What
constitute good? What constitute bad?
Relative,
to each is own? Debatable… a question of morals… I remember so well my
philosophy professor saying there is no such thing as immoral… Explained
later by Hamlet: Neither is there good or bad, only thinking makes it so (did
I quote it right?). Anyhow…
A
call…
Good,
it was Annie, my long time friend—long, we know each other since high
school—who I stood up the last time she asked for us to go out. And in that
supposed night out, she would hand me her files for the web page she was
commissioning me to design. I thought she so hates me after that… but then
she called! Excellent. Bad… I was out the night before—I was at Degree!
Two consecutive nights! I have no problem going out night after night, I would
like that… in a fashion I would sometimes want to commune with people… The
thing was I wouldn’t afford it…
Starbucks
6750 (Makati), 11 p.m.
Good,
for in case that Annie returns the favor and stood me up, I could do the park
just across. For some reason, I like that park… I’m not well acquainted
with the place. I have only been there twice—I don’t even know the name of
the park. But for some reason, there were times that I long to be at that
park… seated alone, passing time… I never give in to this longing as I
don’t do Makati all that much… I always have this impression that Makati
is so high end—translation: expensive—and that I couldn’t afford it,
which is probably true. Bad, I wasn’t sure I was at the right Starbucks.
Bad, I am surrounded by hookers. Bad, the coffee I had cost me a hundred and
fifteen pesos. It was good coffee though.
Annie
came fifteen after eleven. Good, we proved that we don’t need cellphones to
meet. Therefore, cellphones are really not necessities but are our whim… And
that, passing it as a need is just a justification. And in this justification,
we unconsciously enslaved ourselves with the technology… Bad, I’m just
bitter loosing my phone. It’s still a bummer to be caught without a
cellphone not only in Makati, the metropolis, but the whole country, from
Apari to Jolo.
Starbucks,
a cab ride, and there we were…
A
kiss on the chicks… Good, she had the files with her, both hard and soft.
Bad…? Nothing bad… really… Oh yah, I realized that the cigarette pack I
was holding was my second pack for the day! Bare with me…
Annie
was to bring me to Kapote, which according to her was a really hip joint. In
this club, again according to her, Maui Taylor (yes, the bold starlet) and
Sunshine Dizon (who I remember was love teamed with the utterly cutie Polo
Ravales whose career now gone kaput maybe because of the matching outfit he
was made to wear with her) hangs out on weekdays—yes, they were not busy.
She found the place through a friend of hers… and that the band whose lead
guitar she slept with or rather she had tried to sleep with and would have
slept with if only he had managed to get it up—wait… that was the only
thing they end up doing: sleep. They were playing that night—oh, goodie!
Good
looking, bad in bed…
Good…
the place was cozy… I thought it was lovely even homely… relax… well
lighted than most clubs are… Bad… most people who had the chance to meet
me would say to you that I look a lot cuter in the dark (come on, you don’t
think that’s funny?)
I
was introduced to lots of people… Most of them, I forget the names the
second after it was mentioned—not to offend, I bet they too with my name.
For some reason, people have a hard time remembering my name. Most of the time
they end up remembering my name either Alex or Lexon. A distant aunt calls me
to this date Alexan. My former boss from the fast food I worked like three
years ago—even if I was her second man for a year and half—calls me Lessan,
she also spells so on my pay slip—rather very French?
I was introduced to Audrey, if I understood it right, the manager of
the band. She liked my name, she thought it was unique—I guess so, how many
people do you know who has the same name as I do? “Is it your real name?”
she asked. No, it isn’t. My real name is Alezandro Mark. “So, it’s a
screen name?” she asked again. Screen name!? Nickname is more like it. And,
it’s not a name I thought of to be cool… I grew up being called Lexan.
I
was introduced to the lead guitarist, who Annie would like to hide the
identity behind the name Oscar—I don’t know if it has something to do with
the Oscar come forth Monday morning (Philippine time)—due to the sensitivity
of the subject or the condition he has. I would respect that… but I rather
call him Aruba… the designated code by Annie for cutie that night.
“Lex, six o’clock, Aruba! Aruba!” Annie would say. I would turn
slowly and look and often I come back to her with, “Did you mean dead since
six o’clock this morning in Aruba?”
