JHEK-JHEK WAS HERE

Singleton

2011-07-25T23:05:00.001+02:00

“I HATE ex-boyfriends,” my newfound online friend wrote to me.

“I haven’t had a boyfriend so I wouldn’t know and can’t sympathize with you, sorry,” I replied. Of course it was a statement begging for a question if not multiple questions. I regretted it a little, knowing how tedious it is to explain my eternal single status when I’m already 30 and I’ve known I was gay since I was 14.

Just a few months ago, I hooked up with a guy and, lying in bed after sex, cuddling, he talked about his ex-boyfriends, from the first one to the last. He didn’t speak ill of them, though. He talked of travels, picnics, first meets and why it didn’t work out with them in the end (the guy liked foreigners; most of his boyfriends became exes because they left Denmark). When he reached the end of his enumeration, he turned to me and said, “What about you?”

“I haven’t had a boyfriend.”

“Why not?”

I was unprepared. I always longed for a boyfriend but have never thought about the reason why I haven’t had one. I started with a long “Uhmmmm...” and then continued with something like this:

“I lived with my parents until I was 23. My brother and I shared a bedroom, and my mother was very strict. She knew my whereabouts and we had a curfew. I guess I was afraid of being kicked out of the house, so I didn’t get to do the coming out process (still haven’t), be accepted as a gay guy in the family (still not), go out and meet guys. Sure, I chatted with some guys online but the ones who are interested in me were not my type, and the ones I’m interested in are not into me.

I moved to my own apartment, and just half a year later I was sent here in Denmark. That’s when I started going on dates with guys and I lost my virginity a few weeks before I turned 25. But my stay in Denmark wasn’t permanent, and I had to go home to the Philippines once every three months, so I guess guys were reluctant to invest anything in me other than a few hours and a few condoms. I stayed in the Philippines for a couple of months after my Denmark stint. Then in 2008, I finally moved here. I fell in love with a couple of guys but it’s either they are already in a relationship (open and otherwise), or they are single but it didn’t work even before a relationship started.”

I remember feeling a bit sad about it. There I was with a guy three years younger than me and he already had three or four boyfriends, whereas I had none.

“But you’re cute and smart!” he said, a mix of consolation and disbelief.

I wish I didn’t have to explain. I wish I didn’t have to narrate that it was because of my life’s circumstances, rather than a deliberate effort against having a relationship, that I am 30 and still single. But I guess my explaining is good for my soul, for I get to absolve myself of the blame that it’s my fault.

Besides, I’ve only been in the gay scene for five years. If the average age for gay guys to start hooking up is around 20, it puts my current age to around 25.

And that doesn’t look so bad.

EDIT: I realized I wrote the same thing, more or less, here but the tone of that is different, and the ages are quite inconsistent. I'm glad this is a blog and not a published book. But rest assured this is the last time you'll read about my singlehood story. I'll try to write about other stuff next time.

From Samantha to Carrie

2011-04-19T16:01:00.000+02:00

It has happened many times before but I seem to never learn.

It starts when the guy lingers on after sex. We cuddle, we talk, we get to know each other a little better and after he leaves, I will be all smiles, thinking about how great a time I had and how beautiful this guy was.

And then the morning I will get crazy. First I go through the exchanged online and text messages, then I would replay in my head all the things that transpired the night before to see if there was any hint of attraction from him. Did he really promise that we would meet again? Did he really caress my face and told me how cute/handsome I was? Did he look me longingly in the eyes?

I wish I could be one of those guys who can be so cool about it: “I like the guy, maybe he’ll like me back. Who knows? Let’s see what happens.”

But I am not. I am the type who gets highly infatuated at the slightest hint of attraction/affection returned by a guy who is physically my type, and who displays a certain level of kindness and intelligence. I will not be able to stop thinking about him. To quote Alain de Botton in his book On Love, “[He will keep on] breaking into my consciousness with the urgency of a matter that had to be addressed, though my thoughts had no point to them; they were (objectively speaking) utterly devoid of interest.” I would think of how beautiful his face was. How his tongue darted between my lips so that I could suck on it while we were kissing. How he let my head be on his chest when we cuddled. How he sounded interested with my interests when I just mentioned them in passing in our conversation.

It’s not that I am lonely or sad, and therefore desperate for love, no. I enjoy fucking around, as you can read in my tweets and blog entries. I have no problem being alone in my apartment or traveling just by myself. I love meeting new people and I have learned a lot from these people I’ve met. It’s just that whenever I meet a guy who would tick just a few of the boxes in the requirements list in my head, it will set of an alarm that would announce, “This is him! This is the one you’ve been waiting for!” Even if, as history shows, the alarm has never been right. I have been single since birth.

That’s me. I’m the eternal, fatalistic optimist. I may be Samantha on ordinary days, but with the right guy (as in right for triggering the alarm and not necessarily Mr. Right), I turn to Charlotte.

I’ve had those morning afters, many times before, and usually it lasted a week or two. But I never went beyond the longing and expecting part. My love life is like a rocket that ignites but never takes off. Affection, attention and thoughts I have always given but, like the phone calls and text messages I make to set things in motion, never returned. It did once, a long time ago. It became an exchange. Unfortunately, the guy and I realized we had major differences it was over before it even started.

And it’s not that I’m unlovable. There were a handful of handsome guys who (I assume) have fallen in love with me but it was me who was not interested, usually because I did not find anything in common with them other than sexual compatibility.

If gay sexuality is a buffet, then I think I have tasted a lot from the table (I haven’t been to a private orgy, though. And I haven’t tried watersports.). I think now I can safely say that I am ready to move on from fucking around to having something more serious.

I want to date someone. I want to know how two guys go from dating to being boyfriends, because no matter how well-versed I am in gay sexual practices, the boyfriend part, I honestly don’t. And I want to experience it for myself.

Then I want to be like Carrie Bradshaw and start my sentences with, “In a relationship...” because by then, finally, I am in one.

Conversation with myself

2011-03-15T14:45:00.001+01:00

Image source

Question 1: Why do you like him so much?

Answer: I don't know. It's because he's cute. He's all that I have described in my boyfriend.dk profile: with buzzed/shaved head, stubble and chest hair. And he has a nice smile. I was not even thinking of love or romance that night that I met him. I was just horny because I haven’t had sex for a week. Then I saw him and we agreed to meet. He's passionate when having sex. He kissed a lot. And we cuddled after sex. We talked a lot. Probably that did it. I can be wrong with this but I kind of sensed he liked me too. We still kissed twice when we were already dressed. And while we were talking he asked if he can come visit me again. It took me by surprise because I’m usually the one who asks that question. And usually guys say Yes but they don’t come back. That gesture stuck with me and I can’t stop thinking about him after he left.

Question 2: But you haven’t seen each other since.

Answer: Yes. Before he left last time, two Mondays ago, he told me he will contact me again once he’s free. And I asked when are his day offs. He said Sunday and Monday. By Wednesday I sent him a message. I kind of hinted that I would like to see him again by ending the message with, “Let me know if you’re up for meeting again.” He did not reply. By Saturday evening, I saw him online but I decided to text him instead. Knowing that his day off is the next day, I asked if he wanted to meet. I know might have come off as clingy, but I was overcome with this need of wanting to see him again it felt like my head was going to explode.

But he didn’t reply. So crazy me sent him a message online, “hey, so you don’t want to talk to me anymore? :-)” He read it but didn’t reply. Crazy me tried to call him. The line was busy. A few minutes later I got a text message from him. “Hey mister sorry i Got a New phone still updating contacts, i am Busy for the next few days will let you know when we Can meet.”

Crazy me called him. Crazy me tried to sound cool, “OK, we’re not going to meet on Monday, right? ‘Cause I’ll be having a [bondage] session with the guy you met. Is he good?” “He is a very nice guy,” he said. He added that he has a busy schedule over the next few days because his boss took a vacation, and he needs to take care of some stuff.

“So I’ll see you when I see you then.” He agreed.

Question 3: What if he was lying about the new phone and the busy schedule? What if he just doesn't want to meet you again?

Answer: I cannot do anything about it. I cannot force anyone to like me. And if he likes me he'll come around. I already expressed my interest, although I’m not sure if he took it as me just wanting to have sex with him again and not much else. But anyway, it's up to him now.

Question 4: What are you going to do in the next few days?

Answer: Absolutely nothing. I won't send him a message again, in any form. It will be as if I didn't meet him. My Icelandic friend told me once that the problem with me is that I obsess over guys. I’d like to prove him wrong, even if by the time I snap out of this he’s already back in Iceland.

Question 5: What if you never see him again?

Answer: That's perfectly fine. There are plenty of fish in the sea. I think I have enough self-confidence now to protect me from myself. I have been single all my life. What difference does it make if I still stay single?

Question 6: But don’t you have a boyfriend? The Bulgarian in London?

Answer: Yes, but I am slowly losing interest in him because he’s too far. I don’t even know when we will meet. Add that to the fact that he’s very busy right now, looking for other ways to find work because he was just denied a work permit. And maybe I was just kidding myself with our setup. Even if we called each other “boyfriends” I don’t think that was valid.

Question 7: What have you learned so far?

Answer: These past few months, I was a bit worried that I've become too cynical and too jaded with me fucking around, having one guy after another. It’s comforting to know that I am still capable of “falling in love”, if I can use that term for my condition. That I still have a heart.

The Little Black Book, 2010

2010-12-31T15:37:00.001+01:00

Inspired by an article in Attitude magazine, I have decided to make a roundup of my 2010 according to the boys I have met. The year 2010 is my most sexual year to date, having been introduced to a sex club by my fuckbuddy early this year, which made me more confident and more, let's say, sexually exploring. So the list is mostly sexual. But this is not a comprehensive list, and I didn't have sex with everyone on this list; I didn't even meet some of them in person. I only included the ones I have something interesting to write about.

I will use nicknames just to have a label for each. Here we go:

1. Robbie - If there's an award for the most remarkable guy I've never met, this one takes the cake. I saw him on a dating site, told him he looks like Robbie Williams, and he agreed. He said a lot of people tell him that. He is Swedish. Then I asked what he thought of me. He said he found me physically attractive. But he wouldn't have sex with me. I asked why. He said it's because I'm not a vegetarian. Oy.

2. Fred - We met last winter. He was a 19-year old Danish guy, the youngest I've had sex with. I learned that young guys have a distinct smell, which can be found at the back of their ears and neck. It was like the smell of fresh milk and fresh, non-stinky sweat--the smell of youth. Despite his heavy perfume, I was still able to catch it and it was intoxicating. I thought everything was fine until a few days after the second time we had sex, it was midnight and he came to my door unannounced, ringing my bell, asking to be let in so he could sleep with me. I didn't hear it, and when I woke up the next morning, I found around eight missed calls and eight, maudlin text messages. I didn't see him after that, not because I avoided him, but because he didn't show up when I invited him again over to my place.

He looks a bit like this, except this guy is more muscular:

3.   Ben - I have written about him many times before but I have to mention him again this year because of several things. First is because he was the one that influenced me to go to a sex club (last year he was the one who took me to a gay sauna). He practically held my hand and toured me around it. Second is because I realized, after all this time, that he really wanted me as a boyfriend. He was sexing me up frequently, not because he found me particularly irresistible, but because that's the only thing he could impress me with. And that when I said No to his proposal, I suddenly didn't hear from him. Recently, he sold his house and acquired a new one with three bedrooms. He offered me the third one, to live in it at a discounted rent. True, he and his husband are in an open relationship and it will probably be fine with his husband if Ben and I have sex every so often, but I just can't see myself in that situation.

