The Blue Society

To unite for a common purpose and expand one’s reach is probably one of the driving forces that bond people to form groups. Regardless of the place, one’s desire to be understood and accepted is a constant battle to be won. And when one finds his animos’, he feels strengthened… he feels empowered.

In the desolate kingdom, one powerful group exists. Its stretch is so vast, its network so extensive, members know the exact dates of arrival of new batch of young boys coming from Manila. Its power’s so great, these young boys easily come under the spell of the members. I am talking about the Blue Society, a virtually existing group composed of people working under HR, manpower sourcing, and administration department of different companies. They bond themselves together for a common purpose, to source out fresh meat and secure themselves “take-home’s.”

Like any other groups, the Blue Society has its rules of conduct. Though unwritten, if one decides to break the protocol, he is bound for some sad and painful consequences. Take the case of certain Muraj for example. When he decided to take the shortest route, he ended up with… a blackeye. Want to know the details? Read on:

Muraj is known as one snub administrator. But he has noticeable affection with newly hired (newly arrived) employees, especially with cute ones. In one instant, he even fought his way to have a particular cutey hunky newly arrived guy to be assigned together in his room in their accommodation area at the camp. People in the place discount any possibilities that he is gay since Muraj is a member of majority religious denomination. Indeed, a perfect advantage in terms of disguise.

Blue Society would usually prescribe to take things slow. After all, life in the desert requires no haste and urgency. Accordingly, if one is to live his life in that side of the planet, then he has to learn micro programming – the ability to break down task into a rather smaller component.

But Muraj disregarded the prescribed program and decided to take thing in his hand. And I mean… the thing in his hand.

One night, while everybody’s in deep slumber, Muraj went down from their double-decked bed. He looked contemptuously at the boy sleeping under him over and over. From some nights’ observation, he learned that Danilo, the name of the boy, sleeps with no undies or anything on. Against blinding darkness, Muraj meticulously scanned the area where he thought Danilo’s Tweety Bird might be docking.

And for the love of heaven and earth, he found it!

But the inertia isn’t at rest. In fact, Tweety Bird’s fighting stance seemed proud and ready to wrestle. Fever came over Muraj amidst the cold wind of the A/C. His resurging bodyheat seemed to be winning, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

“I have to touch it… I have to feel it,” he’s telling himself.

“But what if… it's only been days since we know each other...” lot of things were going on his mind.

“But this is the perfect time…,” he convinced himself. “I will catch Tweety Bird whatever it takes”, his resolve.

So slowly Muraj inched his way to the perfectly still body. And while he tried holding his breathe to stop his now shaking hand, he managed to gently grab Tweety by the shaft. And then…

“Powww!!!” a deafening blast. A sound when a fist strikes hard the wall of one’s ear. Reminds me when Pacquiao hits a knock-out.

From following morning onwards, Muraj seemed to have been suffering from paranoia. He couldn’t tell why people in the office seem to be smirking and talking things behind his back. Is it because his right ear suffered damage that his hearing’s got twisted? Probably. It was his only consolation.

This is what happens when one shoots up and greedily takes short-cuts. Be that as it may, the Blue Society does not deny privilege of becoming a member.

So long as you have the patience and persistence to take things slow, the tolerance in seeing your resources drain from buying these boys food and celfone loads, or from giving them some transpo allowances, and the resilience to accept occasional blows, then you’re qualified.

Hard-court boys

It was revealed through a dream…

One Friday morning, after a basketball game, the boys from different companies gather together to pass through what they call fitness routine. After a long hard-game deserving of at least P50 riyals bet from each member of the team, the winning players, still high-spirited from the sport, boldly took off their clothes and hit the shower.

There would have been no malice. After all, everyone in the cubicle is the same man with the same passive tool… well for a while.

Rugged men usually make fun of a lot of stuffs. And a story one’s unusual sexcapade is but one of them. Amidst all shouted conversation, a low-whispering voice did not slip an all-intent ear.

The voice asked a certain Raffy if he’s involved with Erwin. Raffy had to ask if the voice was referring to is the one working in Java Lounge. And when the name was confirmed, Raffy admitted Erwin’s a trip buddy. Another low but excited voice from the right wing asked “what’s a trip buddy?” And Raffy had to extend a mile-long explanation using similes and metaphors, with "biological necessaries" as justification.

While a Socratic learning was on-going, the entire Etihad gym fell silent as if caught in the middle of a twilight zone. Meantime, the soap suds together with the trickles of water from the chrome shower heads started to perform a ceremonial rite. Slowly, poles started arising... and something had to be done in order to complete a morning ritual of taking off the re-surging bodyheat. Well, boys will be boys...

The boys went to the locker room and started packing their bags with painted smiles on their faces, after which an exchange of numbers galore ensued.

Did I mention that this story was revealed via dream. Here’s why.

One of the boys during that hot shower learning session is a regular visitor of a gay accountant in Saudi. In one of those stay-for-the-night time, a discovery was found. The boy is a somniloquist, the one that talks while sleeping.

And so the benevolent letter-sender shared this story upon unconscious revelation of the young man, and so with other happenings that have been taking place since they started exchanging contact details. But I could not tell you any further. For they were so hot, they burned my laptop…..

Indeed, secrets have uncanny ways of revealing their self-made mystery.

Sino si Tito Donnie

malikfahadroad@yahoo.com.ph sent me this pix claiming Tito Donnie is one of those. He failed, however, to identify who amongst Tito Donnie is, as he made no description except that he is one of the contenders in the on-going Jeddah Popstar.


I absolutely have no idea how he looks like, maybe some of you have, and would care to enlighten.... us?


P.S. the sender claims he has a pix of the the Prince Bird too, and that he is still thinking whether to send it so I can post it here. Also, he promised me to send the pix of Lance (please refer to previous post). Until then, we shall wait and see.

OFW essay writing piece

Another nice piece flying around the net. Put emphasis on the last part, it left me teary-eyed.

1980 ako ipinanganak. Tatlong taon bago pinatay si Ninoy Aquino at anim na taon bago ang EDSA uprising. Taon ding ito nang nagkaroon ng malaking krisis sa langis ang buong mundo. P24.00 ang palitan ng dolyar sa piso at 48 milyon na ang populasyon ng Pilipinas. Ito rin ang taong unang pumunta ng Middle East ang tatay ko para magtrabaho.

