Author’s Note: This short story was written seven years ago, during a time when my creative writing skills were still developing. At that point in my journey, I was deeply inspired by the TV show Pose, which became more than just entertainment—it served as a backdrop to my creative writing studies in college. The world of Pose and its vibrant, unapologetic characters fueled my imagination and helped shape the narrative voice I was beginning to craft. Though I look at this story now with the perspective of growth, it remains a significant piece of my creative evolution. It’s a reminder of the passion and drive I had back then, and how the influences around us, no matter how subtle, can leave a lasting imprint on our work.
My dream? I am dying. I see myself inside my dormitory when I was in college. It was a hot afternoon. I looked around the room and saw none of my roommates were with me. I opened the door and, suddenly, a hot bright flash of light surrounded me. It did not hurt me, per se, but it was as if a cup of hot cocoa were a few millimeters near me. After the moment, I can still hear nothing. I am in an endless space of light and uncertainty. There was no celestial being to guide me to where harp sounds can be heard, nor an inhuman spirit to take me and chain my neck and legs to fire and brimstone. At this point, I know that I am indeed nothing. Upon the days of my travel to seek what was lost, I have encountered so many reflections of myself. There were those who were unforgiven for the things that they did not do, those who believed in things that were far from the truth, those who felt something warm but, also, temporary and, sometimes, unsatisfactory, and those who allowed themselves to be consumed of the darkness. Which one are you?
I.
Mike could still feel the snake forcing its way inside him. Both of his hands were above his head, controlled by a masculine force that is greater than his. He could feel the breath of questionable passion touching his left cheek as the lips scouted his innocence – to his ear, and down to his neck. The monster nibbled on his chest and he released a loud gasp. He could feel the roughness of its beard touching his skin. His body already gave the permission for such an invasion, and, yet, he could not handle it. He experienced such euphoria for a few times ever since he came to the city, and, yet, it still manages to convince him that this was what he needs. An illusion that would give him his own version of heaven, at least, for the time being. The monster was never gentle with him, even during the first time they met at his favorite bar for things that are indecent. He always remembered how it transpired – it spanked his ass, and he felt an overwhelming aura behind his back as he drank vodka. He looked at the origin of the force and saw it smirking and looking at him as if he was the prey. After a few hours, he whistled and called it to do its bidding at the back lot. There, they have made a deal that will enslave him to its will. He was, indeed, a prey in his own life – stuck in a circle of sorrow and passion.
The blasphemous form forced its large member inside him, and he gave a cry of pain and arousal. It chuckled, slowly pulled out and looked at him with those devil eyes. He looked like he was not satisfied, pleading for it to make him feel something. In all fairness, he wanted to take advantage on the body, sculpted by the Greeks. He, then, spat on his hand and stroked his wood a few times, trying to seduce it into continuing the process of the deed. His hands broke free from control and took one of the demon’s and put it on his neck. Its size was enough to cover every inch, from the jaw to the collarbone, unable for him to determine if this was still an act of lust or a possible murder. He, then, felt the throbbing sword inside him, pushing deeper and faster at every movement. Thanks to the intersectional god, the one that surpasses the taboos, the adrenaline was enough to endure such horror until it turned into a high. Its soft, angelic lips touched his, taking a part of his soul, torridly. Shame. Ecstasy. Regret. Satisfaction. Anger. Happiness. Selfishness. Faith. Oh, fuck. Shit!
Both of their bodies rocked at the same speed and motion. They were sirens swimming chasing each other’s tails. They were more powerful than the currents of the oceans. Yin and Yang. Master and slave. Lover and archenemy. The balance of all the things in this world that make one truly human. The inhuman spirit tried to kiss him again, but he decided to feel its heart instead. He leaned his head towards its shoulders and put his left hand on the back of its crown and the other on its back. It was a good thing that it was taller than him. An incubus trying to cling to his angel lover before the Catholic God calls for the sound of trumpets, and the gates of hell open. The movement became rougher and faster. It was nearing its climax, so it pulled out its own and pushed him on his bed. His back was hit by the foot of the bed, but the bully did not seem to care. All it wanted was to finish the job. It went around and positioned its royal subjects on his face. He opened his mouth and stroked his stick fast as well. He waited for this to happen; to taste the youth of someone else’s as his never came into his reality. It growled as it came. Its metaphorical gin spattered all over his face and body. It tried to catch its breath, and as he signaled that he was going to relieve himself, it took his clothes on and went outside the room. He never looked as distraught as he was at this moment. He was left with a throbbing cock, aching for the calm, and mess, not only on his bed but in his mind.
