104: Quoted

Can I tell you how awesome it is that someone to say my writing was "thought provoking?" I've clicked on technorati's "blogs that link here" you'll find on the sidebar and found this site and this entry.

Thank you BrandtJ of Las Vegas. I see you are a med student. I hope someday I'll find myself in a similar position as you are in, learning to heal people, serving our fellow men.

And...

Happy Halloween!

103: Confession #3

To ET and KY: Guys, you may find this post falling under the TMI (Too Much Information) category. So, a warning: if you think my frankness will make you feel uncomfortable, then please spare yourself and stop reading it. Also, to those under 18 (although I doubt there are any of you chickens reading my blog): some of the links below are for adults only, so don't go there!

My dear readers, there is a little secret that I must share with you. I ask that you be my confessor and pay heed, withholding any negative judgments and maintaining your current favorable view you have of me. You do, by the way, have a favorable view of me, right? No matter, but you must understand this confession requires your utmost sensitivity. Okay, okay... My little confession is this: I am... (fuck it, I'm just gonna say it) horny! There! I've said it.

A few hours ago, as I was watching TV and landed on an old episode of Star Trek: Voyager, I've learned that, according to the show, what my body is telling me is I'm afflicted with a condition called Pon farr. In English, it just means that I want to get down on my knees, tearing open a guy's pants (hopefully this guy would be my life partner), and ripping up his underwear, to reveal a hard, throbbing and pre-cum oozing cock, and then I'd give it, with my mouth, a good, saliva dripping cleansing treatment every dick rightly deserves. Then turning him over, I'd play with his tight, pink hole; there will be tonguing and fingering, obviously. Once it's sufficiently lubed, I'd plow him, doggy style, until he begs me to stop. I'd turn him over soon there after, and while fucking him, I'd play with his nipples, to make him writhe and moan with pleasure. There will be yelping, groaning, cooing; pleading, demanding... Oh yeah. After his face is sufficiently moisturized with my Asian pearl cream, he will then have his way with me. He'd get off; we'd repeat. By the night's end, we'd have gone through a few or maybe all of the Kama Sutra positions. Then my blood fever would be abated until the next time.

Okay, okay. I probably need to lay off on sites like this, this, and this. By the way, QC is an awesome resource for everything hot and steamy. BA, well, let me just refer you to this: (I don't have permission to post it. BA, I will take down this beautiful picture of Joel Marceau, if you want me to.) And as for NS... because of it, Messieurs Right and Left have known me intimately.

But the truth is I won't give in to my carnal desires. I can't. I just feel like...yes, what I am about to say will make me sound lame, but like a teenage girl (and oh God, I can't believe I gonna say this), my first sexual encounter with a guy needs to be special. (I know, I've just rolled by eyes, too.)

You see, the Church has sufficiently and thoroughly brainwashed me to believe that the act of love making should be just that, an expression of love shared physically between two individuals, and not just a means to get off at the expense of a warm body, however willing he may be. But I fully understand that in our community, sex is like a handshake, an introduction before two individuals decide to pursue a relationship. And I, in no way, will judge that or cast the first stone, lest I want the same treatment—I don't, by the way. Hell, my life as a gay man would be so much easier if I let my hormones rule me; hell, it’s just human nature! Please, don’t think that I’m on this high moral platform, thinking that I’m righteous, or more so than others. I just can’t.

And I’m totally open to believing that it is “fear,” more so than my religious conviction, that is causing me to “save” myself (rolling my eyes).

God, I’m so fucked up!

That is all.

Oh, If you know of any good psychiatrist, let me know.

102: Nothing To Report

It's now 12:32 AM!
Did you know that I came back from work just 40 minutes ago?
Did you know that I had to wake up at 5:00 in the morning yesterday to get to work by 6?
You know what? I spent a total of 17 hours at work!
WTF?!

***

Besides work sucking the life out of me this past week, I have nothing to report.

***

And I've just learned that Miers is not going to be this Nation's associate Justice of the Supreme Court!

Um... Hell yeah, there is a God!

Thank you for hearing my prayer, Lord.

101: Men!

As a man, I have had a hard time understanding women. Then again, I still do. What is it that they say? Women: you can't live with them; you can't live without them. But this post isn't about my inability to understand the fairer sex.

It's just that, now, I'm finding it hard, as well, to understand men. Um, gay men, to be more precise.