Isang karpintero ang Tatay. Isang skilled worker. Malaki ang pangangailangan ng bansang pupuntahan ni Tatay sa mga katulad niya. Sabi ng Nanay mahirap daw ang buhay noong mga panahong iyon. Inabot na raw ang bansa ng economic depression na galing sa Europa at Amerika. Kaya minabuti ng Tatay na mag-abroad. Anupa't dalawa ang pinag-aaral niya at may bago na naman siyang bibig na pakakainin.

Parating pinapaalala sa amin ng Nanay na "nagtiis kaming magkahiwalay ng tatay ninyo para magkaroon tayo ng maginhawang buhay." Palibhasa'y parehas galing sa hirap, kaya siguro ganoon na lamang ang pananaw nila. Uuwi kadadalawang taon, tapos aalis na ulit pagkalipas ng dalawang buwan. Ganyan ang pattern ng buhay ng tatay ko.

Pumutok ang giyera sa Middle East noong 1989. Doon ko unang narinig ang mga salitang Operation:Desert Storm at Third Anti-Christ. Nandoon din si Tatay. Isang beses lamang siya nakatawag sa loob ng tatlong taon niyang pagkaka-stranded sa bansang iyon. Mabuti naman daw ang lagay niya. May tirahan naman daw sila at husto sa lahat ng pangangailangan. Hindi naman daw sila gagalawin sa giyera sabi ng embahada ng Pilipinas dahil hindi naman daw sila kasali sa awayan ng dalawang bansa at ng pakialamerong Amerika. Iyon naman pala eh, bakit ka pa rin nandyan?! Na-imagine ko na lang tuloy ang Tatay na parang isa sa mga sibilyan na dumadaan habang nakikipagbarilan ako sa larong Operation:Wolf sa SM City.

Nang mahawi ang mga usok ng giyera umuwi na ang Tatay. Wala pang isang taon ay nakita ko na naman ang aking sarili na nakasakay sa arkiladong dyip para ihatid angTatay sa Airport papuntang Middle East. Ikaw ba naman ang magkaroon ng pinag-aaral na nurse, isang seminarista at tatlo pa sa elementarya.Kailangang kumayod, kailangang kumita.

Kung tutuusin maraming na-miss ang Tatay sa buhay naming magkakapatid, lalo na sa akin. Wala siya nang una akong magtalumpati sa entablado. Wala din siya nang grumadweyt ako ng elementarya at hayskul. Wala siya nang una akong nakipagsuntukan sa kaklase ko nang inasar ako nito habang binibigay ko ang libreng plastic na singsing na galing sa cheese curls sa kaklase kong babae. Wala din siya para turuan akong magbasketbol tulad ng ginagawang mga kapitbahay ko sa kanilang anak. Wala rin siya para panoorin si Kuya na contestant sa Student Canteen at ako naman para sabitan niya ng medalya para sa mga math competition na sinalihan ko. Wala siya nang dumating ako sa punto ng aking buhay, na siya ring kinakatakutan ng lahat ng katulad kong nagbibinata--ang magpatuli. Wala rin siya para turuan akong maglanggas.... Wala siya nang kauna-unahang lumabas ang pangalan ko sa dyaryong pang-estudyante bilang isang editor. Ipinagtabi ko siya ng mga kopya para maipagmalaki sa kanyang pagdating. Wala siya nang una akong tumikim ng alak dahil binasted ako ng dinidigahan kong babae. Wala rin siya nang sumubok akong manigarilyo at itapon ito pagkatapos ng dalawang hithit pa lang. Wala siya, wala siya parati.

Napansin ko na lamang na mas naiibuhos naming magkakapatid ang oras namin sa labas ng bahay at sa eskwelahan. Ang Ate ay kagawad ng Sangguniang Kabataan, ang Kuya naman ay matagal nang kinuha ng seminaryo, ang dalawa kong kapatid ay may mga sarili nang kina-career at ako naman ay natutuon sa aking pagsusulat.

Dumating ang isa sa pinakamasayang araw ng buhay ko, ang pagdating ng Tatay at sabihing ito na ang huli niyang uwi dahil hindi na siya babalik ulit sa abroad.

Makalipas ang ilang buwan, trinangkaso ang Tatay. Sabi ng doktor ay over fatigue lang daw at kailangan niyang magpahinga. Pagkaraan nang ilang buwan, na-diagnose na may tumubong tumor sa utak ng Tatay at malignant na ito. Minsan naitanong sa akin ng uncle kong doktor kung nauntog ba ang Tatay o nabagsakan ng mabigat na bagay sa ulo. Nahihiyang ngiti, kamot sa ulo at isang "hindi ko po alam" lang ang naisagot ko. Kung gaano kabilis na nadiskubre ang tumor niya sa utak ay ganun din kabilis na binawi sa amin ng Diyos ang Tatay.

Habang pinagmamasdan ko ang Tatay habang mapayapa itong nakahimlay noong burol niya, nahihirapang tumulo ang luha ko. Kung tutuusin, hindi ko kilala ang taong ito. Siya ang tatay ko. Kalahati ng pagkatao ko ay galing sa kanya. Pero kung tatanungin mo ako kung anong gusto niyang timpla ng kape, kung allergic ba siya sa hipon na paborito ko, kung San Miguel o Purefoods ba ang team niya sa PBA--isang malaking EWAN lang ang maisasagot ko sa iyo.

Noong bata pa ako, nasa abroad ang Tatay. Kapag nandito naman siya para magbakasyon, mas malaking oras ang nagugol niya sa pag-aasikaso ng mga papeles niya para sa susunod niyang pag-alis. Nang tumigil na siya sapagtatrabaho, ako naman ang abala sa mga reports, periodical examinations at mga research works. Nang nasa ospital na siya, kahit makipagkuwentuhan ay mahirap nang gawin dahil halos hindi na siya maintindihang magsalita dulot ng chemotherapy.

