Art's Winter Reaction

So it was just me, Art, and two guys walking around Hyde Park towards Winter Wonderland. I never knew that one simple question can turn out into a disaster.

We were there, battling the cold wind, as we had the obligation to tour a friend of a friend around who will be going back to the Philippines after a 3-year stint here.

While strolling, I just asked them, “Will you be going to Rich’s party?”

“No, I wasn’t invited,” said Ben. “How about you?”

“Well, I was invited by his best friend,” I quipped.

“Really? I wasn’t invited as well,” Art said. “I think I’ll just wait for him to invite me.”

“Oh, if ever you’ll attend, you will see his bf there,” Ben added.

Suddenly, Art’s face gone pale. He stopped for a moment, and asked, “What did u just [say]?”

Ben suddenly knew what was going on, and he just laughed, laughed and laughed some more. “Oh sorry, what did I say again? Lol.”

Art suddenly felt cross. “I really heard it. What did you say?” Well frankly, if you heard it already, why ask a second time?

“You know that I was just joking, you know how I am. Right Josh?” At the back of my mind, I can see Ben perspiring from the inside.

“But, he’s a Christian, isn’t he?” Art said. Seriously?

The guy leaving the UK finally spoke. “Well, some say they’re Christian, but they don’t really act Christian. We just don’t think they are anyway. They just tell us that to make themselves included in society.”

This is nuts. Seriously. I’d so wanted to bang the guy’s and Art’s head on the wall.

REWIND

So all of the people involved, including your truly, belong to his church congregation situated in Tottenham Court Road. It has been almost a year since I started attending, with Art inviting me to a session of praise and worship. With the cute singers and good-looking young adults praising the Lord, I got hooked up.

I met this friend in question, Rich, in a post-church dinner event in town. So we got along well, and based from his mannerisms and everything else, you can tell he’s gay. After catching up, seeing his posts in FB and Twitter, he is definitely one of us… and he even confirmed it to me. His boyfriend, by the way, is smoking hot.

-----

Apparently, given Art’s reaction, he wasn’t told about Rich. I felt bad about Art, because he knew the person for a longer time than me. Or maybe he’s just trying to be naïve. It’s really obvious.

Given his reaction that was cold, winterish and really uncalled for, it was all the more that I think that this narrow-minded individual is no good to be my best friend. That’s why I shifted all the dynamics to Edric, my midweek drinking buddy.

There will come a time Art, where I will introduce my boyfriend (if I finally have one) to each and every one of you. How will you deal with it?

Abangan.

The Lineage of House Dubovie*

My grandfather, Brandon of House Dubovie, the First of his Name, has two sons and seven daughters.

His eldest son, is Brandon of House Dubovie, the Second of his Name… also known as… my father.

My dad has two issues, the eldest, Josh of House Dubovie, the First of his Name, which would be me, and my sister. My uncle has only one issue, and it is a girl… Monica of House Dubovie, the First of her Name.

If it were in the Middle Ages, and we rule the Seven Kingdoms, I will be the heir apparent, and will rule the Kingdoms if ever my father passes away. And one of the main agendas of the heir apparent is to continue the lineage in order to secure the future of House Dubovie.

There is just one thing amiss. I am in no reason to marry and have kids… because of my… erm… preferences.

Going back to the new millennium, it is still the same factors. In order to prevent the Dubovie family from going extinct, I have to marry and issue a son at least. My sister and cousin, if ever they get married, will renounce their Dubovie surname, and will acquire the names of their new Houses.

Of course, even though we are free to choose what we want to, throughout my life, there has been much bickering and forbiddingness.

“Lol. Be a man. Don’t be gay. You are the only hope this family has,” said my aunt. “Introduce me to this girlfriend of yours. And make lots of Dubovie babies!” my uncles quipped.

Dad and Mum were silent about me being the only heir, but I know they are expecting. Well they can expect from my sister, but I have to break their hearts if they are expecting something from me. Sure, cash and income, they can expect, as well as the debt of gratitude I have from bringing me up justly. But children? I’m so sorry, Mum and Dad.

I am not getting any younger, and sooner or later, the topic of marriage will pop out. Until how long I can use the “I’m busy with school/work, that is why I am still not looking” excuse? Surely, I can get a ‘beard,’ and marry. But aside from the dreaded notion of making love with a girl, how will I break the family then if ever I can’t handle it anymore? Will I be tied forever in my secret?

