiate, for example, the different terms for money supply (m-one, m-two, m-three), still unable to explain bad loans, sour loans, unpaid loans, among other confusing terms that senior reporters at my other beat, the banking and finance, chewed quite easily and with delight like fruit flavoured bubble gums.

( i said other beat because apart from the central bank and finance department, i was also covering the president of the philippines then. looking back, i could not imagine how i was able to do that. juggling between two important beats and two vastly different subject matters -- politics and business.)

anyway, this is not a story about my early struggles as a financial journalist.

well, maybe. some of it. but this is all about a boy named john (yes, like john of the beatles), who was brown skinned, with short, thick black hair, twenty-one, a graduating engineering student at one of the top universities in manila. he was handsome, alright, with slit eyes that disappeared when he smiled or laughed, prominent nose with a well-defined bridge that gave him a patrician look.

just like his popular british namesake, he was exactly the man in every young girl's fantasy, especially those who were hooked on sweet dreams romance novels. just like myself when i was a teen-ager and i used to borrow, and sometimes steal, my sisters copies of those paperbacks.


&&&&&&&&&&&

it was a late rainy night, an hour or two after midnight, when i first saw him. i just came from a friend's party and i was wet and drunk. horribly drunk that i wondered the next day how i was able go home.

after i rang the bell several times, a handsome young man, in boxer shorts and sando, opened the main door that was so heavy because it was made of narra. he was annoyed and did not bother to hide it. by the way, i used to live in a dormitory (at that time, my reporter's salary could not afford a flat of my own), renting a small room that could fit only a futon, a mini ref, medium-sized tv and vhs player.

because it was a dormitory, i didn't have a key to the main door. only the two houseboys had it. it was also them, or one of them (they did it by shifts) who was supposed to stay late so he could open the door for the late comers. but he was already asleep. luckily, john was still awake, probably still studying in the living room. now he was irritated that i disturbed him, a stranger late at night, drunk!

when he saw me, he did not open the other aluminum screen door. he asked first if i live there. i said yes. i am a new resident. i just moved in a few days ago. then i gave him my name. when he did not say anything and did not open the door, i showed him my press id. can you please open the door now? i am cold and it's raining, i pleaded.

he just stood there, looked at me with keen eyes, as if trying to ascertain if i was telling the truth or not. then he told me that there's a curfew in the dormitory. that i have to inform the houseboy if i will be home late so he could wait for me. ok, i said, thank you for the information. may i come in now? he hesitated, but let me in nevertheless.

pissed off, i pushed him out of the way. without saying a word, nor apologizing, i went straight to my room at the third floor, leaving him stunned.

even then, i was already the drama queen.

&&&&&&&&&&&

the days in the dormitory rolled easily into weeks. but i was still mad at john. i could not forget how arrogant his voice was. how he treated me like a petty criminal. how he let me stay outside, standing for several minutes in the rain. strangely, i had not seen him after that night.

on my third week, i bumped into my landlady at the door way as i was headed for work. she was coming in from church. i knew this because she was still wearing a veil on her head and a stampeta around her neck with the image of the virgin mary. she was also holding fresh sampaguita garlands on her hand. i liked those tiny, white flowers. they may be small, but they have this powerful, nice scent that lingered with you for a long time. they smelled really divine.

she told me to please be home for dinner. before i could ask why, she said it's her birthday. so i am throwing a party for everybody. i greeted her a happy birthday and kissed her on the cheek.

her scent reminded me so much of my grandmother - perfume, lipstick and johnson's baby powder. she didn't use make up. thank you, she said, surprised by the kiss.

that night, i was back at the dormitory around eight, with a bouquet of red roses for my landlady, who was too happy to receive it. i feel like it's my debut, she said and kissed the flowers. and then she kissed me on the forehead. thank you so very much.

she asked me to go to the living room where a small crowd was gathered -- eating, drinking, talking. we stood at the center, her clutching the bouquet of roses and i holding her in the elbow as though we were going to have our photo taken. when she had everyone's attention, which was so embarrassing, she announced that i brought her flowers.

she then introduced me to her guests (her children, grandchildren, other relatives, and her friends who often played mahjong with her), and to the other boarders of the dormitory, mostly students.