4.   Kris T - We met through Grindr. He is a half-Polish American, and he said he was in Poland that time when we were chatting. He showed me his pictures. He looked like Justin Bieber with a big dick and a semi-athletic body. We talked on Skype, no video, only voice because he said he was using an iPad, and he sounded like an American skater boy. Yes, he called me "baby", in a skater boy voice. I asked him for more pictures once he gets back to LA, but I didn't get any. I didn't hear from him for a long time, until when I was in Berlin and I got a message from him, greeting me on my birthday. He apologized for disappointing me and promised "an explanation" but I never heard from him again.

5.   Lars - I've had fakers of all sorts but this one tops the list. Usually, fakers won't let you reach the meeting phase, wherein you both agree to a date and place where you will meet. But this one even gave me his home address and his mobile number. When I reached his house, I rang his doorbell but no one answered. I tried to call his phone but it was on voicemail. A few minutes later, I thought of checking GayRomeo. I saw that he sent me a message five minutes before our meeting time. "I had an accident. I fell down the stairs. I'm not at home." Right.

6.   Berlin Boys - Before I went to Berlin, I thought I will have a hardcore sexual experience. You know, gangbangs, outdoor sex, S&M, stuff like that. But aside from my experience at Laboratory, the guys I had dates with were pretty decent. There was Matthias, and then there's this guy:

I took that picture during our dinner at Vapianos, because I was so, uhm, "nanggigigil" at his cuteness (I don't know the English equivalent of that; the closest is the expression "Grrrrr…"). We had a proper date. We met, ate, talked and went to our respective homes after (his house, my hotel, of course). We didn't even kiss. I was tired from the previous night's debauchery, which was Laboratory, and he needed to wake up early in the morning after doing two shifts in a row. He thought I was cute and funny, and wondered why I haven't got a boyfriend yet. I told him we'll meet again when I'm back in Berlin.

7. Sun City Paris - In Paris, I don't know of any place like Laboratory but almost every gay guy I know who is well-versed in Parisian gay places recommend Sun City, Europe's largest gay sauna. I wasn't exactly meaning to go there one Sunday afternoon, but my French date had difficulty getting his dick hard. So he told me to go to Sun City so that I can have my fix. I had sex with a total of four guys.

Oh and it's very convenient that they have this tiny pouch that you strap on one of your ankles. It has keys to your locker and the pouch can hold your condoms. I wish Amigo here in Copenhagen had them, too.

8. Jimmy - I met him last year but I thought of including him here since it was this year when he decided to end it with me. I guess I owe it mostly to him that I--to borrow a title of a novel--got my groove back. He was the best-looking guy I hooked up with after my dreadful episode with that Belgian guy. He was six feet tall, had brown hair and green eyes, was naturally muscular (meaning he didn't get his muscles from the gym), and had a cock as thick as my tiny wrist. Plus, he was an authentic skater boy (that is, together with his friends, he travels around the world with his skateboard just to find nice places to skate) and spoke like a straight guy. Like most good-looking, young guys, he was not so good with sex. But that doesn't matter because by having sex with him, twice, I proved to myself that I can get guys as beautiful as him.

He had to end it with me because he realized that he really liked guys that are much younger than him. He was 25 and the last guy that broke his heart was 17.

9. Xenio - My friend Chris and I have this theory that the best sex are often had with ordinary-looking guys. Great sex with gorgeous guys are the exception. Well, the best sex I had this year was with an exception. At first I thought he looked like Keanu Reeves, which Chris agreed on when he checked the guy's pictures out, but a few months after my last sex with him, I realized what he really looked like in person was Darren Criss.

We were the same height. He had a few hairs in his body. He was muscular but he told me he hasn't been to the gym, and he had a cock which was not too short but not too big, either. Just the right size. I won't go into details but let me just say that through the entire ordeal, I was biting into his pillows to muffle my screams of pleasure. We had a 10-minute break in between and then we were at it again. It took us a total of an hour, he was exhausted and I was very happy. Sadly, after the second time we had sex, which was a week later, he never wanted to meet me anymore.

What can I add to our theory? Great sex can be had with gorgeous guys if they are weird. The Darren Criss lookalike told me he wasn't out of the closet yet (with all that sexual talent?), and for his physique and wealth (he owned his apartment and loved decorating it with expensive furniture) he dressed like a homeless person. Every time we had sex we both had to find every condom wrapper that we used because he feared that his tenant (of a few years, a woman; he had a spare room) might find out that he's having sex in his own apartment.

10.   Castor - This year also marks the first time I had a full-on bondage experience. The guy came to my house with a duffel bag containing his toys. Eventually I found myself with leather harnesses and cuffs; a zippered, rubber mask with holes for my nose and mouth; and all my limbs are suspended in the air because of the ropes tied to the cuffs and into the bed. I can't say that I'm into it yet because I found the discomfort of all those things distracting to the sexual pleasures.

I also had sex with a guy with a sling in his house, and anal beads almost the size of billiard balls.

11.   Buddy - Meeting this guy proved that built is not proportional to dick size. He was around 6'4", had broad shoulders, a little chubby and some body hair. But his dick was a little smaller than mine. And I was the Asian guy. He was Caucasian.

12.   Lei - He was the Danish guy who has an open relationship with his Filipino (but Danish inside since he had been in Denmark since he was 3 years old) boyfriend. We were having sex so often that his Filipino boyfriend got a little jealous. At first I thought, "It's your damn fault! You agreed to an open relationship!" But then I realized, if the time comes that I would have a real, open relationship, I wouldn't want anyone to steal my boyfriend from me. I am already letting you borrow him, why be so greedy, bitch? So I told him to tell his boyfriend that he has nothing to worry about. I am not taking him away from him. Which is true. He may be smart, funny, humble, sexy and great in bed, but I wouldn't want to own anything stolen.

13.   Tom - I am always skeptical whenever someone tells me, "The guy I had sex with had the biggest dick!" Oh really? Did he use an XL condom? Because this guy did, and I have pics to prove it.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, a little muscular and had a cute face. His face picture is still in my phone. Sadly, I wasn't able to enjoy his equipment. Not because it was XL, but because it was XL and it curved downwards when hard. It was like having my insides rearranged with a fish hook. Ouch!

14. Pete - My sexy chef.

He went to my house and made me a two-course meal. We both got drunk and eventually we found ourselves naked and caressing each other. It didn't go beyond that, though. We are both bottoms.

15. Dancing Duck, Airspace - Back in 2006, these guys brushed me off when I was hitting on them. This year, they ended up in bed with me. I've mentioned this before but I will say it again. If there's one valuable thing I learned this year, it's that if a guy tells you that you're not his type, it doesn't mean that you are not his type forever. Gay guys are fickle-minded. Of course, it works both ways. If a guy tells you that you're attractive, you may not be attractive to him the next time.

Oh, sex with these two are forgettable, and that Airspace guy was such a clean freak he used so much tissue while having sex. Meeting these guys once again proved me and my friend's theory: just because a guy is attractive, it doesn't mean sex with them will be hot. Usually it isn't. If it is, see #9.

I don't know the title for this one

2010-12-28T13:30:00.002+01:00

...but the other night, I met a guy online and we had a strange talk. Our conversation went from me advising him on how to be a clean bottom for his boyfriend (he's normally a top) to him saying this:

"yeah... i didnt look either... i was just fine... but then i fall unhappily in love : / a shame i cant cut off my feelings... i dont really like this guy all that much... im not sure why im so lost in him... i feel lost whenever his not around and when he doesnt reply right away on his sms i feel ignored and lonely >_< i hate these feelings..."

And then I said: "so sad. I see my past self in you."

He said: "hehe, yeah... life sucks :) how did you get by?"

I told him I'll write him some other time, because it's kind of a long story. Last night I finally had the time to write my response. And of course, I like to share it with you:

Hi there, whatever your name is.

Like I've told you, I used to be like you. I have fallen deeply in love with a few guys--some are straight, some are not even my type, and some who are already with a boyfriend. This is not counting the guys that I fell in love with without even meeting them. Or the guys I had sex with a couple of times and I felt I had a connection, and then fell in love with. I used to think that I loved them all.

In hindsight I realized that I didn't love them because of who they are, but because I loved the romantic notion of having someone for me--and by loving them I wished to receive love in return. And because I had low self-esteem, the littlest kind gesture and the slightest affection coupled with some sexual attraction have me planning my life around them.

You see, in every guy that I loved, I've had the "this is him!" feeling. That he is the best that I could ever end up with. That he is the cutest, smartest, kindest guy that I'll ever meet and I cannot do better. I didn't think highly of myself.

This stemmed from various reasons. I grew up as an ugly kid--I was so thin that I looked sickly. Even my mother thought that my brother looked better than me. Actually, I grew up with a mother who wasn't so appreciative of me and a brother who didn't like me. My father worked abroad so his presence is kind of negligible.

Also, when I was in the Philippines, I didn't get laid. I lived with my family until I was 22. I shared a bedroom with my brother and my mother knew all my whereabouts. I had curfew and, when it's late and I'm still not at home, my mother would call my phone endlessly. I had an opportunity to live alone when I was 23, but then I realized the guys who are my type are not into me and the guys that are into me are even uglier than me.

Shortly after I moved out of my family's house, I was assigned here in Denmark. Finally, I lost my virginity. A few months later, when there are fewer and fewer guys who would go out with me, I thought a lot of guys rejected me because I'm Asian.

After my heartbreaking episode with that Belgian guy, who I met here in Copenhagen on the spring of 2009, I thought that was it. That I will never find someone who looks better and smarter than him. But a few months later, I did and he had a really thick cock! Oddly, I didn't fall in love. Maybe because he declared that a very few people know that he also likes guys (he's bisexual; Icelandic). And maybe because during that time, two of my friends (a gay guy and an woman) had messy breakups with their respective boyfriends that involved apartments, appliances and furniture. I grew cautious from their mistakes.

Before I met the Belgian I started going to the gym that by the time we "broke up", I was well into finishing my first year of training. I started to look better that the guys I'm hooking up with are becoming hotter and hotter. I realized I was not ugly at all. Also, some of the guys who rejected me the first time (which I assumed it's because I was Asian), were hitting on me and then hooking up with me*. I started to gain self-confidence. I started to love myself.

So maybe what detached me from my former, insanely romantic self: a mixture of self-love, fear of getting someone with questionable character and need for freedom. Like I said, I didn't get laid in the Philippines. I lost my virginity here in Denmark. I was 24. After falling in love with guys I realized I owe it to myself to make up for the time I wasn't fucking around. I do not want to be tied to anyone just yet. And boy, there are plenty of cute guys in here!

Also, not only freedom on who to sleep with. I want to, for example, travel whenever and wherever I want to. Go home late. Meet new people. Make new friends. There are plenty of things I would like to do without getting permission or approval from someone. For two decades, I did that with my mother. I do not want to ask my boyfriend if he wants to go to Paris. Or if he would like to visit sex clubs in Berlin.

So that's it. It's a blessing in disguise that I have had my heart broken a couple of times, and a real blessing that I'm here in Denmark to recuperate after that. It feels liberating to not be depressed and lonely because you're wondering where your soulmate is. It feels liberating to not feel sorry for yourself because almost everyone you know has a boyfriend/husband and you're still single.

I think I'll settle down with someone when I'm tired of this freedom. But for now, I'm still enjoying it.

*Of course there are guys who wouldn't sleep with me because I'm Asian but I don't care about them so much. There are plenty of guys to go around.

EDIT: Goodness gracious! I just saw what he looked like. He's gorgeous!