It was the first time that it happened to him. In most cases, his tops let him cum and feel that he was worth the vow of the bodies. That’s it though. After the session, his partners leave with no traces at all. He would probably accidentally meet them at a bar and be introduced to their significant others, acting as if there was no heat and temporary love that peaked during those nights.
He heard the apartment door closed. He got out of his bed, took his sheets, and wrapped it around his body. He ran outside to try to convince it to stay (or, at least, make him finish); however, he saw another figure standing across the hallway. A dark shadow, probably six feet tall, was blocking the path. It did not make any sound at all, but its shoulders were wide enough for him to feel fear and sorrow. His eyes begin to fool him as it was starting to look like as if the room was being engulfed in darkness, and the distance between him and the figure lessened. His heart began to pound slower, but surer. Tug. He remembered that he was still a child when he last saw a ghost. Tug. He did not know what to do because he cannot feel his legs. Tug. The figure was nearing him. Tug. He closed his eyes. Tug.
“Umalis ka na diyan.” A deep-seated voice echoed all over his apartment.
The telephone rang. He opened his eyes even though his head started to ache.
He looked at where the figure was standing but nothing was there. The door was now far from him. Was it still because he was still having a hangover from the vodka he drank last night? Was it because he just had not released his juice? He picked up the phone and groggily said, “Hello?”
“Nasaan ka na ba? The supervisor’s gonna have a spot check today. Hurry!”
The line ended. He stood there for a minute and sighed. He replaced his bed sheets with newer ones. He did not like colorful ones, especially those with print. It was too much for him. Most of the guys look for someone discreet so he had to make everything look “normal”. I still wonder why, though. Para namang hindi sila nasasarapan kapag tsinutsupa na yung mga titi nila. Parang puke lang din naman siguro yung pwet ko. He, then, fixed his clothes and made himself a hot bath. He put out his prized scented candles – strawberries, as he misses the ones he got from his aunt from Baguio, played some music of Regine Velasquez and made himself feel immaculate.
He took the matches and the pack of cigarettes from the medicine cabinet and put them at the side of the large, white, bathtub. As ever inch of his skin was being covered with bath water, he sang out his heart and screamed out his lungs. You would be able to see the large veins in his neck. The body pain and headache did not bother him as if as he was the main act inside the Araneta Coliseum. He puffed his first smoke of the day as if as his throat was not strained due to the vodka and the earlier act. He could not reach the high notes that he used to reach when he was still entering singing competitions in his hometown. Back then, he was a bit more than an ordinary singer. Even though he did not always win as champion, the confidence of being able to perform on stage and to show people that he was worth something to be proud of was enough. He once wanted to become an artist; however, his mother was not fully supportive of his perseverance. To his light, arts were meant for people with money; who never had to worry about where to get their next meal of the day. They were not for the practical; and it was stupid for someone to pursue their dreams. He would sometimes have glimpses of the past when he would ask permission from his parents to go out of the city to compete. He would always receive a resounding no, and when he attempted to fight back and plead to them, his mother would pinch his ear and make him kneel in a bilao full of mongo beans. He, then, would be forced to pray. However, this did not stop him from pursuing his dreams. He would then work multiple jobs just to earn the money he needed to cover the expenses of his travels. No matter how far the destination is, he would always find ways to reach it and fight as if as he was fighting for his life.
His grandmother was his kunsintidora, and would always go with him to every possible competition without telling his mother. They would always find the perfect reason for each occasion: he had to accompany his lola to her amiga who came back from the States; to help her in doing household chores; to gather the strawberries that his aunt in Baguio would always give him; or to go help his grandfather in renovating their ancestral house in Nueva Ecija. They would always have the best time practicing, and gossiping about and reenacting his mother’s tact and stubbornness during breaks. He would be told on finding the perfect pitch and proper breathing by her showing off through Kundiman songs. He never felt that he had to cry for he was positively challenged. As many competitions passed, he would, eventually, consecutively win as the champion. He would always give the trophy to her as an act of love and respect. They would come home to his mother, with the trophy on one hand, and the cash prize on the other. He was used to being sent to his room as the adults discussed their shenanigans. When the night came, he would come outside, see both elders were already preparing dinner, and sit down at the dinner table. Without any warning, he would be asked by his mother about the details of the competition – from his winning piece to the reactions of his opponents when it was announced that he was the best. After each and every moment, his smile would last, even when he dreamed of being the next Ogie Alcasid. However, all things changed and brought down to the brink of death when the same manner happened to her.
