No Second Helping but Sharing

It was a heated summer afternoon few months ago.  I planned to meet Alden for lunch at Amaze, an Asian fusion restaurant by First Avenue.  It was almost a 15-minute walk from Fifth Avenue where my office is located.  As usual, we ordered our favorite: steamed Shumai for appetizer, a bowl of salad, Salmon Teriyaki with brown rice, and of course Thai iced tea to complete the meal.  Our server Angie has already memorized our order every time Alden and I will go there around 12:30pm.  The only thing that sometimes change is Alden might fancy either Edamame beans or Gyoza (Fried meat dumpling) in place of Shumai.  “How are you feeling right now?” Alden would ask me knowing about the crisis I was going through for months now.  That day I said “I am trying to cope; my therapy and medication are helping along with occasional meeting up with friends like this one with you.”  He quipped “I am glad you sounded like you are on your way to recovery” as we are finishing the salad and occasional sips of the tea.  After the lunch, Angie asked us if we want a second helping of Thai iced tea to which we replied with a resounding  “No”, adding we will just lubricate our throat with water but we will get an order of Fried Ice Cream that we will share so she has to bring two teaspoons.  Then memory of a familiar conversation in 2012 came to both our minds as we were talking about second helping and sharing: a man we both slept with at different points in time.

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An Affair with Joe Rigoletto

A few months after my night at the Web, here I am again.  Finding myself back into a familiar place where boys, gals and gays alike will be rubbing elbows to get in and be able to show their best shot in the dance floor.  It was just me and Edwin; no presence or shadow of Miss B this time.  We did not get off at the usual 5th Avenue and 59th Street station but at 59th Street and Lexington as we were supposed to meet up with another gay friend, Danny, who lives by Upper East side and was supposed to take the downtown 6 train to get to this station.  As soon as we got out we stopped at the nearby wall of Bloomingdales so Edwin can text Danny letting him know we are at the meeting place at the meeting time of 11pm.   We waited for another 15 minutes with no visible presence of Danny.  Tired of calling and sending text messages Edwin said “This queen is ignoring my calls and text message so let us not waste anymore time waiting for him.  He is probably in the arms of another man.”  Since we are in unison that Danny did not even have the decency to let us know that he will not be able to meet us we have furiously decided that we will leave the place at once and head to the bar.  As we were walking along 58th Street Edwin and I were discussing at our displeasure with how Danny stood us up and never even bother to call us or answer Edwin’s call and messages.  “This will be the last time that we will invite Danny.  He is a liar and cannot be counted on when it comes to promises” I said to Edwin.  He agreed with me saying “It was very clear when I spoke to him earlier that he is coming and he was the one who changed the meeting place to 59th and Lex.”  “We really can’t rely on him” he added.  Before we headed to the bar I decided to stop at the Citibank branch at 57th Street and Park Avenue to withdraw money, “I need cash for the drinks and few dollars for the go-go boys in case I see somebody that I like” I said jokingly.  Few clicks on the ATM machine and off we go to another block for the bar.  We both agreed that it was better Danny was not there because we don’t have to force ourselves to listen to Danny’s stories of “I, Me and Myself” or in short, all about him being the best, the greatest and the most attractive gay guy on the planet Earth.

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Exotic Persian Flavor at Sur La Table

Excitement filled my Monday morning as I imagined the cooking class I registered in last Friday for me and my friend Terry.  It is exotic Persian cuisine and I have never attended an actual cooking class, though I enjoy cooking mostly Filipino dishes my mother taught me to cook when I was very young.  Come to think of it, all my friends are mostly Filipinos and they like my Filipino dishes, so I have never tried any other cuisine other than Filipino dishes and some pasta dishes which I always improvise to suit the Filipino taste.  My friends Jackie, Jopet and Edwin always say that my specialty dish is “Pork Binagoongan”, which is a dish of pork simmered with spices and shrimp paste until thickened.  This dish has a pungent smell that can really turn off anybody trying it for the first time.  The thick smell can linger in your apartment for weeks and would need you to light up scented candles nightly until the smell dissipates.

