soon, the sunset

this is not a love story. though it's another boy-meets-boy story.
exactly four years ago this month when we met.
there was a heavy downpour.  i could barely see the crowded and wet streets. thousands of umbrellas (blue, red, white, black all wet; all struggling but seemingly helpless against the gust of wind) were blocking my view. lightnings drew angry, crooked lines in the dark skies, as if signaling the apocalypse. now, while i love the rains, the poetry of it all, i have always been scared of lightnings.

$$$$$$$$

i went inside the first coffee shop that i saw. it was almost eight in the evening. time for dinner. or drinks. not surprisingly, the place was empty, except for a woman with shoulder length curly hair sitting on one of the stools at the bar talking animatedly with the bartender, who smiled and greeted me as i came in in french. everyone else, i presumed, had gone to bars for their pre dinner cocktails, while others were already halfway through their main courses.
it was a charming coffee shop. not too small, not too big. at most, it could accommodate thirty people. there were a few square tables with fresh flowers neatly arranged on the vases placed at the center along with glowing candles. the light was dim.  a soft jazz music completed the romantic, intimate atmosphere. i had been passing by this coffee shop on my way to and from work, but i never found the reason to go inside it. even after reading spectacular reviews praising its baguettes, macaroons, sandwiches, various types of cheese flown fresh from paris.

%%%%%%

a few months after that, it was sunny and bright. we were dining at the terrace of a seaside villa. with the magnificent view of the beach at night. there was a moon hovering above. a scene straight from a romantic movie. we could hear the music, mostly dance electronic fusions, and we could imagine the beach lovers, now drunk, grooving to the beat.
but we were alone. enjoying a meal of salmon, beef, chicken and vegetables. baguettes that we took from the nearby french bakery in the afternoon.
you were in a good mood that day. your smooth, newly tanned skin almost glowed under the moon. you were half naked, your well sculptured body on full display, including the tiny hairs on the chest that travelled down the navel and even lower. i wanted to feast on you even before finishing our dinner. but i controlled myself.
this was, after all, our last night together. i wanted it to last for as long as i could.
where did all the passion go?

^^^^^^^^^^^

here are some of the things that went wrong ( being a financial journalist for long, i am good at post analysis (or as my friends put it - post anal) and coming up with the lists:

- the too wide age gap. between us is another teen-age, rebellious kid wanting to assert himself and find his place under the universe.

- irreconcilable differences. i love watching non-english films with english subtitles (french, italian, spanish, swiss), they bore you. you prefer cartoons (you were still a child at twenty four). i like my silence. my things in order. the flat and every corner of it immaculately clean. you love the noise from rock music, clutter, the disarray, the wet towels on the floor that i kept picking up and hanging on the wall or tossing into the laundry basket. the list is long.

- contrary to the romantic notions of writers who have never been  in a relationship, opposites don't attract. they always repel each other. in fact, make it want to kill each other.

- you love to flirt with everyone. you like all the attention. i am the jealous type. i want to own you, possess you. you are a free spirit. you hate ownership. or being owned. (i think this still falls under irreconcilable differences).

))))))))))))))

several hours after i finished the cappuccino, consumed the salad you prepared, three (or four, five? i lost count) glasses of french reds and several servings of cheeses, the rain had finally stopped.
by this time, the woman on the bar wearing a short, tight dress that boldly displayed part of her ample breasts and smooth, brown skin had left after finishing three cups of coffee and a pack of cigarettes. her name is celine, a french, twenty something, fresh graduate who was in town for an on the job training with a british bank. i later learned that you used to go out together. had sex. but ended up as just friends. celine would eventually become my best friend, long after you were gone from my life.
we talked a lot. oh how you love telling a story. first you talked about the weather. hong kong's rainy season usually starts in june, you said. i had no idea, even until now to be honest. at that time,  i had been in the british colony for only a few months. even if i had stayed there longer than that, the weather was the least of my concerns. i was there to escape the dullness of manille, to forget a lover who left a huge crater in my soul. who fled into the arid desert to chase and then catch his dreams.

&&&&&&&&&

the next day, a saturday, you called. asking me if wanted to have brunch or late lunch at your french bistro. later, i discovered that you were part owner of the place. it was already past eleven. too early for creatures of the dark like myself to wake up, but too late for restauranteurs like you. you had a very strict schedule: be at the bistro six in the morning to oversee the  breakfast and lunch crowd. then you would go home after lunch to take a nap. then you would come back at around six.
of course, i said, sleep still in my voice. in fact, i first hated you for calling that early. i always sleep long and wake up late on weekends. skipping breakfast and lunch in the process. anyway, i am not a breakfast person. just a steaming cup of coffee is all i need to fuel my day.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

days, weeks, months went by. we discovered we liked a lot of things in common. we agreed to live together. but later on, the real you emerged. your real likes and dislikes finally unravelled. the once gentle, genteel and agreeable you became a petulant little boy who would throw a tantrum over small things like not being able to go out on friday and saturday nights because i was too tired and would rather stay at home and rest, watch a movie, lie on the sofa. not that i stopped you from going out all by yourself. but the thing is, you hate going out alone. that was the problem.