Oh well. Youth is here… best have fun… while it lasts.

*Dubovie, as you may know, sounds French, but it isn't my real surname. I hope that it was though. Hehe.

Debt for a Wingman

Sometime in July....

Edric: Hay... I don't have much left.

Me: How much do you need ba?

Edric: Around 400...

Me: Fine, I do have some spare cash.

Edric: Sure ka? It might be a hassle on your part...

Me: Nah it's fine... I only have 1000 rotting in my bank account.

Edric: Ikaw na.... Lol. But... what's the catch?

Me: Hmm... Interest of around 5%... (as what I charge to debtors before)

Edric: *lingers* Ummm... fine fine.  I will be indebted to you.

Me: *thinks for a moment* Actually, you can do another thing.

Edric: What?

Me: Find me a date.

Edric: Be a wingman you mean?

Me: Yes.

Edric: Asus, kadali, It is a deal!

Sometime in August...

Edric: I think I need money again... for my training.

Me: How much do you need?

Edric: 1000, but I'll get some from others.

Me: Hmmm... *checks account* I think I can lend you the whole 1,000.

Edric: No, that's too much. I still have the one last month. Just close it at 1,000.

Me: So, 600?

Edric: Yes, hehe. And I assume there's a catch again?

Me: Yes.... But you decide what it would be.

Edric: Be your wingman for life!

Me: Whut? 'Til I die? *laughs* That's a tad harsh. Maybe until 30?

Edric: What if 30 ka na and you're still single?

Me: Gago. Fine... Until I'm not then.

Edric: Too late, you said until 30 lang. Yey!

Me: Arrgh. Come on, please! I know you are a matchmaking master!

Edric: Sige na nga, we will find him, someday... It is a deal!

To be continued...

Goodbye, Travelogue Boy?

It seems that I have to blow the dust that settled on top of this blog.

Whew. It has been what, a couple of months? Well 4 months exactly. My anniversary here in the UK just passed by without even a proper attribution or celebration for that matter.

And yeah, in celebrating my first year in a foreign place, riots erupted like mushrooms on a damp moist forest.

Anyway, I dunno what to write... Actually, to be honest, I dunno if I still have the drive to write.

Well, I still have my main blog, but I don't know. London has made me desensitised. It changed the way I see things.

Here are some things that I've learned, or I've done within the last few months:

1) I've let someone use me for his benefit, so in turn, I used him to get benefits as well. *cough Ray cough*
2) I'm getting more and more superficial it seems. A hot bloke makes me wanna go "haba haba."
3) Ideal relationships are harder to come by these days. Adam's blog has swoon me in the darkest days of winter, but as summer came and went, I just reliased that it's not always the case. Actually, it's consider lottery for a thing like that to happen.
4) Wingmen did more harm than good. Well, let's just say that the guys go for the wingmen, instead of me. Oh great.

Looking back, I almost seriously puked at my desperate stories about Art. Seriously, Art? My God. I think.... no, I really wasn't in the right mind when I started this blog.

It was cheesy. It was weird. It was forced. It was lost. It was too safe. It was WTF.

I was so tempted to close everything down. From the old Josh Dubovie, to the new Alex Saade. And seriously, did I just change my pseudonym from A to B to C in the near future? That was utterly daft. I apologise in advance for being blunt, but I think I do not need this shadow anymore. This side of me.... I don't need it buried six feet deep. It can intertwine with my main life, especially in a cosmopolitan city like London, and with some mates who can help me assert that I am a man who need not fear.

But I miss my friends, if ever I have one here. So we'll see how it goes. But for now, you lot will not see me writing cheesy heart-fluttering stuff about my interactions with other men.

Come on, it's ridiculous and stupid.

Coolness of Cambridge

“It was you who was all eyes on him.”

As soon as Art muttered those words, I felt embarrassed, to the point that my face was almost noticeably red, even though there were a lot of acne breakouts recently.

We were walking at the banks of River Cam, overlooking the King’s College Chapel. It was two days after my parents left (about April 8), so we decided to plan a day-long trip at one of the most renowned universities in the world right before the new term starts.

Cambridge.

Yes, compared to Oxford (which I’ve been to last January), there are a lot more things in store in this town that was Ironically founded by none other than residents and graduates of Oxford.

There was this sort of thing called punting, wherein you can ride on a boat that will be maneuvered by the punter by pushing against the river bed by the pole.

