the houses of strangers

like a restless soul searching for home, i have probably lived in a dozen or two houses that were not my own, nor owned by my parents.  i found out that houses were like lovers. they too can be the  jealous type, cold and uncaring, nurturing, noisy, quiet. they too had their own distinct smells (food, body odor, cigarette smoke, freshly-laundered clothes, baby's breath, a flower in spring, the first rain in june), characters, and nuances. like men.

the first house was in cebu.

it was nineteen eighty four and i was fourteen, a freshman at the university, when i started staying at a strangers' house, surrounded by strangers (who became like family to me later on) all the time. it was an all male dormitory (though the owners decided to accept female boarders later on) and i was rooming with five other freshmen at the same school that i was enrolled in.

i was a virgin. that is, at living in strangers' houses.

on my first night, i could not sleep. i was not used to sleeping on a small cot that barely had enough space for me to move, on a double deck bed made of wood, with someone else sleeping on top, and with four others on two separate double deck beds. the lights were off (thank god all of us could not sleep with the lights on, otherwise i would have to stay awake the whole night), and some of my roommates were already snoring loudly.

it was nearly midnight and the city was asleep. but i was wide awake. my body longed for a sleep, especially my tired bones, hands and feet. i spent the whole day buying things that i would need in my new life as a freshman in college: two pillows, pillow cases, a towel (to supplement my old one so that i would have something to use when one was in the laundry), new socks, shirts, underwear, shoes, books, notebooks, pens, and other school supplies.

too, i had a military hair cut for the requisite rotc (reserve officers' training course) subject before i did my shopping, and after that, i went to the tailor for a fitting of my new, quite itchy and uncomfortable rotc uniform.

it was then, on that sleepless and warm night, that i discovered that the dormitory, an old five-story building, had its own distinct sound. a humming, as though there was a machine that was propelling it forward like a ship or a bus. a squeak, footsteps from somewhere far away, the grunting of the old ceiling fan. the glog glog glog from a water faucet.

apart from my snoring roommates, there were also some whispers from i don't know where, loud conversations from the streets below, a car speeding away, and vendors selling "balut".

but i was not afraid. i was used to all these sounds: strange, otherworldly or not. we used to live inside a military camp and there were noises and voices that you could not turn off even after midnight.

finally, sleep came at around four in the morning. the next day, i was late for my first seven o'clock in the morning class: religious education. to think that i lived right across from the university.

actually, it was funny. because i was habitually late on my religious education class, our teacher, a nun, finally asked me why i was always late. i told her that some nights i was in the disco. exasperated, she asked me: is god in the disco? she said if i answered it wrongly, she would give me a failing grade. if i gave the right answer, then i would be exempted from the finals.

suffice it to say that the nun was satisfied with my answer because she did not only exempt me from the finals, she gave me a flat one grade, as well as asked me to seriously consider becoming a priest.

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because it was an all-male dormitory, the whole building was a repository of different smells. the lousy ones: body odor, stinky, sweaty feet, smelly laundries, dry or still fresh semen, sweats, unwashed hair. there were also the pleasant ones, especially at the kitchen: garlic and onions being sauteed, bacon and hotdogs being fried, freshly-baked bread, steaming cups of coffee, burning rice.

the room was almost, always in disarray.

shoes, clothes, books, towels everywhere. the floor was thick with dirt. at first, i tried to clean up and tidy up every weekend, or even when i had no classes during weekdays. but the room only stayed clean and in order for a few hours. after a while, once everyone was inside, then it would be back to its normal, pitiful state.

after a few months, i gave up, and i too acquired my roommates' filthy habits. talk about osmosis.

it was a good thing that every summer, i had to go home. i was back to my old, neat freak self.

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despite the chaos, the foul smell, the lack of privacy, i loved that dorm. it was there where i overcame my innate shyness and i was able to live harmoniously with five other boys. my dorm mates (my room mates specially) taught me how to drink, smoke weed, masturbate in a hundred different, pleasurable ways, as well as to shave, shine my combat shoes and clean the buckle of my belt for the military training course. they also tried to convert me into a "straight male", but they failed of course for i remained a fairy through and through.

even if they knew that i was gay, they never treated me differently. they were never afraid that if they stood naked in front of me then i would grab their stiff cocks and put them in my mouth. in short, they were the brothers that i missed at home. (confession: i was never close with my brothers. growing up, i felt that they hated me for being gay.)

in fact, they were the ones who encouraged me to tell my crush -- a very popular boy at school who looked like a movie star -- that i liked him. they were the ones who made it possible for us to be friends and they even invited him to go clubbing and getting drunk and stoned with us.

in turn, i helped them with their term papers, assignments (especially in english, auditing theory, math, taxation and religious education. no kidding!), wrote their essays and love letters, introduced them to my beautiful female classmates, and even helped them win the girls over by giving them advices on how to look good (use eskinol master, ponds for a healthier skin), and how to court young women.

there was comfort in our shared humiliation, insecurity, and paranoia as we experienced some of the bitter truths about life, love, and growing up.

in summary, it was a generous house. full of love too. and testosterone.

