It's been a while since I last posted here. Like fucking an ugly customer, It's hard to get back to blogging once the momentum is gone. Anyway, a few months ago, everyone I know wrote 25 Random Things about themselves. I felt it was very self-indulgent, and frankly, quite boring. People were too safe. It could have been an interesting social experiment, but it failed on account of people's inhibitions.
Now, because I'm bored, I'm going to try to come up with a list of 25 Random Things About Myself. Let's see how this one goes.
1.) People immediately assume that I got my looks from my dad because my mom is very, very morena. Not true. Mom said my dad was half a bottle of tequila in the 80's, and possibly of Pakistani origin. Or Japanese. She was going in-and-out of the country during those hazy year that I was conceived. She used to be an executive assistant to a Marcos crony who was a cultural attache of sorts.
2.) My grandmother says I got my looks from a distant ancestor who came to the Philippines by way of the USS Thomas. Mr. and Mrs. Great-Great-Grandparents were teachers, both Americans, who had their children born and raised in Tarlac. Those children married natives (except for the youngest, who went back to the States, and was shot by a mugger in New York; she was 19, and the bullets had a clean exit through her lungs). For two generations, the white gene was recessive, occassionally giving some of my relatives fair skin, or lightly shaded hair color. I got the best of the bargain. Unfortunately, someone up my family tree line must have fucked a midget. I'm only 5'8" tall.
3.) My mom's brother raised me like one of his own as I was growing up into my early teens. Uncle Jun has 3 boys of his own, and he never made me feel different. His wife was nice. They weren't exactly the most affectionate of relatives,but they did me good. They run an ice plant, supplying our province's capital with almost 40% of its ice needs. My cousins and I used to play around in the ipa (rice husks) that were used to cover the massive blocks of ice for delivery. When I was 7 or 8, I thought the ice blocks were as big as icebergs. One summer, my uncle ordered his manager to make for us kids a swimming pool filled with rice husks. They dug a shallow but wide pit in the backyard of the factory, covered it with canvas, filled it with rice husks to the brim. We only went "swimming" there once; it was too itchy.
4.) The first time I had STD, I went to see a doctor practicing in a hospital here in QC. The doctor asked me some questions, I answered as honestly as I could, thinking he was a doctor who deals with leaking penises and rotten cunts everyday. He wrote several requests for testings that I should get. I took the list downstairs to the laboratory, handed it to the girl on the counter. The girl on the counter was pretty, and she was young. She must have still been a student, or has only recently graduated from school. She took a look at my list and said, "These test are for STD!" She was almost cheerful. "Yeah," I said with a grin. "Who's this for, then? You?" she asked jokingly. I smiled at her and nodded. She lost her smile gradually.
5.) Sometimes, I get indecent proposals from insanely young boys. Most often whenever I would take a piss at a public urinal in malls. Or even simply while walking around. But only when I'm alone. I think they're hoping for a dangerous tryst. Young as they are, they look for excitement and adventure, and I'm the stuff their fantasies are made of. Too bad they can't afford me. So, sometimes, to amuse myself, I'd wink back at them, smile back at them, ask them to follow me to a more discreet place. Alone with them, I put my arms around their shoulders, and whisper lovingly in their ears, "Don't fucking move. This is a hold-up. Give me your wallet, you fucking sonofabitch." Almost ALL of them would run away at that point. Some of them are so scared, they freeze up. Those who stay long enough to ask me if I'm serious, I push hard against the wall before leaving with a warning "Don't trust anyone, kid. The city's harsh, it will eat you whole." One time, I did the same trick to a stocky young man, couldn't be any older than 20. He was wearing plastic-framed glasses, and his backpack was sagging from all the stuffed animals dangling from a keyring attached to one of the zippers. "Don't fucking move, or I'll slit your motherfucking throat," I whispered to him, my soft, red lips and his ears close enough to touch. He broke into tears. "Shhh..." I said, trying to comfort him. "Please don't cry, baby. I was just kidding!" He wouldn't stop crying, so I ran away.
6.) I remember a Mendoza in grade school. He was either my best friend or someone who bullied me. Possibly, both. I remember him now because I'm running out of things to write here, so I took a look around and my eyes fell on a blue umbrella I got free from my bank. I suddenly had this memory of Mendoza and I stabbing each other with ballpoint pens, and getting sent to the Principal's Office. This happened in the province where I had my primary education. As soon as we got back from the Principal's Office, I picked a fight with some other boys. Oddly enough, Mendoza came to my defense. The other boy kept throwing paperballs at me, so Mendoza opened his umbrella as a shield. Now ain't that a random factoid.