Okay, it's not like I've met a lot of gay men in my life time. I mean, besides the very few I befriended in blogosphere, the corporeal gay people I've met in my life... well, I've always kept them at an arms length.

1. In 7th grade, a boy offers to show me what a blow job is. He takes me aside to a dark alley and tells me to drop my pants. I freak and run, Forrest Gump style. He and I never speak to each other ever again.

2. In high school, there is this openly gay, Asian dude, who's, well, very open. Pink triangle stickers, a rainbow colored ring, an "Act Up, Fight AIDS" T-shirt, and what not. Like most homophobic Asian boys, my friends and I stay clear away from him.

3. In college, I've taken voice lessons from a guy I figured to be, but wasn't sure if he was or not a 'mo. A friend of mine, who had graduated a year before and had taken lessons from him, comes back to school for a visit. During our lunch date, she tells me that she'd heard from the voice coach that I was taking lessons from him, and she says: "you know he is gay, right?" Then she follows with: "are you gay?" It's an unexpected transition that leaves me, well, reeling. Inevitably, I stop going to his voice lessons.

4. In Japan...

5. Now back in NYC, I am hanging out with a gay co-worker. However affluent his background is, he has had a difficult life. He's faced rejection from the ones who are suppose to love him unconditionally, and he's come out self-reliant and hard. Some may call him "bitchy." Hell, I would. I mean, I think I understand him... Damn, I think he and I are a lot alike, but it still doesn't make it easy for me to open up to him. (Or to anybody, for that matter.)

But one thing that I don't get is, I thought we were becoming friends... Yet why would he do something so underhanded at work to me?

I don't want to think too much about it. Or even talk about it. I'm done. Let's all just look at pretty boys.

100: First Anniversary?

I don't know if I should consider today my 1st anniversary.

No!

You see, last year on this auspicious day (okay, it was hardly auspicious, but I felt like using that word), I ventured into the blogosphere and started my very own blog. No. Not this one. But this one. But, my first few entries were so...awful, I erased them. Consider yourselves lucky, my dear readers. Yet, if you like "pain," and I'm sure you do, because you're reading this, you can go and check my very first blog out (without the first few entries.) I promise, though, it's RIDICULOUSLY horrible.

Despite its putridity, when I started that blog, I was going through a change: the pace was slow and hard, but the effect was profound; from dying of denial to living in truth (albeit still somewhat hidden), I'm not the same person I was a year ago.

My confession (and yes, here's another one) is that back then it was excruciating to put down in words my feelings and experiences. If a blog is a reflection of the writer, my first blog revealed nothing. I sometime think that hyphenated non-IDentity could hold more of who I am, but I struggle with how much of myself to pour out.

Hmm... It's a constant tug-of-war, but I like the fight. I do.

Last year today was the beginning when I decided to take a step forward to look at myself for who I am, and, eventually, to have the strength and the audacity to stand before God as Job had done, and face Him as I am, as the man He created me to be.

Well, today isn't SO special.

But, I don't know... If I were an autonomous nation, I'd set this day as a minor holiday.

Why not?

By the way, my first ever post was as bad as this post... No, it was worse. And guess what? This is my 100th post.

Love you all. Go on, live, and celebrate your beautiful life.

099: Look What I've Got

AND

Now I can't wait 'til the movie comes out. And one day, I will get that lottery ticket they have down there at 51st Street.

098: Stalker and I

So, yesterday, my stalker from Japan, her friend, and I hung out.

Well, I guess, firstly, I do need to explain why she came to be known as my stalker. Simply put, she had the misfortune of falling for me.

You see, I used to tutor people, as a part time job; it was one of those things that you weren't supposed to do (please read, illegal), but we all did it. Mainly so that we could meet someone, anyone, outside the crazy, fucked up "education" circle of people we had to deal with at work. So, yeah, I tutored her.

She was unique, and smart, in that she didn't want to learn English from me. Upon finding out that I also speak Korean, she decided that I'd be best suited to teach it to her. The money she offered me was too tempting to turn down. What can you say, I'm easy. So I agreed, and thus began my foray into teaching the language I use with my mother, the language, by the way, my future partner will need to learn, if he wants to be a part of my fucked up family.

Anyway, I guess I was sending off some strong pheromones her way, because by the end of the last lesson, she tells me that she's fallen for me.

Yes, my dear readers, ME!