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my second home was a two-story apartment that belonged to a family of four (parents and two children). my mother happened to know the parents. this was already a year after i finished college and i was reviewing for the cpa (certified public accountant) board examinations in manila. specifically, i was enrolled at the cpa review school along espana, right across the university of santo tomas.

the ground floor was where the small living room was, the dining room, the dirty kitchen, and a toilet and bath. just outside of the dirty kitchen was the laundry area, and where the lady of the house (my mother's friend) had a small garden where she grew some orchids, shrubs and some flowery plants like daisy, rose, gumamela, bougainvilla, among other easy to care and low maintenance plants.

the second floor was where the three bedrooms were located and a toilet and bath. one room belonged to the husband and wife, another room was for their daughter which she shared with the two maids, and the other room was for their teen-aged son and myself.  our room was also small that a bed won't fit in, so we slept on the futon on the floor.

unlike in the dormitory which was right across the university and located at one of cebu's busiest and noisiest streets,  the apartment was in a quiet residential neighborhood along yale street.  oh yes, the whole neighborhood sounded like an american state with streets named after us cities like new york.

since there were maids, the entire house was always clean and tidy, and smelled homely. when you opened the main door, the smell of frying garlic, or of rice being cooked, would greet you no matter what time of the day. when you opened the door at the back toward the laundry area, there was the smell of detergents and newly-washed clothes, flowers that were in their early stage of bloom.

our room too was always neat and tidy, and everything was in order: books in the shelves, magazines on the table, clothes hung inside cabinets. the floor was always sparkling and shiny.

at first, i had difficulty getting along with my new roommate, the couple's oldest child. he was a senior high school student, very quiet, and had this melancholic air about him. every time i tried to start a conversation with him, he would give me short, dismissive answers. or sometimes, he would just nod his head and leave. it was actually good because i needed the peace and quiet to concentrate on my review of accounting, auditing and taxation theories, principles, etc.

to be fair, the boy behaved that way to everyone else -- shy, elusive, unapproachable, distant like a lover who wanted to leave. to his younger sister (then in the elementary and was quite the opposite. she talked a lot, asked too many questions, and was always inside our room touching my things, opening my books), to the maids, and even to his parents. i learned to love him for his distance.

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one night, i was awakened by the sound of someone crying. my first thought was that there was a ghost inside our room. so i stood up and switched on the light. there was nothing, of course. then i looked around and it was then that i realized that it was him who was crying. he was lying on his side and he covered his face with a pillow. i looked at the clock on top of the desk where we studied and it was three in the morning. it was a bit cold and it was raining outside.

"what's wrong?" i asked.

silence.

"do you want me to call your mom?"

still no answer.

"do you have a toothache?" (he always complained about his toothache. he loved sweets.)

more silence.

so i decided to turn off the light and went back to sleep.

a few minutes later, he called my name.

in the darkness with nothing but the slow humming of the rain (i turned off the aircon) and his sobs that he tried to suppress, the teen-ager finally told me that his high school sweetheart had broken up with him that afternoon. that he found out that she was going out with his friend, who was not as handsome and as tall as him. i let him talk. i did not interrupt his story.

then he asked me what to do. without sounding like joe d'mango (then a popular dj on fm radio who dispensed advices to people with broken hearts) i told him to let her go. yes, it will be very painful, especially at the first few days or weeks, but he had to endure it. he must keep himself busy with other things like playing or watching basketball. be with his friends all the time.

he asked me how long it would take to forget her. i said i don't know. it could be a couple of weeks, or months, or even years. frankly, i said he might not forget about her, but the pain will no longer be there.

should i win her back? no, i said. let her go. what if she comes back? i said if you really love her and could forgive her, then take her back. just make sure that she really loves you too, i added.

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since then we became friends. i also met his friends and classmates at school. even the girl who broke his heart. no, they did not get back together but they remained friends.

after i took up the cpa board exam, i left the apartment and moved to another place along makati, the country's financial district, to be near the places where i wanted to work.

in the end, it was a home of firsts. not for me though, but for the young boy. first love, first heartache (and probably first sex) and i could not help but reminisce about my own first taste, a bitter one, of a wreacking heart.

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after the apartment in cubao, i lived in ortigas near the newly built robinson's galleria along edsa where i got my first job as a junior sales auditor. it was another residential place, but this time, i was renting the entire room. ah, it was so nice to finally have my own room again.

my room was outside of the main house, at the back actually. i had my own keys both at the gate and at the room so i didn't have to bother anyone when i went home late at night.

(unlike at the dorm where there was a curfew, and in cubao where i was too shy to go home late because i did not want to wake up anyone. when i can't make it home by eleven, i just slept at a friend's place and called them to say i can't go home so the maids won't stay late waiting for me.)

there was nothing memorable in that place. at that time, i was working as junior sales auditor at robinson's and we spent most nights at the office working. we even worked on our days off. so i was barely home except to take a shower and to catch some sleep.

after that one, several rented rooms and places followed.

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my most memorable place was the one in santa ana when i was already a reporter. yes, i shifted careers and gears as well.

(to be continued)