It has been a tradition that Cambridge university students would be the ones punting; it has been primarily their source of income and a way to boost tourism. With 10 pounds per head, it's great value for money. Plus, why not enjoy under the sun in balmy temperatures?

And mind you, most of these Cambridge lads are hot.

So the one punting our boat was not a student, which as a bit strange (he explained it at the start of the tour).

So here’s our punter, the guy called… Guy. (Whut?)

Not as hot as the other punters out there, but his innocence and good sense of humour allured most, if not all that were in the boat, including me.

He even pointed out that for 200 pounds a month, one can get a whole one bedroom flat (with a private toilet and kitchen) in Cambridge, if your brain is worthy enough for the uber-reasonably priced accommodation. Most roomshare single rooms in London are about 250-300 a month.

And to that, Art must’ve noticed that I kept on staring at our punter… erm I mean listening to what he was saying, instead of taking breathtaking pictures of the medieval colleges situated by the banks.

Was I too obvious? Maybe.

The punting session was over, it was time for some quality moments with this town that houses some of the oldest academic traditions in the country, If not the world.

Walking outside the greens of King’s College Chapel, one can think of numerous possibilities and outcomes.

Cambridge students consider themselves lucky, for they can sit beside the River Cam to read on their latest law or marketing book.

There I was, contemplating on the Bridge of Sighs.

What if I studied in Cambridge instead? Life would have been totally different. Studying in a quiet town full of students alike will be a lot more enjoyable, that’s what I am sure of. Aside from the fact that I get to see handsome guys every day, it will be an assured spot in the workforce come graduation. My life would have been the stereotypical ‘student life,’ which is to study hard, and party harder.

Now, if only I can address the £20,000 issue.

New Persona

It has been, almost a year.

The day wherein I embraced my real identity…. It was just another normal day, a few days right after watching Eurovision 2010. I’ve decided to use Josh as my screen name in signing up in this gay website since I was still in the hype and everything. Then poof, someone instantly recognised its eccentric origin.

So there it was, I’ve found my first ever PLU chatmate, thanks to this show called Eurovision.

Oh, just a quick description about this contest. It is a singing competition held every May, as 40 or so members of the European Broadcasting Union battle it out to see who has the most popular song in the competition. Each country would submit an original song to be performed on live telly, and then the members of the jury, together with the European public, would cast votes. Inaugurated in 1956, it is one of the longest-running singing contests in the world, and with annual audiences of about 250 million. It is one of the most watched non-sporting events in the world.

Thus, I vowed to myself, I will watch this singing competition every single year if it’s the last thing I do. It’s an ode to my, erm… shall we say, acceptance.

Now, it has been almost a year. And yea, Josh Dubovie was so 2010. It might be time for change, once again.

A new year, a new persona.

Of course, as a tradition, hopefully for the years to come, I would take my persona from someone in Eurovision, and it has to be well thought of.

But before that, I would just like to point out the cutest/hottest guys in this year’s contest that was held in Düsseldorf, Germany.

6) Paradise Oskar - Finland

Real name: Axel Ehnström. Represented Finland with song “Da Da Dam.” Cute boyish Caucasian… one of my types.

5) Two guys in Switzerland entry

Anna Rossinelli and her band represented Switzerland with the song “In Love for a While.” How did this song get the last spot with two very cute guys strumming with her?

4) Loukas Giorkas

Represented Greece with “Watch my Dance.” Cute Greek. Outstanding opera-ish vocals. Great control of his voice.

3) Lee Ryan and Duncan James from Blue

Represented the United Kingdom with the song “I Can.” Lee, aside from his high vocal range, is oozing with sexiness. Duncan James as well, especially since he’s reportedly bi. Oooh.

2) Eric Saade

This Lebanese-Swedish lad represented Sweden with the song “Popular”. And indeed, this cute mixed Scand proved to be popular indeed as it garnered third place in the contest.

Ohh... and I just found this.

1) Alexej Vorobjov

Reported the hottest bloke in this year’s competition, he (English translation: Alex Sparrow) represented Russia with the song “Get You,” which was dubbed as a “rapist song” by many fans and haters alike. Yea, he looks like a douche, but we can’t do anything about it. He was born with overflowing sex appeal.

Like last year, I fancy taking the name of someone cute and handsome (like last year’s Josh)… However,  Vorobjov is just too hard to pronounce. Saade just sounds so European (Germanic, in fact).