(by the way, the all-male dormitory was an old, five-story building. when her eleven children got married and left home, my landlady, a widower, converted the last three floors, including the extra room at the rooftop, where we did our laundry and hung our clothes to dry, into a dormitory with two rooms in every floor, and four bed spacers in every room. since i didn't like sharing a room, i asked her to let me stay alone in one room, and i paid for four bed spacers.

some people wondered, including the boarders and some of her mahjong playmates, why my landlady decided to convert her old house into a dormitory. it was not because of money because she had her monthly pension, steady income from her other properties, and regular paycheck from her children who were living comfortably abroad. my guess was, just like everyone else, she was lonely. she needed company. she missed the noise of having a huge family.)

that was how i met john. formally. he was the nephew of our landlady.

you were the one who went home very late the other night, right? he asked after my landlady introduced us. mentally, i corrected him. it was in fact, way longer than the other night.

surprisingly, his voice was friendly, devoid of any accusation. nor the arrogance that he displayed that night. but i was still mad at him, so i just nodded my head and left him to join the other guests. even if i was shy, i decided to introduce myself to the other guests just to avoid his company. as i was doing this,  i noticed that john kept on looking at me, as if observing me. he made me uncomfortable.

it was a feast, by the way. my landlady really spent a lot for her birthday, reminding me of my own mother at home in tacloban. there were a lot of food, mostly filipino and spanish cuisines such as menudo, kare-kare, paella, pancit guisado, morcon, fried chicken, fish dishes, two whole roast pigs (or lechon), an overflow of beer, wine, and other alcoholic drinks. desserts of all kinds -- leche flan, ice cream of different flavours and varieties, cakes of all kinds and sizes, etc.


&&&&&&&&&&&&

at around ten, when everyone was nearly drunk including myself, our landlady, who was seventy-two that day, was prodded to play the piano. she obliged and i was surprised at how good she was. one of the guests told me that she used to be a concert pianist and had toured other countries for concerts. she played the classics such as bach, beethoven, debussy, rachmanininov, liszt and chopin.

everyone was mesmerized. even the boarders, who probably listened mostly to rock, love songs, and some alanis morissette, were enjoying her impromptu performance. our landlady, who looked a decade  younger than her age, was in a dark blue dress that made her smooth white skin glow.  she was slim, with a twenty-eight waistline, said one of the maids, with long, black hair that she always tied into a bun. a style reminiscent of the former first lady imelda marcos.

after her much applauded stint at the piano, it was time for her to blow the candles on a huge, five-layer cake. we all sang happy birthday. while she was doing this, photographers took shots.

i was talking with another guest, a fifty-something lawyer (another one of my landlady's mahjong playmates) with greying hair, still handsome with flat stomach, when john joined us. he first greeted the lawyer, who i learned later was his uncle. after a small talk, the old man left us. before i could leave, john asked me how i was doing. are you having fun?

quietly, i stared at him with an unfriendly face. he was smiling, showing dimples on both cheeks. he sounded nice. a bit drunk, with a beer in his hand.

for the first time that night, i took a good look at him. he was wearing a black shirt with the logo of the rock band metallica, tucked under dark jeans, no belt, then brown doc martins. his thick, wavy hair was held together by gel. he must have spent a lot of money on those gels. he was wearing a watch, swatch, i think, and a gold necklace with a cross pendant.

i'm good, i said. he smiled again, his way of making me feel at ease. then he continued: some of us are going up for a drink to the rooftop. do you want to join us? that way, you can meet some of the other boarders. they were all asking about you after they saw you on tv during a televised press conference in malacanang. i think you were asking the president a question and the camera was focused on you. they said you looked like a movie star.