Kiss and tell, part 3

2010-09-02T23:58:00.004+02:00

Read part 1 here

Read part 2 here

Like I previously mentioned, I never get lucky when I go out at night. I never get to meet a guy and take him home. So that night before Ashley kissed me, I left my house in a glorious disorder: the dining table uncleared of dirty dishes, magazines were scattered in the sofa, pairs of shoes were scattered on the floor and a few of my clothes lay strewn on the bed.

But before Ashley sees that, we were inside a cab on our way to my house. We both seated at the back, of course. We fastened our seat belts, and then he held my hand. He leaned towards me and kissed me again.

When we passed by the bridge he pointed somewhere and said, "I went to school there."

"Oh you studied here," I said. "How long have you been here in Denmark?"

"Eight years," he said. "That's why I'm very fluent in Danish, almost like a true Dane," he said in Danish. Still speaking Danish, he asked, "How about you? How long have you been here?"

"Two years," I said.

My apartment is a 7-minute taxi ride from the city center but halfway to my house he said, still in Danish, "Your house is far."

"We're almost there," I said.

When we got to the door of my apartment he asked, "Which floor do you live? Fifth?"

"No, fourth," I said. I looked at him and he smiled with a tired smile.

When we got to my apartment, it appeared dirtier and more disorderly to me than it did when I left it, probably because of another person with me. I offered him some water to drink which he gladly accepted. I told him to just wait on the sofa while I prepared the bed. Maybe it's because of the dirty dishes on my dining table that he was reminded he didn't have dinner yet.

He stood up and spoke to me in Danish, "I would like to eat some pizza."

It was around 1 am that time but it didn't occur to me that pizza parlors were only open until midnight at most. So I went to my laptop, sat down and told him that I'll just google Domino's and see what their number is because there's one near my house. It didn't take long before he said in English, "Nevermind, I'll just eat tomorrow." He was standing beside me.

"Come here," he said, holding my hand. He pulled me so that I stood up and went close to him. We kissed again and then he lead me to the bedroom where we undressed and had sex.

Neither of us came because, a few minutes later, I thought we were just having a break when he passed out.

So there I was, lying in my bed, clothed, trying to sleep while a naked guy slept soundly behind me. I couldn't sleep because my mind was too busy analyzing and taking in what just happened. It's also probably because I haven't had anyone sleep beside me in my own bed. I gave up, got up and tried to find my OTC sleeping pills in the living room. I looked at my phone and saw a text message from Már, "I'm home." I replied, "Me too. And I went home with Ashley! Yay!"

The recommended dosage for the sleeping pills that I have are two at a time. I only took one because it was very late and I know that Ashley needed to catch a train in the morning to go back to Odense where he lives. I have to be awake when he wakes up.

And I'm glad I only took one because later during the night, I felt Ashley got up and saw him walk back and forth in my bedroom. I thought he was sleepwalking. He probably tried to find the light switch but gave up and sat down on the bed.

I got up and asked, "What is it?"

"I need to go to the toilet," he said.

I turned on the light and led him to the bathroom. I felt a little wetness on my feet on my way back and saw there are a few droplets on my bedroom floor. Ashley was probably holding his bladder for so long and I'm glad I woke up in time.

When he came back I placed a pillow under his head.

It was past 10 in the morning when he woke up. He went to the toilet and when he came back, he wrapped his arms around my waist and started kissing my neck. We had sex again. He came but I didn't, maybe because I lacked sleep--he'd been stealing my blanket from me the whole night and it was quite cold.

We decided to have brunch in a café near my place because I ran out of coffee. "And it's the most important," he said, looking at my empty coffee jar.

On our way to the café, for some reason he said that he won't be back in Copenhagen for at least a month and a half because he will go to Iceland.

While having brunch I learned he didn't like sausages. I learned that he hasn't been to Asia. When he travels for holiday he doesn't like to go to beaches and prefers to go to big cities, to which I exclaimed, "Me too!" I learned that he got robbed of his iPhone here in Copenhagen and also got stabbed in the leg when it happened. He told me he liked guys who are slim and shorter than him, and that I fit the bill. I learned that he liked babies but I didn't know if he wanted one for himself. I learned that he has plans to move to Copenhagen next year but there are no concrete plans yet. He mentioned again that he won't be back in Copenhagen for another month and a half, as if he didn't tell me that before.

It started to rain hard when we finished our food. We both had umbrellas but it was me who opened one for the both of us. I took him to the nearby bus stop.

I wish I could write a better ending than this. I wish I could say that we exchanged numbers, and that we talked on Skype regularly in the following days and promised to see each other again as soon as possible because we couldn't get enough of each other.

But we didn't exchange numbers. We didn't even add each other as Facebook friends even both of us have shown each other pictures from our Facebook accounts using our phones. It was me who finally said, "Well, just let me know if you want to meet again. You know my name on boyfriend.dk."

"I will, I will," he said and off to the bus he went.

I wish I could say that I went home with a feeling of longing. Of being hopeful and giggly and filled with infatuation. But I went home with a feeling of slight sadness. Somehow the whole experience felt underwhelming. While it sounds good in paper that a guy who previously rejected me a few months back, now ended up kissing me in public and then went home with me, I wondered if he did it because he truly liked me, or he just settled with me because he didn't find anyone else.

And maybe I was expecting too much because the sex wasn't I thought it would be. I didn't feel the connection. Maybe he felt it, too, because he didn't ask for my number or promised to be back. He didn't send me a message on boyfriend.dk, either.

But perhaps I learned something valuable from this experience. I've encountered it before in a novel but I didn't get to personally experience it until it actually happened to me (italics are mine):

Emotions, in my experience, aren't covered by single words. I don't believe in "sadness," "joy," or "regret." Maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that it oversimplifies feeling. I'd like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train-car constructions like, say, "the happiness that attends disaster." Or: "the disappointment of sleeping with one's own fantasy."

- Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex: A Novel

Now I'll remember that whenever a hot guy totally my type rejects me just because I'm Asian, or I'm too thin or that for any reason I'm not his type.

- The end -

Kiss and tell, part 2

2010-08-28T19:17:00.002+02:00

Read part 1

When I saw Ashley again with the other Icelanders last Saturday, I did not even say Hi. I just went over to Már, chatted him up and waited with them for the Pride parade. I'm like that. If I know that someone is not into me, I don't waste time throwing myself onto that person. Even if he's cute and articulate.

It was late afternoon when I told Már that I will be going home in a bit. My back hurt and I needed to grab some dinner before going back to the city to socialize. I have resolved to go out every night of the Gay Pride parade because the gay street, Studiestræde, becomes closed for a street party.

Studiestræde by Google Maps

After having dinner, I left the house. I was on my way to Studiestræde when my friend called me again. She said she was still stuck in the office. She doesn't know when she'd be out so she declared that she won't be able to join me at all and was I upset? I said No. Even if we have been planning our lives for this day for weeks now and she bailed out on me on the day itself.

Later that night I realized, sometimes it's good when things don't go according to plan.

So I hung out again with the Icelanders. From about a dozen that day, I arrived at Masken, one of the oldest gay bars in Denmark, to only see about three, with Már being incredibly drunk. Great, I thought. My friend is drunk and I'm not even close to these other two.

I texted a Danish acquaintance of mine, a chef, because I wanted to see him again. He was at work and will be off at around 12 midnight. It was just 10 pm when I texted him. Great, I thought again. I'd have to wait for two hours.

What I didn't expect was Már turns into a completely different person when drunk. He becomes loud, talks a lot, speaks fluent Danish, and makes out with whoever he fancies. I thought he was really funny to watch, so I sat down in one of the benches under the green umbrellas and decided to stay. I'm glad I did.

Picture from that night courtesy of my Icelandic friend

A few minutes later, Ashley arrived. "Where are the others?" he asked.

"Oh I think they are at Jailhouse [another gay club]. The other one came over here asking Már to join him."

"Let's go to Jailhouse. Come," he told me. In my mind I was like, "Uhm, OK?"

On our way to Jailhouse, I saw Ashley being checked out by a guy. I think he reciprocated because he told me, "I just flirted with a guy on the street. I've never done that before."

I laughed a little laugh.

When we were near Jailhouse, I was approached by a Middle Eastern-looking guy. The guy asked me something in Danish but I didn't get it and probably looked confused, so the woman beside him asked me, "Do you think that guy is hot?"

"Who? I'm sorry what is this?"

"You are [my username] on boyfriend.dk, right?"

"Yeah."

"Do you think that guy over there is hot? Do you like him?" the woman pointed to a short, stubbly guy standing on a stool. I recognized him as one of my "online stalkers". He likes Asians but unfortunately, he's too short for me.

"Sorry, he's not my type. He's a bit on the short side."

We left and proceeded to go to Jailhouse. Ashley said, "You're quite famous! People recognize you by your Boyfriend username."

I just smiled and shrugged.

We didn't find any Icelander on Jailhouse. So we decided to go back to Masken. The rest of the Icelanders are back including Ashley's best friend. Let's call him Redford. "Hey, there's Redford," I told Ashley, pointing to Redford who was standing in front of the bar that was set up on the sidewalk. I thought he heard me but when I saw that he was still following me when I decided to go inside Masken to go to the toilet, someone bumped on him and spilled some beer on his arm.

"Oh I'm sorry, I thought you heard me. I told you Redford was over there," I told him, pointing again to Redford.

"That's OK. That's OK," he said, wiping the beer off his arms and then proceeding to go to where Redford is.

I had in my hand a second round of vodka sprite when I went back out on the street. More people were milling in front of Masken. That night I was wearing my white shirt that says, "I'M A FREE BITCH, BABY" in neon pink. Már, still very drunk, asked, "Who are you?"

"I'm Lady Gaga," I said.

"Rah rah ah ah ah!" he started and soon the other drunk Icelanders followed. At one point Már tickled my sides, leading me to spill my drink onto a guy seated in one of the benches. The guy held my arm and playfully spanked me for misbehaving. I chatted up guys who just arrived in our little "group area" on the street, in front of Masken. I never had such an enjoyable night out in my life.

All the while there was Ashley that, for some reason, always ended up beside me. Sometimes I would catch him staring at me for a few seconds. He had been relatively quiet that night and I thought he wanted to chat a bit. Or maybe he had a problem he wanted to discuss. So I'd smile and ask, "What?" Sometimes he'd just shake his head. Sometimes he'd say, "Nothing".

When I looked at my phone it was fifteen minutes before midnight. Fifteen minutes before I meet the Danish chef. I am now drinking from my third cup filled with vodka and Coke but I'm not yet drunk. I was talking to Már when he spotted a guy wearing a black shirt and floral, Hawaiian-style necklace. "That guy is cute," he said, then proceeded to walk over to the guy. I was left with Ashley.

"You're pretty quiet tonight," I told Ashley.

"Yeah. I'm not liking the crowd so much. Maybe I will go home in a bit."

"OK."

When I looked for Már again, I saw that he was already making out with the guy in black shirt.

"Wow, they're really going at it," I told Ashley. We both laughed. He put his empty cup on a table. I was under one green umbrella so when someone bumped into the umbrella, one of its edges dipped between our faces. When the umbrella went back up again, I saw him still smiling.

He was not much taller than me so our faces are almost on the same level. When I saw that his eyes became slightly closed, his mouth slightly ajar and pouted and his head moving towards me, I thought, "Oh my g-d he's going to kiss me!"

And he did. His mouth tasted of beer. I never liked beer but I realized that night I like the taste of it on a guy's mouth when I am kissing him. My arms were on his shoulders but on my left hand was my drink and the other hand had my bag. Ashley was a good kisser.

I've never had anyone kiss me whenever I go drinking or clubbing downtown. I always end up feeling lonely and unattractive because of that. But this night I am making out with a cute, Icelandic boy. And we are not in a club. We are on the street and there are plenty of people that can see us.