So, there you go. It's still fine by me to be called Josh, especially by my old buds back home. Alex Saade, fly high, and may you have a blessed year under this new persona. Cheers.

Royal Birthday

In a cloud of fragrant blossoms, the duo took their vows with barely a glitch or sign of last-minute nerves. The Archbishop of Canterbury, in ceremonial robes, asked William first: ''Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife?'', to which he replied with a firm ''I will''.

The crowd responded by chanting “awww.” And then, tears just started flowing from my eyes.

I just had no idea how that happened. I was just there, standing by the steps in Trafalgar Square, absorbing the cheers from the crowd in this fairly cloudy morning.

But it wasn’t just an ordinary morning. It was the morning when Prince William tied the knot to commoner Kate Middleton, the new addition to the House of Windsor.

Thousands of Britons, normally reserved and timid, didn’t mind the cramped spaces, as their eyes were glued on the big screens that were set up by Nelson’s Monument. As Kate, now the Duchess of Cambridge, said her vow, seas of Union Jack flags were up in the air, signifying this once-in-a-lifetime moment.

Sure, I can just stay home and watch the replay. Sure, I can just go to work on that day to earn some money. Yes, I could've gone home after Art and Tina bailed me for the nth time after inviting me non-stop to watch it live (yes I was just alone on that day). However, It must’ve felt good to stand there, with hundreds and thousands of people, to celebrate and feel proud of themselves to be residing in Britain.

In this day, which is supposedly my birthday, it is normal to feel irritated that your special day has been overshadowed by this royal event. But it didn’t matter. Why not celebrate with them.

It was enough that Gene and the gang greeted me a Happy Royal Birthday. Surely, this day would be written in history books for generations to come.

Yes, William might have Kate, but then, Harry is still there.

And he will be mine. Lol.

The Visit

Heathrow Terminal 3

“Don’t forget to take your vitamins, alright?” Mom was finishing her bottle of water, since liquid containers of any sort are not allowed inside airport terminals.

“Mom, of course…. Come on now, you guys will be late.”

“Just buy shoes if you need some more pairs, so here’s our extra 100 pounds.” Dad took out five 20-pound notes from his pocket, and gave them to me.

After a tight hug from Mom, and a pat from Dad, they disappeared along with thousands of travellers queuing for immigration.

Two weeks just whisked away like lightning. When I fetched them at the same terminal in Heathrow 14 days ago, they were shivering under 4 layers of clothing, while I strutted with them at Trafalgar Square on just a brown jumper and a T-shirt.

Given the situation on the first day of The Visit, it was amusing to get stuck on the huge public protest regarding spending cuts. We had to technically ‘join’ and march with the Britons in order to get out.

My parents had seen it all… the beauty and the beast of living in Britain. Sure, castles, markets, and high streets seem to be appealing to the normal Filipino, but think again. A 50% tax rate, limited pension and child benefits, inflation overpowering real wages, immigration issues, you name it. My parents had seen and heard it all… the stories that will make one think twice about living here.

That was the primary reason why I had qualms on them visiting. I don’t want them to see me on this state… this state of confusion, desolation, and depression. Setting the emo-ness aside, I just don’t want to burden them anymore by taking their time and money just by checking on their son.

Then again, it can be a stress-reliever to see them again and to tour them around the Kingdom, isn’t it?

Well, that’s exactly what I did.

From the slum areas of Peckham, to the medieval towns in Scotland, they took snapshots of them as well. Yes, aside from the two-week period living in gratis, I managed to sit back, relax, and reflect on a lot of things… well, not totally, since it was still a bit stressing to fix schedules and itineraries for the next out-of-town trips.

For one, I must certainly be punished for taking my health and well-being for granted. Pimples were sprouting in every corner of my face, and eyebags were at their fullest form…. All because of a 51 hour work week I took a week before The Visit.

Second, love life. It’s still nil after my eighth month. Not making much progress do I? I even made a joke to Art that I will be a ‘hot item’ back in the Philippines. Agawan, ika nga.

You guys might be wondering where the hell my parents resided during the course of the visit. As London is known for its notoriety in hotel prices, God managed to plan it perfectly, by letting Ray transfer to a new home at Harrow-on-the-Hill, and letting my new roommate delay his transfer for two weeks. So, the events were so coincidental that it must’ve been an act of God.

Yes, a lot has happened since I last updated this dying blog, but it’ll be a pain in the arse to talk about them all over again.

