Thursday,
I messaged Nick, a.k.a. HotBicolExpress, the same guy who I chapped meeting
over then I thought a groupie thing (Small Town, No Show). I asked him when
could we meet. He said he had a thing at U.P. Diliman, some sort of a
workshop, and that he simply can’t that night. He suggested Friday night
to which I agreed.
So Friday, I was gearing all day to meeting him, hoping he would like
me and that I would like him, and that we could consider sleeping together
and finally close the deal—that is if we prove ever so that we would also
be compatible in bed. By six in the evening, I messaged him to ask what time
could I come over. He replied that his co-teachers were still around and
that he would have to message me later.
Fine by me, and I thought I just go to the café first. I remembered
I have a couple of e-mails I needed to send. Now e-mail takes only a few
second to send, left without nothing to do more and that I have not heard
from Nick yet, I thought I log in the chat rooms: 2 at Mirc and 1 at Yahoo
Messenger, while I wait.
His
nick was…. What was his nick again? I can’t remember. Anyway, he said
his twenty-seven years old from San Antonio, which was along Shaw Boulevard.
He asked me what was I after in the chat room. I decided to come clean:
“It may sound really mushy and all but I’m looking for love.” He then
replied that he was too. With that, we exchanged numbers and thought of
meeting, just meeting, that night or some other time…
He suggested Megamall or Shangrilla. I thought too peopled. I
suggested meeting at San Antonio. He said his housemates were home. I
wasn’t going for that. I just thought hanging around by the roadside or
taking a walk around the village.
“Are you home?” I asked. He said not yet. I asked him about the
traffic. He said it was fine. Hmmmm… suddenly, I don’t know what to
do… feeling giddy…
My computer shut down.
Eleven
in the evening, I found myself at Tropical Hut along Shaw, across the turn
to San Antonio. It was cold. He said he was wearing a black collared shirt.
I took a deep breath.
He was at one corner of the fast food restaurant, appearing to be in
deep thought and writing those thoughts in his tiny notebook. He has started
shedding his hair… His Chinese blood was very evident in his features: his
eyes and his skin. One was to get an impression of maturity, so much
maturity, and I knew I’m not the type he would go for.
He looked up and he knew. It was I.
“Hi,” he said.
We
talked about a lot of things… Well, I talked about a lot of things about
myself. He listened almost expressionless. He did try to appear interested.
I took it as a challenge… wanting to let those Chinese eyes disappear in
laughter—I’m a funny guy!
I guess I’m not that funny.
But, we talked. He tried to figure me out. I just went talking. I
then asked him about his life. He said his life was pretty normal—close to
saying boring. He did tell about his parents being separated too. Finally,
we had something in common: our indifference to our fathers. He also loves
to travel, taking trips… He gets out of the country at least once a year.
I hate going home to the Pangasinan mainly because it’s at least a
four-hour drive.
So
yes, we were not exactly clicking. But this wasn’t about clicking. It’s
finally a good one for we didn’t gave up on each other that easily. We
talked, looked for possible angle we could possibly work on and that if we
find nothing, we could be friends (did that sound desperate?).
We decided to call it a night by one.