i wanted to say, really? but  i didn't want to sound excited. nor enthusiastic. so i said drily like a school teacher after a student gave a wrong answer to a question: sure, why not? i thought we would go up later, but that was not the case. let's go then, he said right away, leaving me with no other choice but to follow him. on the way up, we were quiet.

we were panting when we reached the roof top. half of it was covered by a roof, and the other half was open. so on a nice evening, when there were stars and a moon, and a cool breeze was blowing, it was actually a great place to sit, contemplate and drink. watch the stars.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

tonight the rooftop had been cleared of laundry. the clotheslines were also removed, even the basket where the boys sometimes played hoops was gone.

up here were a dozen boys having fun. some were seated next to a big table, others were  standing up, drinking beer. there were ten or more cases of beer under the table. some were already empty. there were also all kinds of food on the table -- lechon, fried chicken, pancit -- things that were also served downstairs, at the living and dining rooms.

the boys were already out of their school uniforms and were wearing shorts and shirts. they were a bunch of good looking kids, tanned, hairy, some smooth and pale. others like john were brown and pretty. some had gym toned bodies, others still with baby fat. john had a nice, slim body. his strong legs were hairy. he played a lot of basketball in school, but never joined the varsity team. (i don't want to be famous was all he said when i asked him why.)

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

i felt overdressed in my reporter's uniform: a long sleeve shirt, jeans and brown leather shoes (there was a dress code required when covering the president. no short sleeve shirts, sneakers or rubber shoes). i excused myself so i could change.

instead of just changing my clothes, i decided to take a shower. after half an hour, while i was already putting on shorts and a shirt, there was a knock at the door.

it was john.

we thought you fell asleep, he said, when i opened the door. no, i said, i took a shower. i felt hot, smelly and dirty after being out all day. john smelled himself. i laughed. still drunk even after a cold shower. don't worry, i said, you smell nice and you look even better. in fact, you are the best looking among us. he laughed, then pinched me on the stomach, a move that surprised me.

let's go then, he said, and put his arm around my shoulders. we went up like twins joined at the hips. because we were so close, i smelled his scent, which i loved on a man: beer, cigarettes, and my favourite perfume (ralph lauren blue).

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

there was something funny about john's behavior that night. he was extra friendly. i thought maybe he was just trying to make up for his uncouth behavior during our first meeting.

the whole time that we were drinking with others, he sat right next to me. we sat very close that our bodies were almost intertwined. instead of feeling uncomfortable, i welcomed this newfound closeness. frankly, i found him very good looking and sexy. i was thrilled by our closeness. later, i found myself putting my hand on his leg, caressing it, wishing he was wearing shorts like myself.

he was charming too. a trait that did not go unnoticed to the other boarders. they liked him a lot obviously. i noticed that he seemed to be the leader of the group. when he spoke, they all listened.  all eyes were on him. they always agreed on what he was saying. while i was mostly quiet. just observing them. when they asked me about something, like my opinion on a certain issue, i just gave a short reply.

as the night wore on, it became pregnant with promise. as we consumed more beer, john had become even more loquacious and jovial. he told a lot of funny, self-depreciating stories. he loved to be the center of attention.

he had also become more attentive towards me. he would always ask me if i was alright, if i still have a beer. i was embarrassed by his attention, and i was afraid the others in the group might take it the wrong way. but they were all drunk and having so much fun to notice. if they did, they probably just thought we were drunk.

they also didn't mind the way that johh and i sat so close to each other that i could almost kiss him every time he turned to me to talk or to ask something. in fact, i was nearly tempted to kiss him in front of the other boarders.

as the night grew older and colder, the boys left one by one because they were already drunk and sleepy. some of them still had classes the next day. until there were only the two of us left. 

i hope they did not annoy you, john said, meaning the other boarders. he was standing right in front of me, smoking a cigarette. even if there was only a pale moonlight, i could still see his handsome face. i admired his tall (he was at least six feet), lean figure.

no, i said, i enjoyed their company. i liked their jokes. what about me? he asked. suddenly turning into  a child. so innocent. this made me laugh. of course i enjoyed your company a lot. i didn't know you were such a joker. i thought you were strict, serious and snooty after you scolded me that night.