&&&&&&&&&&

then the petty quarrels turned "violent" later on. remember, you broke one of the doors of my closet because you kicked it so hard. then later on, like the boy that you were, you complained about a severe pain on your feet and you asked (ok, begged) me to massage them. i did not. instead, i asked you to leave my flat in the middle of a rainy night.
(that turned out to be our biggest fight. it took nearly two weeks before you went back and live with me again.)

&&&&&&&&&&&

"keep in touch," you said as i was stepping out of your car.  the sun was about to set. it was almost dark. we were the only ones on the street, except for an old woman who was feeding a bunch of cats with milk and biscuits at the vacant lot next to my apartment building . the cats were noisy. fighting to be the first to be fed.
i was quiet. my burnt back from too much sun was till hurting.
"i'll try," i said.
that merited a smile. short, sweet. sad smile.
"please don't delete me on your facebook and cellphone. ok?"
i closed the door. then i stood right in front of my apartment building waiting for you to start the car and leave. but deep inside me, like a drama queen, i was half expecting that you would get out of the car, hug me and then beg me to give you a second chance. then our favourite song -- norwegian wood -- would play and then the camera would zoom out, capturing us in a tight embrace along with the falling leaves from the trees and the sunset.
then the director would shout "cut!".
the old woman, unaware of what was happening around her, was still feeding the still noisy cats.
i turned around as soon as your car left. with heavy footsteps, i opened the door and went inside the lobby, where the guard was busy answering the crossword puzzle. as if life wasn't a puzzle enough.

*************

of course i deleted your name right away on my phonebook while i was inside the elevator. unfriended you on facebook the minute i stepped inside my flat. threw away your remaining shirts, pants, shoes, along with your pictures. cleared away your presence in the tiny flat.
i am cruel that way.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

we would meet again. so many times. hong kong is such a small place. after all. at restaurants. at bars. on the streets. at the mtr station.
but we would just exchange a polite: how are you.
i could tell that you had moved on. once or twice i saw you with someone else. gorgeous. fabulous. with a body that had been sculptured by toiling for hours in the gym. just like you. i tried searching in your eyes, your smiles, your body language if you still want me. foolish, i only got nothing.
once, we ended up having a beer. a big mistake. most of the time, we were quiet. it was as if we had never met. as if we were strangers again: trying to navigate each other's silences, each other's mysterious smiles and awkward glances. there you were, the boy i once worshipped, whom i thought i could never live without, boring me to death with his silence and nervous glances. i kept on looking at my watch.
soon the boredom became unbearable. we bade goodbye.
kuh ledesma's song was wrong: we're not worth one more try.

i gave us a rest.
time to move on.

&&&&&&&&&&

to this day, you remained my longest relationship. five months, give or take a few weeks that you would take off because you were mad at me.
ah, i was never good at keeping people. i was good at charming men, enchanting them with my tales of neverland. but i was never a keeper. variety is the spice of life.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

the end of summer suddenly reminded me of you.
i wrote this on a sunny saturday afternoon. several years after i last saw you. inside another french coffee shop with a miniature eiffel tower displayed in front of the charming place filled with flowering plants. the summer was almost over. the city (hong kong) had seen quite a few thunder storms in the past few weeks. but the sun was unperturbed. it can still be cruel. oppressive. i moved twice from where i was seated inside our once favourite coffee shop because the sun rays were blinding even if i was wearing a dark, huge sunglasses that we bought a few years back. i could not see what i was typing. what's in front of me. the story of my life.
at this moment, i wonder. do you still think of me? when the  sun is at its hottest? do you remember how you used to envy my dark skin that you spent long hours under the sun just to achieve my colour. i love it too, i would tease you, my cocoa skin. you can't have it, i added, because its god's gift.
remember when we used to be naked in bed during those lazy saturday afternoons. how you used to roll on top of me, rubbed every part of your body so that some of my "darkness" would rub into you. as  though i was covered with paint. or make up.
now those days are gone. along with the summer -- your favourite season.

&&&&&&&&&&&

post script:
the last time i heard, you were back in france.
enjoying the parisiene life. the easy going life. exploring the countrysides on your bike. the hong kong coffee shop had been closed.
while i am back here. in manille, a city i once tried to flee. ironically, now it has become my sanctuary, a repository of memories, both sad and sullen.