How do you respond? All that comes out of my mouth was, "Thank you..." However, sensing the impending "but," she quickly interrupts me, saying, "Please don't say anything." And like something out of a cheesy Korean soap opera, she rises, turns, and walks out the door, into the night, into what I imagine... Well, something like this:

Cue, cheesy K-pop love ballad.

A full view. You see the heroine coming out the door. She walks away from the door. Her pace quickens. Suddenly, she stops.

We do a slow 360 around her, clockwise, and as the song hits its chorus, you know, because that when the music crescendoes, we come to a close up on her face. You see a tear drop. She fights back her sweltering sadness, muffling her cries.

Cut to the hero. A full view. He's sitting down, head turned, heavy and downcast, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. We do another slow 360. This time, around him, counterclockwise. A close-up of his face.

Will he get up? Will he go after her?

Cut back to the heroine. We see her backside. She turns her head, expectantly.

Cut to the outside of the house. We start zooming in to the door.

Cut to the inside the house. You see a close up of a hand, slowly moving towards something. What is it? Could it be? It's the doornob. The second verse has ended, and we come again to the song's crescendoing chorus.

Cut to the girl. Close-up. She's still expectant.

Cut to the hand. The doornob's turned. It's his POV. The door creeps open, revealing... What do we see? We see, we see. The toilet.

I really had to go.

Nothing was said between us after that night, except for a text message I sent her that read, "let's be friends."

Come on, what do you expect from someone who is emotionally stunted as I am? And in a few weeks time, I had returned to the land of the free, the home of the braves.

The end?

Nope. She sent me a gift. Something to remind me of Japan: Senbei and green tea. Then another gift. Then another. And then another.

My roommate asked if I had a stalker, because one of the gifts she sent was a bag of white chocolates, each shaped as a woman's breast with a supple, pink nipple. Hold two of them together, you'd have a full, voluptuous set. Bite into one, you'd find a milky white cream. Yummy. From then on, she came to be known as my stalker.

So, yesterday, my stalker from Japan, her friend, and I hung out.

097: Honesty?

Honestly? Honesty? No, it was more like a drunken revelation.

Me!

I was still my guarded self, a tower of self preservation, a fortress of stand-offishness, until, that is... Well, as if each sip of gin and tonic were like a strong hurricane wind blowing away the flimsy levies of New Orleans (yes, a bad metaphor, but I'm sticking with it), I let certain pieces of information that I've kept to myself flow. About how my life is like some cheesy romantic comedy, like "Never Been Kissed," or "The 40 Year Old Virgin," but without the romance or the comedy. Hold on, I take that back. My life is quite comic, really. Come on, not getting laid for all these long years is funny! But I digress.

So, I'm babbling on. To a guy. Who happens to be a co-worker of mine. And who happens to be gay.

I guess, I really needed to talk. Face to face. You know, to someone who shares my proclivity for cocks.

God, I'm embarrassed.

Well, happy people, the sun is finally out. Go out and enjoy this day.

Right now, I have to go meet my "Stalker" who's just arrived yesterday from Japan to... to... Hmm, I don't know why she's here. I won't even presume to think that she came all the way over here to see me. Urgh.

Forget it! People, GO!!! Enjoy the sun.

096: A Milestone

(Enters Stage Center)

I bid you, my dear readers, welcome. Should your gracious disposition allow a moment spared to indulge my foolery, hear me, then, patiently and intently, of my confession. I, who stand before you, am a Stat whore. Yes, truly, I tell thee, I am. I am a one who seeks a messianic figure to touch him, to cleanse him, and thus redeemed from his atrocious sin, a sin of wanting attention, of wanting...friends. Oh, verily, I tell thee, on this day of days, this dreary, rainy day (actually, it was yesterday, but who cares? It’s my blog), I went to sitemeter.com. A daily religious ritual performed reverently (that’s kind of redundant, innit?) to see who stalks graces these pages, this sacred text (oh yeah, stroke that shit, stroke that ego), which holds a secret of my inner being, one that’s full of…SHIT.

What was the point of this post?

Oh yeah, I remember. Sitemeter.com. Well, ever since I started tracking the visitation numbers since April of this year, I saw the numbers climb steadily, like a little engine that could. And finally, yester morn, when the hour hand rested between 10 and 11, with the minute hand lingering on 43, and the second hand swinging by 1, I had my 2,000th visitor! This reader hails from Reading, PA, and, although I do not know what search words or phrase he/she used that led him/her to me, this lucky reader had the pleasure of reading this for about, I don’t know, approximately 0 seconds before venturing off.