A night before a competition, he heard his mother shouting and breaking the plates in the kitchen. He rushed inside in order to comfort her, for he feared that people might be disturbed. He saw her on her knees, crying while holding the black rosary she would always wear during novenas. Beside her was the phone and shards that would entertain him in the far future. His lola died on her bed because of tuberculosis, to which they had no idea because she did not want any of them to worry and spend lots of money for such an untreatable ailment. Upon learning about her death, he began to experience a different treatment from his parents. He was not given a chance by his mother to perform in any program and competition. Singing was supposed to be his distraction and to alleviate his suffering; but his mother would always see it as an act of fighting back and would spank him with the broom they use to clean the dog’s shit outdoors. His father would punch him every night. As the punishments continued, his talent deteriorated. He never had the chance to practice after graduating from elementary. His only protection was now gone. As he aged, his fire lost its heat and light.
After the thirty-minute catharsis, he got out of the tub, looked at the mirror and gazed at his reflection. I definitely need a haircut right now. As he dried himself, he could never not acknowledge the lines on his thighs. Despite the brownish color of his skin, one could notice the cuts. He had them the first year he stayed in this apartment. He wore his clothes and went inside the kitchen. Then, he opened the refrigerator and took three eggs, four hotdogs, and two tuyo that he got from the Filipino grocery store, a few blocks away from his apartment. He was fond of making sure that he had more than enough supplies of ingredients he could use to satisfy his palette. He made his breakfast and sat on the dinner table. It was long and, probably, five more people could sit with him but, as usual, he was… still… alone.
He looked around and noticed how dreadful the place was, even with the space and the decorations that he placed to make him feel as if as he was in his house. Most of the five rooms this abode had were painted white or cream, except for his bathroom which was painted rose gold, for his father did not really want colorful stuff in his household. At the back of the door of every room, a crucifix was nailed to it. His mother said that it might help ward off evil spirits and may even “help” him against his criminality, his ultimate sin. Little did she know that someone like her developed his inner demons. Family pictures were placed around the apartment – a few were hung on the walls of the living room, some were put beside the china set that his grandmother gave him, while the rest were compiled into photo albums that were under his bed. He did not really have a lot of furniture and appliances, but he made sure that he had the television with cable so that he could watch the teleserye his family was watching from the other side of the globe. On the back of the set was a pile of academic books he tried to read a few days after he was welcomed by the landlady of the building. Dust enveloped the covers due to the lack of interest he developed after losing his first job. The pile was now taken over by fashion and triple-x magazines he did not even care to read nor unsubscribe from. He would always remember that his dream was to take his family out of Cavite to his house so that they could have a better life away from relatives that would extort almost everything from them while, at the same time, gossip about them about their misfortunes in life. This could also mean a new chapter, a new identity, and a new place where they would not be ashamed of their son anymore, a new era when he could finally be who he was and, if fate allows, be able to finally introduce the love of his life to them and have Sunday dinners. However, a dream is just a dream… nothing more than a figment of imagination of his then-repressed id.
Reality check. He was still alone and decided to drink his first coffee of the day.
II.
He arrived to work two hours late. Supposedly, he should rush and feel bad about it and ask for forgiveness from his bosses; but he just became a man of steel from every job that he’s had ever since his first arrival in New York. Every menial responsibility that you can think of, he already tried. Cleaning restrooms, which was just an extra money thing he did when he was a kid (especially, when he was trying to sneak out for his singing competitions), and, aiding the elders, which will be his endpoint in the near future, were examples of the things he did and will, probably, still try to do if he needs more cash to pay off the bills.
He did not care anymore. Whatever action he did and how he did it, he still got reprimanded by his bosses, and, sometimes, got sacked on the spot. He had already endured physical abuses, and manipulations. These things did not make him stronger, per se, but it made him different. It made him a machine, a tin man wanting a heart.
It was a good thing that when he arrived at the Chinese restaurant, his morning shift, the supervisor was not there. They said that he got stuck on traffic ten blocks away. However, everyone was in a panic. The meat supply has not arrived yet, and people were starting to fill up the seats. He took the mop and began to clean the kitchen floor amidst the chaos.
He could not see his friend, the one who called him. He thought that he was probably fooling around with the woman who was in-charge of the soup. Rumors were not even enough to compensate the amount of stupidity that the man brings to the place. Mike could not even dare to question the fact that despite his efforts, he was being paid at a minimum and always scolded by his superiors, meanwhile, his dumb, horny, bastard friend gets to escape the job whenever he wanted to.
“Where the hell have you been, Mike?” the overall manager, steaming with anger, threw a black apron at him when he went inside the kitchen.
“What’s it to you? You don’t even pay me right!”
“What did you say? Hey! Come back, you dumb fuck!” Everyone stopped at what they were doing and watched their confrontation. Mike turned around and walked slowly towards him.
