28 June 2011


This seems promising. And methinks this may be Katharine McPhee's moment.

26 June 2011


You wouldn't even kiss me in public. He said.

Funny how things can turn out. A few months ago I was worried about what dating a closeted guy could cost me. Sure the whole world doesn't need to know about us but I can't imagine being introduced to other people as  just his friend. We'll exchange all sorts of  bodily fluids for petessake. We can't be just friends. Also, dating a closeted guys is like having to put one foot back in the closet.

Seven months later and I find him complaining about me not being affectionate enough.

I felt really happy this particular instance when he was trying to cover my eyes from the sunlight with his hands and he knew people were looking at us and he didn't give a damn.

The goodbye kiss he asked from me just before I went on the bus as if there weren't people around.

I always get to walk on the safer side of the road.

When he hugs me and tell me he loves me when he's half awake.

He gets mad when I hurt myself, which, by the way always happen.

He let's me sleep on his arms. He doesn't mind (much) if I bite him.

The way he passionately kisses me.

His decision to stay with me despite my shortcomings.

Most importantly, his decision to take the scathed person that I was.

Each day I spend with him is a validation that the shift I made not so long ago was right, that I'm on the right track now.

First look. Sort of.

Thank you Gilbey's Premium Strength and Coors Light for the drive.

24 June 2011


One of the many things I don't like about myself is my temper. Methinks I have a generous amount dragon blood running in my veins.


I get annoyed over the littlest things - people making me wait for more than ten minutes (thirty, if we're really good friends), being asked to repeat what I just said, dismissing the argument I raised without proper and valid rebuttal,  making me decide where to eat when I already said my choice and you rejected it, and other stuffs that some people can very easily brush off.

I don't like getting angry. Who does anyway? What I hate about it most is I have hard time leashing my anger back. I don't get violent or anything (some may object to this, I know) but I can't seem to stop my anger. When a simple sorry should suffice, my anger continues to consume me.

You know the feeling of feeling something that you're not supposed to feel but can't do anything about it? Frustrating. Anger, guilt and frustration are a crazy mix I tell you.

But what's a boy got to do?

Maturity, after all these years, is still elusive for me.
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