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Miss World 2013

It was a feast like no other.  Imagine me as I was convinced by Edwin, Ernie, his roommate, and Jackie, our ever charming and slender girl, to open a credit line with Best Buy and purchase a new 55-inch TV set on the premise that after the event on Saturday I will arrange for its return and get the credit back.  Win win situation, so they say.  The gay community in the Philippines is so eager to grab any pageant crown like a boxer thirsty for a victory after 12 rounds of punches and runs. And so are my friends here in New York.  Everyone was excited when I sent the text invitation for a gathering of some sort at my apartment in Astoria.  It was mentioned in my text that the time of the event is 7am so we can have breakfast before the pageant starts at 8am Eastern Time, which is 8pm in Bali, Indonesia held at Bali Nusa Dua Convention Center.

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Steak Tartare and Crepe Flambe

I was coming out of my therapy session.  Realizing it was only 7pm and the sun was still out I decided to call my dentist friend Germainne and agreed to stop by her clinic so we can have dinner.  “Helloooo!” with her usual high pitch greeting on the phone.  I told her about stopping by her clinic to invite her out for dinner.  “Of course” she replied.  She said she will be waiting for me so I hurried up and walk to the nearest train station.  I took a downtown 6 train from 51st Street station and got off at Grand Central to walk a few blocks to Germainne’s clinic. While I was walking on 3rd Avenue along 39th Street, I happened to notice a familiar face.  It was one of the clinic assistants but she looked worried as she walked past me.  Oh well, she is probably in a hurry to get home so I did not bother to approach her to say hello.  As soon as I got in the clinic Germainne and I said our “hi’s” and gave our cheek-to-cheek kisses.  I told her to start working on her paper works so we can leave for dinner in no time.  While she was scanning insurance claims I told her I bought a new music from iTunes.  It is an old song from Anne Murray titled ” I Just Fall In Love Again”, which is the theme music of the Filipino movie I just watched two weekends ago with Jenny, Roxy and my mother entitled “Finally Found Someone” starring Sarah Geronimo and John Lloyd Cruz, two of the famous movie stars in the Philippines.  By the time the song ended she was ready to go so we walked out and decided to just walk to Koreatown for dinner at a food court.

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Saying Goodbye

It was a chilly morning of March the 3rd.  I woke up feeling restless from tossing and turning during the night.  It felt like the whole world is on my shoulders and my head is about to break from the most excruciating headache.  Today is the day.  How do you say goodbye to a man you love and have known for more than 3 years?  How will you set free of someone you have shared three precious times of togetherness and separation as lovers and enemies until you got engaged on the last approach? How do you bid adieu to the person you have vowed to be the last and the only man in your life from the moment he proposed to you until forever?  How do you let go of the husband you got married twice to: first through a wedding officiant in Goshen, New York on December 27, 2014 and second through a minister in front of our families and friends by the shores of Lake Ontario in Henderson, New York on June 6, 2015?  I got reminded of the moment that fateful morning three days ago when he said his best friend’s wife is coming on Wednesday to help him pack his things and he is leaving me on Friday, which unfortunately is today.  Just like that, my whole world crumbled.  This feeling of restlessness and anxiety has been lingering on since the beginning of February where a simple misunderstanding, one stupid fight turned into a separation that broke the somewhat peaceful married life we both used to enjoy.

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There is a Moomoo in my House (Part I)

Being at Nala’s house is a big relief from my previous apartment in Jamaica, Queens.  The only thing I missed about the old apartment is how spacious the house was: the huge bedroom, the big living room, a generous dining area and a kitchen in the middle of the house.  But the commute is horrendous, almost two hours each way even worse on weekends.  Whilst in the new apartment in Astoria, the travel was cut into about twenty to twenty five minutes each way.  Saves me time and I can wake up a little late each day and when I am tired from mingling and hustling with clients I can make a swift journey home to take a quick respite.  “At last, an apartment with all the positives and not a single negative trait in view” I said to myself.  It’s perfect.  “I think me and this apartment are meant for each other” assuring myself.

