Birthday!

Today is my 35th birthday. It has been two years since I was diagnosed with HIV.

I do not know which one I should really be celebrating, my natal day or the day I found out I was HIV positive. I want to celebrate the day I got my confirmatory test because that is the day that I made the decision to live - I mean really live!

But that will be for another time.

For now, I will celebrate this day.

Confronting My Own Damaso




Photocredit from gmanews.tv

 

Last week, words like "RH Bill", Damaso, ex-communication and Carlos Celdran were thrown around in newspapers, newscast and blogs.

I am not going to make a commentary on the RH Bill here. Neither am I going to defend nor condemn Celdran's actions.

What I want to talk about is fear, my fears - past and present.

It took me a long time to finally come out of my shell and embrace my true nature because I was afraid of what my family, friends and colleagues will say if they find about my preferences.

It was fear that led me to dark bath houses and bars for anonymous sex and eyeballs for no-strings-attached one-night-stands with strangers. I was afraid of commitments. I was afraid of being dumped and left alone.

It was fear that prevented me from getting tested for HIV even when I knew I was at high risk of contracting the disease. I was afraid of what I might do (or not do) should I test positive. I was afraid of the stigma.

It was fear of dying with an unknown disease which rendered me incapacitated for months that finally led me to give a consent to the HIV test suggested by my doctor.

And it was also fear that forced me to tell my parents about my sexuality and the possibility of me having HIV - I was afraid that if they found out they'd cast me out and I'd be left alone, dying on my own. Some would say it was courage. But I knew better. I wanted to know whether they'd accept me if they knew who and what I really was. My plan was if they didn't accept me, I'd leave and go to an out-of-the-way place, curl up and wait for death to come and take me.

But in hindsight, I would have been in a better situation had I learned to walk in fear, not out of fear. It would have made me more careful. I could have found the right person. I would not have the virus now.

And yet, all these are "would haves" and "could haves".

Now I face new fears. Will I allow myself again to be led in fear, or will I stand and stare Fear in the face and say "Bring it on!"

Carlos Celdran had it right. Stand up despite of fear. Speak up inspite of the threat of being left all alone in the world.

For if I don't stand up and speak for myself, no one else will. And I will truly be alone.

Shucks, crush!

At my age, medyo nakakahiya pero aaminin ko - may bago akong crush :)

Hindi ko alam kung ilang taon na sya pero one thing is for sure, di ako pwedeng akusahan ng pagiging pedophile!

Once a week ko syang nakikita, for four weeks na. Each time, pasimple lang ako. Nakakahiya kaya!

Pero last week, breakthrough! Nakaupo sya sa may dadaanan ko palabas ng venue, at pagdaan ko sa may harapan nya, nakita kong nakangiti sya sa akin. Gusto kong tumigil, parang naririnig ko si Jose Marie Chan na kumakanta ng "can we stop and talk a while". Pero ngumiti lang din ako sa kanya (shucks, di ko man lang na-practice kung pano sya ngingitian) at dali-daling lumabas papuntang elevator.

Sana next week, magkausap na rin kami.

Note about the photo. I took this photo during the Rennaissance Festival in Houston almost three years ago. I had this super crush on the bag-piper - so much so that I bought their bag-pipe series CD so I could be reminded of him whenever I listen to the music. Crazy? Yes. Worth it? Not really sure. Would I do the same crazy stuff with regards to my new crush? Hmmm...

From Fab to Flat to Flab

Had fun boy-watching recently with friends (a curious group of straight girls, bi-female and gays).

More than the pretty faces, I was really struck by the uber-sexy bods of guys nowadays. I'm not just talking about the muscular, kargador-type guys we see on run-of-the-mill, friendly-neighbor gyms. There were the V-type swimmers with beautiful tans. The slim and lanky - and at times geeky in a cute kind of way - yuppies.

Of course, having a fetish for armpits, I couldn't resist taking every opportunity to get a glimpse of those parts. And I must say, I am happily surprised by what I "accidentally" see. I mean, are those done by professionals? Where do they get their pits trimmed?

But all this body-worshipping has led me to look back at my own body.

Before the virus, I had a fairly good form. I never went to the gym but I swam on weekends. I gloried in flaunting my body in skimpy trunks. I could pig out one day and lose the pounds the next - in time for a weekend all-nighter. Taking off my shirt was no problem. I had nothing to hide and everything to show.

All these changed when the virus struck.

First, it was body wasting. No matter how much I ate, I continually lost weight! I stopped swimming, thinking that I was over-doing it. I wasn't aware of my condition yet.

Then the rashes began to show. I was so affected that I consulted a dermatologist to find out what's wrong. Since both of us had no idea that I had the virus already at that time, the dermatologist concluded it was skin asthma (I wasn't surprised since our family does have a history of allergies). We had to give away our dogs because we thought they contributed to my condition.

I couldn't wear shorts and sleeveless shirts which I really loved wearing before - because they hang loose over my emaciated frame and because of the dark spots that appeared on my extremities.

Two years, 48 bottles of ARV and +250CD4 count later, the wasting has stopped and the spots have cleared out. However, a new concern has arisen - that of uneven fat distribution.

Who knows, I might just wake up one day and find out I have grown boobs!