Matagal nang patay ang Tatay. Minsan nabalitaan kong dumating na ang seaman na tatay ng boss ko, pilit ko siyang pinauuwi nang maaga. Minsan ding buong kawilihan kong pinagmamasdan ang isang kaibigan ko na nagmamadali dahil baka masaraduhan na siya ng grocery. Kailangan niyang makabili ng ingredients ng spaghetti dahil 'yun daw ang bilin ng tatay niyang na-stroke. Minsan rin nang makainuman ko ang matalik kong kaibigan habang binubuhos niya sa akin ang sama ng loob niya sa pagbabalik ng tatay niya na malupit sa kanila nang mahabang panahon at ipinagpalit sila sa ibang babae. Sa tingin ko lang, "Buti ka pa nga may Tatay pa." Syempre hindi ko sinabi iyon sa kanya. Baka mamaya tanungin pa niya ako kung kanino ako kampi, kami pa ang mag-away. Minsan din sinamahan ko ang kababata ko nang dinalhan niya ng pansit ang tatay niya sa City Jail. Hindi naman sila nagtatanong kung bakit ako ganun. Wala naman silang alam kay Tatay.

Maraming pagkakataon na nanghihinayang ako dahil masyadong maaga ang paghihiwalay namin ng Tatay. Gusto kong sisihin ang Pilipinas dahil napakahirap ng buhay dito. Sa Amerika ba may tatay na nangingibang-bansa para makapagtrabaho lang? Naisip ko tuloy na sumama na lang sa mga nagpipiket na mga migrante dahil alam ko tulad ko rin sila. Kadalasan rin sinisisi ko si Saddam Hussein at ang Gulf War dahil kinuha nila ang tatlong taon sa buhay ng Tatay. Sayang ang tatlong taong iyon. Nakalaro ko man lang sana ang Tatay ng basketbol o di kaya'y naturuan niya akong mag-bike (Beinte anyos na ko nang matuto mag-bike).

Isa sa mga klase ko sa writing ang nagpasulat sa amin ng kahit ano tungkol sa aming mga tatay, samahan pa ng larawan kung maaari. Bigla tuloy akong nalito. Hindi ko alam kung anong tungkol sa Tatay ang isusulat ko.

Ikuwento ko kaya na isang Overseas Contract Worker si Tatay. Isang bagong bayani. Nag-aambag ng malaki sa ekonomiya ng Pilipinas. Sabihin ko kayang may larawan ng tatay kong may suot na hard hat na dilaw, construction boots at may hawak na drill at kasama niyang nakangiti ang mga kapwa niyang Pilipino with matching background na disyerto. O kaya ang larawan nilang magkakababayan habang pinagdiriwang nila ang New Year at nag-iiyakan dahil tinutugtog and Lupang Hinirang. Ang drama no?

Kuwento ko kaya na isang survivor ng Gulf War ang Tatay. Na natutulog siya at ipinaghehele ng mga Patriot at Scud Missiles. Pakita ko kaya ang mga remembrance ng Tatay na mga dull na landmines. Adventure naman ang dating nito.

Kuwento ko kaya kung paano hindi nagpabaya ang Tatay sa pagbibigay ng pangangailangan namin. Hindi kami sumasala sa pagkain, may magagandangdamit, maayos na tirahan at nakakapag-aral. Siya ay naging isang good provider. Siguro isang malalim na buntong hiningang "Haaaaaay!" ang ibibigay sa akin ng mga kaklase ko.

O di kaya'y dalhin ko ang picture ni Tatay habang kini-chemotherapy siya. Ikwento ko din kaya na naging mabilis ang lahat ng mga pangyayari. Na inoperahan siya sa loob ng walong oras at binutasan ang ulo niya. Na nakalabas pa siya ng ospital. Pagkatapos ng isang linggo, agad siyang namatay. Tragic naman ang approach ko nito.

Gayahin ko kaya ang kuwento sa telebisyon na tipong galit na galit sa mundo ang anak dahil hindi ito nabigyan ng sapat na atensyon dahil inuna ng kanilang tatay ang pinansyal nilang pangangailangan. Teka, hindi naman totoo yon eh! Napaka-unfair naman 'nun kay Tatay.

Ikuwento ko na lang kaya ang isa sa mga magagandang alaala namin kay Tatay. Apat na taon ako noon. Malinaw na malinaw pa sa alaala ko ang pangyayari. Kadarating lamang ng Tatay pagkaraan ng dalawang taon. Nagkaroon ng simpleng party sa bahay. Kainuman niya ang mga kumpare niya nang tumayo siya at binuhat ako mula sa kuna ko habang pinaglalaruan ko ang bagong matchbox na pasalubong niya sa akin. Inutusan niya ako na ikuha siya ng beer sa refrigerator. Pagkakuha ko ng beer ay kinandong niya ako at buong pagmamalaki na ibinida sa mga kumpare niya na natanggap na raw ako sa lokal na Day Care Center dahil abot na ng kanang kamay ko ang aking kaliwang tenga kahit idaan pa sa ibabaw ng ulo ko at matatas na ako magsalita at madali raw akong matuto. Matagal din akong nanatili sa pagkakandong niya. Mistula siyang bagong dating na hari na suot-suot ang kanyang korona. Ako ang kanyang korona.

Kapag naaalala ko ito, napapawi ang lahat ng panghihinayang ko sa mga taong kailangan niyang magtrabaho at mawala sa piling namin. Mga panahong kasama ng mga tatay nila ang mga anak nila. Ito na lang ang isusulat ko.

Pero bago ang lahat, pupunasahan ko muna ang mga luha ko at ang patulo ko ng sipon. Baka mapatakan pa ang keyboard ng computer at ang hawak kong picture. Picture ng isang paslit na may hawak na bote ng beer habang kandong ng tatay na kitang-kita ang kasiyahan sa mukha.

OFW'S all over the world deserve a public apology.

This article appeared in June 2007 edition of People Asia Magazine. A friend requested that I put this on this blog since most of my readers are Pinoys from the Middle East. I also added the reaction of Ingrid Holm, one the first to react to the article. The article is quite long, but sensible read. You can find a pdf copy at the file section of filipinodiscreetmeninbusiness group.





























Reaction:

Dear. Malu Fernandez,

FIRST OF ALL, How nouveau riche can one get? Did you marry rich? Did you suddenly come in to money? Your blatant displays of your 'luxuries' and 'wealth' and your comfort with using the word 'elitist' to describe yourself alongside the fact that you had to reference to 'politicians in your family' show that even if you did come from money, you certainly have no class.


You also seem to need to name-drop in every article that you write.