“I said, you don’t pay me right. Don’t you even call me names because you’re not my boss. I don’t answer to you. Just because you’ve become the manager here doesn’t mean you get to forget what you did just to get what you want, you guilt-tripping whore!” He pointed his finger towards the laughable manager. He could hear people giggling from the back, because everyone knew what happened.
It was normal in their environment to take advantage of people. In the manager’s case, every time there was competition in the restaurant, he would do everything in his might to make sure that they were out of the job as soon as possible; no matter how gruesome and absurd the manner was. One instance, he spread a rumor that his competition was sleeping with the supervisor to get a pay raise, which she was the one doing it. Half of the staff began to bully her, and he acted to be the superhero of the story. He gave advices to her in making sure to make the staff pay for the blatant discrimination she got from them. However, it was not enough for she took her life inside their storage room. The bullies lost their jobs and he was promoted to be the manager of the restaurant.
Luckily, when Mike came, everybody beside the supervisor knew about what happened and warned him about the nastiness that is the manager. He kept his eyes on him ever since he stepped foot inside the restaurant. He was the competition that no one can bring down. Every time he saw any kind of maltreatment, he was the first to defend and console the victim.
The overall manager did not do anything because he was preoccupied by the supervisor’s visit. He wanted to punch him and to sack him on the spot, but it would be illogical. The words were not enough to justify any grave action he plots to do. He wanted to determine the right time and the right spot to make him feel satisfied.
“Go inside and do your fucking job!”
Mike smiled and went inside the storage room to sort out the containers, just in time for the meat supply. The area was riddled with black mold; the stench of rotten vegetables and poultry was enough for him to be immune. He always puts into mind that his bosses were quite strict when it comes to quality control. The irony of it all.
After spending a few minutes, his back started to ache. He resembled it to the plight of a seventy-year old man, his grandfather, trying to pick up a letter dropped on the floor. He was always the one who would help him get back to his favorite armchair. His lolo would, then, tell him his experiences during the first People Power, and the moment when he realized that he would marry his wife, if he would be able to survive. Because of weak communication, they were pen pals. They would write each other love letters and send it along with a red rose. When they finally were able to meet after the conjugal fiasco, they were both ecstatic knowing that they kept their letters the whole time. During this moment, lolo brought out another love letter but, instead of the flower, he put an engagement ring inside the envelope. He never left her side, even on her deathbed. On her last day, he brought her a white rose and proposed to her, one last time. Mike was told about the scene and, from then on, wished that he would someone that would never leave his side, and would love him despite the thorns.
He was organizing a row of containers of beef when the light went out. They might have forgotten about the power bill. He was alone in the room and, oftentimes, in same situations, he would ask himself whether what he was doing was still good for his own being. However, the noise from outside would remind him that this was his responsibility and that he could never get out of the situation, unless he would be able to bring his family to the American Dream.
The room was quiet enough that he could hear everything – rats scouring through the boxes on the other side of that hell hole, leaks from the air conditioner, and even the noise of their customers from the outside.
He chuckled. Pretty much my scenario every day. The backdoor creaked open. He heard someone breathing heavily, their feet slowly moving towards him. Boxes were falling.
She might have forgotten her eyeglasses again. He thought that it must be Angela, the kitchen manager. “Hey, you better go outside. You hate the smell in here.”
He, then, felt someone grabbing his left hand, moving towards the front door. The hands were cold. They were big enough that someone would mistake it for a man’s. It was not Angela’s for her hands were small. He started to feel a chilling breeze, mostly on his back. He did not try to speak anymore for he was unsure of what was happening but, then, he thought it must be a customer’s child, just lost after wandering around the restaurant.
As they approached the door, the breathing intensified. He, then, heard a voice of a man, with a heavy yet sharp accent, whisper on his left ear. He did not feel any creepiness on the tone, but, a warm and welcoming one. It was as if someone was trying to put him into sleep.
“Umalis ka na diyan.”
He felt that something was tugging his shirt from the side and, suddenly, the light went back. He screamed in fear and surprise. There was no one there. It was only him inside the storage room. He, then, felt sick and smelled worse than the rotten meat inside. He could not see anything or anyone else beside him; however, he felt like something heavy was on his back. His vision started to blur so he decided to get out of the room. However, before he would even get to touch the doorknob, something pushed him away. A force so strong that he accidentally destroyed a couple of rows of crates.
The one thing that bothered him was not the fact that he was wet, and his body was aching; but it was because a large shadow of a distorted humanoid began to destroy the light sources. When the bulbs blew up, he heard the voice from earlier distorting into a bass. The sound multiplied as if as people surrounded him and began calling him names. He decided to run from his position to the front door to escape; and when he thought that he succeeded, he was back inside the storage room but the dark figure from his apartment was in front of him. He ran to the back door and the same thing happened; but there were now a few people, dead, ghosts, or whatever it is you would like to call them. As he tried to do it again and again, more and more members of the undead began to surround him.