i did not, he said. in fact, i was very nice to you. i was simply informing you about the dormitory's policy about coming home late. hmp, i said, you are heartless. you let me stay outside, cold and wet from the rain. you sounded so arrogant, as if you owned the house. well, technically i do, he said laughing. my aunt owns this place, so that makes me part owner. 

excuse me, i said, only her children have the legal right to this house. unless there is a written consent from your aunt stating otherwise, then we are both the same here, just boarders. outsiders.

he sat right next to me. very close once more. were you really mad at me then? before i could answer, he pulled me closer to him. you're so handsome, you know that, he told me. 

you too, i said.  i like you a lot, he said. is that wrong? is that alright with you? i smiled, a bit shy. why would it bother me? i said. you are handsome yourself, and i should be proud that you like me. 

really? i nodded my head to quiet him down.

then he kissed me. i tasted the beer, the vodka, the sprite, the cigarettes, the lechon, the fried chicken, on his mouth and tongue. it was like having another dinner. but i didn't mind. our hands became busy too, exploring each other's bodies beneath our clothes. we kissed, and kissed, and kissed until we could not longer control ourselves.

it was a lovely night for falling in love. a bit cold from the november air. it was dark, though there was a faint light coming from the lone quarter moon and a few stars in the sky. it was also quiet, the peace disturbed only by the intermittent sound coming from jeepneys and cars on the highway below us, and the barking of the dogs from somewhere unseen and faraway.

we ended up in my room.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

we were inseparable after that. i learned more about john, who was named after john lennon. ironically, he didn't like the beatles (though later on, he learned to love them because i said i couldn't go out with someone who does not appreciate their music). he was a big fan of eddie vedder and his band pearljam, alanis morissette, boy george.

he said he was the eldest in a family of three, all boys. they were from ilocos. his father was working in canada as a doctor, and his mother ran the family business in the province: a resort, hotel and restaurant. they were well-off. he drove a car in the province, stayed in his own house (a small bungalow at the back of the family home, a three-story ancestral house that his father inherited from his grandparents).

he said his busy mother had no time for them. so they learned to look after themselves. even if they had maids, all three boys knew all the household chores.

his  younger brother, seventeen, was studying at the university of the philippines in baguio. the youngest, thirteen, was still in high school and lived at home.

then came the troubling part. he had a girlfriend named ana. a classmate. he talked a lot about her: you should meet her. she's very nice, very pretty. she used to work as a part-time model. she will like you. she adores gay men, especially good looking men like you with a great taste. she likes fashion, the cinema and books. she is sophisticated just like you. only eats at expensive restaurants, never fast food.

excuse me, i protested, i only eat at cheap places like the turo-turo at the corner of the street because i can't afford to eat at expensive restaurants.

ana, it turned out, often spent the night at john's room. but this was before we started sleeping together in my room. some nights we watched movies on vhs, or listened to music while drinking beer and smoking. sometimes he would rent porn movies and bring some sticks of weed and we would finish them off before having sex.

how would ana feel if she learned about us? i asked him one time. it doesn't matter, john said. do you love her? of course, he said. what about me? i couldn't help but ask. i love you even more, came the quick reply. in fact, you are my biggest love ever. then as if to reassure me, he kissed me. what if the other boarders found out about our relationship? your aunt? i don't care, he said. anyway, they all adore you, so i would be honored to be your boyfriend.

still not satisfied with his answers, i pressed on. what if ana made you choose between us? who would you choose?

this he did not reply. i kept quiet. afraid of what he might say.

