The sweetest taboo

Last Friday H joined me for lunch at home. I told him we should have dinner before he leaves for Manila on the 26th of June, to join his partner T, who had already gone more than a month ago. I asked him if he is ready for his one-year sojourn into Filipino life, ‘in the name of love’ (the italics are all mine). Like a bride experiencing a bit of cold feet tinged with a little stage fright, H said he’s feeling apprehensive about this trip.

I assured him that he’d like Manila. After all, he’d been there twice before already. ‘But this is different,’ he countered. ‘I was on holiday on my previous trips; I’m going to live there for a year at least.’ I told him what he’s feeling is just normal. ‘Just think of how T must have felt when he first came to Cambodia. Even I felt that way. And if we were able to adjust to life in a foreign country, so can you.’

We went back to planning his send-off dinner: when & where we’ll have it, who’s going to be invited, etc. Soon we were just eating. He must have noticed me fidgeting so he asked me if I wanted to tell him anything.

I didn’t want to, actually. I was never the kiss-and-tell type. But the information I was keeping was too delicious to be kept to myself. ‘I’m doing something naughty,’ I finally said. Smiling, he asked what it was. And I told him about my rebound boy, whom he vaguely knows. But when I told H that my rebound boy is about to be married in less than a week, I noticed that his smile faltered. Just a bit, but it faltered nonetheless.

I asked him why. ‘You can’t do that. You’re ruining the girl’s life.’ It wasn’t the reaction I was expecting from H, but not really a surprising reaction from a Cambodian, with their deep sense of modesty. Of course, this sense of modesty is also often predicated by actual actions in the bedroom. To stop the discussion from going to directions I am not ready to pursue, I told H that whatever is going on with rebound boy and I, it will stop as soon as he becomes officially married.

Good luck with that.

Like many gay men I know, married men exude a certain allure & attraction to me. I started becoming aware of this in my early twenties, when I felt strong attraction towards guys in their mid-40s, preferably married (although when I was 12 years old, I seduced a 37 year-old guy, but this is a totally different story). I’ve had sex with a number of them, yes, but there was never a relationship. Unlike many of gay guys who feel guilty about bedding a married man, I was never bothered by it. I mean, I’m not the one who’s cheating on his wife, so why should I feel guilty (even if the guy is cheating with me)? But nevertheless I didn’t enter a relationship with a married man even if the opportunity presented itself many times in my youth.

I didn’t see the point of doing so. Although having sexual relationships with a married man does have its inherent ‘naughty’ appeal (seducing a married man takes great skills and success brings a huge ego boost), playing second fiddle was, still is, not my thing. And that myth about married men much being better in bed? Most of the time it’s just that: a myth.

In any case, my attraction to married men reached its peak in my mid-20s then faded altogether. I was already here in Phnom Penh when I got involved with a married guy (and I only found out that he’s married months after meeting him). Up to now, this guy (chronicled in my past articles here) and I meet occasionally for some good ol’ shag. 

Now, how do I feel about guys with boyfriends (cue sound of snakes hissing)? Strange as it may seem, bedding a guy who has a boyfriend is something I try very hard not to do (I slipped only once in my whole gay life). I don’t clearly know why I seem to give more respect to the sanctity of a gay relationship over that of a married man & woman. I’ve always felt this way for as long as I can remember. 

Still, I don’t know where this thing with rebound boy will take me. There is that huge possibility that he’d probably want nothing to do with me (and gay sex) after the wedding. I wouldn’t mind that at all. He is about to surpass the normal shelf life of a rebound boy anyway. If we become friends, I think it’d be the best outcome of our short entanglement.

But will I be able to face his wife? To answer this I will quote Shirley Maclaine when she was asked how she will manage if Madonna became her sister-in-law (Madonna was dating her younger brother Warren Beaty that time). Ms Maclaine replied icily, “As easy as flinging a pie to the wall.”

Take a look inside my heart

It is early morning and I woke up feeling slightly sore. For most of the night he slept on my arm and said arm feels fatigued up to now, especially when I’m typing. He’s still in bed, sleeping. I can see his naked form, partially covered, in the corner of my eye. My accidental rebound boy–about to be married in a few days. My invitation sits on top of my printer. It’s all good. A relationship is the last thing on my mind.

