tell me again what's the smell of the rain

dear  you,

yes, the wonderful you. i know what you are doing right now. sleepless, troubled, bothered? sitting on the veranda right outside of your room, staring at the darkness. it's raining, yet you can't sleep. everyone else is now asleep. in fact, the whole neighborhood is humming, dreaming, like there is a contest on who can snore the loudest or sleep the most deep. the rain has cast a spell on everyone and put them to sleep. even the usually noisy frogs are quiet.

except for you. you keep on thinking -- what's going to happen now? tomorrow when you go to mass?  when you see your friend r again. i can tell that you are confused. guilty. scared? i hope not.

but you just turned twelve. too young to know what's going to happen next. you wish there is someone, like a magic mirror, that can tell you what lies ahead.

life, at this point, is like the teevee soap operas that you love to watch along with your mother and sisters -- there is always a big question that's hanging in the air; a conflict, a problem that's waiting to be solved. so you have to watch the next episode the following day to see what happens next. then the next day, and the next day. until the producers decide to end it.

sadly, unlike on teevee, where things always turn out alright at the end, life isn't like that. so understandably, you are afraid. in life, there are no scripts to follow, no take twos or threes. there's no director who will shout "cut" when things become more difficult. unbearable.

who to turn to? who will understand what you are going through? everybody at home seems pre-occupied. your mother keeps on complaining that her small business is losing money.

your older sisters, married, have their own troubles.

your two younger sisters? ah they are too young. what do they know about life? or a pre-teen-age crisis? your friends? you don't have any, except for r.

don't even bother about your father, he will never understand you. and vice versa. in fact, his mere presence scares you. enough to send you hiding in the closet anew. what if he knows what you are feeling, what you are going through? and even more scary, what you have just done? 

he will surely throw you out of the house. if not, send you to a military school. or worse (or better yet) shoot you in the head.

*********

this afternoon, you were at the tennis court. watching along with your friends some military officers playing. this is where you usually hangout when you're not in school. sometimes, you and your friends would race each other to pick up the balls that have gone outside of the court just for fun. sometimes, the military officers would give you and your friends some money for picking up those balls. 

sometimes they would even buy you snacks at the club house -- ham sandwich, coke. life's little pleasures. one of your friends would sometimes ask for cigarettes and the officers would gladly oblige.

after they are gone, you would all huddle in a corner and try smoking, even if you would all cough while doing it. even if it hurts the throat (itchy?!) because of all the smokes that you have inhaled and swallowed. these would cause tears to well  up in your eyes.

still you persisted, you feel grown up doing it. even if it hurts.

this afternoon was no different.

you all shared the cigarette sticks. then talked about everything else. school, girls, dreams, the future. there were four of you that time. then the two others left.

you decided to stay. you didn't want to go home yet. what's there anyway? your strict father who would likely ask you to do some more errands before letting you go to sleep. give you a sermon on keeping your room neat. when he is in a foul mood, the old man would tell you that you are the worst son, a worthless student, the most stupid person on earth. 

anybody, it seems, is better than you are. sometimes you wish that he just gave you away when you were a baby. or better yet, aborted you.

such dark thoughts for someone so young.

******

this year is extra hard. your older brother, your favourite, the only one who understood you, died in december of the previous year and it really shook the entire family. the first family member to die. your father was devastated, almost gone crazy. your mother, in grief, kept herself busy with her business.

anyway, that afternoon after the game, r decided to stay with you. probably he noticed how sad you 

were, how alone you felt.

you always like him. he is four years older than you. a son of another military officer just like your father. in fact, your fathers are friends. r's family lives right next door to you. often times, when your parents quarrel, they can hear their loud arguments. and vice versa. 

he is the one who encouraged you to learn how to play tennis; to go to mass on sundays; to clean and shine the combat boots of the soldiers on weekends to make some money. r is the other older brother that you always want. now that your own kuya died, r has filled up the vacuum that he left.

that day, after noticing that you were extremely quiet, r asked what was wrong with you. but you did not tell him. you are always secretive, you don't enjoy sharing anything to anybody, even to your family. you got this trait from your father. how ironic. 

indeed it's true, we resemble the parent whom we hate the most.

when r got tired asking you about it, he told you about the girl whom he liked at school. as if he was trying to cheer you up. she is the prettiest one -- tall, skinny, smooth, porcelain skin, red, shiny lips, nice boobs. she looks like a movie star, always the school muse. every boy likes her, every girl wants to be like her. while r was talking about her, you felt hurt. you didn't know why.