We paused for a moment and I put my half-empty cup on a table. Then our hands were on each other's hips and our foreheads and noses were against each other and then my chin was on his shoulder and he was kissing my neck and then we returned to kissing each other on the lips.

When we stopped kissing, I looked around and saw that two Icelanders were looking at us, one was a guy I know and another his girl friend and she said, "Get a room!" Then she laughed. I smiled.

"Why are you always speaking in English?" asked Ashley, holding my hand.

"Because I'm not so good in Danish," I said. "Would you like me to speak in Danish?"

"No that's fine. English is fine."

When we hugged, I whispered to him, "I thought you didn't like me."

"I've been wanting you for a long time," said Ashley.

"That's bullshit," Már said the next day when I told him about it. But when Ashley said that to me, I didn't think it was bullshit. I thought it was flattering and I felt oh so beautiful that night.

"Would you like to take me home?" he asked.

"Sure!" I said.

On our way to get a cab, I looked at him said, "You're so cute."

"I know," he said.

"And you're conceited, too!"

We both laughed.

I texted the Danish chef, "Went home with a guy. Sorry."

When we found a cab, I started to worry about the mess that is called my apartment.

To be continued...

Kiss and tell, part 1

2010-08-28T11:14:00.001+02:00

Copenhagen Gay Pride 2010

Last Saturday was Gay Pride here in Copenhagen and my dear Filipina friend was supposed to tag along with me. She called me that day and told me that she was dragged in the office because of some trouble with the servers. She won't be able join me watch the parade but maybe she can come with me when I go out later that night.

So I hang out with the Icelanders instead. It must be explained at this point that I have a healthy relationship with these people: one of my closest friends, Már, is an Icelander, my hairdresser is an Icelander, and their acquaintances/friends are some of my acquaintances/friends as well. I get invited to birthday parties and such that when I posted some pictures on Facebook, my Danish friend commented, "Where is this, Reykjavik?"

And then there's this one guy. Let's call him Ashley. I met Ashley in person last January, when the Icelanders decided to throw a housewarming party.

"Hey, you're Ashley, right? I'm Allan, the one you're talking to online? " I said, when I finally mustered enough courage to talk to him that night. Yes, prior to meeting, we have exchanged messages on boyfriend.dk, the gay dating site here in Denmark. I told him he was cute. He said he just broke up with his boyfriend and was just looking for sex. I asked if he wanted to meet and he said that he would love to. We never agreed on a specific date, and it was just coincidence that I met him at a party.

After introducing myself, we talked for a while, mostly about what we were doing in Denmark. He sounded smart and that time I thought he was the cutest Icelander I've ever seen. He had a buzzed haircut, stubble, a hairy chest and a beautiful smile. And he's taller than me. I developed a crush on him.

And then he said he'll just go to the toilet to pee. When I wondered why it was taking him so long, I looked around and saw that he was talking to another group of people. I think he even saw me looking for him. So that was it, I thought. Slightly hurt, an hour later I decided to go home. I saw him on my way out. He asked me why I was leaving and requested me to stay a bit because they were going downtown later to party some more. I forgot my excuse that night but before I left, he hugged me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I thought he was just being Icelandic because I also got a kiss on the cheek from another Icelandic guy when I bid farewell.

Despite of what happened, I went home with the feeling of triumph--that I overcame my shyness and actually talked to to a guy I liked.

I remained optimistic so I sent him a message on boyfriend.dk the next day. "Hey, it was nice meeting you, Ashley. You're so handsome in person and really nice to talk to. I hope we see each other again, soon. Take care."

He said, "Same here, Allan. Funny that you were there."

I wanted to confirm, "I'm sorry. I lose IQ points whenever I talk to cute guys. Same what? There was 'take care' and 'see each other again'. Which one?"

"'Nice meeting you' :) "

"Oh. OK, thanks for being honest."

"It's better to be honest. :) "

So that was last January. Last Saturday was a different story altogether.

To be continued...

Tales from Berlin: Laboratory

2010-07-26T22:57:00.002+02:00

In 1929, Christoper Isherwood—author of A Single Man (yes, that Tom Ford movie with the same name)—left England to spend a week in Berlin and decided to stay there indefinitely. It was a time when Isherwood “fully indulged his taste for pretty youths. He went to Berlin in search of boys and found one called Heinz, who became his first love.”*

I went to Berlin in search of boys but did not find my first love. Instead, I went to Lab.oratory.

Lab.oratory or Lab for short is one of the most popular gay sex clubs in Berlin. I read about it from my gay travel guide, and my fuck buddy also recommended it to me when I asked him for recommendations.

The Lab is located at the former power plant building where the other famous club, Berghain, is in.

Where Berghain’s entrance it at the front, the Lab’s entrance is at the left side of the building.

I would’ve had a difficult time finding the Lab if not for a Berliner who agreed to meet me and take me there. At the side of the building, there is a tunnel-like entrance and beyond that, there is a little plastic sign almost the size of an A4 paper that said something like this, black print over white background:

LAB.ORATORY
Play safe. No camera.
No drugs. No perfume.

I was wearing a concentrated Hermès scent that night and the Berliner, upon reading the sign, said, “Good luck to you.” Beside the sign were the door and the bouncer who was in charge of it.

My fuckbuddy told me that 1.) I should only go on a Friday and 2.) that I should check the website because there are specific opening times. True enough, it’s only on a Friday that I can go in. The theme on Fridays is called Friday Fuck 2-4-1, which means that you can buy 2 drinks for the price of 1, and there’s no dress code. Thursdays are usually reserved for Naked Sex Parties—which naturally means you’re required to strip down and only the shoes should remain. Saturdays and Sundays have themes such as piss, deep throat, fisting and bondage, often with appropriate dress codes. Opening times vary, but the main concept is, the door is only open for a few hours—that night it was from 22:00 to 24:00—and then after that, no one is let in.

If you are going, I suggest you go 45 minutes before the closing time, especially on a Friday, because the line gets long and you might not be in time.

Anyway, the Berliner I met was kind enough to invite me to have beer with him before we go to the Lab. We went to this beer garden behind the Berlin wall and near the river. He bought me my drink.

It was almost 23:30 when we finished—or rather, I reminded him that the Lab would be closing in half an hour. He said he was not in the mood to go to the Lab but he’ll take me there anyway. I thought he’d just take me to the entrance but since he’s been there once before, he still paid the entrance fee and showed me inside. Fortunately, I was let in despite smelling like orange leaves and wood.

The Lab’s number system is a bit complicated. You’ll be given a number in a tiny, laminated cardboard. If you need to deposit some stuff like clothes and shoes, a plastic bag will be marked with your number and you put your things inside it. The same number is used when ordering drinks. You order and then give the bartender your number; you don’t pay yet. When you’re about to leave the club, you use your number to get your stuff where you deposited them, and you go back to the bar again, show your number and pay for your drinks. You get a receipt and only then you can get out of the Lab by giving the bouncer your number and your receipt.

After showing me around, I thanked the Berliner for his kindness. He told me he’ll go to Berghain and if there’s anything I need, that I should give him a call. I thought that was very sweet of him.

So I was there, in a sex club in Berlin, in my white, slightly fitted Zara T-shirt, slim, black shorts and gray Chuck Taylor sneakers. There were a few condoms in my pocket. I was nervous, even if I have been in a sex club once here in Copenhagen. When I’m nervous I get really thirsty. So even when I already had a bottle of water at the beer garden, I went to the bar (one of the bartenders was wearing nothing but a white apron) and I asked for water. Since it was 2-4-1, I got two large bottles of water and I don’t know where to put the other one.

The bar

I stood near a pillar where there is a sort of ledge that acted as a sort of a mini-table and put one of my bottles on it, drank from the other one and stood awkwardly. The Berliner was right: there are many good-looking guys that go to the Lab. Sure, there were old guys and guys I won’t bother having sex with even if I was paid, but the majority of guys were Caucasian, muscular and shirtless. And there were a lot of them.

When I got tired of standing, I found a seating space in one of those four-poster-bed-looking things:

I took my drink and sat down beside a shirtless guy wearing rubber chaps and a rubber jockstrap. He was not really my type but when I saw his hand reaching for my thigh, I said, “Hi there!”

We chatted and I found out he was also a tourist. More surprising is that where he came from was near where I live. He’s a Swede from Malmö, about half an hour train ride from Copenhagen.

It was getting hot so I loudly wondered whether I should take off my shirt. The Swede said that I was cute and that I could definitely get away with it. I probably shouldn’t have listened since the rolls of fat in my midsection made their presence felt when I sat down.

When I came back from returning my shirt, the talk became dirty and the next thing I know is that we looked for a place “where there are few people” (he said) and ended up in this area:

I thought of writing a blow-by-blow (pun intended) account of what actually happened to me in that place but I realized it would be too tedious. I will just put in record that I played safe and that I had four guys in total: a Swede, a German (tourist from Cologne), a French-speaking guy who cursed in French while he did me (which I found sexy), and a white guy (I didn’t ask where he was from) who came too early.

Condom available at the Lab

So instead of enumerating what happened to me, I will just write some observations while in the Lab:

1. I am a voyeur and an exhibitionist. It turns me on to watch gay guys have sex in front of me. In the same way, I am turned on when guys watch me and they are playing with their dicks while I am getting screwed. I feel sexy.

2. People in a cruising, labyrinthine place like the Lab are like ants: there is a steady flow of people going to and from locations and it’s quite funny to know that they are just going around in circles.

3. I wonder who thought of the brilliant idea of red lights in sleazy places. It’s appropriate. It doesn’t hurt the eyes and it makes a lot of people look enticing.

4. Even with the advisory of playing it safe and having plenty of condoms around the Lab, a lot of people still insist on doing bareback.

5. There was no dress code that night but there was this short, Chinese-looking guy with an average body who cruised around naked, clutching his white briefs in one hand. He did not turn me on but I truly admired his self-confidence. I wish I could do that someday.

6. There was this tall, muscular, good-looking American guy who sounded nelly when he spoke. He annoyed me not because his actions betrayed his looks, but because he had the habit of walking away when the guy blowing him is obviously having fun. I assumed I was not his type because he never offered his dick to me, which is just as well.

7. There was one lovely couple—I assume they’re American, too, because they spoke to each other in American accent—which looked so much alike they looked like twins, and I think they just went there to satisfy their exhibitionistic tendencies. I did not see them play with anyone else but themselves.

8. Fred Perry piqued shirts in black or white are fetish gear.

I left around 4 am, when the club had very few people left and my eyes are begging to be shut. Took a cab and it’s amazing that I was only charged 10 EUR from that place to my hotel.

A friend of mine called my promiscuity “an exploration of my sexuality”. Probably it is. And I don’t think there’s a place more fitting for an exploration of my sexuality other than a sex club in Berlin called Lab.oratory.

LAB.ORATORY
Am Wriezener Bahnhof
Berlin - Friedrichshain
S-Bahn: Ostbahnhof

*Source

Tales from Berlin: Matthias

2010-07-20T18:47:00.001+02:00

Last Sunday in Berlin, I was so horny that after I had breakfast at the restaurant of my hotel, I went back to my room, brushed my teeth, stripped down to my undies and cruised on Gayromeo. I readied myself to go back to the shower and do my pre-sex rituals in case I agree to hookup with someone. That’s the good thing about Berlin—there are so many horny gay guys that just an hour online, one can find a guy decent enough to have casual sex with; unlike here in Copenhagen where I can spend days online and not hookup with anyone. But that’s for another post.

Anyway, the universe must have conspired because when I went online that day, the two or three guys I had been talking to and have agreed to meet with once I get the chance weren’t logged on. I even texted a muscular and bearded guy who gave me his number—he wanted some outdoor sex—but he didn’t reply.