I just wrote a poem, to be posted in my poetry blog later. Suprised that the poem is still about him. My Cambodian ex who, for the second time, has seen fit to leave me in a huff with nary an explanation. That was five months ago. I am okay, I tell myself and others. I have accepted the end of that relationship, this I am sure of. And I’d like to think that I have moved on. But moved on to what? With him gone, I’m now free to do what I want.

But sometimes, freedom can really suck. Big time.

A friend’s relationship has also ended recently and coping with this loss has been a regular subject of our conversations of late. Both of us seem to have been, in a way, duped. If not by our lovers, then by love itself. D likes to think that I am helping her deal with grieving for the end of her relationship and moving on. In truth, she is helping me as much by becoming my sounding board for my own grieving which, much as I’d hate myself for admitting, is not over yet.

I think I am sadder than I appear to be. The reason why I probably didn’t go through what D is going through right now is because I was too busy getting well from my bout with gallstones. After that I got busy with work and other personal matters (spending more time with another friend who was leaving for Mongolia, moving to a new flat, among others). And now that the proverbial dust has begun to settle around me (though I am certain this calm will not last long), I am suddenly becoming aware again of feelings that I had managed to ignore in the past months.

It’s an unwelcome feeling. But one that needs to be addressed as soon as possible.

So where am I now? Single (alone) and free (meandering) to do whatever (whoever) I want, relying on friends (one-night-stands & other coping mechanisms) for company (sex) and emotional support (validation).

It’s not the best deal, but it will do for now. My heart complains. As I am getting older I find that my heart is increasingly becoming difficult to please. As opposed to my mind, who’s becoming more open to compromises. This dissonance, perhaps, brings a possible explanation to my feelings. I am sad, not depressed. Lonely, but not miserable. As I had written in a previous post, my heart was broken but was not crushed. H, another friend, told me that I still have feelings for him. This is something no one has told me before. H has seen how I had fawned over a guy we both know. And yet, that blunt pronouncement.

I saw no point in denying. True, I still have feelings for him. We had such good times, after all. And besides, I have always believed that feelings are not like faucets that you can stop completely by turning the tap. Takes a while for it to disappear, if it will at all. The best one can hope for is for the feelings to dissipate enough that you don’t hurt when memories about the person are brought up by the mind. That, to me, is a more proper indicator of ‘moving on’.

That being said, I will again admit that I have not categorically, and irrevocably, moved on. Two months ago I wrote of days and nights merging into each other, automatically performing tasks that mimic life and living, and pushing memories towards the back of the mind. Unhappy circumstances and undertakings for sure. But I’ve gone through them all, without anybody knowing.

Perhaps, until now. 

Bars of sunlight begin to fall through the sole window of my room. Pale darkness permeates everything. My rebound boy begins to stir on the bed, his long legs kicking the covers away. He greets me a good morning, his tone surprisingly shy. Yawning and stretching, he is quite a sight to behold. I think of what we should have for breakfast.

Or before that. 

Makes me wonder

People I know are taking that proverbial plunge into married life this month. One couple had actually commenced their commitment ceremony just this past week while another will marry in about 10 days. In both cases I know the grooms. The first groom is unabashedly gay, while the other is not (only because we haven’t really discussed it).

Weddings have always fascinated me: the ceremony, the pageantry, the costumes, the food, and as I discovered in recent years, the possibility of finding sex among the guests. It must be the pheromones running rampant in the event. All that sexual energy. But I digress. Weddings have fascinated me also because I have often wondered why people would put themselves through the whole thing. I think it calls for a lot of courage and blind faith for someone to marry another. They have my respect. And my huge sense of wonderment.

Before you dismiss my opinion because it comes from a gay man who’s got a slim chance of getting legally married in his home country, let me say that this opinion was not borne of my being gay. I think, even if I were not gay, marriage wouldn’t still be something I would enter into. At least, not for the reasons that people profess for getting into it. Reasons like, you know, love, commitment, the will of God, among others.

I mean, historically, marriages were performed for economic and political reasons: the consolidation of resources and properties, the merging of tribes and formation of alliances between societies. During the early periods of Christianity, marriage was regarded primarily as a private matter; the State and the Church were not involved at all. It was only after the Council of Trent in 1545 that a priest became a requirement for marriage to be “recognized”. In Protestant countries, the state took a stake in matrimony, in terms of registering and setting the rules for marriage. Same-sex marriages were first recorded in the Roman empire before being declared illegal in the year 342 by a Christian emperor.