It really gets to me that you should complain about the coach seats on your Emirates flight. Honey, they aint small... YOU'RE FAT. Spare yourself some doughnuts and maybe your travels will be more comfortable... coach, or not.


MOST IMPORTANTLY. That you would put down OFW's (Overseas Filipino Workers) is really DISGUSTING. It makes you sound more vile than what you described as the scent of their 'AXE and Charlie cologne' while your 'Jo Malone melted into thin air'. Honey, without that perfume, you want to know what you smell like? Like a fat Filipino woman. The smell is probably more putrid than the smell of those OFW's. Cause they sweat honest, hard-working sweat. The kind of sweat that keeps the Filipino economy going. They're fucking brave. They've seen more than you, felt more than you, and fought more than you. You're just a coddled fat Filipino woman, under all of that cologne, and that branded clothing that makes you feel more important than them.


It sounds to me like you get to fly Business Class when you travel for work, but when you had to pay for your own travels, coach was more affordable. You tried to hide this by grandiose references to you perfume and your designer wear, didn't you? Tsk tsk...


You made some mention of having 17kg's of make-up in your hand-carry. All the make-up and adornments in the world can't hide how ugly you are inside. You aint that good-looking either, hon. Go to the gym, eat some fruits. You wrote that you wanted to slit your wrists because you were stuck in coach with all the OFW's. I am MOVED every time I am on a flight with OFW's. I am reminded of their resilience. Of how hard they work, and how they keep the Philippines going. The economy relies on their bravery. You should have slit your wrists, hon. And you are going to hell if you don't change the way you think. Think of sitting in coach, imagining your personal hell as a personal foreshadowing.


I have lived in the Philippines, and I have also traveled the world. I've probably been to as many if not more places than you, seen more things than you, so maybe despite all of this money you seem to need to brandish and the places you have been to, you're just an ignorant. This coming from a 20 year old girl.

You're act isn't classy. You're not pretentious. You're just some stupid woman, living in a third world country, thinking that because you jetted off to Greece and you wear Jo Malone perfume, you are suddenly something.


Take this from someone with the same 'socio-economic background' as you, bitch. What a pitiful excuse.

I also happen to read things 'thicker than magazines', I go to University in London where I will finish with an Honors Bachelors Degree in May. I have a 1 year Marketing Economics degree from a business school in Oslo, and I graduated with an International Baccalaureate Diploma at age 17, if you were wondering. So no fucking excuses.


You could do so much more than you think, yet you choose to act like a proper twat. The kind of twat that people with some brains laugh at, the world over. Think of this as some more exposure.


I am ashamed of people like you. OFW'S all over the world, working their tits off, deserve a public apology.


Ingrid Holm

Archie of Coke

When his eldest was born, Archie could not contain his happiness. He was so full of enthusiasm for his little girl that he’d rather stayed with her for the rest of the time. Such awesome feeling happened two more times by the birth of yet another girl, and another baby boy.

Archie’s work as a delivery driver is not enough to support a growing family. He knew this even before he decided to tie the knot with his wife, a domestic helper escapee. Even prior to this, his mere ambition was to return to the Philippines 10x richer compared to his status previous to his Saudi job. But being a driver could not guarantee fulfillment of that ambition.

Being young, fresh and in slim shape then, he used his body to advance this ambition. He became the buzzword among gays and bi’s in Saudi. Then one funny day, he met this Arab guy who promised him regular allowance in exchange of his faithfulness. Archie thought of the bargain as “convenient” and on the right track to his dream. And so he agreed to a “live-in” arrangement.

For a while, it seemed that Archie was on-top of everything. He was able to purchase a subdivision lot in the country and build a house therein. He was so high on his successes and acquired wealth that he even agreed to undergo a gay ceremonial marriage.

But the period of milk and honey was cut short when the Arab man finally wed a woman of his kind. He swore it was only in honor of family and tradition, but does not wish to terminate whatever it is between them. Nevertheless, Archie’s regular allowance was severely affected; he had to settle only with what the Arab lover can spare or “barya barya lang”.

When Archie met the mother of his kids, he thought it would signal the breaking-off the relationship with the Arab. But no! Instead, the Arab is constantly threatening Archie that if he decides to do so, an appropriate action would be taken against his wife.

And so, Archie could only beg for mercy, come at the right time at a designated place and fulfill the whims and instructions of the Arab guy.

In the meantime, Archie had to be contended with looking at the faces his children. And whenever he does so, he realizes that it is only a matter time before he can summon all his strengths and start a fight.

Indeed, threats of the future are products of what we hold today.

(you can find the same entry at the journal section of pic-link.com)

Karibal ni Tito Donnie

One lonely night, the prince bird decided to fly away from his grand cage. With no particular direction, he asked a fellow bird working at another fast food chain if he can drop by at his villa and stay for the night.

As the other bird saw the tears on the prince bird’s eyes, he felt pity and decided to cancel his previously arranged appointment, trying with all his might to comfort him.

The prince bird wasted no time, he poured his heart out. He had a litany of heartaches that two cans of Pepsi were not good enough. So the other bird opened the last litter of “sadike” wine (home made concoction) from his ref if only to play a Good Samaritan to such loneliness.

The other bird would have been excited at the prospect of learning the exploits of the prince bird, how comfortable living his life at the grand cage must be, but instead what he discovered shocked him to the bones.

In his disbelief he narrated the events by writing an e-mail to “yours-truly” with the intent of letting the readers know how the likes of Tito Donnie manage to appear “kawawa” or victim of hustling by young boys in Saudi while his kinds do their most repulsive scenes.

But the sordid details are so long and some of the description abhorrent, that I will try to encapsulate the story using my own words.

It all probably started with the notebook issue. No, it’s not a spiral or catleya notebook, but an electronic a.k.a. laptop. Tito Donnie promised the prince bird to buy a new one so he can hand over to him the old one.

After the much-talked about O2 or PDA (personal digital assistant), the prince was so eager to finally put a check mark on that item on his “wishlist” by which, he claimed, Tito Donnie promised anyway. But the promise failed, and all hopes receded.

Since then, cold war ensued. The prince bird does his usual thing of playing innocent or “busilak” to his potential preys, while Tito Donnie literally reached out and befriended other birds. He would directly invite them to pay him a visit and do horrendous plays for a pay.