Then came this 29-year old, blond, blue-eyed, stubbled, cute German boy.

I don’t think he was looking for sex that time. He just said that I have a nice profile on Gayromeo. I told him he was cute. Because I was horny, it didn’t take long for me to ask, “your place or mine?”

And that’s how I met Matthias.

He lived in a quiet, residential part of Berlin, a few S-Bahn stops away from Potsdamer Platz. When I saw the house number he gave me, I went up to the wrong building. Apparently, he lived in the adjacent building and it had the same number. He saw me at the stairwell, called me and told me that I was in the wrong building. I saw him waving at me from the window of his apartment.

A six-foot-one stocky guy greeted me at the door. I was panting from going up and down stairs. He offered some water. When I was fully rested and comfortable, we kissed then proceeded to go to the bedroom.

I will spare you the details of our sex, because it’s not the point of this story. Suffice it to say that he smelled and tasted good, and in bed he knew what he was doing. He was a very good kisser.

He asked if I’d like to stay over for lunch, since it was almost 2 pm and we were both hungry. Having nothing better to do that afternoon, I accepted his offer.

Though his English was good, he apologized for his poor vocabulary. Good thing Danish and English are a bit similar to German, so I usually understood what he meant when he didn’t know the equivalent word in English.

This is what he made us:

Not visible is the baked salmon because it’s covered with the mixed veggies. He added some buckwheat to the pre-packed veggies, and those muffin things are called Knödel (they tasted like plain muffins). He made himself some white Russian, and we proceeded to have lunch in his living room, where there is this shelf that occupied an entire wall.

Two similar shelves also filled to bursting lined his hallway, and in his bedroom there is another, shorter shelf filled with more books.

Apparently, he’s a law student and his dream is to be a judge one day. So he is studying very hard. He had a few papers taped to his wall. There’s also a small sheet of glass on the wall with notes written with a blue whiteboard marker. Those are his to-do lists, he said. One list contained the urgent ones, another list contained the not-so-urgent things and yet another list for the things he had to do on a regular basis.

“Sometimes I even wonder how I do so much stuff. And still end up with even more things to do,” he said. I was immediately reminded of my friend Chuck.

When I am with someone, I tend to discuss myself less and be curious on the other person more. I don’t know. I guess I am bored with my own life story and just curious about other people’s lives.

I asked about his family. His parents divorced when he was only two years old, and it was his mother who raised him. He and his dad talk for just two or three times a year: their birthdays and Christmas. “We don’t have much in common. I’m not interested in his life; he’s not interested in mine. So we just greet each other and that’s it.” He has two sisters—both of whom, he thinks, are weird.

“They are scared of my books,” he said.

Before he came to Berlin, he lived about 1000 km south from Berlin and shared an apartment with a drug addict, but he doesn’t call her that. There’s a German word for it (which I forgot) and it means living a life based on drugs. It’s more than being a drug addict, he said. It’s a lifestyle and they are a part of the German society. “There are a lot of them in Berlin.”

“How long have you been living here in Berlin?” I asked.

“About a year.”

And me, the perpetual single gay guy, just had to ask, “So have you had a boyfriend here?”

“Yes. For six months. We lived in this house together.”

“And where is he now?”

“He left. Last February”

“What do you mean ‘he left’?”

“I just woke up one day and he was gone.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. There were no fights. No arguments. Nothing. He just left. He took a box, filled it with his things and left.”

“Have you tried contacting him?”

“Of course I did. I called his phone, he wasn’t answering. I called his place of work, he didn’t want to talk to me.”

“How about Facebook? Have you tried sending him a message?”

“Yes.”

I fell silent.

“Eventually, I found out where he lived. He moved to the eastern side of Berlin. I went over there but he won’t let me in.”

I was not able to say a word.

“Until now, there’s not a single day I don’t think of him.”

I was filled with a kind of sadness so deep I almost cried. How could someone do that to this guy who seems like a good person? True, he may not be perfect but I don’t think he deserved to be left like that without an explanation.

Just leaving like that and totally shutting him from his life is very cruel.

His days must’ve been filled with sleepless nights, thinking about the guy, his whereabouts.

He must’ve been blaming himself for whatever he might have done wrong.

It wasn’t even as if they have been living together for years. Six months was too early.

These thoughts filled my head that I was overcome with sympathy and compassion. I just had to hug Matthias. I hugged him very tight.

He kissed me.

I apologized for bringing up that topic. He shrugged and then took me to his desk where his computer was. He opened a browser, went to YouTube and showed me a funny clip of two llamas with hats, talking silly to each other.

Connecting the dots: Lady Gaga's Frozen Heart in Alejandro

2010-06-21T22:21:00.003+02:00

After explaining to myself (and hearing a lot of people agree with me) the meaning of Beyoncé's painted nails in Lady Gaga's Telephone video, I have always been looking for hidden meanings behind Gaga's visual works.

Around four months after the release of the Telephone video, Gaga released a new one, this time for her song Alejandro. In her Times Online interview, she explained that the video is about the...

“purity of my friendships with my gay friends. And how I’ve been unable to find that with a straight man in my life. It’s a celebration and an admiration of gay love – it confesses my envy of the courage and bravery they require to be together. In the video I’m pining for the love of my gay friends – but they just don’t want me.”

Almost everything in the video covers that statement. For the "courage and bravery they require to be together", Gaga showed the challenges in history that gay people had to endure. Among those are:

1. the Nazis who mass murdered homosexuals, represented by the men dressed as Nazis

2. Catholicism which continues to oppress homosexuals, represented by Gaga's nun outfit with rosary

3. the Stonewall riots that happened during the late 60's, possibly represented by the riot scene showing at the big screen while the men were dancing

As for Gaga pining about the love of her gay friends, there is the bed scene wherein they try to have gay sex (and Gaga being the top), and be unsuccessful about it.

But amidst all this love for the gays and subsequent refusal, there is one odd piece in the puzzle that won't fit: the funeral scene at the beginning, a veiled Gaga leading the funeral, with a frozen heart on a pillow.

I have repeatedly wondered: what does this have to do with her unrequited love for her gay friends? Is she mourning for the loss on what could have been?

The answer came to me last night when I was talking to my friend, a fellow Gaga fan.

I told him that in Gaga's interview at Showstudio, she mentioned something about her high school:

As for the school... that has been a bit more of a sad experience. The teachers have been wonderful - the nuns are lovely, and the English teachers and the head of the school were wild feminists and instilled wonderful values in us. The teachers are the best, and the most wonderful, brilliant teachers. They are truly magical. I have nothing bad to say about the school, but I will say I've been really sad about some of the things that have happened with my high school, because my sister goes there and my family worked so hard. My parents were not rich, they spent every dollar they had for my sister and I to go to the most wonderful, expensive private school they could afford, to have opportunities they didn't have. I suppose in an attempt to also say something about religion, as a Catholic school I have been put off by the very un-Catholic way they have responded to my success. It's not even disappointing, it's sad. My family gave up many things, so my sister and I could have a wonderful education. There is such a diluted sense of religion and what is right - perhaps the school's just not what it used to be. It makes me very very sad.

I asked my friend if he has read anything specific about what made Gaga "very very sad"; he hasn't. He just told me the name of the school: Convent of the Sacred Heart, a private Roman Catholic school in Manhattan's Upper East Side.

Like the scientists that discovered anatomy in Michaelangelo's paintings, I remembered how the heart appeared in the Alejandro video.

In Catholic faith, the Sacred Heart is represented by a heart in flames (sometimes with a cross near the flames, sometimes with arrows sticking on it) encircled in thorns.

In Gaga's video, a heart tied by what looks like barbed wire or thorns appears. But it looks frozen, and large pins appear to be securing it in place.

"It makes me very very sad," said Gaga about the school. Perhaps it was so sad that it deserved a funeral scene in the Alejandro video. A funeral in winter. Winter is gloomy and dark, and most importantly, it's cold--probably the school suddenly became cold to her family, her sister, when Gaga became famous.

A few weeks after the release of Alejandro's video, Gaga's sister graduates from that school.

Like a graduation, a funeral is a ceremony to an inevitable end. And then a veiled Gaga declares, "I know that we are young, and I know that you may love me, but I can't be with you like this anymore, Alejandro."

The funeral with the frozen heart in thorns in the Alejandro video may be a metaphor for her sister's graduation from the Convent of the Sacred Heart, an inevitable end to whatever ties she and her family may have with the school that they used to love.

In an interview by Rolling Stone, Steven Klein, the director of the Alejandro video, said, "The process was to express Lady Gaga's desire to reveal her heart and bear (sic) her soul." Indeed, Alejandro may be the most personal video Gaga has ever made.

Another Carrie Bradshaw moment

2010-06-02T13:04:00.001+02:00

This is a piece I wrote in the diary section of my account in boyfriend.dk ("the largest Danish online community for homosexuals", says in their banner). In that website, like other gay dating websites, when one sends a message to another, one can go to the Sent folder and check if the recipient has read the message: envelope icon if it's unread, notepad icon if it's read, and trash can icon if it was deleted--read or unread.

There should be an option to NOT see when the recipient has read our message.

It starts to be an instrument of torture when you click on the Sent tab and see that he has read the message. In it you asked a question and it needed a reply. True, the reply is not that urgent but it would do you a big favor if he replied Now. It's not that crucial but his reply would determine whether you'd see each other again in the future or not.

Some people make it easy. They don't reply but then you see the trash can icon beside your letter, which means it was deleted. You call it a day, it was his loss, etc etc and move on with your life.

But he doesn't delete it.

It would have been easier if he was offline. Maybe he read the letter and didn't have time to type a response. There is a big possibility of him writing back when he goes online again.

But he is online. There's a green icon beside his username--has been for the past hour or so. The letter remains read and not deleted. Not yet.

Your mind starts to wander through the possibilities. Did he relegate you as the last option? Is he chatting up with other guys and then when he comes empty-handed, he would write back? Is he too shy or too kind to reject you? Or is he completely ignoring you?

You want to send him a message again. One liner. Or just one word, like "Hi!" or "So?", just to let him know you're waiting for his reply.

But you don't want to do that. Online dating is tricky. One wrong move and you'd scare the guy away, as if he was a wild deer in a forest and you're a hunter that stepped on a dead twig that snapped a little too loud.

You'd want to appear cool and confident, as if guys like him come to you in droves. But the truth is that guys like him are few and come far in between. He has a radiant face, a body that shows that it has visited the gym many times, and a cock that makes its entire presence felt when it's inside you (unlike some that tickle you like a pinky). He doesn't bore you when he talks--at least, not yet. And he's tall but not too tall that you have to lift your head way up to look into his eyes. Just the right amount of tallness so that you feel like a girl should you walk beside him in the future.

So you think he's a catch. But then it occurs to you--so are you! By the usual standards, you believe you're not ugly. You've been going to the gym three times a week for more than a year. Your ass can take cocks as thick as your tiny wrists. You make people laugh with your witty remarks. You are well-read, and well-versed in pop culture. Most of all, despite your silly blunders and brief moments of prejudice, you believe that you're a good person.

You log off from Boyfriend, distance yourself from the computer and try washing the dishes while hoping against hope that before you go to bed, when you log in again to Boyfriend, there's a message waiting for you.

From him.

One word. "Sure!"

The master and the boy genius

2010-05-12T23:30:00.000+02:00

Been busy

2010-04-12T16:17:00.000+02:00

Read my tweets instead.

kthxbye

Kellan Lutz is yum.

"I knew you'd take all my honey, you selfish mother****."