Hold it! Wait. Do my ears deceive me? Am I hearing myself clearly? Am I being a tad ungrateful for this abundant, long-lasting attention my blog has had and is receiving?

Fuck Yeah!

No, in all seriousness, I am constantly amazed by this medium. It just blows my mind that there are people out there, who come to visit my page, sometimes repeatedly, to read what I have to say. And it’s not like I post “gratuitous” pictures, like this one: (I had to, everyone else was doing it!)

So, in conclusion, on this dreariest of rainy days (we’ve had no reprieve for about a week from Mother Nature’s on-going onslaught), I bow to you all, humbled, and resolutely exclaim my heart’s unending gratitude, saying, “Thank you, Thank you.”

(Exits Stage)

This post was brought to you by: "Work? Why? Sure you have lots to do, but your boss isn't here. Relax a bit. Procrastination's never hurt anyone."

Addendum: Dear readers, if you want to leave comments, please do so. I won't bite.

095: Need vs Want

It's not like I need it, but I sure do want it.

094: T-Shirts

Okay, I was inspired by her to write this post. And when I say, "was inspired by," I really mean, "copied from." But, whatever, right?

You see, I do need some new T-shirts. And in all seriousness, I can't decide what I should get. All the T-shirt designs below speak to me, speak to the person I am. They are clever; but some, I know, I won't be able to pull off wearing them. Let me begin by showing you what I won't get.

Well, because it's too obvious and um...gay.

As for this one...
Never, no way, not this one... well, because I'm afraid most girls would retort back saying, "Oh, honey, there's nothing to be sorry about. You were never EVER in the running in the first place." Which, in a way, is fine, but why open yourself up to such...um, an unnecessary humiliation?

However, I like this one, and is in the running:
It has a right amount of self-loathing I can be proud of.

Alas, this one, too:
This one is like a giant, garish neon sign pointing to one of my greatest fears. I wonder, you know, at times, out loud—because I'm crazy like that—whether the walls I put up against those who I consider friends are due to my fear that if they get to know me more intimately than they do now, they'd learn that I have nothing to offer them, that I can't be a good friend to them, because, face it, there will always be someone better, someone who can give what I can't give, however hard I may try, and ultimately, they will leave me; I'd be left alone. Why risk such... um, a desperate loneliness?

This not-so-secret fear of mine, by the way, applies to "relationship" as well. Will I ever be ready to have me a BF? Whatever! Moving on...

This one, well, I've actually said to a third party. A friend asked why I was not interested in a girl who obviously had a huge crush on me. My cryptic reply was thus:
Replace the "you" with "her." Anyways, she was beautiful, nice, wonderful, laidback; and had a great sense of humor, which I think most people interpret as the girl being fat, but she wasn't. I mean, people, she was perfect in every way. Except one. Surely, had I lied long enough and forced myself to pursue a relationship with her, it would have been ruination of both our lives.

Let's move on, it's been too introspective. Besides, I've three more to show.

I've often wondered, again, out loud, about this one. Indeed, who's with the Asian men? What do we get?

Now at the other end of my bipolar disorder, the manic side, (as an aside, I like pointing out the obvious, the blatant ones the better,) I can assure you that once I'm one hundred percent committed, he—whoever he may be—HE, will know the truth:

But then again, I think I like the idea of pissing off scores and scores of grade schoolers with this:

Well, I can't decide. Which T-shirt should I get?

093: A Tale of Two Weddings

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...

Wait, wait, wait. Who do I think I am, Charles Dickens?

Well, whatever. Okay, here's my beginning:

It was the best of times; it was the best of times. One wedding was held on the Right Coast; the other was held on the Wrong Left Coast. One was a small and simple ceremony; the other was an elegant and elaborate ceremony. I smelled the salty sea air that a gentle Atlantic breeze carried over to our sand covered sandles in one; I smelled the freshly lawn-mowed grass permeate the lush golf courses of an opulent country club in the other.

I witnessed J, whom I befriended in Japan, vow to have and to hold, for better, for worse, his beautiful bride, F; and I witnessed R, my college freshman roommate, for richer, for poorer, pledge to N, his beautiful bride, to cherish and to love.

To J and F, I wish joy; to R and N, I wish you happiness.

Congratulations!