These birds, I was told, would be asked by Tito Donnie to come to their home cage, together at a particular time, get them served and entertained. But at the end of the day Tito Donnie would eventually ask them to do “thing” with one another, even right before the prince’s very eyes. Tito Donnie, as the prince bird lamented, would take in all the pleasures like only a sick mind would care to have.

And since each bird desires to taste a piece of heaven as the prince enjoys, or at take least one of the items in the “wishlist”, they would “perform” as if they are in a film.

But that is not the most detesting part. Accordingly, the prince bird is usually made to “perform” with the rest, under the threat of Tito Donnie of cutting his monthly allowances or sending him away from the comforts of staying in the cage should he refuse to do so.

And so the prince bird is forlorn. Torn with a dilemma of having to choose between taking-in-all-the-monetary-support-he-could-have and doing-“it”-no-more-but-give-up-Saudi’s-only-comfort-he-can-easily-find.

Now the prince bird knew he could not ask for “foul” for in his heart it is in silence that he can keep everything all in. He needed Tito Donnie, and he is determined to stay with him.

Seemingly, as the letter sender suggested, the only rival Tito Donnie has with his beloved prince’s love and attention is not an outsider or third party person but his own detesting insecurities covering behind the power of money.

Truly, we all have our own evil do deal with.

Boylet Ni Tito Donnie

A bird is still a bird, whatever way you call it. It is in its nature to glide through air, to fly, to be free. And even if you cut its wing, it will find ways to get out of the cage, however nice and convenient inside. Because a bird's place will always be out there, flying side by side with fellow birds.

One should not wonder then why, while Tito Donnie slaves his butt out his boss' frivolities, his prince is away from the splendid nest mingling with the rest of his kind.

After all, it was not explicitly mentioned in the contract that the bird prince cannot fly from time to time to be with his friends, or that he cannot invite such friends to come and visit the beautiful cage Tito Donnie offered the bird to treat and call "his own".

Perhaps, the nature of being proud of accomplishment is not exclusive only to human kind. "Bird kind" has its own brand too. But the birds have uncanny ways. They not only brag about their feats of hunting down big preys such as Tito Donnie, they even scan territories and prepare traps.

After mulling through the contacts of his benevolent sponsor, the bird prince pays the roll a visit with particular interest to those whom he feels to be "potential provider" should he decide to "switch cage". Or perhaps the bird has this gut-feel of impending moment when "Tito Donnie-could-not-take-it-anymore-and-finally-gives-up-on-him".

And so the prince turns into a nightingale singing his seduction at Barkley square. One after the other, he gives himself up and lets them sip the taste of his charming juices. Like in any business, the prince knows that in order to reap, one must be willing to sow. And so he offers himself initially free. And after each "first" meeting, the bird coy a mused rhyme that the encounter was "sikreto natin 'to pre" and was mere "trip lang dude."

Meanwhile, as malicious forebodings begin crawling behind Tito Donnie's "it's-ok" smiles, he is little-by-little being succumbed to his own paranoia. He then starts inquiring as to the smallest details of the whereabouts of his prince, checking the latter's mobile phone and internet conversations, so he can find clues that will verify his suspicions.

"I have already spent so much on him. So, no one can take him away from me," Tito Donnie kept on telling himself.

But will he be able to fight his so-called love and investment once the bird prince finds a prettier cage with more abundant supplies?

…and so Tito Donnie's invisible war ensues.

(you may wish to read other comments at the journal section of www.pic-link.com)

Maskara ni Tito Donnie

One of the few benefits of expats working in ME is the free board and lodging. Termed as accommodation, employers usually put these people (except for married couples or family) in rooms sized for 2 to 4. This is generally fine, but the bad thing is one doesn't get the chance to choose whom he wishes to share the room with. Worse, other nationalities share in the picture at times. It's like prison cell, you are damped together, and if you find yourself surrounded with big time criminals, you are doomed big-time. But freedom has its ways of yearning.

For those who got their way, having one's own accommodation and accessorizing with all the luxuries is only the beginning. Because for them complete freedom could not be had unless they share their possessed amenities with relatively younger guys - to the point of having to give them up one by one.

But there is irony playing here. Though they finally found freedom, some slowly build their own prison walls by making a "cover". They pretend and shout to the world that the young men that sleep on their beds, use their internet connections, sing to their Mediacom karaoke machines, apply their fountain-of-youth stuffs, and eat their food are - for purpose of misleading the paparazzi's - their relatives. Usually, they instruct their "kid'o cum lover" to say "pamangkin kita" when asked.

I'd say prison because in the process, they limit their world, they constrain their moves, and spend their time together sneaking to avoid any possible confrontation with rest of the pack.

But let me lay down a premise. People are wise nowadays. They know how to distinguish a lie from big fat one. Unless one can mask up a "to-the-detail" lie, then he is up to something. But if not, it's like keeping a bomb waiting to happen.

So, when your neighbor grins whenever he asks the lovely young guy comfortably parading his boxer shorts along the hallway how he is related to you, and the latter answers back by saying you are his "tito", it's probably time to panic.

Check out the mask you're wearing, maybe there's something bizarre painted on it.

Stardust Sentiments

During Sundays I always hope that radio station of oldies-but-goodies stuff play "Stardust" by the great Nat King Cole. I don't really know why I learned to love the song, probably because I love the movie "Sleepless in Seattle" so much (of which the song is part of its soundtrack), or that maybe I have an old soul (as they say) that old things appeal to me.

I remember the tune was playing on the background when Mang Rudy, an old-timer in the ME shared his memories of the old Saudi Arabia.

He recounted the days when Pinoy workers practically paved the way for major infrastructures in the deserts; how they bore themselves to work to ease loneliness and relieve homesickness. Those days, he said, no Filipino channels, internet, and celfones were in existence. Long distance calls were glorious recitation of memories; to receive a mail was a joy to be had.

And now the purple dusk of twilight time
Steals across the meadows of my heart
High up in the sky the little stars climb
Always reminding me that we're apart

But so much is the love of Pinoys for pageants that in those days holding beauty contests (in secret!) was one of very few sources of entertainment. You may wonder how, since no female counterparts were present, added to the fact that interaction with them was almost equal to a grave sin.