2010-03-21T17:06:00.009+01:00

"What I really wanted to do with this video is take a decidedly pop song, which on the surface has a quite shallow meaning, and turn it into something deeper. The idea that America is full of young people that are inundated with information and technology and turn it into something that was more of a commentary on the kind of country that we are."

- Lady Gaga on her video Telephone, E! News Daily. Italics are mine.

I've read most of the analysis for Lady Gaga's Telephone video, including one from ABC News, the Atlantic, and one from the blogger that was promoted by Gaga herself in her Facebook and Twitter accounts, who has analyzed the video in two parts (part 1, part 2). But I haven't read anyone's comment about one thing that was really obvious in the video: why was Gaga's "motherfucker" not censored and Beyoncé's was.

I have been preoccupied with it for days on end last week. And then, after having breakfast, it hit me: it's a criticism on American prudishness on TV. I tweeted about it (here, here and here), which is promptly ignored by people, so I am writing it down to elaborate it further.

My "aha!" moment was probably inspired by an interview of Alexander Skarsgård--the guy who played Gaga's boyfriend in the Paparazzi video--in Attitude magazine, February 2010 issue. On America and their strange attitude towards TV, he said, "You can show someone bashing someone else's head in or kicking someone in the face, but to show a nipple... I don't get it. How's that worse?"

Not that it was a new thought but since I have abstained from TV eversince I moved here in Denmark, it reminded me how arbitrary and spotty American censorship can be. I should know: most of the good stuff showing on Philippine TV comes from the US, at least in cable TV.

Anyway, back to video. In literary criticism, we are taught that quotes from the piece of literature we are analyzing supports and advances our argument. But since I am discussing a video, I'll just show screen captures to support and advance my point about Gaga's commentary on American censorship in her video, Telephone.

To start with, let us remember that Gaga and Beyoncé were on the road, driving the Pussy Wagon, when Gaga said, "..but you can still see the crack in that motherfucker's reflection." No censorship there. "Fucker" part was even emphasized by Gaga.

Beyoncé sings her part, then they enter a diner, which is an American invention.

It might be a stretch to say that the diner represents America, and when they entered the diner, in effect, they entered America. But even the place mats support that notion.

And then there was Gaga shown dancing in the kitchen and adding poison to every meal. Gaga serves the food, Tyrese takes the bottle of honey from Beyoncé and pours it into his plate, eats greedily then dies--cheek on his plate. Then Beyoncé says, "I knew you'd take all my honey...

... you selfish mother(bleep!)"

American flag nails over Beyoncé's mouth? America censoring her. Take note that only the "fucker" part in "motherfucker" was bleeped out, when the entire word is a cussword.

Some people say that the reason why Beyoncé's was bleeped out and Gaga's wasn't is because Beyoncé is a goody-two-shoes pop star and Gaga is not. I beg to disagree. There's nowhere in the video where that is evident.

I rest my case.

I has brain farts

2010-02-27T22:28:00.003+01:00

http://twitter.com/oh_fudge

Follow and be nice.

You can see my updates at the sidebar, too!

The Proust Questionnaire

2010-02-19T14:52:00.006+01:00

I've written a number of times about Marcel Proust but I never got around to answering the famous Proust Questionnaire.

Every month since July 2003, at the back of every issue of Vanity Fair magazine, celebrities and well-known people such as Martha Stewart, Umberto Eco, Ellen DeGeneres answered the Proust Questionnaire.

I am nowhere near being famous but I'd like to answer these questions and maybe a few years later, get back to it and see how my views have changed, if ever they do.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?
When I am old and I look back at my life, and I see that I did what I wanted to do, became the person I wanted to be, and know that my life had been adventurous and meaningful, that will give me perfect happiness.

What is your greatest fear?
Being gravelly ill and in constant pain.

Which historical figure do you most identify with?
Franz Kafka, his father is the equivalent of my mother, and while I am not as good in writing as him, we both have jobs totally unrelated to producing literary art.

Which living person do you most admire?
Lady Gaga.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
Transparency. I can't hide my feelings so I am a terrible liar about it.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?
Arrogance and greed.

What is your greatest extravagance?
Bags, shoes and food.

What is your current state of mind?
Contented.

What is the quality you most like in a man?
Masculinity and sense of humor.

What is the quality you most like in a woman?
Sincerity and thoughtfulness.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
"perhaps" (when I'm writing) and "oh my god" (when I'm speaking)

Who are your favorite writers?
Currently, Alain de Botton. In my eyes, the man has no fault. Plus, I love his tweets.

Which talent would you most like to have?
Playing some instrument (piano or guitar) and being able to sing while playing.

Who is your favorite hero of fiction?
Augie March.

On what occasion do you lie?
When a treasured friends asks an opinion on a thing he/she is passionate about but I don't really care much for.

What do you dislike most about your appearance?
My big hands and feet. I think they're not proportional to my tiny frame.

When and where were you happiest?
The day after I arrived here in Denmark as an immigrant. I recalled what I went through and realized I am where I aimed to be at. It made me very happy.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
I want to veer away from being a cliché: Asian, slim, bottom. Since I cannot change being an Asian and a bottom (in fact, I love it), I go to the gym to bulk up.

If you could change one thing about your family, what would it be?
I wish my maternal grandfather wasn't so tough on his kids. My mother could have been nicer.

What do you consider your greatest achievement
So far, being able to move to a country where I have neither friends nor family (and not even a boyfriend) to start with. I am so proud of that.

Where would you like to live?
Paris, France. But then again, I need to be fluent in French to be able to get the most of my stay and I can't be bothered to learn another language.

If you died and came back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?
I would like to be Vicky Beckham--hot husband, beautiful kids, humble and beautiful.

What is your most treasured possession?
My Danish residence-and-work permit.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
What is that sickness where your whole body is paralyzed, you can't even speak, but your brain is so much alive? That one. It's like being in prison, but worse.

Who are your heroes in real life?
My father.

What is it that you most dislike?
Hygiene issues.

How would you like to die?
Painless and happy.

What is your motto?
"...life must be understood backwards. But...it must be lived forwards." And that's by the Danish philosopher, Søren Kierkegaard.

Family portrait

2010-02-14T12:19:00.007+01:00

Yesterday morning, I woke up early and, having plenty of time to kill before lunch, I decided to take a picture of all my bags.

From left to right, bottom to top: navy Shopper from Mismo x Storm, prussian blue Haut à Courroies from Hermès, earth Couguar from LV, 50 cm Le Pliage from Longchamp.

As you can see, I have no brand loyalty when it comes to bags. True, at one point I had two LV bags but I ended up selling the other one since it spent most of its days resting in the closet. I believe there's no point of storing a bag for months on end, so off it went to a nice fellow living in Italy. Profit from the sale went to (post)funding my cashmere shawl that I truly, really love. So beautiful and keeps me warm.

So there I was, staring at my bag collection. Do you know that feeling when you're at a table, eating, food spread aplenty in front of you and then suddenly you're so stuffed you can't take another bite? That's what I felt yesterday. Beyond contentment, I felt "bag saturated". Remind me to kick myself if I ever think of getting a bag again.

But don't get me wrong, I treasure my bags. Each of them serves a different purpose.

The Mismo Shopper is my "date" bag--condoms, lubricant, wallet, keys, bus ticket and phone fit nicely in that bag. And I don't have to worry about putting it somewhere dirty because the general look of the bag doesn't require it to look pristine.

The Longchamp Le Pliage is my "gym then groceries" bag. I almost let go of that bag last year, because a friend wants a Longchamp bag. But then I realized I can put my gym things in there, and then if I am to do some grocery shopping later on, I can also put them inside my bag. I hate carrying several items so that bag is a big help. Plus, being nylon, the bag itself weighs next to nothing.

The Hermès HAC is my only all-leather bag. I can put my gym things in, plus my other stuff. I am planning to use it as a carry-on luggage later.

The LV Couguar used to be all of those things, and all my bag choices later on are based on the things I think lacking from that bag. Now I find it too big for a date bag, and too small for a gym bag. Also, big ass of a logo puts me off at times.

But I am not letting it go. That bag has been with me through the most exciting and unforgettable moments of my life, and I'd be sad if I give it to some friend or relative who didn't even know its value to begin with. Yes, selling it is not an option--the handles have become so dirty and the corners scuffed that I'd have to sell it dirt cheap just for someone to take interest in it. And unlike Hermès which has a spa for their bags, LV doesn't do that.

I previously thought that my HAC would have the same dimensions as my Couguar. From this angle, they almost look the same size:

On closer inspection, they are not. The HAC is taller and its base is wider.

And if you don't appreciate those comparison pictures, I know Eric will. He's planning to get both bags in the near future.

I don't really know what the point of this post is. I guess I was just bored yesterday morning and I want to make a blog post out of my pictures.

Especially for me

2010-02-07T16:28:00.007+01:00

Today, buying a luxury brand handbag is an exercise in banality: you walk into the well-appointed store past the chic-suited security guards, peruse what's on display, choose, pay, and walk out with your purchase. The shopping experience may have been pleasant, but in the end it was no different from going to the Gap, except for the price.
Buying an Hermès handbag...is still a true experience in luxury. Hermès boutiques do receive a few bags each season to sell to customers who walk in--a bit like a good restaurant always saving a table for a regular who drops in without a reservation. But generally, if you want to buy an Hermès bag, you have to order it. The bags on display in the store are just that: display models to show you the options. You choose the material: cowhide, reptile, ostrich or even canvas. You choose the color and the kind of hardware: silver, gold, diamond-encrusted... And then you wait several months while it is made to your specifications. When it arrives in the shop and you are invited to come pick it up, it is your bag. Another woman may have a navy blue cowhide Kelly with gold hardware and turned-in seams, but that was her idea, just as yours was yours.
- Dana Thomas, How Luxury Lost Its Luster

I've waited a little more than a year for this bag and now its mine. There is a story behind the acquisition of this bag, but it's at The Purse Forum. Unless you are a member of that forum, you won't see the pictures.

So here are the pictures of my new bag, after the jump.

My bag is a 40 cm, Haut à Courroies (HAC), in prussian blue Epsom leather with palladium hardware.

It is too late to edit what I wrote in that forum, but I am glad my bag turned out the way it is. The comments are almost unanimous in saying that I am better off with tone-on-tone stitching instead of white stitching.

And just because it's not a horseshoe stamp, it doesn't mean it's not a special order. Someone from the forum remarked that my bag being in epsom leather and in a limited color, makes it a special order. Horseshoe stamps are just for bags which deviate from the usual, say, a different stitching or a different colored lining.

In any case, it's humbling to know that a single craftsperson spent about 20-30 hours making my bag entirely by hand. I feel special.

Watch this:

Thank you, Lord! I feel so blessed

I haven't abandoned my blog

2010-02-02T21:42:00.003+01:00

I have just been... busy...

There's nothing at the jump so there's no need to click.

I hope I can show this new thing over the weekend.

Letter to Chuckie

2009-11-30T14:33:00.005+01:00

Dear Chuckie,

I'm sorry if I haven't blogged for about two weeks. As you may know, I had a minor surgery performed on one of my butt cheeks. A cyst was removed. It has been with me for years, but since I'm in Denmark and hospitalization is free, I took advantage of it. Also, I noticed that it's getting bigger and sometimes it gets painful, so better to have it removed.

It meant that I had to stay home for ten days, since I cannot sit properly. Last Tuesday, I thought I was already healed. I went to watch Twilight with a friend, which meant sitting down for three hours. The next day, my stitches became so swollen I couldn't sit again. What a bummer.

Staying at home meant that I had to cook for myself every single meal, as opposed to having lunch at the office and the occasional dinners at my favorite restaurants. My friend Søren requested that I take pictures of whatever I was cooking. I only had the chance to take pictures for two dishes.

