Your face. That was all that I could see. You were smiling. I really like it when you smile, because your eyes fade into mere lines on your face when you stretch your lips to show how good you feel.

My face. I could really feel it close to yours. It was just like that, you and me in an unknown, unrecognizable place. Our eyes often met, darting from every spot of our faces, probably trying to capture as much detail as they could absorb.

Then I asked you one thing. I telepathically requested if you could give me a kiss. You looked at me straight in the eye. Your smile was suddenly erased. You shook your head slowly.

I felt my heart melt. I thought I was going to cry. But your lips started to move. You started to hum a melody. I couldn’t hear it, because all I could hear was the beating of my heart. You were singing a song right in front of my face. I wish I could have heard you, but my ears were deafened by the strength of my heartbeat.

You moved closer to me. You were shifting your face at some particular angle. And suddenly, yet slowly, your lips greeted my right cheek. I could feel your lips landing softly on my skin. It felt like velvet, it felt like silk, it felt very soft and sweet. I closed my eyes and felt a lot of unsaid emotions pouring out of my heart. It almost felt like forever. I was drowned in happiness, in joy, in bliss.

Then I woke up. The morning sun lay gently on my face. I opened my eyes, and a lone tear slid through my face. I was happy and sad at the same time. I was happy because for a moment, I was able to feel you through me. But I was sad because I know that it will be just in my dreams.

Perhaps that’s what you are to me. You will always be the man in my dreams.

During the graduation ceremonies, our college secretary asked me why I wasn’t happy. I was not able to answer her; I just told her everything will be fine.

And during that moment, as I walked past the magna cum laude’s, I felt myself getting lighter with every step that I took. Alas! The university president blabbered something about the rather good academic and co-curricular jobs I did at school, the academic vice president waved me a hello at her seat, and our college dean tossed my yellow tassel to my right. Then I bowed, taking care not to let my cap fall down.

Then  I went down the stage, my college diploma in my firm grip. I was thinking of photo ops, but strange, I am feeling miraculously lighthearted.

College graduation, although the most important among all my graduations, was the worst. I went up the stage just once, because for the first time, I wasn’t graduating with any honors or awards at all. In fact, I was still holding some sort of grudge to my college dean for not informing and updating me properly regarding my panel interview for the most outstanding student of our college, which was by the way left vacant, questioned by some of the members of the admin, faculty, friends, and students, and posed as the last chance for an award to at least make my mom smile with tears in her eyes during graduation.

For one whole semester, I thought I was over with my disappointing thesis grade, which consequentially led to my disqualification for graduating magna cum laude. But during the practice prior the ceremonies, I felt like I wanted to cry for it over again. That’s why I found it unbelievable that I was actually welling up with tears while enqueued for my diploma.

Still, I wasn’t chummy with the faculty of my college. I wasn’t friends with most of them in the first place, and some of them were not effective instructors anyway, so why bother conjuring pretense and waving phony goodbyes at a monumental moment of my life?

Fortunately, I was able to march away from that theater filled with my self-made beasts. I was glad I still had the serenity in my heart that I magically found upon clambering the stage. Oh, I almost forgot about the photo ops.

I looked for my mom and my sister. I found them smacked in the outskirts of the blobbing crowd of black togas and perspiring guests and parents. A bit of photo ops. And then I saw someone. Him.

Again, I was filled with rage for all the things left undone, or so I thought. I was mad because the mere sight of him ruined my day. I feigned nonchalance, and I disregarded him when he brushed by my side.

I took my toga off. A friend, a fellow graduate,  screamed for photo ops. We went outside, and there he was, again, who was the only available camera man.

I guess most of us were anxious to go home, so there were not many pictures taken. I gave him my camera for a single shot with my constituents. After that, I took my camera from him, and on first thought, I passed it to my friend and asked him to take our photo.

And there it was, digitally etched. The first, and probably last, photo of him and me. Probably that one is for all the things left undone. I felt lighthearted again, bereft of any bitterness despite the thought that the two of us can never be. And I know that I will always fall for him again and again. And again.

I have been doing a lot of thinking lately. In fact, I haven’t been myself. Things aren’t in good shape, and wherever I go, the relationships that I have seem to be going shaky.

At work, I’m a bitch. I just know it: people just hate me. They hate me for topping the assessments (and for perfecting them), they hate me for ignoring them for their senselessness, they hate me for saying my thoughts straight on their faces. Who cares, you might ask. I’m actually scared. These people could be the very ones that could topple me off, that’s why I am very wary every sleepless hour at work. It’s an issue that I have to keep my focus on in the coming days. Things could go just as nasty and as vicious as they can be.