It came to a point when the room became boundless. The walls were replaced with nothing but darkness and the crowd that seemed to take a liking on him. Most of them did not have any eyes. All had grayish green skin. Women had hairs long enough to reach the floor; while men had none. Some did not have any cloth covering their bodies; while some had layered robes (you would know that they were expensive despite the dirt because of the fabric) on them. All of them looked at him with utter disappointment. The dark figure at the center raised its finger, pointing at him. It tilted its head and began laughing manically. Then, the rest of the crowd followed, moving their heads at the same time and the noise began to expand and intensify. He could not take it anymore, so he screamed so hard that he did not care whether his vocal cords would rupture. He wanted to get out of this nightmare. He closed his eyes and slapped himself continuously, trying to wake up.
He felt someone touching his hands, preventing him from harming himself. When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was outside of the storage room, in the middle of the restaurant. Everybody, including the customers and the supervisor who came at the very moment, was looking at him, judging him as if as he was mentally ill. Apparently, instead of crates, it was dishes that he bumped and broke. Mess was everywhere. It was his friend who calmed him down. “Hoy. Ayos ka lang ba? Anong nangyayari sa ‘yo?”
Before he could answer, his manager apologized to the customers for what happened and told them that everything was on the house, grabbed him on his shoulders and dragged him outside. He, then, was punched right on his left cheek. The force was too much that he spat blood. He was given money by the asshole.
“Don’t you ever come back here, or else, I’m gonna call the cops.”
III.
“Boss, yung regular. Dalawa.”
“Back again so soon?”, the bartender laughed when she saw him sitting down on his favorite spot – at the end of the isle so that no one could talk to him as most people were busy dumbing themselves down.
He was always early for the nightlife in New York. Most people would eat down at their go-to place after work, but he never really had the appetite for food in the area. He would always think that it was too bland. It was also near to his apartment, so he never really worried about going home wasted. It was a haven for overseas workers. There were pictures of celebrities from the two opposing television channels. You would see pictures of athletes that never brought pride to him, especially that one who decided to enter politics because he thought he would bring change to the society. It was a poorly lit bar where you would hardly different parokyanos having their own social groups. A group near the bathroom area, one he did wonder about that night because of the lavender smell, was talking about how they would survive having a TNT status. Another one beside the jukebox was having a competition as to who had the most sex with an American that month. Kung ako ang nandiyan, baka nanalo na ako. Three harmless-looking whites were having a chat with another bartender – he heard that they were new to this place because they were lost. As someone who was here for years, he never really had any social group to belong to. He did not know if it was because he looks suplado or he was too busy with his phone and arching his back so that he would feel that he had a big bottom.
“Yep. Kinda had a crappy day.”
“So, the usual?”, she took two shot glasses and filled them up with vodka and served them with a glass of iced tea. Mike took out his phone and checked if he missed any emails. It has been four years since he last went back to the Philippines, and communication with his family has been hard. Gulp. He smiled when he saw nothing – no text nor email. No additional stress to be concerned about that night besides the fact that he lost his job. He thought that for the first time, his relatives were less of his worries. He asked for a pen and paper and decided to write in the middle of the dim-lit bar. He would have typed it in his phone but, he would rather lose the paper that night so he would forget about the things that dampen his spirit, even for a short amount of time.
Two pairs of shoes. Gulp. Groceries. Gulp. Tuition fee for a sibling that does not take studying seriously. Gulp. Uncle’s cataract operation. Gulp. Everything is repetitive for him.
Someone touched his ass. He looked behind and saw a white man looking at him with all the seduction as he passed by. He looked familiar but he was not sure, so he did not reciprocate the act. Props to Mike, he was indeed an attractive guy. Given the fact that he works at so many jobs, he has the built of an Adonis. He was not conventionally unattractive either. Plus, he was in a place where people like him were exotic – a prized token, taken advantage to make the supreme feel rich and powerful. If he was only given an opportunity, he could have been an artista – probably, at par with Diether Ocampo or Zanjoe Marudo. Women, and men, when he was in college, used to talk about him when his around; fantasize about what he can do romantically and roughly in relationships and, of course, in bed. Little did they know that back then, he never really had any experience because he still lived with his family.
