diary of a madman

What is real?

The blood dripped from my wounds and stained the paper I was writing on. Gleaming bright red, it almost looked fake, like an obscene smile painted on a clown.

Drip, Drip.

It spread on the paper like a crimson tide, extending its arms, engulfing the words I just wrote. The blood was real, and I felt myself weaken.

The stillness of the room allowed my thoughts to float freely. If I die today, would it matter? How do I know this isn’t just a dream? From my window, I saw the clouds drift in an impossibly blue sky.

I had gone to a different world in suspended animation. Everybody else seemed light years away, and certainly out of arm’s reach. The photographs on my table shone like dead stars- I was looking at the past, of happier times, which were long gone.

I’m dying. I thought. This is real.

The sickly sweet coppery odor of blood filled my nostrils, suffocating me. I scrambled for the telephone, and as I did, I knocked over the blood-stained blade.

I saw it fall, forever, in an endless pirouette. It never hit the floor.

the origin of blue balls

I met my first boyfriend through an EB, and our first date (and my first kiss ever) happened in the middle of EDSA dos rallies.

I remember sneaking out of my boarding house near UP Village to meet Jon in Philcoa, so we could attend the evening mass at EDSA. There was hardly any room at the MRT trains and we were squeezed in like sardines with everybody else who planned to attend the rally that night. Jon and I spent most of the night on the street sometimes joining in the chanting (Erap resign! Erap resign!), chatting with other students, and checking out news reporters as they televised the latest developments of the rally.

At some point we got hungry and decided to grab burgers at a 24 hour Wendy’s somewhere. It was really dark and to me it was all a blur of incandescent lamps from the Meralco posts, the constant blinking of traffic lights, and the glaring neon signs of establishments.

“May I take your order?” Said a bored cashier at the counter.

“Two shrimp sandwiches, fries, and large cokes.”

He paid for our food. I remember feeling giddy at that time- it was the first time a guy, a goodlooking one at that, took me out on a date! I was a late bloomer and never really explored the whole dating thing till I was a senior in college.

Jon was a student at FEU (fascinating for me because I rarely get to meet people outside of my campus). I forgot what his major was because I wasn’t really listening to his words, I only watched his lips moved as he spoke. Like watching a VCR, I put it in slow motion so I could see the shape of his mouth better. Really cute, even with a bit of mayo on the side of his lip. I wouldn’t have minded licking it off.

I excused myself. All that naughty thinking got me so excited I already pitched a tent in my jeans.

“I’ll just go to the washroom.”

“I’ll go with you.” He said.

So we made our way to the tiny restroom at Wendy’s where one can’t even swing a mouse without hitting the walls. I turned to face him (there was only one toilet and I thought, should I pee first or maybe he wanted to go first and I go after?).

Just as the door closed, he grabs my shoulders and kissed me on the mouth. He was a lot taller than I was, so he bent his knees and leaned over.

It was a long kiss, and he knew how to work his lips and tongue. I, on the other hand just stood there. I’ve seen how people kiss in the movies, but to have your first one happen unexpectedly, I was caught by surprise and was completely frozen. I just half-opened my mouth , but I didn’t kiss him back. Simply because I didn’t know how to do it.

“Uh.”

“Are you going to use the toilet?” I asked, a bit flushed from arousal.

He shook his head and smiled, took my hand, opened the door and led me to the table again.

I was too shy to make another plea to the toilet, so I just sat there, clutching my abdomen hoping my bladder won’t burst, while enduring the pressure from my erection.

Jon took my hand, held it gently and said:

“Let’s go back to the rally.”