7.) I came from a family who made it a point to use English as a first language. As I've said, I'm descended from a Thomasite, those American teachers shipped to benevolently assimilate the islands of the Philippines as part of their manifest destiny. Don't get me wrong. I didn't come from the landed gentry. One might consider our family affluent, but never influential. My grandparents insisted on prioritizing education over any other aspects of our individual development. They banned us from watching Batibot, or any other locally produced tv shows. I grew up on Sesame Street, on Enid Blyton books, on illustrated versions of classics like Robinson Crusoe, The Swiss Family Robinson, Gulliver's Travels. I had no trouble imagining myself in the worlds of C.S. Narnia and Treasure Island because evertime I would look at the mirror, I saw a thin, reedy, white kid. I only started looking Indian in my late teens.
8.) I don't think I'm handsome. I'm exotic. I think that's where my appeal lies, and that's what I try to cash in on. Honestly, I don't think I ever had a chance in showbiz, my face has too much character in it. I'm too exotic.
9.) Biggest talent fee I got for a single night: Php250,000. But not in cash, though. A British national who was in town saw me in a fashion show. My pimp Adelle made me tag along because she had several talents on the show, and she needed someone to keep her organize, and be on the look-out just in case some of her wards decide to go freelance and book themselves without her permission. The British national work for the British embassy in a nearby S.E. Asia country, and was in town only because of an invitation extended by a society couple. Apparently, I caught the British national's eye, and he booked me that night for the weekend. He took me to Hong Kong, all expenses on him. I had fun, he took me to places, and all he asked for was companionship. There was sex, of course, but it felt less of an obligation, and more... part of the program.
10.) Once, I babysat for a kidnapped infant. An ex-gf of mine--well, a former female fling, at least-- kidnapped the youngest heir of her aunt. She had the help of one of her college friends (a short, stout lesbian), and her current live-in partner. I didn't know the baby was stolen until I showed up at her apartment, and they left me alone with the baby. They went out to buy some baby stuff (diapers, formula, clothes), write a ransom note, find a way to send the ransom note to the baby's parents, and, yeah, they saw a movie in between. The baby was cute. I didn't know his name, but I called him Benjamin. It suited him. He had three teeth, and was growing two more. He peed a lot of times, so I had to change his diapers. It was the first time I did it, and it wasn't as hard as I feared. He didn't cry much. Oooh, I remember cradling him in my arms, and singing him to sleep. It felt good. I gave them some advice on psychological manipulation. I told them to scare the parents enough so that they would avoid asking police involvement. "Send them a .3gp video of the kid crying, make it look like you're going to hurt the kid if they call the cops. You HAVE TO scare them enough into cooperating. If they think you're soft, if you assure them you won't hurt the baby, they'll call the cops. Once the cops are involved, the con's up. They'll never pay ransom, they'll give you marked money. Worse, they'll pay the ransom, but the cops will pocket it after you're nabbed." I looked at the kid. "If one of you has a cellphone that can take videos, take one of this kid bleeding. A superficial wound on the arm won't hurt the baby permanently. Well, as long as you take good care not to have it infected." They didn't listen to me. They asked for ransom without scaring the parents enough. My ex-gf's new bf got shot when he went to pick up the ransom, the lesbian was arrested, and my ex-gf--who was taking care of the baby in their hide-out, eventually surrendered to the police, giving them a wild tale of how she was kidnapped along with the baby, and that she was forced to cooperate with the kidnappers. Her "story" included a brave escape attempt after their kidnappers didn't come back for two days. She is now living with the lesbian.
11.) I lost my virginity in the province at the age of 11. A bunch of older kids I was hanging out with convinced a girl to give me a blowjob while they watch. They must have been 14 to 17. I can't remember her name. The girl who sucked my cock while my friends watched was way older than I was, she was fully developed. She was very thin, I remember, and I could smell her hair. Her hair smelled very nice. This is how it happened: one of my friends borrowed his father's tricycle. He drove it, and the rest of us rode inside. We picked up the girl, it was all pre-arranged. It must have been during the summer, because I remember this happened in the morning, and it couldn't have happened in the morning if I had classes. I don't remember seeing her ever again after that.
12.) Once, a client shoved me inside a closet when his wife came home earlier than he expected. I thought those things happen only in the movies, or in badly plotted teleseryes. I pulled my pants up quickly, putting my shirt on at the same time. I don't know how I managed to do that. To get out of our predicament, the client talked to his wife really loud so I could her what was going on. He took her outside, making up some silly story about an emergency call. I heard them leave the apartment quickly. Alone in their house, I helped myself to our agreed fee from the wallet he had left by the bedside drawer. Also, I took home an almost full bottle of CK Be from his dresser. I was about to leave when I noticed several paperbacks stacked under their coffeetable. I took the liberty of substantially reducing clutter in their abode by grabbing several paperbacks as well, and shoving them inside my backpack.