But Mang Rudy has the answer: engineers, architects, laborers, and mechanics who wear safety helmets and gears during the day suddenly transform themselves in a Barbie-clad dresses, painting their nails with fascinating colors and strutting the catwalk in high pointed heels. Just-like in prison, they were made to wear amorous accessories and make-up to complete the total transformation.

But such events were not exclusive for Pinoys, according to Mang Rudy. At times, other nationalities participate by being sponsors; others watch and befriend some of the contestants. And out of such meetings, each one has juicy story to tell. Had those things not been prohibited, organizers promoting repeat shows would have made a glamorous money making business then.

But that was long ago
Now my consolation
Is in the stardust of a song

But with the new breed of migrants in ME, no more similar shows ever had. Well, except this last year when a similar but failed attempt happened in one of the suburbs of Jeddah. Now, adding more pinoy female expats in the ME in the equation, the demand started to shift – but not for genuine female pageant, but rather for a male beauty show clad in skimpy outfits.

One can just wonder if such events were mere manifestations of loneliness, or their performances borne out of an inner feeling. My guess is only good as yours. With Mang Rudy's recall, it indeed opened more questions, than answers. We can only hope that he further his recount of the past. But until then, we leave the memory as they were.

The nightingale tells its fairly tale
A paradise where rose is blue
Though I dream in vain
In my heart it will remain
My stardust melody
The memory of love's refrains.

Dear Database

It's so funny how people perceive the reputation of my journals as attendant with vast information of Pinoy men in ME. I have been receiving inquiries as to give further clues to personalities I presented, while some are requests to write about certain individuals.

A lot of times I've been drawn publishing their stories on blogs because of juicy (sordid?) details. But as I could not draw an angle of issue, I always ended up putting them all in the bin.

But to all it's worth, this e-mail was a cut. Read on.

-----------------------------
Dear Data,

Congratulations, your fame and popular truly. My expectations is for you are you already posses so many infos about gays and bis in Saudi Arabia. Can I ask favor? Can you refer me to some of gays and bis you know of in Saudi Arabia, please. I prefer those lonely and willing to pay me, because I am very small salary.

Btw, I am very handsome, good muscle body and big d&*#! I'm good kisser and very fresh breath. In bed I can make you uuhhh and ahhh so loud. Really. Please tell your frends that I am very clean also. I always start taking bath in the bathroom or if he have Jacuzzi the better. Because if I am not my perspiration from work is yukkk!

Btw again, Data I know you know a lot because your name is spread everywhere here in Saudi. So just give my name and mobile to who are not so very gay, please. As I am very handsome, I like handsome gays and bis also, so others will not know we are doing man to man relations.

If possible, only those who's got muscles and big d&*#. Don't worry Data, once I go on vacation there in the Philippines, we will go out and eat you at expensive restaurant together. Just give me lots of refers.

I am wish you tell us more stories to tell our friends also. 'coz they are funny.

Love lots,

Jerome
(number withheld)

--------------------------

Btw, I got the consent of Jerome to publish this.

Si Lance Paminta Part 2

(This is an answer to various reactions created by the original post. Please visit the journal section of www.pic-link.com to read other comments.)

It was from an episode of ABS-CBN's The Correspondents that I heard of the psychosis behind exposes. One of the clinical psychologists featured in that show opined that hate reactions to such shows normally spring, apart from the guilt of having done the same dirty thing (and been exposed), from people's innermost recesses because subconsciously they have the tendency to do the same in the future.

Though I don't entirely agree, that explanation made me nod and told myself "ahh...that's why" when a host of gays and bisexuals reacted vehemently against another show exposing sex trade happening in a male spa center (GMA's Imbestigador). In a group discussion about that topic, these gays and bisexuals admitted not having even visited the said spa, but were unanimous in saying they hate the thought of being exposed 'had they been in the same situation.' The last statement may perhaps validate the opinion of that psychologist, huh!

In the same line, while reading the hate journals pertaining to my entry/blog (Si Lance Paminta), I could not help but perk a little smile and nod once again. I would assume stupidity here, if you don't follow my line of thinking.

My concern now, however, is once again called by people who drag personal issues to that of national concern. I just couldn't help but feel pity for these people trying so hard but failing miserably. Please someone enlighten me as to how these issues have something to do with Pinoy's work nobility abroad. For all we know, such sexual struggles of men in ME may even play as catalysts for efficiency in the workplace.

Then, some people talk about morality while their comments reflect vague idea how it works. We can go far beyond arm's length discussing morality, but we would still end up pointing at values as the tenets of its fundamental principle.

And this is precisely the very core of all issues (I presented so far). That our values are on the run.

If one is keen enough, he may have perhaps already observed how flagrant the sex ads in this site; or that people are no more surprised to find out young men opt to offer their bodies rather than get work sidelines to earn extra income; or how it is becoming natural for people to literally buy out and corrupt other innocent people to ease their own loneliness; or how ordinary for men, such as in the case of Lance, to enter into same sex relationship despite having heterosexual marriage in the Philippines.

And yes, for most people (at least in this site), these actions are okay as long as one does not neglect his obligations to family back home. Some even validate that they have been in practice since one can so remember, and that they are but normal.

And so, where does morality take us then when our values tell us otherwise? Perhaps, these hate comments spring from our own fear to face reality. And the face of our own realities is tainted with not so much good stuffs.

I guess there is truly wisdom in the saying "truth hurts", but then we fail to realize that only "truth can set us free."

Si Lance Paminta

I kept on hearing stories similar to Lance. And whenever I am being introduced to a vacationing OFW (from the ME), I could not help but have this ambivalent feeling that the encounter with the man before me who's got this shiny smooth complexion and tantalizing eyes (not sure if it is because of his semi-plucked brows), is one of the third kind.

You see, Lance is working as Administrator in Saudi Arabia. There, apart from his work, he joins organizations whose members claim themselves FREE as a bird. Lance's into sports. Well, if joining other freebirds screaming while watching men perspire their exposed brawns on court could be considered as one, then Lance is into it.

He's into shopping too. He frequents signature boutiques and toys expensive stuffs. Most of all, Lance's into relationship. Lance enunciates his Saudi-barred life to a partner. And mind you, this is not mere spending quality time together, but actually "living-in" with a partner of the "same" sex.

Our sense of diversity would naturally tell us nothing's wrong with the situation.

