The Love Yourself Project

If you have any questions about HIV but were afraid to ask, then here’s the answer. The Love Yourself Project: HIV discreet and confidential HIV counseling for the youth and MSMs. You can now contact them.

The Love Yourself Project is also now seeking volunteers to help out in their advocacy. If you’re interested, check out their blog site here. You can also get in touch with them there.

In Threes

My mom and aunt flew home to Bohol last May to celebrate our hometown’s fiesta. While there my aunt suffered several mild strokes; the last one landed her at the community hospital in Tagbilaran. My mom extended her stay in Bohol to take care of her older sister. My younger brother Andrew eventually followed to Bohol to help my mom.

A couple of weeks ago my brother texted me, saying they were flying back to Manila on Friday the 15th. He said my mom misses the city life; besides, taking care of my aunt was slowly taking a toll on her too. Then his last SMS was a bit cryptic: “Ay Kuya, may ikukuwento pala ako sa inyo ni Ate pag-uwi namin. Parang pang-Supernatural!”

* * * * *

A few days before my brother was to fly to Bohol, my aunt was discharged from the hospital. She and my mom moved in to my another aunt’s house in Bilar (if they stayed in our house they’d be the only two ones there). My mom shared a bed with my aunt so she can always be ready to help her during the night.

One evening my mom woke up with a start. At the foot, on my aunt’s side of the bed, stood four hooded figures. (When we asked her for more details, my mom said one held something like a sickle, while another had something like a pitchfork.)

My mom is not the type who believed in supernatural stuff. I got my skepticism from her; but unlike my preference for a logical and scientific explanation, hers is a belief that “ghosts and supernatural beings” are the products of a weak faith in the Lord. So what she did next was classic of her: she made the sign of the cross at them. When they refused to go away, she said to herself, “That’s it! Might as well approach them and see who they really are.” So she turned around to get up from her side of the bed, her back towards the hooded figures. When she stood up and turned around to face them, they were gone.

She didn’t bother to tell my aunt about them the next morning. And by the time my brother arrived in Bohol, she completely dismissed it.

* * * * *

One evening my brother and my mom stood at the doorway to my aunt’s bedroom, discussing their plans for the next day. My aunt was already in bed, still awake. The light in the bedroom was already switched off; the only light source was coming from the small bulb lighting the hallway outside.

My brother and mom were whispering so as to allow my aunt to fall asleep. So they were both startled when my aunt exclaimed in a loud voice, “Kinsa man na?!”

My mom was already tired from a long day, so she just snapped, “It’s just Andrew.”

My brother went back to his room. (Later on he would tell us, “There really was panic in auntie’s voice.”) My mom went over to my aunt’s side. “Why were you asking who I was talking to? It’s just Andrew.”

“Hindi!” my aunt insisted. “There were three of you at the doorway!” She insisted it was another man, but she couldn’t tell who because his face was in shadows.

And that’s when my mom remembered the four hooded figures.

* * * * *

“They say that Death comes in threes.” That’s what the old folks in our quiet town of Bilar, Bohol believe.

My mom and aunt have three cousins who lived a few streets away. (We used to call their house pikas ba’y or “the other house.”) They were sisters who never married; they were fondly called “Tres Marias” (“Three Marys”).

While my mom and aunt were in Bohol, one of the Marias died because of Alzheimer’s disease. A second Maria was rushed to the hospital the same day my aunt was hospitalized. She is also expected to follow her other sister soon.

Upon hearing from my mom about the third shadow in the doorway and the four hooded figures, my brother concluded, “Let’s get Auntie out of here. I think Someone’s trying to pick her up.”

* * * * *

Now at home in Marikina, my aunt stays in my room because it is the one beside my mom’s bedroom (although she still sleeps with my aunt at night). My aunt sleeps with the door always ajar, but with the light in the hallway switched off (she finds it too bright). Only an angel-shaped night lamp provides light inside the room.

So far my brother, mom or sister have not reported any strange happenings or sightings in the house.

HIV Is Not A Death Sentence

As Tony observed about our fellow Fabcasters Migs and Corporate Closet (click here to read it), these two intelligent, wise and driven guys postponed having themselves tested for HIV for a simple reason: fear. It was the fear of finding out that maybe they are positive. It was the fear of knowing that a past mistake of theirs will haunt them until they die. Yes, the illogical trumps the logical, the emotional triumphs over the intellectual.

But fear was also responsible for them taking the test. When people close to them tested positive, and when guys they personally, actually knew started dying one by one (usually due to “complications arising from pneumonia”), the losses hit too close to home. Suddenly this issue couldn’t be ignored anymore, and testing became all the more urgent.

It actually makes sense then, to ratchet up this fear. Fight emotion with emotion, so to speak. The numbers are alarming. And what people aren’t officially saying, unofficially what you don’t know can actually kill you. Our MSM community is in danger. You are in danger. 