13.) An agent from my previous job was found dead in his apartment. Whoever did it tried to burn his body to hide evidence of the stabbing. It scared me because it was something I know I am capable of doing.
14.) I can't stand people who smell bad. I go through a 100ml bottle of perfume in a month. I spend a lot of money on smelling good. Some people collect books, some people collect DVDs, some people collect stamps. I collect perfumes. I have bottles of EVERY brand of perfume for men available in the market (give or take 2 rare ones). I try to get newly released scents within the week they were launched.
15.) I don't go see a dermatologist regularly, although Adelle -- my manager, my handler, oh, hey, my pimp-- insists on me seeing one at least once a month. I usually self-medicate. Here are the basics to maintaining one's appearance to its optimum: Vit. E -- take one daily, either Myra-e or Squibb will do you wonders. There's a lot of expensive, imported Vit. E supplements out there (like Kirkland), but you'll only be paying extra for the cost of shipping that the importers paid for--which is totally unnecessary because the locally manufactured Vit. E supplements work just as good. Most people believe in glutathione, I don't. Although, there's no harm in popping a capsule once a day. It's important to invest in a good moisturizer and body lotion. For a moisturizer, Olay Total Effects is a really, really good investment and worth every peso of it. Apply lotion on your body after everytime you take a shower or a bath. I use a whitening lotion not because I want to have fairer skin, but because it evens out my tone. Also, most whitening lotion nowadays have sunblock mixed in. Go for the one with the highest SPF (usually indicated on the label). Use facial scrubs FREQUENTLY but NOT INTENSELY. Gently massaging your face with a good facial scrub (personally, I use St. Ives Apricot Scrub) everyday helps your face to produce retinol. Retinol fights skin aging, and helps your skin to regenerate faster. Scrubbing daily will help you look fresh longer.
16.) I would like to visit Egypt someday. The country, its rich heritage and mysteries, beckons me.
17.) I don't play videogames. The last time I was totally immersed in the artificially constructed reality of a videogame was years ago, via popular console known as the SNES. My cousins and I would play Earthworm Jim all night long. My cousin Tupe (Christopher)--the youngest, and the one I'm really close with--is a gamer, though. He likes management games (?). Usually, he and I talk about running the Ice Plant someday, and our plans include buying out the nearby rice mill as part of our expansion plans. Somedays, I'm scared of how serious he sounds until he starts to use analogies he got from Sim City.
18.) My cousin Mark and I bullied one of his classmates into getting a tattoo. Mark is the eldest of the three cousins I grew up with as brothers, and he's a natural at being a bad boy. Drunk on his father's (my uncle's) success at running the Ice Plant, and several other business ventures (including our hardwood farm by the southern border of the province), Mark is typical rich kid trouble. He was once accussed of raping a classmate, until his mother settled the case outside of the court of law. He is a run of the mill sociopath, and the only thing more scary than a sociopath is a malignant narcissist like myself. Mark and I can be a totally destructive (borderline catastrophic) duo worthy of Batman's vengeance. By the age of 20, Mark had several stab wounds, and have stabbed, shot, beaten countless other boys. He was enrolled in the DLSU for his college education, but was sent home after a few months due to several "incidents". Anyway, we bullied one of his classmates into getting a tattoo of the words "Pogi Ako" arching over his right nipple. We did it by pretending to be interested in getting similar designs, and then we made him have it first. Then, as he was begging us to go next, we said no flatly, and started to walk out of the tattoo parlor casually. He broke down in tears before we reached the corner.