His first experience was when two movers came to deliver his dining set. He was just wearing a sando and a short, so you could see parts of his skin. As someone who did not know the evils of the outside world, for he only knew about demons inside himself and his family, he was welcoming to them. He gave them food and water, and even offered to help. At the end of the day, he was caught off guard and was pinned down. The next thing he knew was one mover was putting his dick inside his mouth, and the other inside him. No protection nor lubricants. He did not struggle because he feared for his life. He just let them do their deed. He was not even fully satisfied. Every moan that he did was a cry for survival. He did not have anyone to ask help from because moving to New York was an impulsive move. His family was drowning with debts because of his schooling. He thought that it was time for him to pay them and give back.
He was about to get off his spot to go to his potential hook-up when his phone vibrated. Shit. It was his mother. He sighed and answered the call. All you can hear from him was “yeah” and “uh-huh”. He really wanted it to finish because, apparently, he needed to work twice as hard. His father was driving drunk and crashed to a jeepney and a pole for telephone wirings. He had to pay a quarter of a million pesos in order to get out of jail. He could not ask for his family to pay for the fine because he knew that the burden would end up on him.
He ended up the call before his relative could say anything else because he wanted to cry, but no matter how hard he tries, he could not do it. Gulp. he wanted was to work as an engineer and study for a higher level of education. Gulp. He did not expect that he would end up having different jobs with lower pay. Gulp. He did not want to become a bank. Gulp. My life deserves better.
Gulp.
“Take it easy. You won’t last the night if you drink that fast.” Someone touched both of his shoulders and massaged them. He got up so fast and had a head rush from all the stress and the alcohol. He leaned on the isle and closed his eyes, trying to compose himself.
“Hey. Are you okay?” He felt a hand grabbing his ass. He tried to open his eyes and look at the man. It was his partner that morning. He knew it from the silhouette of that chiseled face. His cheekbones and protruding as if as he was made by Michelangelo. The face was full-bearded, but it was clean. He had brown eyes that Mike would always look at every time they had an hour of passion, or two. He had lips that he would dare to kiss every time they start their deed. It was as if as an evil queen casted a curse that would make him fall to every guy that he meets. It was a sleep that lasted as long as he breathed the dirty air and heard the noisy streets of New York. Why the hell is Sam here?
He did not care anymore. Without any regret and guilt, his heart full of sorrow and frustration instructed him to lay his lips onto Sam’s. He was trying to feel something else, better than the void that was being enlarged by everything that was happening to him. Pinagsakluban ng langit at lupa kung iisipin natin na totoo nga talaga ang Diyos.
Sam was surprised. He pushed Mike and wiped his own lips clean. He was mortified and disgusted. “What the actual fuck, man?”
Mike looked ashamed, but he trusted his guts and gathered his courage. Why the hell is he acting like that? It’s as if as he didn’t like what I did every time I do it while we’re in my apartment. He whispered the three words of indecency. The unbreakable. The unforgiven. He did not have the time to determine if the thought that came out of his mouth were true and real – in fact, he did not know what was anymore. Everything was covered with fog and confusion.
Sam leaned on to him, but not near enough to make others think that they were having an intimate moment.
“I have a girlfriend. She’s here with me.”
He pointed at the group from the right end of the bar. Mike looked at her as if as he was a jealous boyfriend. He saw a tall woman with an evidently large breast. She had long, wavy, brown hair and a smile that made him frown. “You lied to me?”
“I never did. I thought we already had an understanding. We’re just fuck buddies, that’s all. Besides, she doesn’t know what I’m doing.” Sam grabbed his hands and put in onto his crotch. “I know you just want this. Just go back to your apartment. I’ll just take my girl home and I’ll go to you tomorrow. I’ll fill you up real good.” He smirked.
Never did he feel such anger like that for years. At that moment, he just wanted to grab his shot glass and break it and slit Sam’s throat. He did not even care if he goes to jail. He just wanted him gone. The last time he felt such demonic presence was when he came out to his parents. His mom just tolerated his identity. Basta huwag kang gagawa nang masama at makakapagasawa ka pa rin ng babae. His dad did not speak to him for months. He was told that his own father “hated” him. All what happened was he continued to give Mike the financial support he needed while he was studying, but that was it. One time, at a sleepover at a friend’s house, his father texted him. He was trying to stop his son from saying sentiments for the community. Hindi pa tayo nag-uusap tungkol diyan. Mag-aral ka na lang muna nang maayos. After reading the message, he cried so hard – the first time in years. He was being taught not to cry because it was a sign of weakness, but he did not care that time. He was so angry that he did not know if he wanted his father dead or for him to accept him as who he was. However, they never really had a proper conversation as both decided to stay civil and not talk to each other unless it was required by the situation.