At school, I have mixed emotions. I really don’t know what to feel, and it’s all because of my freaking health condition.

Sometimes, I want to blame the medicines in my bloodstream for making me feel this way. But I know they are not at fault; it’s all me.

To make things clear, I have a communicable disease which my colleagues are really worried that I might spread out. OK, I am not making a drama out of that, but the reason is quite similar. I understand that I might get my friends to be as sickas I am, so I understand why I have to go under the radar. But what I feel tells me different things. People are really getting away from me, not because of my being sick, but because of reasons I could not delve into yet.

I am actually torn. My colleagues told me to focus on my health. I heeded their advice, but I was not in for the effects of this. I have just officially become a useless member of the student council.

What they really wanted was for the well-being of everyone, for me to get well and for the rest to stay healthy. But I don’t think that is what’s happening. People barely talk to me. People don’t chat with me the way they used to. People barely consult me. And I feel very bad about it. I didn’t want this in the first place. So what I did was take this lab test to prove that I am not infectious.

I resolved that I would resign from my post if this test turns out to be positive. Too bad, it was negative. I will be staying. But I don’t feel good about it. I feel awkward. I feel like I’ve been segregated. I feel like the same imaginary infectious person that everyone had assumed me to be.

Sometimes, I feel insulted. I try my very best to ignore these feelings that I am starting to harbor, but they are giving it all away. I just want a bit of understanding. I get really depressed when I remember that people are worried about me, that I might not be able to help as much as I could, that they wouldn’t allow me to help as much as I could, that I wouldn’t be able to spend as much time as I used to, that I might not be able t be the same old person that I used to be. I gave my heart to the student council, and it would hurt me big time if there is betrayal brewing in the end. 

Call me paranoid, call me whatever. But I still feel displaced.

Is it because I am sick?

Is it because everyone is talking about everyone?

Is it because nobody is telling me anything?

Is it because I miss a lot of people and they don’t miss me back?

Is it because I’m just tired of things around me?

Things have just taken a rather furious turn of events. First, I was madly obsessed with a guy I barely know, whom I have to learn to forget sooner or later, and then I found myself busy looking for a job for my OJT. I got one in a call center, thank goodness, but I just found out that I won’t be really having it, thanks to my chest x-ray results.

It’s depressing to know that companies don’t actually hire you because of your skills and credentials. What they base your employment from are your valid ID’s, clearances, clearances, and more clearances, and yes, your medical examination results. The biases and prejudices of the HR still add to the mounting requirements needed when looking for a job, so don’t bother writing a comprehensive resume. It doesn’t matter, really.

What’s more frustrating is the tireless nagging of your mind, which keeps on revolving around suspicions on the attending physician’s incompetence. I could not move on regarding this matter. That doctor has just declared me not fit to work, putting my OJT on a shameful limbo.

Just because my left lung showed spots, which were called infiltrates according to the documented result, on the plate does not mean that I am a walking carrier of whatnot. Or am I a carrier of whatnot?

Truth is, I am again sinking into paranoia. I abruptly stopped smoking and turned my eyes onto sweets and junk food. The result of that x-ray is not even confirmed yet, but it has already taken a toll on my life. It came at a very off timing, and it has taken me by a raging surprise.

I think about my family, friends, finances, colleagues, OJT, organizations, graduation. I can’t be sick. I don’t want to be sick. I want to be normal. I don’t want the people I care for to treat me with glazed eyes. Now I realize how important life is. I thought I was still young, but I am not. No one is. I have just taken my first few steps to death, thanks to that chest x-ray. Ignorance is really bliss, but I want to save myself, even for a bit longer.

Everything came along unexpectedly. I can’t tell everyone what’s wrong with me lest they get misled and start avoiding me like I am one of those lepers from the bible. I’m trying to hold it all in, but I am also prone to shaking. My cup is so maddeningly filled, but still, people keep telling me to be strong. Can’t people empathize, or am I just plain whiny?

It really is depressing. Some people seem to have it all. They look good, they feel good, they live good. And some people, like me, feel like they are not getting their share. I am not asking for much. I just want a breather.

Paranoid schizophrenia.

Well, I am not afflicted with it. But try going through the roller-coaster ride I had yesterday and I’m quite sure you would have one. Here’s all that you have to do.

Check your mailbox at 12 midnight to find an e-mail scheduling you an exam the next day. You don’t know the address, and you are not sober. You don’t have clothes to wear, and you don’t want to think. So go to sleep.