But there is more to the equation. Lance is married (to a girl) in the Philippines. At home country, he's got three children, all innocent but bright kids ever so proud of their hardworking dad.

Lance's folks are equally proud too, but not in the case of the wife who seems the only one who knows his misgivings in terms of delayed remittances and absence of sweet-nothings during their chats and overseas conversations. But she knows too well not to let Lance's kids and folks know of such wariness, lest she causes a rupture to his image as a perfect father or grateful son, respectively. So the wife rather kept all her forebodings to herself, burying in her subconscious the bomb waiting to happen.

If you ask Lance how soon he intends to finally exit, he will give you figures. But the truth of the matter is, at the moment, he does not have the least intent.

For Lance, he ironically found freedom in a land where there is restricted expression. There, he can be with people of the same wavelength; get a taste of men with mutual benefits; and, flirt his way to the point of giving his hard-earned salary. All in the name of newly found freedom - in Saudi, Lance is who he really is.

Like his wife with a bomb, Lance's got a clock. But more than alarm, its tick is tuning a question that begs to be answered. Though he tries his best to shut it up, it creeps and constantly bogs his mind.

Years have already passed since he took his first step in the scorched part of the earth, but until now Lance's got no answer to the question - if is it really possible to swing from one side of the sexual fence to the other permanently?

Can he truly believe that he can win his own battle, and eventually emerge as "ex-gay"?

Why Pinoy Men in ME Special?

A lot of PM's I received, since I started writing journals and blogs, are inquiries about my seemingly brewing interests with the affairs of men (Pinoys that is) in the Middle East. Though I must admit that some insinuations to write about men in Down Under and in the US regions are more titillating in terms of details (I got a lot of e-mails about them too!), I opt to write about our kababayans in the ME because of this sinister observation – that Pinoy men in the Middle East redefine the concept of Pinoy male sexuality.

It's probably cultural. The liberty enjoyed by the Western countries make one lose his grip on morals, and in the process gets absorbed by its system. It may also be economical. Pinoy men in our home country have to deal with a host issues attendant to poor living conditions. And it's probably psychological too. Stifling and strict governance, like ME, makes one rebellious and defiant.

Between the three situations, I find the last most purposeful and resolute. Because of this, Pinoy men in ME are more in the position and in control in this evolutionary process, if ever you can call it that way.

And since we are talking of evolution or anything similar to it, the process goes a long way. Stories have to be told, issues have to explored, and covers have to be exposed in order to come up with a bigger and clearer picture of who and what makes a Pinoy male.

And so our chronicles continue.

Ericson of CityPlaza

What could be more frustrating for a wife but to find out she could not fulfill her essence of being a woman – to give birth to a child. (hmmp! cliché)

What could be worse for a man but to find his woman having an affair with his very own best friend. (very Dr.Phil!)

And, what could be worse for a gay man but to catch his adoring heartthrob lover servicing another guy. You think this is just a product of my imagination? Think again!

This story is taken right from the oven. A self-confessed gay is painting the city of Jeddah red with his sad story. The cry is so loud it's deafening and gorging all the senses of call agents here in Buendia.

It goes like this: One night, a gay, an eye doctor, had enormous grocery bags to bring to his "papa" (lover). On that particular eve, he did not call the lover to help or anything. Anyway, he had a duplicate key to the flat, and it would be better to surprise his baby instead, so he thought.

He was anticipating a little bit of pampering. After all, taking upon his shoulder the responsibility of providing his 'papa' weekly grocery and a once-in-a-while shopping spree is indeed a great ordeal. So he deserves a TLC from the lover. That thinking excited him.

But as he brought down the bags and slowly opens the door, a mystery was unfolded.

There in an open nakedness, behold a sight that will let you fall down on your knee! Like a lightning strike of a thousand volts, it was the most heartbreaking spectacle…. his baby, the one he adores, the center of his world, the apple of his eyes is playing a hungry baby to another, ravening every bit of manhood.

After milliseconds, the doctor composed himself but never truly regained his senses. At first, in a weakened manner, he asked for an explanation. The lover answered that the flat mate got a problem with his AC (air conditioner) that they decided to sleep together.

That did not satisfy the gay doctor, and so he freaked out and demanded the lover to return all the things and every single cent he spent on him.

But the lover can not be bent. In return he replied, 'Kung ganon, ibalik mo rin ang lahat ng t*m*d na kinuha mo sa akin! P&*%$#@.

With nothing to do, the gay left the scene. He is now telling it all hoping to find answers to his questions. The why's and the how's.

ME in Deepshit

I found this cool graphical representation of the title at the time when the new USA budget for Iraq war was at its height of heated discussion. What do you think?

MRT scheme

This is from a friend who's always in action, aka, flirting. But for all of you who would want to try the power of Bluetooth technology in their celfones, read on.

When you ride an MRT, make sure you ride in the last train. It's proven that 90% of actions happen on that last tip. Only heaven knows why even during daytime, when the afternoon sun is at its scorching heat, and when spacious seats are available somewhere on the other part those light railways, people, mostly gays, converge and choose to suffer the suffocation of that overcrowded room.

But wait and observe! While one hand holds on the poles, the other one is meticulously filtrating who's who on the list of "seb's" that appear while their celfone's Bluetooth is activated.

Yes! If one is lonely and needed someone to talk to amidst the deafening sounds of silence, or if one frets for a buddy to beat the weather heat, all he has to do is open his Bluetooth, rename it as "seb", and pronto! Numbers will prop up on screen.

Now who says you need Ophrah to talk things out. Bluetooth technology has made talking to strangers (and getting them to bed) so much easier. And it's even better than buying veggies in the supermarket because, because it only takes a button, and it's virtually free!

Now, that's what I call party.

Testing One's Market Value

(I have written this article in response to violent reactions to previous post "Kalakaran Sa Saudi: CityPlaza Boys" that originally appeared in pic-link.com).

In one of series of the program "Survivors" I got acquainted with the term "testing one's "market value". That episode showed an interview with a survivor then involved in a sex scandal with another co-survivor of the show. When asked if there was something more to it, he just said "nothing", and apparently he was "just testing his market value". (See Rob Mariano & Amber Brkich of Survivor All-Stars)

A realization came to me that people in general test their sexual appeal from time to time. One may do it once or twice, or even at recurrent period. Testing one's market value is generally regarded as OK.