092: Challenged

Best read with a faux Received Pronunciation (RP):

A while ago I wrote this; and the kind and generous responses I received regarding it filled me with gratitude. A reader challenged me, as well, in the interest of fairness, to write a list of things I like/love about myself. Yet, I must confess, it has been hard, rather almost impossible, trying to come up with that list. Each time when I think about, and try as I may, some positive aspects of my constitution, I burst out in fits of uncontrollable giggles.

But seriously, when you see the world like... well, like this:

Lucas could not help imagining this procession of walkers, all of them poor and battered, wearing old coats too small or too large for them, dragging children who could not or would not walk, all marching along Rivington Street, impelled by someone or something that pushed them steadily forward, slowly but inexorably, so it only seemed as if they moved of their own will; all of them walking on, past the houses and stables, past the taverns. past the works and into the river, where they would fall, one after another after another, and continue to walk, drowned but animate, on the bottom, until the street was finally empty and the people were all in the river, trudging along its silty bed, through its drifts of brown and sulfur, into its deeper darks, until they reached the ocean, this multitude of walkers, until they were nudged into open water where silver fish swam silently past, where the ocher of the river gave over to inky blue, where clouds floated on the surface, far, far above, and they were free, all of them, to drift away, their coats billowing like wings, their children flying effortlessly, a whole nation of the dead, dispersing, buoyant, faintly illuminated, spreading out like constellations into the blue immensity. (by Michael Cunningham, Specimen Days)

Yeah, so when you see the world, and you in it, like that, how can you stop a derisive mirth from springing out?

Despite my inability most of the time to see the cup half full, even if there's much greater beauty in it than there's in emptiness, after some soul searching, I present to you, in no particular order, the list!

1. I love that I am a loyal and a faithful friend.
2. I love that I am a good listener.
3. I love that I know writing this is one of the hardest thing I've done.
4. I love that I can be moved by music.
5. I love that I can be transformed just by reading a book.
6. I love that I show love to others by just being there for them; I know it's not much, but that's the best I can do.
7. I love that I can sing... or that I used to... Whatever! I have a nice voice... I think.
   
8. I love that I lived in Japan for three years, meeting a group of amazing people, who'll always remain close to my heart.
9. I love that I got an Ivy League education. People, I may act like an ignorant dumbass much of the time, but I'm really not. Ignorant, that is. Well... I still have lots to learn, so I guess I can be called ignorant. Anyways, as for acting like a dumbass, the jury is still in. But I love that I got an Ivy League education.
   
10. I love that I live by God's Grace. Once I thought it was a gift that came with conditions, conditions that said that I must follow the rules of the Church. It was a burdomsome gift that made me hate the person I am, hate the person I can never become. But who's to say that the Church is right? Who's to say that I am wrong? Until the veil of Heaven rips open, and there stands God to tell me my wanting to be with a man, to live with a man, to share our lives together, the love and the war, the joys and the pains, until He tells me that I am wrong, that I am damned for all eternity, that His Grace isn't for me, I say to the Pope Benedicts, the Dr. James Dobsons, the Pat Robertsons, or to any of the homophobic "leaders" of the Church out there, I'll bear witness on Judgment Day as an accuser to say your love was insufficient, that you failed to follow one of the greatest commandments; but unlike you, and the people you've influenced to hate, those who shout "God hates Fags," I'll plead your case, too, saying, "Lord, Your Grace is for them as much as it is for me."
    

PATER noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen.

Addendum: I didn't want to leave this post sounding too religious. So, I'll leave you with a few more things I've realized that I love about me.

1. I love that when I get really hungry, I turn really quiet, more so than I normally am, then I release the bitch within, scathing anyone and anything around me.
2. I love that I can be a total jerk, to the point of being the living embodiment of all the fun words we use for the male and female genitalia. You know, like "prick," "dick," and my favorite, "cunt."
3. I love that I can laugh at myself.
4. I love that I'm sensitive enough and hard enough to survive in this dog-eat-dog world.
5. I love that suddenly I'm finding more things about myself to love.
6. I love that I have some innocence left in me to prevent myself from turning jaded.
7. I love that I can appreciate life in all its glory, the ugly and the beautiful.
   
8. I love that I have hope.
9. I love that I have faith.
10. I love that I have love.

091: Inconsequential

Shall I paint my existence,
with strokes broad and bold,
the brush dripping Apollo's gleam,
to chasten the blue canvas,
to sprout forth life fresh and verdant?

Should a gardener prune away
a leaf whithering and browning,
will it from the stem bleed,
perhaps a red passionate enough,
capable, too, of embracing death?