the more r talked about her, the more you felt hurt. until you almost wanted to cry. but you kept quiet. did not let your emotions show. at such a young age, growing up with a difficult father who hates you, you have learned to mask your emotions.

you continued listening to his stories, staring at r's handsome face. you can't get enough of him.

lately, you feel strange around r. you can't keep your eyes away from him -- especially his eyes and those beautiful long lashes. the perfectly shaped nose as if a sculptor had molded it. the white, even teeth. your younger sisters said r looks like one of the most popular young actors on teevee -- tall, brown skin, lean, neat, always smells like he has just taken a shower.

in fact, a few nights ago, you dreamed about him. the two of you were stranded in an island (you can't remember how you ended up there) and you kissed. then you woke up with an erection. the next morning, you noticed a white spot in your underwear. like paste that has dried up. you smelled it and it had a strange odor. you were scared. what was this? of course you have heard from your friends and classmates about the fluid that comes out of your penis when aroused. especially at night. but you never experienced it before. could that be it?

you remember this while looking at r this afternoon, when the sun was about to set. he has taken off his shirt because it was wet with his own sweat. you noticed the trail of tiny, curly hairs on his stomach. on his armpits. they were wet too. you couldn't help but look down further. but it was a quick glance. you hoped that r did not notice it. that he couldn't tell what you were feeling deep inside of you.

as if reading your mind, r asked you if you like someone at school. you blushed.

it was nearly six in the evening. when you did not say anything, r laughed. you are still young, that's why, he teased you. then he asked you how old you are.

twelve, you said.

still a boy, he said. then he laughed again, rubbing the shirt on his bare stomach. then he raised his arms, one after the other, and wiped his armpits. your throat went dry when you saw his hairy armpits. you wanted to smell them.

*****

"twelve," r repeated.

you nodded your head.

"do you already have pubic hair?"

"what?"

"hair there on your penis." he said, pointing in between your legs. you felt embarrassed. afraid that he noticed your bulging penis.

the thought of growing hair down there horrified you. you have never seen a naked older man before, so you have no idea that you would grow hair in your pubic area. most of your classmates have not yet talked about it. or maybe they did but you haven't heard about it.

at home, your parents never talk about sex. not even your older sisters who are now married. surely, you thought your older brother might tell you about it if you asked him. but he was gone now.

"don't be afraid. it's natural. you will also grow hair on your balls. in fact almost everywhere."

you kept quiet.

"do you already have sperm?"

"?"

"sperm. the white thing that comes out of your penis when you masturbate. it's sticky, like paste. it has a funny smell too. like chlorine.  it's different from urine."

"mastur.."

r laughed again.

"you mean you have not done it yet?"

"no!" you protested.

you have heard about masturbation, of course, from your friends and classmates. but you have never tried it after the priest at your catholic school told you that it is a mortal sin. that you must confess to him if you have done it, otherwise you will go to hell.

in fact, the oldest boy in your class always talks about masturbation and boasts about doing it three to four times a day to your classmates. that it feels so good, especially if you rub lotion around it. you always avoid joining such conversations, scared of going to hell.

but with r, you feel different. you trust him. you know he cares about you. like an older brother.

it was now dark. very quiet. there were just the two of you on the tennis court. the january air has gone colder. in a few weeks, it would be summer. you looked forward to it. summer. no classes. all days will be spent playing or watching tennis. being with r all the time. just thinking about it made all your  adolescent woes disappear.

"you want me to show you how to do it?" r asked. then he moved closer to you until your faces were too close you were almost kissing. he put his hand around your neck. he had a nice smell, a combination of sweat and rexona that he sprayed on his body earlier before he played tennis. you made a mental note to buy one for yourself. r now had a different look in his eyes. his voice had gone softer. whispering. like he was telling you a secret. 

you hesitated at first, but r assured you that it won't hurt. so you told him that the priest at your school had warned you that you will go to hell if you do it. again, r, his hand caressing your leg, assured you that it was not true. then he kissed you on the cheek, then ear, then your mouth. despite your fears, you let him do what he wanted to do because you liked it. you were eager for it.

then he pulled down his shorts and underwear. your eyes were glued to his penis. it was throbbing, its head was so red and glistened with sweat. there were tiny, curly hairs around the base. it was your first time to see someone else naked. and it was the most fascinating thing that you have ever seen. better than your wormlike, turkey neck self.