Mike took his hand away from him and punched him right on his nose. Everyone gasped and looked at them. Sam’s group and the bartenders immediately went to them and stopped the commotion from escalating. It was the first time that he took a real stand for himself.
“Fuck you.” He looked at Sam’s girlfriend and smiled.
“He fucks me three times a week. You might wanna check if you have an STD or HIV because this…” He walked a few steps towards guy with the broken face. “… is a goddamn slut.” Sam was heated and tried to punch back but the people inside the bar were too fast.
His bartender shouted at them and made the group go outside. They were not really welcome because of Sam’s ego and stupidity. “Are you okay?” She asked.
“Yep. Give me two.”
“What? You’re already drunk. Go home.”
He looked at her with dread and anger that he did not want to vent towards the people he cared about. “I said… give me two.”
Another bartender apologized to everybody for the event and turned up the volume of the jukebox. It was then playing songs by Madonna.
IV.
The room returned to such life and intrigue when a group of people wearing costumes with fur came inside. It was his first time to see them, despite him being a regular. Perhaps, it is just that he did not pay attention to his environment because he was busy trying to fix himself and the problems that he has.
All lengths of hair and heels, manners of glitz and matte, sizes of the breasts and dicks, came to liven up the room. They scattered to the different groups; some had laughs with the sex competitors; a few stood on top of the tables to dance and vogue. If only there were enough light sources and dancing spaces, this place could be a center for parties. For a moment, he had forgotten everything that happened that day, and participated in such an illusion. If he were given the liberty to control his freedom, then he would take the power of time to relive this moment. Only this. He danced along with a man with a pixie-cut hair as if as he never had the chance to dance all his life. As a matter of fact, he never dared.
To his father, to dance was to sin and to show such weakness. Stiffness was indeed strength. Mike would make sure that his parents were not inside their house before he would turn on the radio. He would listen to it, but he did not know what to do next. When he tapped his left foot to the beat, the other would not follow. When he raised his right shoulder, the other would follow but not to the beat. At the end of the day, he would just nod and sing the song until his father would shout at him to turn the radio’s signal from FM to AM. When he could not hear the order, he would finally receive the day’s beating.
“Sweetie, we’re here to take our order.” A short woman, or man, wearing six-inch heels, came to the bartender. They were wearing a white fur coat; you would mistake it for a wolf’s skin; underneath it was a shirt filled with blue and white sequins. Mike would have thanked for the bar being poorly lit because he would have been blind.
“Three bottles of whiskey?”
“Yeah, bitch!” They snapped their fingers twice. Mike looked at them the whole time. He was not disgusted, but he was amazed. It was the first time he saw such magnificence.
“We’ll pay when we get back.” He smiled when he saw that they winked at him. It felt like he was meeting his favorite celebrity.
When the group left, he asked the bartender about them. She said that it was a house. A form of family. They usually get their drinks from her and forget about them, most of the time. She was not angry. She understood what they were doing, and said that they have suffered more than enough ridicule that no number of bottles of whiskey can compensate.
“Here.” She took a piece of tissue and wrote the address of the location of their “party”. It turns out that even she was an adjacent to their culture. He was not familiar to the whole shebang, but he heard talks from the restaurant that such “parties” were to die for. Every gay, and trying-to-be gay, was always present. It was a celebration for those people that were shunned by the judgmental world. It was their only true way of expressing themselves without being prevented in actualizing their dream to belong and to be on top – a reality so far-fetched. “Come to this address or not, it’s up to you. But, you need this. You’ll know when you’ll get there.”
Even though he already drank a lot, he took his last shot of vodka and went home. He opened his closet to check clothes that he could wear. Despite everything in his life that was chaotic, he was very organized. All were neatly folded, arranged by the type of the clothing first, then color second. He could not wear anything feminine because it reminded him of the number of hits from his father’s belt and his mother’s religious embargo.
He took a blue shirt and went inside the bathroom. He opened the medicine cabinet, and inside was a partition of medicine and makeup. He kind of had a hard time taking his anxiety medication but he got it anyway. After drinking two pills, his vision started to mess with him. No matter how hard he tried to open his eyes, he could not see anything clearly. He reached out for a lipstick with a dark-red color. However, before he could even start putting on make-up, the vodka and the pills brought him down.
Before he could entirely close his eyes, he saw a black figure standing in front of him.
V.
Noise. Glitter. Realness. He opened his eyes and he was inside a basketball court. It was not filled with sweaty men and their macho tendencies. The room was filled with people wearing different kinds of costume; laughing and drinking hard. He was surprised at how people were cheering for one another just for walking at the middle. At the end of the room, he saw a table filled with golden trophies, probably bought at a dollar store somewhere, and another table where judges put their scorecards. The master of ceremonies seemed to have so much fun screwing with the contestants. Snap.