How marriage evolved into its present form is in itself an interesting lesson in history, one that I will not delve into.

Suffice it to say, my views on marriage are both pragmatic and transactional. There are many other things to consider other than feelings for the other person, the viability of the union, etc. I mean, if we strip down marriage to its basic elements, it is a business agreement. You have contractual obligations and deliverables, both tangible (generating income, production of viable children, managing a household, etc.) and not (monogamy, devotion, loyalty, etc.). However, the means of remuneration (being loved, taken care of, shared ownership of properties, etc.) tends to be a bit blurred because this aspect of marriage has been masked and sugar-coated by other institutions like the state and the church (and any religion). 

That being said, one might ask of me… Does this mean I am incapable of feeling love? Of course not. I just think that marrying the person I love will neither intensify nor diminish my feelings for him. Will getting married make me more secure of my partner’s feelings for me? I don’t think so. Just look at the rates of separations & divorces worldwide. Does this mean I am unable to make a commitment? Certainly not. I just think that marriage is not the best and only way I can demonstrate my commitment to a relationship. In my humble opinion, a piece of document (or a marvelous ceremony) is not enough to build trust, loyalty, and devotion between partners.

Now, does this mean I am against same-sex marriage? If I am, then I would have to be against marriage in general, not just same-sex marriage. But I am not. Because like it or not, as an institution, marriage offers and brings social benefits and protection not just for the couple but also for the family. And if the non-gays are able to enjoy these social benefits and protection, why shouldn’t it be extended to gays and lesbians as well?

I may not be the marrying kind, but I firmly believe in social justice and equity. So, I’d like the option to marry to be available to me and to others, gays and non-gays alike. Just in case, you know, I change my mind? (giggle)

Declare independence

Yesterday, the UPS of my desktop computer shut down and never came back to life again. Because of a deadline that I was trying very hard to meet (and the hesitance to shell out US$70-80 for a new UPS), I plugged the computer directly into the surge protector and immediately went back to work. Last night, as I was still working, the monitor suddenly grew dark then displayed a message that my operating system was shutting down because the CPU was overheating. I turned it on after a few minutes long enough to retrieve the file I was working on, shut it down again and typed from my laptop.

This morning I decided that I had to buy a UPS so I went to the computer shop I always went to and got a new UPS. I was pleasantly surprised that I got one for US$35.00. On the way home I stopped by the market and bought shrimp, squid, salted duck’s eggs, and a few vegetables. For lunch I cooked grilled tilapia stuffed with tomatoes and onions while V made a salad out of the duck’s eggs. Well, I didn’t do the actual grilling, our housekeeper did it, under my supervision.

While eating V remarked on how great our life in Phnom Penh is. And I agreed. Because I personally believe it is true. I mean, Phnom Penh may not be a cosmopolitan place but it is a very comfortable place to live in. Relaxed and laid-back, with just the right blend of urban and rustic qualities that has continued to enthrall me.

Phnom Penh has been my adoptive home for the last 4 years. When I first came here, I have never been away from my home for more than 1 month. Before I came here, I have never lived without the support of my family. Being an only child, my parents did not allow me to live outside of our home in Manila. It was here in Phnom Penh where I was able to build a life that I have only dreamt of while in the Philippines. I lived on my own: managed my own household (going to the market, cooking, doing laundry & ironing, making small repairs around the house), found work (built a good reputation), handled my finances (saved in a bank, sent to Manila), etc. I basically became responsible for myself. 

Living in Phnom Penh has also changed me in a positive way. I made some mistakes along the way, sure. Had some blunders with work. Made some friends who turned out to be unscrupulous people. But other than a few mishaps my life in Phnom Penh has been like one huge classroom where I learned a lot of lessons. Even my older friendships were tested here. And when these older friendships failed miserably, I was supported by friends I’ve made here: friends that have been my support system, in lieu of my family in the Philippines.

Career-wise, Phnom Penh has also been very generous to me. I wouldn’t have imagined being able to live for 4 years doing freelance work had I stayed in Manila. Many expatriate consultants are very generous with their complaints about working with Cambodians. And I will also admit that I have been continually challenged working with them. However, I also believe that these experiences, no matter how frustrating or irksome they might be, will only make my work better in the long run. Working in Cambodia has prepared me quite well for continuing to pursue my interest in development work.