Upon waking up, drag yourself amidst the sheets for a cup of coffee. Rush. Cram. You realize you don’t have an updated resume. You don’t have a printer. Run to the nearest computer shop. Run to the bus terminal. Ask which bus would take you to your destination. Ride. Pay.

Inform your colleagues you can’t make it to your scheduled meeting. Watch the landscape change. Billboards pop out here and there. It’s the metropolitan jungle.

Leave the bus when everyone else is, without even knowing where you are headed. Take your lunch, you will need it. Ride a bus. No. Run and ride a bus. No exemptions.

Watch the traffic go by. Don’t look at your watch; it would complicate matters. Keep your sanity. Sleep the traffic away. You will be late anyway.

Fix your hair. Run. Ask the guard for a visitor pass. Don’t look at your watch; you are twenty minutes late. Ask the desk person for the test administrator. Try to smile. Fill out something. Enter the testing room. Don’t stare; you are the only one who is not wearing his business attire.

Time pressured exams. Try to finish them. If you can’t, guess. Make your intuition do the magic.

Three grueling hours. Finish first. Head out. Intimidate others, if you wish. Prepare for an interview. Ask questions. Answer questions. Wait for their call.

It’s almost over. Go back to where you started. Be alert. Rush hour. Heavy traffic. Reckless bus drivers and motorists. People running to and fro. Friends sending text messages. Friends inviting for booze. You are stuck. You want to fly and speed things up. But you just sit there and stare at the lights, billboards, malls, and whatnot.

The terminal. The last leg of the day. Clamber. Watch TV. Wait. Think of the fun waiting back home.

But you find out for yourself that the fun is over.

Do your best. But sometimes, it isn’t enough. There is always a next time.

What am I talking about? I don’t know. There are so many details left out in my mini-adventure, and I don’t have the energy to type them. Perhaps I am just a suburban boy. I am not used to the metro. It might take a while for me to do so.

And home is really where the heart is. As a matter of fact, my heart is beating for some other suburban boy. Ugh.

I always told myself never to fall for straight guys. It’s a philosophy that I think gay people must always put into their heads. That way, things would be less complicated.

But I always falter. I can’t seem to live up to this. I don’t even want to write about it, but these pent up feelings keep on crushing me every time I hear his name. I want to talk about it openly, but I am always lost for words when this subject comes to mind.

A few of my friends know about this. I am hoping that they wouldn’t spill this secret, especially to him. I don’t want him to find out, because first, it would make the situation completely awkward, and second, it wouldn’t make him mine anyway.

You. You were inexistent in our first few encounters. But as weeks passed, I realized that you fall under my type. I just have to know if I would dig in your personality.

But I was never able to delve in deeper. I can’t find ways to bring myself closer to you. The simplest of conversations with you is enough to make my heart shudder. I really, really want to get to know you, but I don’t have the guts to do the necessary moves, because at the back of my head, I know that you will never like me back. So why even bother?

I tried to find things that would turn me off. And I did, desperately, so just I could completely shut you out of my head. Your raving drunkenness did it. You pissed me off big time. And for a few hours, I hated you.

Was it really effective? My friends told me that it wasn’t valid. You are young, and you are prone to such. After you had your sleep and slipped into sobriety once more, I just found out that I like you even more.

It’s been months. I want to save me from this misery that I have embedded myself with. But how can I do it if I can barely open my mouth when you are within earshot?

But I know time will come that you would find this out. I know you are not that stupid not to. In fact, I have a feeling that you already know, thanks to the multitude of clues that my friends gave away. And the way you look at me recently tells me that you already do.

Although you can never be mine, I will always have the memory of you massaging my hands in the dark of the night, listening to the crashing of the waves over and over again, always touching the shore but never making it inland. But in the absence of light, there are things that you would never see. I hope you have felt the pulse in my hands that throb in your mere presence.

Works well for people who dreamed to reach something, dared to do anything for it, and faltered at the last leg of the race.

Try it. No tear has fallen from my face. Yet.

Or maybe I am just suppressing them.

Consummatum est.

Non plus ultra.

Non omnis moriar.

Non scholae sed vitae discimus.

Omnia dicta fortiora si dicta Latina.

This is pure paranoia. And insomnia.

I want to see my grades for this semester. But I couldn’t.

It’s because of my back accounts. It’s because of my delayed scholarship refund. It’s because of the profiteering business called school.

Why do I want to graduate magna cum laude so badly? Would it matter so much if I did? Would it spell a big difference?

Whatever the answers are, I still do.

This is devouring me. Slowly.

Someone. Anyone. Please help!