The Ideal Guy Day ni Aleph

Disclaimer

Hindi kasi ako nakuntento sa isang ideal guy lang so ang ginawa ko para bongga, inisplit ko na lang sila sa marami, at nakasama ko silang lahat sa isang araw. Define malandi. I know right?

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• At Home

The day starts with Zero.

Zero was the guy I homed in at the gay club I went to last night with my friends. He wears his hair long that it touches down to his shirt. A pretty guy, as one friend noted, but definitely straight-acting and with a nice gentle smile. If I had the chance to dance with him I would’ve put my hands on his nape, which would be so soft and smooth, would’ve ran my fingers through his mane. And when he least expected it, I’d have pulled on the roots of his hair, not too hard, but just enough to see his expression when he winces. Actually, I don’t know what had gotten into me but I also brushed lightly on his butt on my way out of the CR. 100 SLUT points for me. Later, I had the courage to talk to him and asked for his number. One big problem though: he doesn’t have a number. So he said. Isang malaking wehhh, di nga, tatawa na ba ako, hindi porket Koreano ka magaling kang magtaekwondo.

But I get it, he’s just being polite and no, he’s not Korean (but dang, koreanovela guys, gaganda talaga ng styling ng buhok nila). Funny thing is, I can’t really recall his face now. It must be the hair. I’m a sucker for that. And since it was my first time to go to a queer bar, I kind of wanted his number for a trophy/souvenir. Yun naman ang kalakaran doon diba?

Oy, enough time in front of the mirror, Aleph, you’re running late.


• At the Campus

Ikaw na, ikaw na talaga. Why do some people seem almost perfect? Buti na lang atheist ako kundi sasabihin ko na namang ang daya-daya ni Lord.

Exhibit A.

Group reports day. My jaw drops when he enters the room. So this is what he’ll look like when he’s already got an office job. Hmmm, eh kahit pagsesekyu papatusin ko, para lang makita sya araw-araw at mabati ng Ang ganda ganda ng umaga [andito ka na kasi], noh ser? Or if I’m his boss, patay kang bata ka, sigaw ako lagi ng : I’ll see you in my office now, Mr. Tiu! Repeat 5 times a day with You can take off your clothes, I mean ,your coat. *ahem, ang init ano ba ‘to...* Pwede ring 10-15 times if it’s a particularly stressful day. With the same slip.

Articulate with his ideas, opinionated but open-minded. Knows how to lead a group but has a warm presence. I’ve got this classmate who’s the perfect boyfriend material, except that he’s straight. Aigoo. And that’s the only thing that makes him flawed in my world, imagine that. He’s an unbelievable devourer of books, and I don’t mean it’s because he reads 10 books a week. Actually, it takes him months to finish a book he really likes, savor talaga. He likes Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow (shet, di ko nga matapos yun eh), delights in the tenderness and grace of a mind’s voice in Ishiguro’s novels, and practically is in awe of Borges, too. Surprisingly (or maybe I shouldn’t be surprised anymore), he’s a good reader of poetry too!

Despite the heavy work load now that the semester’s ending, how does he still manage to look like that? No pimples, no eyebags, I mean, come on! He’s gotta be feeling tired like all of us. But nada, it doesn’t show at all. Matalino ka na, yummy ka pa. Hence the conclusion: Pota ka.

Lunch break. Something sweet for dessert: the maintenance hunk in our building. Without so much as an ounce of effort but the gel in his hair, this scruffy lightly-bearded moreno guy never fails to look hot despite his crappy cleaner’s uniform. I know he’s catched me so many times already checking him out. Today he feels generous and lifts his shirt to reveal an awesome pack of non-gym ”laking-kanto” abs on a super duper flat tummy. He’s pretending to wipe his nose. Really now, really? I just died. (NOMG, I just channeled that hag Rachel Zoe.)

So back from the dead, I go to my remaining class for the day—it’s for 3 hours straight. Gawd. The only thing that makes it bearable is Boogs.