He went to the bar at the back of the crowd and asked the bartender for some vodka. For no particular reason, he could not be heard by the man. Someone from the back shouted for a bottle of whiskey and reached out. His eyes widened as he saw the hand pass through his chest. He was invisible, and, apparently, non-existent. He had a difficulty breathing when the hand moved away from him.
Was it not a part of his reality or the other way around?
In front of the judges, he saw the dark figure that has been haunting him. The spotlight was now on him. He had no reason why, but he started to walk towards it. It was not moving at all.
“And who’s this?” The master pointed at him. Everybody looked at him and screamed. He could hear their cheers and snaps. “A country god?”
Suddenly, he was wearing barong, so thin that the whole audience could see his muscular physique. Veins in his arms were popping, the same stressed arms after his whole day’s work. He was wearing a cream short, tight enough that his was bulging. He saw himself flirting with the women that came near him, touching his abdominal muscles, and acting as they were going to bite his neck. “An exotic animal, on fleek!” He was wearing pink eyeshadows, and golden shimmer on his lips.
“I would love to get on with you, honey. Maybe even after this ball!” The master looked towards the judges. “Y’all know that it’s getting to hot. Come on, y’all! Give me them scores!”
He looked so eagerly as they raised their score cards. Tens! Across the board! Still, he was walking towards the figure. Something popped and he saw golden confetti falling, celebrating his success. The master went to the trophy table and got him the largest of them all.
All noise boils down to a seeping silence. He could not hear anything besides his heart beating. Tug. The figure raised both of its hands, welcoming him for an embrace. Tug. Before he could reach the shadow, a blinding flash came. Tug. The light enveloped him. He blacked out.
VI.
“Have you ever loved that boujie?”, someone whispered to his ear as she puffed her sixth stick of the day. He opened his eyes and found that he was now outside of the building. One would not know that something of such grandiose was happening inside of it. He was sitting down because he could not carry his weight after crying for too long.
He wiped away his tears and cleared his throat. “Loved? (Putangina naman neto. Hindi ko naman siya ka-close.)”
He looked back and saw a woman wearing a red dress, probably mopped from a Ralph Lauren store. She was holding a big trophy from winning the Runway category, the third for the night’s ball. The six-foot queen looked down on him, a mixture of disappointment and pity.
“Nuh-uh! That’s not the answer to my question, bitch.”, she exclaimed while snapping her fingers between his eyes. “You know that someone with a fine ass and a big dick could not give you the one thing that you should have been looking for within yourself. That man does not deserve a drop of your tears. Now, let me ask you again.”
She leaned towards him and stared at his messed-up makeup as she repeated the question.
“Yes.”
“Not the right answer.”
He could not look at her because he knew she was right.
“You don’t get to lie with me. Don’t bullshit me. Your family. You know that no matter how hard you try, our community will be the one who’s always gonna be at your back.”, she started to raise her voice like a mother’s, becoming angry because her son did not do any of her chores. “I have seen a lot of you.”
She calmed down and put down her trophy on the wet ground. “I see my old self in you. Sad. Disappointed in life. Not knowing myself and where to stay and belong. I have wasted my youth to random men… hoping that even for a night, I will not bother myself thinking of my problems. I replaced truth with some dirty ecstasy.”
“But what am I gonna do? I don’t belong to New York, but I have to be here. I have to pretend that I am okay because I need to earn for my family. I cannot go back to my house because I don’t see myself living my truth.”
She smiled and gave her stick to him. “There’s your problem. You only see where you have to go… but you don’t know where’s your home.”
Her look was not of disgust, but of pity. Still, he could not give the proper reaction.
“Tell me, child. What is it that you want?”
He did not know what to say. Money? His family would have still treated him as a bank. To be away, and to have a new life? He did not even know how to live the life that he had. The problem would still be the same. Besides, he knew, deep down, that he still loved his family. It would also be a waste of his time and effort if he suddenly disappeared and started back at zero. Someone that will love me unconditionally? He knew it was going to be hard for him to have one. Also, he still needed to discover every facet and nuances of his identity. If he did not know how to love himself, how would he love others? He did not even realize that he needed to have the standards of love that he deserved.
“Freedom.”
She sighed and took one stick from her stash. “You want some?”
As he took the sin, the ground started to shake. The woman seemed to be unbothered as she continued to puff her smoke. He started to hear a pandemonium of voices – screams and whispers, it was as if someone let out the monsters of the Pandora’s Box. The streetlights were turned off by a shadow, so large, he thought that it was enveloping the whole city. He looked up and saw the metal terrace from the third-floor fall.