&&&&&&&&&

one night, after having sex, while we were lying naked on the futon on the floor (i didn't have a bed. never did. i prefer to sleep on a futon on the floor, japanese style), i asked him if he thought he was gay. i don't know, came his reply after giving it a thought. to be honest, i was never attracted to boys,  until i met you. i always like girls. in fact, i had several girlfriends before ana.

are you two serious? we made plans after college, john said. we want to get married, move to australia and raise a family there. why australia? because her parents are there, working. they have a house there. one of her older brothers is already there and he has his own business. so if we decide to migrate there, we won't have a hard time starting a life. 

again i gambled with the question. what about me? this time he answered. i don't know what to do with you, honestly. i really love you. i like it that you make me laugh and you take care of me. that you are intelligent. that you read a lot of books. that you watch a lot of movies that i don't know of. i am starting to like those french, italian, chinese, spanish, and german movies that we watched all the time. i even missed reading the subtitles when i watched hollywood blockbusters.

what else do you like about me? i like it that you are simple, that you are not motivated by money. that even if you are close to powerful people, you are not arrogant about it. in fact, you even try to hide it. i like it that you enjoy taking the jeepney with me, even if you can afford to take a taxi (i raised my eyebrow on this one because he always insisted on paying for the cab fare after i told him how much was my monthly salary). that you eat isaw and kwek-kwek with me even if you don't like them. 

that's a lot, i said.

what about me? he asked. what do you like about me. 

nothing i said. then i laughed. this made him move on top of me and pretended to squeeze my neck, as though he was trying to kill me.

i love you john. you are my first love, i said, staring at his face. he was still on top of me. i could feel myself getting hard again. he was too. i continued: i like you because you are so honest. so simple, so down to earth even if you are rich. i like the fact that everybody looks up to you like their leader or as an older brother. you are too mature for your age, and sometimes i feel like you are way too old for me too. you are smart, very smart, i should add, and i like that you try very hard to like the things that i do. 

i like it that you are always concerned about my comfort. about my needs. i like it that when we are drinking even with your friends at school, you always put your arm around my shoulders. that you are not embarrassed to show how you feel about me. i love it that you treat me like a real woman.

because you are, he said. deep inside you, you are her royal highness.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

what will happen to us when you graduate and marry ana? when you move to australia?

silence.

then after a while he said: let's not talk about it. please?

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

we had our first quarrel in december. the day before he went home to ilocos for the christmas and new year break. we were at our favourite bar in malate that sold cheap beer and played rock all night long except when it was near closing time. it was also the hangout of students who studied in nearby universities. sometimes we would meet john's classmates and friends there. tonight it was just us.

out of the blue, after finishing three bottles, he asked me to spend christmas at their house in ilocos.  i was surprised because we never talked about spending the holidays together. so i said i cannot because i did not file a leave at the office. in fact, i usually go on leave during the summer, during the holy week because that's the time when i go somewhere far and stay in the beach for two weeks.

then just tell your editor that someone in the family died. like your grandparents. they won't mind, they are already dead. i wish it's that simple, i said. we still need to file stories during the holidays. there are still events in malacanang even on christmas. there could be a coup, for all we know. or bombings by terrorists. or a massive power outage. or a bank run. 

also, i am doing a special report on the pope's arrival next month. i am interviewing the cardinal, some bishops and priests and nuns, students. in fact, i want to interview you about the world youth day.

nonsense. you can do all of that once we are back. i already told mother that i am bringing home a friend. i want you to meet her. she will love you. she will be impressed that i made a very important friend. a journalist covering the president and the central bank. my mother is a frustrated reporter. she always reads the newspaper and watches the news on tv. 

then why didn't you tell me about it before? i asked, annoyed. because i want to surprise you, he said.

johh, there is nothing in this world that i would rather be than to be with you on christmas. to meet your mother. your brothers. your friends in the province. but sorry. i can't. not now.  

i thought you love me, he said.

the bar was crowded that night. i love the place, by the way. while it played a lot of rock music, the volume was not too loud. we could still hear each other without shouting. sometimes it also played love songs, especially an hour before it closed for the day, usually at four in the morning. there was a small space for dancing. it was usually dark and smokey from all the cigarette smokes.

of course i appreciate the darkness because when we were drunk, john and i loved to kiss and fondle each other. but right now, there was no way it would happen. we were arguing.