But is there a better way of going about things? What if there’s a way to help alleviate one’s fears? What if you find out that nowadays HIV is not a death sentence like it once was (provided it is detected early)? And what if you know there are people like us who care and are there for you?

Fear is born out of ignorance and the feeling of being alone. More than just arming MSMs with information, the Love Yourself Project (click here to check out their blog) aims to provide highly discreet and strictly confidential HIV counseling for MSMs, specifically the legally-mandated pre- and post-test counseling sessions.

But HIV counseling is just the start. The Love Yourself Project will eventually accommodate MSMs who have questions on HIV and STDs outside of the testing set-up. Ultimately the group seeks to promote “wellness through education, prevention, cure and rehabilitation in response to venereal infections (STD and HIV) and sexuality concerns.”

And maybe by then we won’t need to use fear to fight fear. 

Happy Anniversary

Good lord, it’s been one year since our book launch. The Threesome books (“Chronicles of E,” “Dear Migs: Letters To MGG” and “The Wetbook: Stories From The Bathouse”) were launched last year at The Room in Panay Avenue, QC. 

So what has happened since that launch?

Whenever I pass by National Book Store in Greenbelt 1, I still see copies of all three scattered in the bookshelves. When I say scattered, I mean the three books aren’t placed side by side with one another. And I noticed that they keep moving; one day I’ll find them here, the next visit I have to actively look for them since they;re not in the same place I last saw them. Is that an NBS policy? Maybe they think moving things around will help move book sales.

I have gone to the bathhouse a total of 5 times. So literally, I can count the number of times I’ve visited with one hand. You can safely say that those 5 visits won’t be featured in a book anytime soon. Not that nothing happened; so far, I’ve been lucky with my visits. Well, not really; luck plays a small part only. I’ve learned how to spot potential partners so that if my first choices don’t pan out, then I always have back-up. It’s not settling, it’s maximizing.

Gasp! McVie still visits bathhouses?! Isn’t he taken? Didn’t he and D just celebrate their first year anniversary? Yes, yes and yes. However, early on D gave me permission to continue visiting the bathhouse. “I know you like going there,” he said. Of course I insisted that if I can go, so can he.

But something funny happened. Because we gave each other carte blanche to play around, I now don’t feel the need to visit the bathhouse. Sure, there were days when I was thinking, “I wanna visit the bathhouse tonight,” then something happened during the day, or I got distracted by a movie or a dinner invite, or I suddenly remembered that I still have a Fabcast to edit, and bingo! The bathhouse has taken a backseat to several other items in my agenda.

I guess it is true what they say. Masarap ang bawal. In the musical “The Fantastiks” (which Onofre Pagsanghan translated, or rather, transplanted to a Philippine setting, into the long-running Valentine’s offer of Dulaang Sibol, “Sinta”), the dads of a couple wanted the two to end up married. So what did they do? They pretended they were at war with one another, and forbade their children to see one another. Of course that drove the boy and the girl to continue seeing one another on the sly. Reverse psychology seems to work for me and D too. Sure, I have gone five times, and often it was because I was just curious if I still have it in me, if I can snag a chubby chaser or two (har-har-har).

And because of that, I am not hopeful that there will be a “The Wetter Book” or “More Stories From The Bathhouse.” Been there, done that.

So where do I go from here?

Come to think of it, I have not been blogging as much as I used to. Recently the Fabcasters interviewed Dan & Rye of “The Dan & Rye Show,” and Rye said something that resonated with me. He said that he’s not blogging as much as he used to, because when he was happily settled down with a partner he said he didn’t know what to write about. “Wala na akong angst eh,” he realized. Yeah, angst is a perfectly legit Muse, and for the longest time my being single since birth has fueled many an episode of The McVie Show. It was also the reason why the bathhouse is my go-to place for physical male-to-male contact; if I don’t have someone, then at least I can have someone, any one, for the night.

So where do I go from here?

Nah, don’t worry, I’m not about to shut down my blog. The Show must go on. Besides, I take pride in the fact that I have been blogging for more than 7 years, and the longest respite between blog entries have been a week. I may have stopped exercising for 5 months at the gym, but exercising my writing muscles is something I refuse to let fall by the wayside.

Maybe I won’t end up with another book deal ever. Maybe I will find some other impetus besides angst to make me write. Or maybe, I need to search for some other angst that I still have. Which can be a good enough reason to go from season 11 to season 12.

In the meantime, happy anniversary to our books, Migs and E!

Not A Virgin Anymore

Last Sunday was actually the first time I watched any of the Virgin Labfest entries. I dunno, maybe I’m not never really a big fan of the untried and untested. The reason why I trooped to the CCP on a Sunday afternoon was because of the level of Teresa’s excitement in inviting us to watch the play she sound designed, Kafatiran. So I went with D; it was also his first time to watch. It was the last day, and we only bought tickets to Set A.