Looking back at the last 4 years, I am filled with gratitude for having made that decision to settle here, even if my prospects that time were, at best, uncertain. As a friend I made here (who himself is back in Manila to study) told me in 2004, Cambodia is the place where people go to reinvent themselves and build a new life.

I can safely and categorically say that I love my life here in Phnom Penh. I have made quite a life here: settling myself in the ebb and flow of the city, becoming attuned to its rhythm, and relishing the comforts that come along with it. However, I also know, that there will come a time when I will have to extricate myself from this life. Like what I did with my life in Manila, I will soon have to declare independence from this life and step into a new one somewhere else. No matter how attached I have become to my life here.

It will be frightening and unnerving, I’m sure. Leaving one’s comfort zone is never painless. But it will also be exhilarating and exciting. These departures. I imagine it’s like being born: leaving the dark warmth of the womb and allowing one’s self to be embraced by the wind and kissed by the sun.

Call me when you’re sober

I lost my Cambodian SIM card when I went to Johannesburg last April. Pre-paid SIM cards are not readily available in Cambodia. Each must be registered to someone, and if you’re a foreigner, you need to present your passport and a lease to a house or flat before any SIM card will be issued to you. My own SIM card was purchased in 2004 through a Cambodian colleague, who put it under her name. I had meant to have the card transferred to my name but I never got around to it.

So when I came back I went through the process of recovering my old number and at the same time, register this number to my name. The process, in true Cambodian fashion, took very long to finish, requiring many trips to the phone company and struggling to communicate with the staff who spoke varying degrees of English.

I bought another SIM card to use while waiting for my old number. I found it easier to buy a new SIM card but I was determined to keep my old number. I have since recovered my old number, but I opted to continue using this new number. I used it as contact number for the survey team. Aside from them, less than 10 of my friends know that this number is still active. Last night I had this exchange of text messages with someone whose number wasn’t also registered in my phonebook. I don’t know why I let this exchange go on for a long time.

X: Hi (my name), how are you? Did you forget about me?

Me: Hi, I’m okay. Who is this please? 

X: Where are you? What are you doing now?

Me: At home. Who is this?

X: You forgot me already? We had great sex once.

Me: I don’t know this number. Please tell me your name.

X: You said you’d never forget the night we spent together. You still can’t guess who I am?

Me: Just tell me your name.

X: Ratanak

Me: I don’t know anyone named Ratanak who knows this number. Who are you really? 

X: I am a friend of XYZ*. He told me about you and gave me your number.

*XYZ is a married guy I’ve been intermittenly involved with for the last 3 years or so; a fuck-buddy, one can call him that

Me: So, we haven’t really met, have we?

X: No.

Me: Well, please tell XYZ that I’m upset that he’s passing my number around to other people. I’ve put up with enough sh*t from him and if he keeps this up, he’ll be sorry!

X: This is XYZ. I’m sorry for that.

I do not respond to this message. Then my phone rings. I pick up.

XYZ: (noisy background) Hi, sorry for that.

Me: XYZ?

XYZ: Yes, I have a new number. Are you mad?

Me: You’re crazy, you know that?

XYZ: (laughs) What are you doing now?

Me: Working. Where are you?

XYZ: At a restaurant, with my friends. We just had dinner.

Me: You sound drunk.

XYZ: I’m not drunk. I’m horny! (speaks close to the phone) I want to fuck you. Can I come over? 

Me: (thinking suddenly) You haven’t even been to my new flat.

XYZ: I can find my way. So can I see you?

Me: I’m working, I told you. And my room-mate is already here.

XYZ: (surprised) You didn’t tell me you’d have a room-mate in your new place.

Me: I did tell you. You don’t remember now because you’re drunk.

XYZ: I told you, I’m not drunk. (close to the phone again) I’m horny!

Me: Well I can’t help you. I’m busy. Just go home to your wife!

I hung up. My phone rang twice before he finally gave up. He had ruined my mood and any possibility of a hook-up with that childish game. These darn Cambodian men! Besides, I prefer him sober when we have sex. Because for some strange reason that I have never understood, when he’s drunk, he becomes this fastidious, almost-tender man in bed. This is not what I have come to expect from him.

I want him to always be my lean, mean sex machine.