what does it have to do with anything, john? just because i won't spend christmas with you and your family does not mean i don't love you. you're being childish. he hated it, by the way, being called childish. 

he became quiet after that. in fact, he was quiet the whole night. even when we were already in the cab. usually, after a night of drinking, we would start kissing and touching each other inside the cab. that night, he was distant. when we reached the dormitory, he headed straight to his room at the second floor, without saying goodnight. pissed off, i went straight to my room too.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

he went home to ilocos the next day without talking to me. he did not even leave a note to say goodbye.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

it was the loneliest christmas i ever had. the saddest new year too. i missed him so much. i missed his naked presence inside my tiny room. i missed his funny stories about his teachers, classmates, friends, the other boarders in the dormitory. i missed the way he would grab me from behind when i was about to stand up to get more beer from a small fridge beside the tv, and then he would kiss me.

it was a good thing that i was working. that there were parties that i had to attend to with other reporters and with friends. somehow, they helped ease the loneliness.

on new year's eve, he called long distance. cellphones were not yet invented then. only pagers.

i miss you, were the very first words that he said. he sounded drunk. i miss you too, i said, whispering. the phone was at the sala, beside a sofa, and i could not speak loudly because my landlady and her friends were playing mahjong a few feet away from where i was seated. i was afraid they might hear me. my landlady, who answered the phone, knew it was john calling. in fact, before she gave the phone to me, they talked for a bit.

he said he was sorry. then he told me what he did for christmas -- attended a high school reunion, got a new shirt from his mom, money from his dad who did not come home, shoes from his grandparents who were living in the california, a cooking book from ana. i said i was sorry i did not have a gift for him. he said we were even because he did not have a gift for me either. despite our sadness, we laughed. mine was a bit loud that i noticed my landlady looking at me. i blushed.

when i get back, he continued, let's go buy each other a gift, ok? sure, i said. again, i looked at my landlady for any sign that she could hear me. but i knew that she already knew. it all became clear the way she looked and smiled at me when she handed me the phone earlier. there was no malice in it. just her way of saying that she understood. perhaps she had seen us kissing before.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

january. second week. the dormitory was once again lively and noisy as the students came back from their holiday break. but there was no john yet.

but i didn't mind. i thought he just extended his stay at home. i was also busy writing the stories about the pope's arrival, and his activities during his five-day stay in the country. i wrote about the design of the pope mobile, for instance. i was also interviewing people about the security arrangements, the courtesy call to the president, meetings with prominent church and civic leaders, the world youth day event at one of the catholic universities in manila.

despite my busy schedule, i still missed him. there were times when i was tempted to ask my landlady about him. surely she must know why john wasn't back yet. but i was a coward. i was afraid of what she might say. i also didn't ask the other boarders about him.

every time the phone rang, i wished it was him calling.

at night, i could not sleep. even when i was drunk and tired.

&&&&&&&&&&&

two days after the pope left manila, i got a shocking news.

john got married with ana. the news came from our landlady, jonh's aunt.

after talking with my landlady and other boarders, i somehow strung together the whole story.

ana went home with john to ilocos. while there, she learned that she was already three months pregnant. so she told john and his mother. john's mother, a deeply religious and conservative woman, decided that they should get married right away. she informed ana's parents about her situation, and they agreed that the two young lovers should be married before it became obvious that ana was pregnant. 

they got married on january three. in a civil wedding in the ilocos city hall.

then they spent their honeymoon in baguio.

&&&&&&&&&&&

it was february when i finally saw john. february twelve to be exact, two days before valentine's day and four months after we became a closet lover. after their honeymoon, the couple went home to ana's parents' house, where she used to live alone with the maids. john's things in the dormitory were sent to ana's house right away.

how are you? i asked, breaking the silence. since i arrived in the bar, where we used to hang out in malate, he was quiet. he was wearing a black pearljam shirt, jeans, and a sad, long face. he looked tired, haggard and sleepless. his hair had gone longer, he grew a beard that added to the disheveled, rugged, despondent look.