As Bruno Mars would say, or sing for the matter… Easy come, easy go.

Porn Idol

Why the hell are we going inside and spend £3, when we can get free entry flyers at Old Compton Street?

It was a night out that had gone wrong (well, not really) with Ray, I, and his friend Jen, when he explicitly told a lie as we were passing by Charing Cross station. He got ‘curious’ at this bar called Heaven, and it will be first time to venture in this club.

This gay club? Please. It was only last week that we’ve been here with Edric, so, why come back here and risk the fact that he brought a straight girl friend.

I was supposed to bring them to a simple English pub to experience the traditional Briton nightlife. However, it got the best of Ray when he explicitly dragged us to this, erm, revealing place. I got a bit miffed, primarily because it was really not right to lie, and second, it’s not really good to drag someone who clearly doesn’t have an idea who I really am. I can’t help but think if God is testing me or not.

Anyhow, since we both have to act like we’re naïve or something, we asked a lot of nonsensical questions on the bouncers and bartenders, like the entrance fee, where the toilets were located, and the minimum card payment value.

The three of us managed to take a spot while eyeing on the different hot guys dancing. It felt funny as I spotted Filipinos coming in herds.

“Baluarte ng mga Pinoy,” I whispered to Ray.

Seriously. The ages would range from about 20s to late 40s, and it was amusing to see that they looked as gay as ever.

After a few more songs, the lights went back on, and it meant only one thing.

It was time for Heaven’s special Thursday show…. Porn Idol!

Going back, we were asked by these effeminate party organisers outside the club if we would fancy registering for this contest. Hello? Me, stripping in front of hundreds of people, just for some money? No way, man. Maybe if I get a bit inebriated, then fine.

I was about to faint because I was trying my best to keep my excitement to a minimum whenever I feel that Jen would eye me from head to foot.

There were 9 contestants that night, and they have to strip on stage, and based from the audience and the judges’ scores, the winner will get a 100 quid.

I left Ray and Jen at the back and moved a bit closer to the stage to get alongside with all the cheers, boos, and the cramped spaces.

So, one after the other, contestants strutted, stripping off their piece of clothing, either showcasing something mouth-watering or something disgusting. And everyone just bit their lips when a Spanish couple kissed torridly on stage while stripping off their clothes, revealing their God-damn-it bodies.

Even after cheering loudly for the Spanish couple, they only won second place. I almost lost my voice for them! A chubby Cypriot guy won just because he shook his arse like Shakira. The British public sometimes have their share of insanity.

Instead of getting conscious of the possible repercussions, I just chugged my Jack Daniels, whilst dancing to the tune of The Time (Dirty Bit).

It felt so intoxicating. The boom boom sounds resonating on the dance floor, with the piercing white, blue, yellow, and pink dance lights that flicker every millisecond.

I never wanted it to end. It felt so good letting all my inhibitions go, every for just this night. Hell, I was working for 40 hours already since Sunday.

Now that I’ve thought about it, I actually don’t care anymore. The reason why life is getting frustrating is because I always think how people will perceive me.

That is wrong, painfully wrong. It’s like you’re digging your own grave if you keep on doing that. It’s your life, not theirs. Why think so much about what they will say? Yes, culture and society play a role here, which is why London is the place to be… for letting all your inhibitions out, just for this moment in your life.

That is why my friends, I can’t wait to go back to Manila, to meet my cyberfriends, and venture on the bars along Malate.

The Shake-Up

First, really sorry for the lack of posts. Got really busy in school and work, to the point that I am not sure if I am back in college or not.

Finally, after finishing a Marketing presentation and a 3000-word assignment, it’s the time to reflect again.

Last week was the advent of a new beginning for Josh. I dunno what God wants me to do or not, but I just have to take it as it is, right?

And pardon me, my creative juices was totally drained from the assignment, so I just have to write in a news-orderly manner.

-----

It all started with a message… from PlanetRomeo.

I got amused by his quote in his faceless profile. “Pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional.”

My instincts told me to reply and say something witty like, “Suffering is inevitable as well. It’s how we deal with it that is optional.”

And I did just that.

And after the couple of exchanges, it got a bit overwhelming.

The funny thing was, he’s also a Filipino who has been here for just 3-weeks. Goodness, I thought he was American or something because of his grasp of the language, not to mention his profile said that he only speaks US English.