19.) My first indecent proposal, I got shortly after I was circumcised. I was sort of a popular figure in the town where I grew up--mostly because of how I look. News of the eventual seperation of my foreskin with the rest of my manhood became town interest, and several blushing maidens were named as potential marriage prospects. People expected my growth spurt, in fact, they demanded it, what with my lineage suspected of being superior to their pygmy origins. I disappointed them, I guess, growing no taller than most of them. Anyway, by the town plaza was a beauty parlor run by a gay man people call Monica. Unlike most gay people, Monica is very prim, and proper. He runs his beauty parlor with utmost diligence and integrity, despite its minuscle size of being no bigger than the smallest bathroom in our house. Monica's parlor could only entertain up to two customers (he only had two chairs, one of them manned by his friend, Rita the Toothless), but his waiting area (a bench outside his parlor) was always filled with housewives and girls waiting for their fairy-fairy godmother to work his magic, transforming their dry, limp hair into glorious mane of captivating beauty with a simple wave of his wand, his curling iron, his blower. Anyway, one time my aunt asked me and Tupe to fetch Monica from his salon. Monica doesn't take house calls, except for my aunt. Monica came to our house and spent the afternoon treating my aunt's hair with hot oil, and painting her nails (hands and toes) to match. In return for Monica's services, my aunt paid him double, and gave him several old cosmetics of hers she was no longer interested in. I was tasked to carry the loot and walk our guest to the gate. On the way out, Monica casually inquired about my recent circumcision, and offered to give me free haircuts for the rest of my life. He said this with a nervous smile, and when I handed him his plastic bag filled with my aunt's discarded Manila-bought cosmetics, his fingers lingered on my wrist longer than they should. In the creeping darkness of the early evening, I saw how sad Monica was, and at the tender age of 12, I couldn't bear the thought of breaking his heart by rejecting his advances, so I never showed up in his salon ever since. Today, Monica's parlor still stands, and Monica's magic works to transform the drab and the dull into momentary glamour, and the quiet, modest man is now sharing his bed with G-boy, our grade school valedictorian who now earns his living driving a tricycle. G-boy is married, has one boy and one girl, and both of them call Monica "Tito".
20.) The first time I fell in love was with a girl named Valerie. I didn't know it was love then, until I started thinking of things I should have done for her, done to her, long after she has left to go back to the States. This happened years ago, several summers before my circumcision. I may have been in 3rd or 4th grade, I can't remember now. My aunt has a sister who babysat for Valerie's twin sisters in Nebraska. Her family spent a couple of days in our house as part of their month-long vacation in the Philippines. Valerie's sisters are twins, and they are the most darling, most adorable, motherfuckers you'll ever see. Maybe Valerie and I were 8 then, and the kids were perhaps around 4 or 5 years old. The twins were always together, running around, and easily scared the shit out of Mark. They only talk in English, and Tupe (at 6 or 7) naturally became their de facto tour guide, showing them around the wonderful vistas of our house, the scenic views from the windows, the various nooks, crannies, and crevaces they could easily find themselves trapped or lost in. Francis (my cousin in the middle) was also crushing on Valerie, so we ended up being best of friends and eventual jack-off buddies in the evenings when we would recall Valerie's soft, musical manner of speaking our names in her Nebraskan accent which to our ears were exotic, dark and full of sunshine at the same time. Mark, on the other hand, had earlier decided he wasn't interesed in Valerie, on the account of her not showing interest first when we came to pick them up at the pier. Francis and I followed Valerie everywhere she went, and we waited two steps behind her for any opportunity that we could make ourselves useful to her better enjoyment of our humble little town. When we all went to take Valerie's family to a popular tourist destination nearby (a beach of glinting, sparkling white sands before all the tourists and all the closested homosexuals flooded in, drenching the ocean with their AIDS), Francis and I had several arguments as to the task of carrying Valerie's stuff for her. We stayed in the resort overnight, and the next morning, before everyone woke up--most especially, before Francis woke up--I went to their cottage and called out to her from the porch. She came out immediately, she was an early riser, and had been reading a "The Bobsey Twins" book since she woke up. (I remember it was The Bobsey Twins she was reading because at that moment, I decided to read the stuff she was reading as soon as we all go back home with the hopes of impressing her with my encyclopedic knowledge of things that interest her). Her parents weren't up yet, and she was getting hungry. I asked if she would like to explore the beach with me, just the two of us, and she said yes. Her hair was long, straight, shiny, mine is short and itchy. She smells nice, l smell like the sea. We walked around the resort, jumping over empty buffet halls and beachside open cottages and under coconut trees and behind boulders and we let the ocean lap at our feet, picking up seashells she thought was pretty, and I let her hold on to my arm when she pretended the rocks were slippery and she was afraid of falling.
21.) I'm not a good writer. Thanks for all the comments you leave here on my blog. Honestly, I don't think I have the gift of working with words. However, I know I am a good reader. I read stories, I read people, I read behavior, I read textbooks, I read random factoids from the internet. I read events in history. I read, that's what I'm good at doing.
22.) You've seen me on TV.
23.) I am malignant narcissist, but you know that already.
24.) People are asking me to write my memoir. A project like that would definitely feed my ego, but I am hesitant as to its viability. I fear I will only be spending my time and effort on a project that wouldn't really be successful.
25.) Of the 25 things I've written here, one of them is a lie.