Beef with broccoli, which was taught to me by my mother:

No, I didn't eat that on one sitting. I split it into two servings and had the other serving the next day.

Pasta bolognese, which I got from the Muscle Food cookbook:

With a lot of parmesan cheese:

And because I'm at home, it's very noticeable that it gets dark very early. Like 3:30 pm early. So, with the inspiration I got from a Danish friend who visited a few weekends ago, I started to make use of my candles.

Which probably gave me a better understanding of the Danish term hygge and why the Danes are so crazy about candles. It made my apartment cozier and more inviting. As you can see from above, beside the green candles is a fragrance diffuser I got from The Body Shop. My apartment smells of brandied apples whenever I use it.

Christmas is a few days from now and I don't feel the least Christmasy. And to be honest, I don't have anything on my Christmas wishlist. Isn't that amazing? For the first time in months, I am not wishing for any material thing at the moment. I know, I know, I want a new MacBook Pro, an iPhone and that bag I ordered from Hermès but I don't feel the need to have it any time soon. And I feel relieved.

I am not even wishing for a boyfriend, and that's a big achievement, I think. I used to be this hopeless romantic, endlessly pining for "that special someone". I don't know how I did it, probably working out helped by pumping more endorphins in my brain. I just know that I am at peace with my single blessedness for the time being.

In a few weeks I'll be meeting you again after almost two years, and I can't wait.

Sincerely yours,

Me

Alain's reply

2009-11-15T12:07:00.005+01:00

When I saw the movie, 500 Days of Summer, I was greatly reminded by Alain de Botton's book, On Love.

Especially with the ideas of cosmic significance, of the need to just show people that something is beautiful, of how we just recall the good parts when we think of someone, and that we need to look again...

So I wrote Alain on Facebook:

Dear Mr. De Botton,

I don't know if this has been asked before but do you think your book On Love is the inspiration for the movie, "500 Days of Summer"? Or did you have a direct involvement with that movie?

Sincerely,

Allan

And then he answered:

Dear Allan,

Many thanks for spotting the connection. I didn't have anything to do with the movie, but it does seem that the makers were inspired by my work - but did at least have the good grace to feature my architecture book prominently.

Thanks so much for reading my stuff.

All best
Alain

Being replied to, I think, is better than getting a signed copy of his book. I love Alain.

Early Christmas

2009-11-08T16:47:00.007+01:00

It started with a question to my dear friend from NYC, Sean.

I asked him, if he were to choose between a gray, cashmere cardigan and a dark gray, down jacket, which would he choose. I asked this because I tried both items one Saturday at the COS store. I can't find a bigger picture of the cashmere cardigan but here's the down jacket. It looks black but it's really dark gray in person.

I can only have one, I told Sean. The down jacket costs about 30% more than the cashmere sweater.

He said that generally he found cashmere sweaters too warm that he's always putting them inside his bag whenever he's indoors. And pilling is a major issue. A down jacket, on the other hand, is great because it's lightweight, sturdy and it will keep you warm even if you're just wearing a T-shirt inside.

I have to be honest. Sometimes, even a fashion enthusiast like myself get tired of dressing up. Sometimes you just want to throw in a T-shirt, jeans, shoes and call it an outfit.

Last winter I wasn't able to do that. I only have one winter coat and it's not enough to shield me from the cold if temperatures reach 5°C and below. So I have to layer with a wool cardigan. Problem arises if I'm going inside a mall or a movie theater, where it's so warm I have to remove both the cardigan and the coat. One arm with the bag, another with the clothing pieces. Such a hassle.

So I opted for the down jacket.

"Can't you do color?" asked Sean. He told me he has a navy down jacket from Moncler that has been with him for two years. His is like this:

I went to Luisa Via Roma to checkout Moncler down jackets. A basic, nylon one costs like a pair of Lanvin high top sneakers. An additional hood or a change from nylon to wool tops up the price.

I told Sean that it's too pricey. "It's worth the investment," he said. "Mine has been with me for two years, through rain and snow, and still it looks brand new! Indestructible!" he said.

I haven't heard of Moncler before but based from what I've read so far and what Sean told me, if Hermès is to silk scarves and leather goods, Moncler is to down jackets.

I pondered long and hard. I haven't planned a big purchase after the snood. I am going to Manila and I need money. On the other hand, Christmas is coming. Instead of buying another Hermès scarf or that LV bag (whose price is way beyond my budget for this year) as a gift for myself, I might as well buy something useful and timely. Sure, an iPhone is timely too, but will it keep me warm in the winter? But I digress.

So last Monday, I went to Birger Christensen, the only store that stocks Moncler jackets here in Copenhagen, and inspected the jackets for the second time.

"You need some help, sir," the SA asked.

"Yeah, I'm trying to choose between these jackets," I said, letting my fingers run through the softness of Moncler merchandise.

"You've been here last Saturday, right?"

"Oh yes," I said and I think my face lit up. I'm glad when someone recognizes me in a positive way.

I've set my mind on a particular color but I let him explain about their merchandise. I'm glad he did because it turned out he's quite knowledgeable. He told me that the navy one above is more of a boxy fit but the one I like has narrower segments and the fit is closer to the body.

Without further ado, this is exactly the one I picked (pictures from Farfetch.com because they photograph it better):

The color is burgundy and the model name is Maya. As you can see, compared to the navy one above, this jacket is relatively slimmer.

And here is me modeling the jacket:

Zipped up:

The tiny logo at the side:

The washing instructions:

Sean was right: it's warm, it's lightweight and it's very soft! Coco Chanel said, "Luxury must be comfortable, otherwise it's not luxury." This is my first luxury jacket and I'm glad I got it early. Last Wednesday, the temperature dropped from 7 to 2°C, and it snowed. Luckily, I was wearing my jacket that time.

And yes, that's the Play CDG shirt I've been wanting for the longest time. I'm glad the exact design that I want--red heart, blue eyes--was still available in my size when I saw it at the Storm Store.

Merry Christmas to me!

Video: Oprah in Copenhagen

2009-11-02T20:31:00.008+01:00

Watch before it gets pulled from YouTube:

Part 1

Part 2

My thoughts:

1. They did a wonderful job filming Copenhagen. It's beautiful, just the way it is on a sunny day.

2. It's not 50% tax. The basic is 40%, and I fall under that category. I heard somewhere that if your salary reaches 60.000 DKK, and you're in the IT field, you'll pay less tax. It will take me years to reach that amount.

3. Stine's apartment is actually posh and it's the second apartment which is more representative of apartments here in Copenhagen. In most houses I've been in, it's usually furniture, ornaments, and appliances that are Danish designed. I haven't been inside an Danish-designed apartment. Although I wonder how Stine and her husband have sex at night, when it's very open and the kids' bedroom is just beside it. Hmmmm...

4. I don't like that bread, rugbrød. It's like eating a muffin dunked in beer.

5. My friend Tom told me that a Danish woman was arrested in New York for leaving her baby outside a café. Child negligence, he said.

6. There's a similarity between Oprah and Madonna: they can't decide whether to say CopenHAYgen or CopenHAHgen.

7. I've been wanting to have coffee and sandwiches at The Royal Cafe (it's beside The Royal Copenhagen, makers of fine china) but the prices scare me.

8. In a country where mediocrity is the theme (not that I'm complaining), it's not right to ask "How do you define success in Denmark?" Oprah.

The Snood

2009-10-29T18:08:00.004+01:00

Like with all things from the Burberry online store, my package came in a big box that contained the ribboned shopping bag:

And in the shopping bag was an envelope containing my goodie:

Which is the Burberry Cable Knit Snood:

To imagine how big it is, here is me trying it as a tube top:

But seriously, it's used this way (excuse my face):

I know, I know, I'm trying to emulate the runway look but it's what inspired me to get this thing. And if you know how cold it can get here in Denmark, you'd understand why I got a scarf this thick.

With my Zara asymmetrical coat:

My friend remarked that my snood so full of chic drama, and I definitely agree.

If it gets really, really cold, it can double as a hood:

Yes, I know what you're thinking: foreskin. But, like I said, if you've experienced coldness and strong wind here in Denmark during winter, you'd want to cover everything, even with the risk of being called a "dickface".

I must admit that, aside from the aesthetics of the chunky snood, what really made me buy this was the idea that I'm getting a 100% cashmere, knitted scarf. As stated on their website (highlighted in blue):

Take note that they stressed it being cashmere with the phrases "cashmere snood" and "pure cashmere".

But when I looked at the caretag:

95% wool and only 5% cashmere?! Oy!

I've emailed a complaint to Burberry's Customer Service but they haven't replied yet. My lawyer-friend from New York advised me to return it for refund, but since I like it, I've asked for an apology and a refund of shipping from Burberry instead.

I'm slowly getting ready for winter. I have two more things to get. Stay tuned.

Inspiration

2009-10-25T19:57:00.006+01:00

Like I've mentioned in my previous posts, I went back to the gym earlier this year and I am determined to do what it takes to get to the body that I want.

In 2007, I blogged that I have tried working out for about six months with all the supplements I can afford

and it didn't do much difference, except maybe that I looked healthier.

Thereafter, I have resigned to the fact that I will always be skinny no matter what. Until I created a profile on dudesnude.com and saw this guy's picture:

True, he went from being flabby to muscular but perhaps the same thing can be deduced from being skinny to muscular--that is, it takes years to achieve visible muscularity.

I previously had the idea that it's easier for white guys to grow muscles, maybe because in what I have experienced, I've seen more muscular white guys than, say, Asians.

I didn't know some of them had a hard time as well. I asked my muscular friend, Chris, about this and he said it took him four years to achieve the body that he has right now:

He used to be thin, he told me.

So, with that in mind, I hope before I turn thirty I'd have a body that I can be proud of.

Why do you want that? you might ask. Well, let's just say I'm tired of looking like a cliché. And I'll leave it at that.

P.S.

I wrote to that dudesnude guy, thanking him for posting that picture and he replied:

It's my pleasure.

I think the biggest thing I had to learn was to be patient. I would get so frustrated when there weren't immediate changes. I think the earlier you learn it's not an overnight thing, the easier it'll be for you.

Keep it up. :)

Yeah, he's a nice guy.

Being grateful

2009-10-18T20:24:00.004+02:00

Where I come from, hard work doesn't necessarily translate to, say, more purchasing power or more disposable income. To be honest, it felt like the more I worked, the poorer I got. I lived from paycheck to paycheck. A huge chunk of my salary went to paying the rent and living expenses in an expensive city near my place of work.

But that's all behind me now, and I've discussed that before. I just want to show you guys some nice things I got the past couple of months. This may look like bragging, but I'm just being grateful for all the blessings I've been getting. Just look at these boxes:

The A.P.C. box contains my A.P.C. boots.

I was planning to get something from Common Projects but when I showed my adorable friend, Søren, the picture of the shoes I was going to get, he said, "What's with the soles?" If an aspiring Danish designer tells you that, you take heed. So I did not get those.

I've had the soles reinforced with rubber:

Because the first time I took it out, it rained, and the soles felt like wet cardboard. I worried it might not last long if I continued doing that.

According to the receipt, the color is charcoal and it looks different depending on the lighting. In the picture below, taken on a cloudy day, it looks black:

With yellow light, it looks dark green:

It's like having three shoes in one!

I also bought two books from Amazon.

The first is for the mind, the other is for the body. Balance, yes?

I'm really serious with my weight gain. I want to look good in a tank top next summer, so I'm working my ass off at the gym and I'm eating the right kinds of food. So aside from that cookbook I also bought:

Which is the smallest box in my group picture above.