"here's the deal, i will do it first and you can watch me. then..." he started stroking himself and asked you to do the same. surprisingly, you felt no fear nor shame. later on, you did not just watch him. he asked you to do something else and it was glorious. better than ice cream.

there was nothing like it. you could not explain how you felt -- you were nervous, your knees were shaking, your heart was beating fast. you felt hot all over your body, as if you had a fever. but you felt ecstatic, joyful, heavenly. and you knew that r felt the same judging from the expression on his face which was all pleasure: the grunts, the groans, the "ohs and ahs", the whispers as he told you what to do, where to put your tongue, not to bite, the gentle strokes on your hair as he guided you on where to go. then a long, endless moan. and the burst of pleasure. your first time. not his.

if this was a sin, your young mind thought, i was willing to fry in hell.

that afternoon, you learned all the secrets that boys only whispered about. the things that they were curious about. r made it all happen in an instant and you love him even more.

later, much later, after the passion has subsided. after the fluids have been wiped out clean.

"this is our secret," r told you as both of you laid naked on the tennis court, unmindful of the dirty and cold pavement like orphans, sharing a cigarette. your head on his arms, your legs intertwined. it was dark, except for a tiny moon above that finally showed up. the air too has gone colder.

you nodded your head and fell asleep.

******

so tonight you can't sleep. the memory of what happened earlier at the tennis court scared you. at the same time, it makes you excited. it's so confusing. it's like having the urge to eat chocolates, lots of it, only to regret it later on when your teeth hurt.

then you remember that tomorrow is sunday. you have to go to mass. that means you have to go to confession, otherwise you can't  have a communion. what if you die tonight, in your sleep, then you will go to hell. because you have not yet confessed that sin you did with r that afternoon. just the thought of roasting on fire made you squirm. you're still afraid. even if r has assured you earlier that what the priest had told you was not true.

*******'

i wish i am with you tonight. so i can comfort you. so i can tell you that there is nothing to worry.

but i am not.

for i am here, now, tonight, thirty one years after. same time, in a different place. in a different body that you will hardly recognize -- bloated, scarred, with a few lines on the face.

let me tell you what happened next. or at least some of it.

so that you can go to sleep.

*********

four years after what happened at the tennis court, r and his entire family perished when the boat they boarded to manila caught fire on the sea. it was a horrific death. it was the worst maritime disaster in the country ever. almost everyone (more than 4,000 of them, mostly children like r) on board died. only a few survived, but some of them were badly burned beyond recognition.

i am sorry to tell you that the tragedy had traumatized you some more. that it made you sadder when christmas comes. because it also happened in december -- when your older brother died years ago.

*******

you cried endlessly when the news of r's death and the way he died reached you. it gave you nightmares for months and even years.

he will stay with you. until today, you still remember him. especially when december comes.

*******

boys? you had your fair share. i am happy to say that your heart has been broken so many times that sometimes you wish you won't fall in love anymore. the last "serious relationship" you had was with a quite famous personality in the island where i am right now. both of you (or us) had always talked about living together somewhere else -- singapore, for instance -- so he can be free to be with you. so you can eat at restaurants, hang out at bars, without the pesky paparazzi following him around. as if!

don't laugh now. but it's true. the ugly you, the one whom your father wished was someone else, whom he always thought was inferior compared to his friends's or cousins's sons, was able to snatch one of this island's (used to be) famous bachelors.

sadly, it didn't work out.

but don't fret about it.

like everything else, you survived it.

*******

so tonight, days after you turned forty three, you are sitting in front of a laptop (i will tell you what it is when i have the time. it's like the typewriter that you use when you are writing down your poems, short stories and research papers. the red one that your mother bought for your birthday last year. but the laptop is way, way better than that. for once, you don't need ribbons, you hate putting them anyway. it's messy. aside from allowing you to write, it can connect you to people in other countries, the way a telephone does. it can play music and movies. it can do much more.)

ah, there is  a lot more wonderful things that's happening in the world right now. there is a lot of sadness too. but you are an optimist, there is always something to look forward to. that's how you survive.

so go to bed now. say your prayers and sleep peacefully. let the rain gently lull you to sleep. like it 

always does.

tomorrow when you wake up, everything is going to be different. you will be different. it's a promise.

sweet dreams.

yours truly,

me

(12:33 a.m., january nine, two thousand and twelve).

***

p.s. i wanted to write, xoxo, but you might not understand it. you might think i am writing you a prescription. go ahead, smile now. this is me trying to be funny.