But when it becomes perverted and it starts to take advantage at another's expense, or when higher priorities in life yield giving way for such perversion to take over, then I think that it is time cry out "wolf".

I will not argue with people who turned this testing thing into "trade" or those who have taken to mean 'market value' in its literal sense. I am no moral guru to begin with, and they have their own reason, be it economic or otherwise. Besides it is not effective to rail against one's behavior, unless one is able to identify and discuss the causes. As ksa_flirt states the situation presents a deeper problem, but I dare not dig deep into it.

I am only saddened by the failure of people most affected by the issue to respond and express what they feel. I guess I have expected them to pour their hearts out, and shed some light where the real problem really lies, whether it is all about loneliness (or its causes) or their low self-esteem, or whatever.

Had they chosen to, we all could have been made aware of, and identify with our own, vulnerabilities. Because whether we admit it or not, such vulnerability has been used against and in fact been capitalized by both parties regardless of the side we belong (user and the abuser/d).

For people who claim that these things should be kept private, I urge you to re-think your position that you may realize the ultimate benefit of talking these things out. There is no sense in reading a book in the dark. The only way to read and understand it is to let the light shine through.

To people who maintain that a topic like this has no place in the journals and thereby should not be accorded with comments, I have single advice: lead by example.

I still believe that life is all about learning and trying to make ourselves and those around us happy, and from time to time it may include testing our market value. But regardless of what others may think or say, if our actions and decisions are always done in a way that we personally cannot respect, then we know that we are changing the course of our life – and NOT for the better.

From Pinas to KSA... with Love

Two men met by chance. From the moment they saw each other, they were spellbound. From then on their journey started. The first man felt the relationship as a tangled destiny like their tangled limbs. Inseparable. Permanent. Forever.

For a while, he did not know where it all began, nor will it ever end. Despite misgivings of the second man, he takes him again and again, until that so-called love madness overwhelmed him. For the first man, theirs is a lush, amorphous fever tide of exhausted pleasure." (quoting Sam Pomfret's "Hard Sauce").

The second man, of tall physique with chinky and delighted eyes, claims he loathes admiration but naturally find people regularly falling in love with him. He, like in William J. Mann's "Men Who Love Men," finds sex ''only as a pleasant, localized sensation, a kind of anesthesia of the groin.''

The day of doom came. A third man entered into the picture. All gathered together, the second man openly admitted, he loves the third man more, and that it is over between him and the first.

The first man is heart-broken but is determined not to see the second man again. So off he went to Khobar, Saudi Arabia: better a clean break than prolonging the agony of unrequited love.

But indeed, character precedes reputation. Sometime in 2000, that very second man plowed a beautiful relationship of a certain couple. He made up stories; broke the relationship; and at different occasions got each of them laid.

All these times, the second man seemed to have mastered the art of deceit and has been luring men, bi's and gays into his trap. He uses sweet words, makes big promises, and employs tricks to meet his ends. Of course, all at the expense of his body craftily presented as 28yo.

Now, that second man is in Jeddah, all out hunting for his next victim. Once again, he will unleash his hymn to the tune of "buy me another drink and I'll sing you another sad love song" charm.

Who are they? Visit pic-link.com and look for users khobar609 and malambing2009.

Kalakaran sa Saudi: CityPlaza Boys

(This appeared in pic-link 9th May 2007.)

Once or twice a week he gets 30 riyals for a mobile phone load plus 10 riyals for a taxi to get back to the accommodation just so he spends a night with his secret lover. If he gets lucky, he gets a 29-inch flat colored TV (sometimes with TFC connection) as a gift; or if luckier, a cold cash amounting to 5,000 riyals just for making up stories such as an old uncle died, or that his kid needs medication so he can send to the Philippines.

This is a typical story of a boy working in retail outlets such as food chains and malls in the Middle East. He maintains practicality; otherwise he would not be able to buy the recent model of celfone, signature clothes or eyewear, branded perfumes and the likes with a salary of less than $400 a month.

Consequently, if the secret lover fails to give, he easily moves to the arms of another potential provider.

Meanwhile, another man's heart is broken and left waiting-and-wanting to get even with the boy. This is such a classic line among men in the Middle East. Some with families to support in the Philippines, they live the life in the arid region caught in the mire of emotional rollercoaster of trying to love another man. Sad as it may seem, this has become a cycle for as long as one can remember.

With the mushrooming of malls in the Kingdom, new batches of young men come in, almost in quarterly basis. CityPlaza, (SM's counterpart in ME) the dominant working destination of these people, has established itself as the hub for gays and bisexuals (sometimes even for old maids) on the lookout for fresh 'carte du jour'.

Though the latter claim to have learned their lessons following the effect of the illicit "love" affair on their finances and their family relations in the Philippines, it is still a puzzle why they let themselves succumbed to the charms of these seemingly innocent looking faces.

As an old-timer in Saudi asserts "it is race against time, a hope against all hopes that the next time will be different."

Pic-link.com, soul patrol

The title is not meant to stake a claim against the phrase popularized by Season 6 American Idol Taylor Hicks, but a figurative label to describe how it plays a crucial role in patrolling the so-called extra curricular activities of Filipino men in the Middle East.

With all the challenges brought about by varying cultures, and homesickness of missing family and friends in the Philippines, these men, other than spending their time playing lawn tennis or attending setting-up-small-business seminars, chose to take it off with one another, others call it "sharing", and still others, "fellowship".

But one wouldn't want to do it with a nearby neighbor, oh not! Otherwise, one's desert life will be tarnished with pink reputation, and since these so-called 'neighbors' or 'mates' may have access to another's family at home country, fear is like Doomsday pouding Superman to bleed!

So the best way is to go on a cover, or I should say to do things the "discreet way".

Thanks to the internet! It seemed to have offer a solution to this dilemma. And of all sites, pic-link has become the favorite. A cool dating site where one can freely manifest their desires to one another.

For nearly a decade, it has served as a centre of personal information of men willing to try out with another, albeit for the first time as they claim; a repository of sentiments and of hidden lusts.

It has acted as a hook-up for men to release an otherwise exploding heat of desires in the vast arid region; a witness to activities of these individuals trying to creep their little naughty ways while the whole is watching.