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The Abusive Video Shop Owner

Part of the reason for my coming to America, aside from mending my broken heart from a failed relationship with my first and only Filipino boyfriend who cheated on me was also to start a new life.  I was hoping to look for a new job though my arrangement with my former employer, a humanitarian agency based in Geneva, Switzerland was to come here for vacation and decide if I will accept another tenure with them for another 3 years.  They gave me a 3-month vacation, two months were paid and the last month was unpaid.  I came here in the US with $7,000 cash in my pocket hoping that it will be enough for the next 3 months while I look for a permanent job.  My foster parents in Chicago, Nanay Gina and Tatay Bing, as well as their 2 children Farida and Eros, were very nice to me and treated me like a part of their family.  While I was not having any luck in finding an employer to sponsor me for a visa, Tatay Bing suggested a part-time job for me in his friend’s video shop.  His friend’s name was Erning, a nickname for his full name of Ernesto.  I was told that Mang Erning (“Mang” is a term used as a sign of respect for an older man), as Farida and Eros would address him, is married to Aling Elena (“Aling” is a term used as sign of respect for an older woman)  and they have two sons, Elton and John.

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Tounge Twisters: Keys or Kiss and Teeth or Tit

How many of us who came from a foreign country or whose mother tongue is a language other than English ends up in a situation where English speaking persons asked you what you said?  Or worse, asked you to repeat what you just said?  Doesn’t it feel insulting that after repeating what you said, still, the person you are talking to gives you a blank face like he has no freaking clue what you just said and repeated a few times?

How many times did you feel ashamed or enraged and your face was all red or your ears were hot as hell after being being told that one did not understand what you said?  Well, I have been in numerous situations when I was new here in the US where my pronunciation of words have been compromised.  It used to hurt my feelings when somebody tells me that he or she did not understand what I said.  One time, one of my ex-boyfriend Kenny’s nephews told him “Uncle Kenny, I did not understand what Eric said.  Can you ask him?”, while I stood right in front.  It was kind of embarrassing to me though I have to hide my disgust and still keep my hypocritical smile.  Another one was when I went to Jersey Gardens to shop with my friend Maricar.  When I asked the customer service in the middle of the floor for shopping bags the lady pointed to me the ATM machine under the escalator saying “There is no bank here inside the mall.”  So I have to come back to her and say I am asking for shopping bags (which I pronounced as “begs”), and this time she understood and asked me “How many do you want?” with a smile. Geesh!

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Trying to Escape the Bullets

It was March in Nairobi, Kenya and I had just arrived from a short stay at Khartoum in North Sudan where I decided that since I have lived in Nairobi a couple of years back maybe some friends can refer me to work in United Nations office or any of the NGOs (Non-Governmental Organization) there .  I was accommodated by Giada, a lesbian who my good friend Julianna lives with.  I have known Giada in my previous stay in Nairobi but only as an acquaintance compared to Julianna who has always treated me like a younger brother when I was working for Bureau Veritas back then.  But when I came back I was told that Julianna is living in with Giada, of course I have to kiss-ass with Giada.  I did a small consultancy job with Oxfam Nairobi but they could not offer anything permanent.  One evening I came from a dinner with priests, brothers and sisters of the congregation where Giada’s friend Laarnie is a very active parishioner.  There was a guest who smiled at me as soon as I entered the door.  “Filipino”, I told myself.  She introduced herself as Violet who works as a Finance Director for IMC, a major player in the NGO world in Burundi, another country in East Africa which I never even knew existed, and she was in Nairobi for her R&R (rest and recreation) time.  We started talking about her work, her family in Manila, Philippines and where she and Giada started their friendship dated back when they were co-workers in the Philippine office of Giada’s current NGO employer, CARE International, in the late 1980s or early 1990s.  She also said that she became friends with Julianna when she was sent to the Khartoum office of CARE where Julianna was working for United Nations at that time.  Then she started to ask me about my life, my work in the Arthur Andersen office in Manila as an auditor, which university I graduated from which happened to be the same university as hers and if I like living in Nairobi.

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