And he needs help, because he’s jobless, not to mention about to be homeless.

The old Josh back in Manila would just shy away from the meet-up that was supposed to happen at Waterloo Station the next day. A faceless person in a very dodgy website.

But, as if London had changed him, it feels like he has the responsibility to help dispossessed people, especially Filipinos, to cope up in this unforgiving city. And I decided to give it a shot.

And I have to say, it was the right decision. I think.

It was decided, after the getting to know part in our short tour around Chinatown, Earl’s Court, Piccadilly, and the streets of Soho, that he can be my person here, in Britain’s capital.

No, Ray will not be that kind of person. Just a simple person to talk to.

The problem is, why is my heart suddenly beating in search for life again, after a few weeks of dormancy?

And yes, for the past week, I’ve helped him find a place to stay, met a few classmates and colleagues of him, and it’ll just a couple of days before I will be his new roommate.

Shh, guys. Think what you like.

-----

We were outside Heaven, and Edric, Ray, and I were just waiting for dance floor to open.

After walking around Oxford Street, Ray and I decided to meet up with Edric and grabbed some drinks at The Yard.

And then, when alcohol got the best among all of us, the truth started to unfold.

It has been confirmed. All of us had something in common, in varying degrees.

I’ll not go into details, but all of my speculations have been proven, and vice versa as well. Yes, the background details kept on coming out.

“Actually Josh, I was really feeling it already. No straight guy would frequent Soho like it’s their second home or something,” Edric said.

Oh… is that it? What the hell has just happened for the past few weeks? God really played a part, isn’t it? It only means one thing then.

My primary life and my other life are officially overlapping.

And this will might be the last time I will update and write something in this blog. As my other life is slowly getting intertwined with my primary one, I guess it’s time to respect each other’s privacy and take things from here.

I’ll really miss writing though, but, as if I have readers in the first place. I don’t think it will be a great loss if I commit self-immolation.

An Order Call

Josh: Thank you for calling. How can I help you?

Customer (guy): I'd like to order some pizzas please for delivery!

He had a very perky voice. Very amusing. Order taking session went on as expected.

Josh: So, your order was.... (repeats order). Anything else?

Customer: No that would be all thank you.

Josh: That would be 23.49, and delivery time is around 45 minutes.

Customer: Cheers. By the way, just want to say, I love you....

Josh: *silence*

Customer: To the pizzas...

Josh (whose face went like a tomato): To the pizzas?

Customer: Yeah. To the pizzas. *Laughs heartily on the background*

Josh: *laughs as well* Well, then, thank you. Cheers... bye!

That was one weird and funny call. And it was so tempting to get his phone number from the computer and contact him after work. LOL.

Frustrated Lover

It is a perpetual cycle.

Getting to know someone. Being infatuated. Falling in love. Professing it. Working your way to the highest point of the relationship. Slowly knowing each other’s differences. Getting annoyed and tired at the relationship. Trying to make it work. Giving up. Breaking apart. Searching for new love.

Over the past couple of years, it wasn’t a very smooth ride in terms of looking for my Romeo. Yes, there came a time that someone loved me, but I still wasn’t sure of myself, so I just shunned his feelings for me. Yeah, I was a jerk.

For most other times, I fell for someone that is almost always under these five categories.

One, he’s straight.

Second, he’s taken.

Third, he’s too good looking/perfect for me.

Fourth, he’s interested, but distance will come into play.

And last but not the least, he might be gay, but he’s stopping his desires by immersing into divinity.

Yes, it’s pretty sure that most, if not all of us has experienced this. Getting frustrated in terms of love. Why can’t it be more tameable? Why can’t it go our way?

Then again, life will be boring and monotonous if it were too predictable and generous.

But seriously, when one is in the middle of a social circle wherein peers are moving on with their lives, falling deeply in love, being successfully reciprocated and so on and so on, who wouldn’t be tempted to go sulk in a corner, disdaining all the good things happening around you?

It will even get frustrating come Valentine’s Day, where couples from all over will flaunt their ‘undying’ love for each other, while the singles will just have to bear the day by engaging in work, school, and taking the commute home with all those lovely jubblies screaming at you.

And this, is the anatomy of a frustrated lover.

Bar Hopping

“Where are you running to?”

The bouncer stopped us, and with his soft Polish accent, asked us again. “Where are you running to?”

The four of us were taken aback.

Edric moved a bit closer and said, “Um, we’re going to the bar. Isn’t it obvious?”