in contrast, i looked sharp. fresh and rested. i just came from a press conference in malacanang so i was wearing my usual presidential coverage uniform: long sleeve shirt with sleeves folded up to my elbows, tucked inside a tight-fitting black jeans, socks and brown leather shoes. i also had my hair cut a few days ago, a facial, a whole body massage, and a shave that morning.

despite the noise around us, the air was heavy with sadness. of an impending end to a once beautiful thing. ah, why does everything have to end? why can't they last?

instead of answering, he merely shrugged his shoulders and inhaled his cigarette, then blew smokes, round and thin and weak, into the air. 

aren't you going to say something? i went on. i wanted some answers.

this is all your fault you know, he finally said. he was angry.

what? how is it my fault? did i get ana pregnant? i was angry too.

if you went home with me, then she won't be there.

but she will still be pregnant.

silence.

i continued: you mean you have no intention of marrying ana even if she is pregnant?

yes, came his quick reply. a bit loud this time, as though trying to convince.

so why did you continue having sex with her if you are not planning to marry her? why did you stay together?

because that's what she wants. i wanted to break up with her months ago, even before i met you. but she threatened me that she would commit suicide.

you believe that? i wanted to shout back. instead i kept my mouth shut. i looked around us and felt even sadder. this was the place where we spent countless nights sharing our dreams, talking about the future. kissing, touching. this was where we met his friends and where we spent the night arguing about politics, then when the mood hit us, dancing.

but after tonight, i knew i won't be back here. how did it suddenly become a place of sorrow? a repository of a broken heart?

after a while, recovering my composure, i said: then why did you take her with you to ilocos?

i did not. i wanted to be with you. she followed me. i think she planned it all along. she knew that she was pregnant. she knew that my mother would not let me run away from my responsibility.

i gulped my beer.

what now? i asked.

i don't know. her parents are already processing our papers so we could migrate to australia right after our graduation. 

which is next month already, i said, stupidly. 

he nodded his head.

i think it's best if we don't see each other after tonight, i said. it would be easier for both of us. especially for me. at least you have a child to look forward to. and a beautiful wife that you can be proud of.

it was also a night like this, a night of drinking when we fell in love. when we first kissed. at the rooftop of the dormitory. there was a thin moon that sometimes hid its face under the clouds. there were stars too that were not as shy as the moon. but they did not matter anymore. it seemed like a long time ago.

i smiled weakly at the memory.

before he could say something more, i shushed him. let's not talk anymore. let's just finish our drinks and get out of here, i said. the adult this time.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

it was my mother on the phone.

"are you coming home when the pope arrives here? it will be the first time that our city will be hosting a pope. this will be historic," she said.

"i don't know yet," i said, stirring my coffee. it was only ten in the morning, but already my mother had eleven missed calls on my cellphone when i woke up. before i could even take a shower and finish my coffee, she called again. guiltily, i answered it.

"you should be here. the governor had asked me to be a part of the welcoming committee. we will be very busy in the next few weeks. you should come home and help us," she said.

"ma. you know i am not religious. i don't believe in all this..."

before i could say anything more, she stopped me.

"don't be blasphemous! i did not spend a fortune to put you and your sister in a good catholic school so that you will grow up like that!"

"like what?"

"a....a....."

"say it, ma. a heretic."

"never mind. i just want you to come home."

"ma, i am not a child anymore. you can't boss me around. i am forty two for fuck's sake."

"there you go again. using that word. then why don't you act like one? look at you, you're forty two and you're still single. acting like a teen-ager all the time. all you know is how to have a good time. party all the time. why don't you find a girlfriend and get married?"

"mother!" i said, raising my voice. "when are you going to accept the fact that your only son is gay. gay. gay. gay. i am gay! and i will never ever get married because i don't believe in marriage."

silence. i heard her sobbing at the other end.

i kept quiet and calmed down. until now, at forty-two, i could not believe that mother still can't accept me for what i really am. that she still harbors some illusion that i will get married and have my own family, get my wife pregnant with a dozen or more children.

(to be continued)