Annie
and I don’t share the same preference on men in any period of our short
lives. Well, when we were younger—like high school younger—she went for
those grunge rock men: long hair, dirty and torn denim trousers, guitar or
drum playing zealots. Back then, I go for the next door cutie-cutie guys. Now,
she acquired my teenage taste on men and I… I go for those who got smiles
that spells Judas’ name.
Aruba
was a guitar-playing zealot who has the looks any mom would love their
daughters to be with despite his nape length hair. I understand the fixation.
Rather very cocky on stage… One wouldn’t be able to tell he has problem
with his cock.
But
he does!
“Look
at him, Lex, look at him…” Annie told me in an utter plea, “Would you
think…? It’s so cruel!”
I
know it’s cruel but… I just can’t help but laugh. I’m sorry.
Actually,
I should not laugh as I think I would have the same problem. Not me, me but my
prospect lover… But God! If you were there…
The
thing was that I’ve been hearing about Aruba from Annie, over the phone,
from the time she just had a crush on him. The thing then was that Aruba has a
girlfriend and that my advise to her then was:
“Of course, he does. There’s always a girlfriend. The best men are
taken. To get them you have to steal them”
“I don’t think I want to do that…” she said.
“Are you friends with his girlfriend?”
“No…”
“You are telling me your absolutely crazy about this guy and you
think you really could be, yet you are to give him up just because of courtesy
to some woman you are not even friends with?”
Good
advice? Bad advice?
At
that point she wasn’t amiable with it… But then after a couple of weeks
over the phone again… She slept with him… Rather again, they tried to
sleep together… It wasn’t planned, she claimed. It was just something
spontaneous… Yah, like he just happened to be in her apartment?
“Sorry… I usually need a lot of work…” he apologized.
So, it happened before… Actually, it usually happens…
Maybe
he was just tired? Maybe he was just feeling guilty cheating on his girlfriend
and therefore couldn’t concentrate? Maybe he got overly excited? Maybe you
were doing him all wrong? Maybe you missed his g-spot? Maybe…
“Shut up, Lex!” she rebuked me, “he just have problem getting it
up.”
Actually
he managed to get it up, she informed me… for ten seconds!
And
there he was on stage with his electric guitar, which always spells sexy… He
looked rather perfect… Nobody is perfect, there’s always a catch…
“Why it had to be that?”
“What, you’d rather him gay?”
All
through out the night, I can’t help but giggle… smiling rather
sheepishly… I-know-something-you-don’t-want-anyone-to-know-about-you
smile… Annie so hated me.
Good
conversation, utterly bad soundtrack.
Aruba’s
band plays what Annie put as glam-rock (forgive me, I know nothing about music
genre. To me there are only two genres: Music-I-like and
you-call-that-music?). And with that… I assumed glam-rock is something
that’s on the line of Bon Jovi—who belongs to my latter genre—and
really, really cheesy songs done my male singers. They sung “Glory of
Love”—I so wanted to ask for a barf bag.
I
told Annie about Degree… prelude to telling her about Nick… I told her
everything. When I got to the part where I am okay about hearing Nick talk
about his latest shag but when I saw him with someone… (Read: Loud
Mouth Me) she hated him and advised me to run as far away as I could from
him.
Maybe, I should…
The thing is I don’t want to… Yes, it’s I don’t want to and not
I can’t—let’s all be honest and admit that we are all masochistic in our
own little ways. Getting away from Nick is an easy thing to do. I would just
have to think that seeing him would also mean seeing him with someone who he
would shag with—I’d just be in agony. Plus, he hadn’t called me… and
he already dumped me… enough? Yes. But still, I don’t want to… Perhaps,
I’m still hoping. Perhaps, I don’t want to loose a friend…
I
did mention above that I shouldn’t laugh at Annie for I might have the same
problem… well, not me—that shit had not happened to me yet. It was Nick…
Well, he mentioned it to me—when I was talking about good-looking men, bad
in bed. Read: Loud
Mouth Me. And he did mention it again last Friday. When he found me after
shagging with the slim guy with eyeglasses. When I said score one, his reply
was, “it was okay, I did managed to get it up…” I really don’t want to
jump into conclusion but… NO! IT CAN’T BE!
“What if?” Annie just had to ask.
Before
that night Annie and Aruba were getting along very well, the two of them
looked very promising for a lasting friendship. Totally, their personality,
views, and the things they like really jibes very well. Now, after that night,
all what was left between them were the air of awkwardness and regret… It
could have been great…
“Don’t commit the same mistake as I did…”
“So, I just shut up…”
“Not a bad advise…?”