“You all are very much aware that it is a gay bar, right?”

Pow. I didn’t expect that. I thought we will all be relaxing and taking our time off at a straight bar in Soho. Yes, there are a couple of straight bars and pubs in Soho as well.

“Well, you look very young. Below 18, actually,” the bouncer said in his unmoving poker face. “Can I have a look of your identifications please.”

Even though his English will make someone from Katipunan laugh till God knows when, it’s not the right moment to even snicker. I don’t have my passport with me, but I have my Oyster card that says I am an 18+ student.

The three of us were through with our Oyster. Except for one. Edric. His laminated version of his school ID was not enough, and his Oyster card doesn’t say that he’s 18+ because he has the old version.

“But I’ve been here a couple of times and I haven’t been checked.” He reiterated.

“Sorry, rules are rules.” The ruthless bouncer just stood there triumphantly, having picked upon his preys for the night.

“Leave it, let’s just go somewhere else shall we?” He ushered.

Now, it would be ok if it all went perfectly. The problem is, we have two companions who are absolutely clueless with regard to Soho’s vibrant and colourful nightlife.

With us, were Gene, and Art.

-----

After that trip to Oxford earlier that day, I’ve had enough. No one’s really right for me, maybe.

And since we’ve already finished visiting all the sights before 6pm, we decided to go back to London a bit earlier than our actual booked time. And I was sweating when the conductor checked our tickets. Good thing he didn’t check it very rigorously.

Upon returning to the bustling city, the gang kept on pressing me to go to the bar where I fuckin’ lost my phone and unwind there.

And I can’t tell them, because if I bring them to Village, then, hell will break loose.

So, there we were, looking for a bar that seems to have a kind bouncer on the entrance. Since when did kind and bouncer go hand in hand?

We managed to enter Bar Soho without the bouncer’s questioning, but alas, the bar was too noisy with its booming surround speaker system and was kind of cramped with no places to sit and have a nice chit-chat.

We had to go out and look for a quieter one. I was on the verge of spilling my secret out by leading them to Village (which had a 50% off on drinks on a Monday), but then, something caught my eye.

Glee night, on Ku Bar in Frith Street.

Yeah, even though Ku Bar is a gay one as well, the poster seemed to show that it’s a harmless bar that can welcome us, since I have straight companions with me. But um, how can we be sure about that?

I threw a smile on the bouncer, and it worked. He smiled back and let us all in.

After getting the drinks from that very cute bartender, we went up and sat on one of the couches. We drank, but at the same time, talked about the meaning of the rainbow flag plastered outside Ku Bar.

Art asked me to get some technology magazines, since he saw a couple of them by the stairs. I was about to get one when I secretly giggled.

They were not tech magazines. They’re gay ones, with all the topless hunks on its front cover.

I can’t risk it. I don’t fancy giving it to him and be shocked by the guys who ooze with sheer sexiness.

----

After a couple more shots of tequila, it was time to go, with the three of them ensuring that all of my gadgets were still with me.

My head’s hurting but I was still wary of the surroundings and what the three were talking.

I bade them farewell as they went down Tottenham Court Road station. I made an excuse that I’ll take the bus instead. Unknowingly to them, I decided to have a drink for a few more hours.

The tequila must’ve seeped into my rationale thinking when I decided to go back to Wardour Street, and enter Village again, for the second time this month.

Just for fun, I decided to check how high (or really low) my face value was, by checking if someone would approach me to have a chat as the night would pass by.

I looked like a fool after ordering that cider and sitting in one corner, eyeing all the cute guys passing by. At the front were a young Oriental talking (and going really chummy) with the 40-ish Caucasian. Sitting beside me were two young Caucasian guys kissing torridly on occasions. Sitting on my left were a bloke and a gal, drinking with their rose.

I got so embarrassed when the night went by without someone approaching me, and I felt even more humiliated when the girl sitting beside me asked, “Are you ok?”

I just have her thumbs up, and she replied, “Don’t worry, be happy.”

Oh dear. I must’ve looked awful. I quickly gulped my small bottle of cider and decided to call it a night to prevent further humiliation.

And at that moment in time, as I sat on the upper deck on Bus N89, an epiphany had struck like lightning.

What the hell were Art and Gene thinking when Edric and I brought them to gay bars?

Am I already out?

And most importantly, since no one approached me it meant only one thing.

I don’t have any face value at all.