We call him Boogie ‘cause he’s a dancer (well, mostly hiphop and bboy), he loves football and badminton, has a good built, lean physique (imagine no abs, but still sexy) and ding ding ding, he’s gay. So what’s wrong with the equation here? Gusto ko man magbitaw ng linyang Let lips do what hands do that one time he tried to teach me how to do a routine hands-on, it seems to him I give off more of a friendship vibe. We get along pretty well in fact. He has this outrageous sense of humor that cracks everybody up and his lamest jokes are usually cute. Aside from
musicians, I think the funny guys are actually a smart group.

The only thing Boogs and I don’t agree on is football. My god, watching this sport bores the hell out of me. You know, theoretically, I can understand why basketball is exciting, but in football a game can end 0-0. That’s some crazy shit. Sorry Boogs, I’ll concede the players are hotties in shorts, fine (wallpaper nga niya si Yoann Gourcuff eh, pero mas type ko si Xabi Alonso), but I’ll skip the whole 90 minutes and just watch them swap sweat-drenched shirts with each other.

As the class wraps up, I basically force Boogs to drop me off at the mall. I tell him I have a date. But only after he annoyingly mocks my choice of movie does he agree. Nagsalita ang magaling, he probably doesn’t know he pronounces Hitchcock, Truffaut, or von Trier with such disturbing breathiness and relish. Despite being a movie snob and condescending to the tastes of the “lowbrow public”, I know for a fact Boogs actually enjoys watching the series of Step Up movies, plus Twilight due to a shirtless Taylor Lautner. Of course. Magkasama ba naman kami on all those occasions eh.


• At the Mall

Actually I have no date and I just lied to get a free ride. I’m just buying notebooks, pens and more paper. I’ll burn an hour reading at a bookstore probably and then meander down grocery aisles too. Plain ordinary happiness.

But if I have a date, let me think. I wish it would be a musician and we’ll drop by an instrument shop. He’ll pick up a few guitars, strum some chords and remark which ones sounded better. I wouldnt’ be able to tell the difference honestly. And when I see the price tag, sabihin ko bigla: Uy, ibaba mo yan! If I’m luckier, he’ll be a kick-ass band drummer who maintains a nicely trimmed stubble but is thinking of growing a beard. He’ll fix back his tousled hair with his fingers. Only recently has it grown long enough to be tied but I’ll stop him because I think the curlicues at the ends are divine.

Sigh. Shrug. Sashay.

I lean tentatively on the railing and see a flower stall. Maybe that someone could also know about flowers? At least more than me. He’ll tell me which are geraniums and lilies because I have no idea what they look like. Maybe he doesn’t like daisies that much, but he’ll stoop down to eye a bunch of yellow-greens I haven’t noticed yet, and tell me how beautiful these cymbidium orchids are. Which leaves me speechless. I love the color is all I could say. He adds, gusto ko rin yung brown & yellow variant pero ang ganda-ganda nitong chartreuse, ano? I’ll never be able to answer his question probably. Because I’ll just stare at him for a few stupid seconds since I’d like to kiss him at that point already and see him blush to a certain shade of red which only I would name.

Every time I’ll see that color, sasabihin ko sa kasama ko: Tangina, chartreuse yang kulay na yan, alam mo ba yun? Sabi ng boyfriend ko. Sinearch ko pa nga sa wikipedia eh. Stop arguing with me, sino bang bading sa’tin dito?


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Forgetfulness

Last stanza from Forgetfulness by Billy Collins

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

It was exactly a year ago and it was 5 AM; we were on the train station where an old woman kneeled by the edge of the platform as she took out mangoes from her groceries. She was counting and I counted with her.

A train passed by as words were uttered. I thanked you for the nice evening and I like you, really, maybe we should take this forward but whatever it is you replied, my mind insists on a sudden gust, rush of air that had already eaten your words.

The only thing that’s left vivid is the color of flowers that you had drawn on a milk carton, lost in the flood long time ago. I couldn’t be sure now. True. But what other color do flowers have in this season? On the other hand, how many mangoes was it again? Nine, I think. Weren’t you there too, did the guard took notice, and had he his whistle in his mouth as our foot strayed on the same yellow the mangoes were balanced precariously on?

I open my eyes and the night moves in with its uncertainties: toppled stacks of books, wall cracks innumerable under the moon, broken lines of thought. It’s you, and a not you, at the same time I conceive of.


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