Since this blog entry comes out after the Virgin Labfest has ended, then there is no need for spoiler alerts. I don’t know if any of these plays will ever see the light of production again, so I’m also going to just say it as I see it.

Juan Ekis’ Requiem was the first of three one-act plays of that set. The play is easily the most tedious of the three. A brother and his sister meet in his bedroom; they had come home for the first time in years because their musician dad is dying. It is a play of cryptic lines at the start, pregnant pauses and awkward silences. It’s about as 70s as Tony Perez and Cubao’s heyday.

This type of one-act play doesn’t have much movement; usually it’s just “she sits on bed” or “he sits on chair” and vice versa. Nothing much physically happens; instead, it’s the revelation of information that drives the play. So when the revelations are spoiled by the fact that one can spot them a mile away, the play’s momentum flatlines. The first time the sister asks, “Can I sleep here?” I knew that there was incest involved. And the first time she remarks, “I hate that music” referring to her dad’s recording, I guess correctly that the dad had raped her. The two actors huffed and puffed all they could, but in the end I just wanted to fast-forward to the end.

Even the bit of twist to distinguish the play from the usual dad-rapes-sister-who-has-the-hots-for-brother fails. Apparently she turns out to be adopted; unfortunately, that dilutes the shock value of both incest (they’re not related by blood) and rape (well, rape is still rape, but a father raping his own flesh-and-blood gets additional shock points). It’s not that I’m blase about incest and rape; it’s not shock that will make this play work. Without the surprise of the reveal, the play turns into a Waiting For The End.

Kinaumagahan by Rachelle Rodriguez and Wennielyn Fajilan also features a man and a woman in a room, talking. There is a certain been-there-seen-that quality of the play’s set-up: a couple argues about their relationship and tries to work things out. One can expect escalating arguments sandwiched between tender or funny scenes. He is assigned to the graveyard shift in a call center, she works as a daytime nurse; the only time they have for each other is when they meet at home when one is about to sleep and the other about to leave for work. Can their relationship survive? In this humorous peek at a slice-of-life, no major earthshaking insights are revealed. But thanks to a script that sounds real and tackles a phenomenon so current and relevant, plus the skill and onstage chemistry of the two leads, the play succeeds in engaging the audience.

Thank god they saved the best for last. Kafatiran by Dingdong Novenario is what I’d like to call a mash-up play. Novenario re-imagines the Katipunan through pink-colored glasses. A special section of the Katipunan is composed of men who are of the pink persuasion. A new recruit is to be tested to make sure he really is a “kafatid.”

Novenario liberally takes the gay in-jokes of today and weaves it into Philippine history; the result is a hilarious “what-if” look at two revolutions, one political and one sexual. Nothing is sacred; a Santacruzan becomes a substitute for the Miss Universe pageant, and even the Katipunan’s manifesto is rendered in gay-speak. Subversive? Gay humor has always had a bit of a rebellious streak flashing underneath all that glitter. If revolutions can be won by wit and verve, then Kafatiran should be our battle cry. Mabuhay! Bongga wagi!

Iron Woman

“THAT’S the tone. If we want to strike!” 

A-f**king-mazing. Meryl Streep gives a tour-de-force acting lesson in just one line. First, she shows a mischievous smile and matching glint in her eye. Then her tone shifts, and you see a flash of steel in her eyes as she reveals the iron lady inside her.

Grabe kah, Meryl (Streep, hindi Soriano, okay?!), ikaw na. Oo, ikaw na!

Dear Meryl, after doing the Iron Lady, can you next do the Iron Butterfly herself, the Lady with the Thousand Shoes, Imelda Marcos?

Coming Zoon

A film that I’ve been looking forward to seeing for the longest time now is Zombadings: Patayin Sa Shokot Si Remington directed by Jade Castro of Origin8 Productions. I happen to personally know several people from Origin8, so even during early shooting stage I already had an idea of the humorous premise. And when I heard of the title, I thought, “Okay, that is a must-see movie for me!”

But then the film encountered some delays. At first I heard that the post-prod really took more time than expected. Then I heard that they were still short of funds for an all-out marketing push. Of course, in the movie industry a delay is a delay is a delay; one can only spin so much. That’s why when I finally heard that it was going to be shown in Cinemalaya, I breathed a sigh of relief. It’s about time, I thought.

I mean, I have two major-major reasons why I wanna watch it:

Martin Escudero, haylabyu na! Kahit hindi pa kita napapanood evur!

Two words: Kuya Dick. Truly, ang nag-iisang Kuya Dick.

The movie looks like a fun romp. Is it more horror or comedy? Is it a sly commentary on homosexuality in society? Will Kuya Dick steal all his scenes?

Calling Origin8 peeps! Let your baby loose na.

Produced by: Origin8media (www.origin8media.com)
Screenplay by: Raymond Lee, Michiko Yamamoto, Jade Castro
Directed by: Jade Castro

Watch the trailer: