portrait of a scandal

i’m sorry.

thanks for being a good friend.
thank you for being a bit of lightness and comfort for me, especially when i am there.
thanks for being so damn malambing.

i always felt safe in your arms.
and how i liked it when you bit my shoulder because you just couldn’t help yourself.
i loved it, how you held me tight.

our time in Iloilo…i’ll never forget it.
whirlwind romance.
like a fairytale.
swept off my feet and caught at the same time.
a soft place to land.
have i already idealized you?
oh dear, i have.
(doesn’t take me long…)

i wonder, if circumstances were different, if we could really endure a long term relationship.
maybe next lifetime.
from your text, “maybe we just met each other in the wrong time.”
for now, you remain my forbidden friend.

there are ways we don’t match.
and, in the end, i wonder how much of it matters.
the dreamer in me laughs at the question.
the realist says, “hell yah, it matters.”
time will tell.
time does tell.
and, i know the ways in which we differ do matter.
they would eventually be our undoing.

however,
it is a ridiculous ruse to call you friend and say i can’t see you anymore.
truth is, i desire you.
still.
and i don’t think i’ve ever felt so desired by someone.

it borders dangerous when we are intimate.
i lose myself,
and actually feel consumed by you.
the heat enthralls me.
and it’s like i actually don’t mind being devoured, annihilated.
curiously, a most delicious feeling.
i’ve never experienced it…quite like this.
and, i wonder why i enjoy it so much.
to be totally honest, it scares me a bit.

like a moth to a flame.

i laugh when i remember how we stumble through our conversations.
so much goes over our heads.
and we just let it go.
it’s frustrating not to be able to go deep tho.
in language, that is.

what will happen?

my mother lost her mind when she found out about us.
can just imagine the way tita daak spun it.

she waited until i got back to the states.

my sisters had already warned me that she received “intel” about us and that they, themselves had already undergone the third degree.
(they pled the 5th.)

i was the one who brought it up.
i told her that i was seeing you.
she actually tried to feign surprise.

i said to her, “Mom, look i know you know. and i want you to know that you can ask me anything about anything. please ask me first before you start driving yourself crazy with stories you hear from others.”

she didn’t ask me any questions.
instead, she said to me,
“you’re old enough, anak, and, i know, it’s none of my business. but, please, please, please anak. no one from binalbagan. no one has a future there. this one, he’s poor. he might be using you just to go to the states. i don’t want you to have a hard life, anak. hay, you know how people talk. think of your cousins, anak. they all look up to you. what will they think of you if you continue on with him?”

she said more.
but, i honestly don’t remember what else.

i told her, i wasn’t planning on marrying you.
that we were just dating.
that it’s not serious.

she looked so relieved.

in the end (and from the beginning), you wanted a girlfriend.
in the end (and from the beginning), i wanted a lover.

where do those expectations meet?

is there space in between?

and in that space, i can feel your hoping and wanting.
and it feels cruel to continue, despite my lingering desires.

i’ll never be able to give you what you want.

and you are a good man,
who deserves every happiness.
and you are the best friend of a beloved cousin.
perhaps it is better to release these energies you invest in me, so that you are free to find what it is you seek. good advice for me, too.

and, yes, i do love you.

i’m sipping tanglad tea.
i can hear you laughing.
don’t knock it ‘til you try it.
it’s not just for stuffing manok and lechon ha.

i love that you love to cook.
and that your sister works in the infirmary.
and that you take her to and from work everyday on your motor.
i love that you are a kagawad.
and that you are committed to serving your community.
i love that you were active in student government in high school and college and that you have a close barkada.
i love that you know stories about my family and know the history of Negros and share them with me.
i love your enthusiasm and your gentle way.
i love that you tell me jokes and text me when you’re eating.
i love that you ask me questions.
and care about the answers.
i love that you kiss the mole on my face, on my right cheek.
no one has ever done that before…
not with so much attention and intention, anyhow.

there is a picture of you and Lola Mameng on my phone.
her hair is in little pigtails.
she was cold that morning and was wearing a white sweatshirt.
you both look happy chatting away in ilonggo, and i remember that that was the morning that we were wrapping the Christmas presents for her mahjong classmates.
i remember that you asked Lola to make an extra one for you.
i remember laughing and thinking, “what would you do with a new lipstick?”

thanks for being so damn malambing.
thank you for being a bit of lightness and comfort for me, especially when i am there.
thanks for being a good friend.

i’m so sorry.