These are my old gloves from 2007 that I've been using until recently:

So far I've been happy with it but sometimes it gets uncomfortable especially when I'm sweaty. I feel like the velcro part on the back of my hand is unnecessary:

Sometimes I leave it undone because it would be so hot and the gloves would feel clammy.

It also doesn't reach the second segment of my fingers:

Which is quite painful especially when I'm lifting heavy weights.

But the Nike grips protects at the right places:

And leaves the back of my hand alone:

It looks cool when I'm working out. My only complaint is that it takes some getting used to of the ribbed interior. It's painful at first:

Aside from those, I also got two pairs of Cheap Monday jeans:

Because I can't stand the holes on my favorite pair of jeans any longer:

I needed a replacement and I ended up buying two pairs. It's not called Cheap Monday for nothing.

Speaking of replacements, remember this picture?

Well...

Because I can't stand that dent any longer either.

Thank you, Lord, for making me able to afford a lot of stuff now.

Autumn 2009

2009-10-18T13:06:00.004+02:00

This is what I see everyday on my way to work:

The city centre, on the other hand, looks like this:

There is a great increase of the number of people along Strøget, probably because Christmas is near:

I need a better camera.

Mismo x Storm

2009-10-11T21:51:00.008+02:00

The concept of Danish design is straightforward: it's about stripping out the unnecessary details until you end up with something very simple but not plain. Like this chair:

Or this lamp:

I was never a fan of Danish-designed things, primarily because they're expensive and I'm not into interior decorating. But when I learned that Danish design translated to more than just home furnishings and into my own alley of interests, I got hooked. Just look at these colorful briefcases:

If they look familiar, they're from the collaboration of Mismo (a Danish leathergoods company) and Storm (a Danish retailer of fashion and art) called Mismo MS, the makers of my lovely tote bag I got earlier this year. Isn't the briefcase just adorable?

If you think it's too plain, they also have a version with exterior pockets and a removable shoulder strap:

That gorgeous shade of yellow, by the way, is called Curry. I've seen it up close and it's stunning. Probably I'll get that next summer, when I'm not so much into jeans.

Inside view:

But I'm not really into briefcases. I don't pack light and I go to the gym often, so I need things that could also fit my gym necessities. Before I learned of that Louis Vuitton bag, I actually have my eye on this:

It's called the Mismo MS Weekend bag, and I may not have inside pictures but I've seen it up close, and it has a lot of interior pockets. The only thing that put me off slightly--but not enough to dismiss it entirely--are the long handles:

Other Mismo MS products include a laptop sleeve (not sure of the size):

an open tote (left of this pic):

a thin, pouch bag:

and a carryall, which is the most expensive of the lot:

These have started trickling in the Storm store here in Copenhagen but the briefcases will all be available soon by mid-November and the weekend bags by December, according to Selectism.

A small selection is available at the Tres Bien online shop. Go.

This post is dedicated to the lovely Mark, a.k.a. Fresh Mess.

My answers have been prayered!

2009-10-09T23:04:00.007+02:00

Two of my loves into one:

Thanks, Bagaholicboy. I've been looking for a bigger bag to contain my gym things and now I found it.

I wonder how much the damage will be to my bank account. Sugar daddy, I need you.

P.S.
I'm glad LV decided to reinforce the base with a leather panel. My LV bag's corners are so worn out they will soon develop into holes.

Oprah in Copenhagen

2009-09-29T13:26:00.004+02:00

From The Copenhagen Post:

A team from her Harpo production company arrived in the city today to scout locations and participants for a Danish segment of the Oprah talk show.

The 30-minute segment filmed during Winfrey’s trip will feature locals in Copenhagen showing off the city and their homes and explaining why Denmark is considered the happiest country in the world.

Read the entire article here.

My thoughts: Oprah might not want to know the real reason why the Danes are happy. It would go against "The Oprah Teachings".

From Eric Weiner:

About once a year, some new study confirms Denmark’s status as a happiness superpower. Danes receive this news warily, with newspaper headlines that invariably read: “We’re the happiest lige nu.” Lige nu is a Danish phrase that means literally “just now” but strongly connotes a sense of “for the time being but probably not for long.” Danes, in other words, harbor low expectations about everything, including their own happiness. Though not an especially religious people, Danes would make good Buddhists. They live their lives as the Buddha advised: in the present tense, not grasping at some future happiness jackpot.

Danes seem to know instinctively that expectations kill happiness, leaving the rest of us unhappy un-Danes to sweat it out on the “hedonic treadmill.” That’s what researchers call the tendency to constantly ratchet up our expectations, a sort of emotional inflation that devalues today’s accomplishments and robs us of all but the most fleeting contentment. If a B-plus grade made us happy last semester, it’ll take an A-minus to register the same satisfaction this semester, and so on until eventually, inevitably, we fail to reach the next bar and slip into despair.

In other words, Danes think like losers. Oprah might not want that.

Happy Birthday, Már!

2009-09-27T12:32:00.006+02:00

This is my Icelandic friend, Már, about four years ago.

That was taken during gay pride and he was dressed as an Icelandic farmer. And what he's wearing is the traditional Icelandic sweater (I told him to get one for me when he goes back to Iceland).

More of him:

When I showed Már those pictures, I told him, "Wow, you were so fucking hot! You should have been a model."

"Yeah," he said, wearily. "I was in my prime back then. Now, not so much."

Recently, he decide to live with his other friends and they found an apartment a few blocks next to mine. There is a nice Starbuck-esque coffee shop midway between our houses which we went to last September 20.

Of course, I took pictures. And I think he still looks good.

Today he turns 29. I've written about him before, about how we met, so I won't go into that. I just think that it's amazing how long we've been friends, considering that my first words to him were, "Hey, you're so cute. Can I add you to my MSN contacts?"

Love you, gorgeous. Stop smoking. Those cigarettes are nasty. Happy birthday!

The Great Flood

2009-09-26T11:41:00.007+02:00

When I woke up this morning, I read the status updates of my Facebook friends in Manila and got worried. One of my friends already asked for help, through Facebook, to call NDCC (National Disaster Coordinating Council). It was because the floods over in the Philippines are reaching levels of biblical proportions. Think Noah's Ark:

Inside a house:

I texted my mother but after a few minutes of not getting a reply, I tried to call her.

I could hear but she couldn't hear me. She probably placed the phone somewhere, thinking the caller--which was me--hung up, but I didn't. I listened a few minutes more. I heard my mom giving instructions to people to move things--probably furniture and appliances. I listened until the phone got disconnected.

EDIT: My mom told me later that my relatives evacuated from their house and into ours. My grandma's house got entirely submerged.

I tried calling her again but the lines are busy. I tried calling their landline telephone but she won't pick up.

I read the Facebook status of my friend who lived in the town beside ours. He said that the first floor of their house is already submerged in water. I got worried even more.

I tried calling my father who is in Saudi Arabia, in the hopes that he had talked to my mom back in Manila. Luckily, he did. And he told me that our family is safe back home.

And now I worry for my friends who live in the floodiest part of the Metro.

Preston

2009-09-20T19:54:00.006+02:00

EDIT: He posted a new picture on GWiP! View his latest hotness after the jump.

He's got looks that books take pages to tell
He's got a face to make you fall on your knees
-- Mika, Blame It On The Girls

It's a little NSFW after the jump...

His latest pic:

He is my idea of beauty. All I know is his that name is Preston. I could fall in love with those looks alone. *sigh*

P.S.

Don't do this again, Preston.

Doesn't look good on you. You look like you're trying too hard.

That was about 2 months ago, he said.

Source (NSFW).

Thanks, Joe

2009-09-18T08:16:00.006+02:00

Looky:

My blog stats shot up when Joe of 00o00 raved about my shoes. Yeah, Joe is quite famous. He even gets invited to fashion weeks.

The graph looks somewhat like a hand giving a dirty finger, doesn't it?

I'm a fan of his. I even do most of my modeling pics in his style.

Joe:

Me:

Thanks, J00o00e.

The story of my second pair of Lanvins

2009-09-12T23:26:00.011+02:00

"You know what's been depriving me of sleep lately?" I told my British friend Tom last Sunday over coffee.

"A boy? A bag?" he asked.

"No, shoes," I said. To continue this shallow streak I've been having in my blog and in real life, I have been obsessed with getting a pair of shoes.

"But probably this is a good thing, as I'm not whining about not having a boyfriend and feeling sorry for myself," I told my Icelandic friend Már. See, this is what I subject my friends through every so often, no matter what kind of passport they carry: random musings about unimportant and shallow things in life. Maybe that's the price they pay for hanging out with someone like me.

My shoe problem started when one day I wore my Chuck Taylors and discovered that the outermost layer of the sole can already be seen inside the shoes.

This is the pair that I got last 2006, when the first time I was assigned here in Denmark. I'm now an immigrant, if you haven't been following my blog that long.

I would have ignored the progressing hole in the shoes had they not been very uncomfortable to wear. I tried wearing it for a day with regular socks, then the following day, wearing a different pair of shoes, I can still feel the soreness around the area where the indentation of the Converse shoes were.

Now, I'm not an avid shoe collector. I had been meaning to buy another pair of Chucks as a replacement but I kept on putting it off for another time since I have other shoes. Then, two Mondays ago, another pair--my Florsheim sneakers I got January last year--popped open just as I left the office.

You can also see how dirty it is. A sign that I'm being cheap on shoes.

That reduced my available shoes to just two pairs--three if you count the uncomfortable Chucks which I only wear with thick socks.

"I don't believe you only have two pairs of shoes," a friend said. Technically, I have six but I can explain. Look at my shoe rack:

Let me start from the top, left to right. There are my Timberland boots, one size bigger because I found it on sale way back in 2006 and thought it would make good winter boots. It is now muddy and disgusting because I wore it last November, when my colleagues decided to have a team building activity on Denmark's countryside. The said activity involved a lot of walking about in muddy forests and fields. I was thinking of cleaning them up again, but what's the point? I don't like wearing them as they are too bulky, and the only time I'd wear them again is when there's another team building activity that would involve trips to muddy forests and fields.

Next are the Chuck Taylors I mentioned. Then my Lanvins that I got on sale. And then we get to the bottom, where we start off with the pair I got from Bruun's Bazaar.

That pair is a disappointment. When I bought it last November the soles are pristine, Lanvin-esque white (and in fact, I bought it because I couldn't afford Lanvins that time):

A few months later, the soles oxidized into a yucky shade of yellow/brown. Shame on you, Bruuns Bazaar. Here it is in comparison to Lanvin soles:

And my three-year old Converse:

It's embarrassing to wear it now, really. I'm planning to donate them to Denmark's Salvation Army since they can still function as shoes.

Rounding up the shoe rack, we get to my Florsheim shoes which I would throw away, and then my Paul Smith. Thus, I only had two good pairs to wear everyday--the Lanvins and Paul Smith--which both have suede toe caps and therefore hard to clean especially during times when it's raining.

I considered getting another pair of Chuck Taylors but it felt obligatory, like I don't feel any excitement in getting it. I toyed with the idea of getting the plaid ones but even that didn't excite me.

These are shoes we're talking about and I'm a gay guy, I told myself. Getting a pair should at least be fun.

Since it was a weekday when I felt the need to get shoes, I browsed online so that I'd have an idea of what I really want. My criteria were just two: 1) that it should be worry-free in times of rain, and 2) that it should be fitting for autumn.

I had a hard time. I was never into black or brown leather shoes, whether they'd be loafers, brogues, boots, driving shoes, etc. I don't know, probably because they remind me of school and work.

Until I found these Raf Simons and Dr. Martens 8-hole boot, and the sleep deprivation began:

To make it short, those boots are perfect: they look like they'd do well in the rain and the color is very autumn. Unlike the regular Dr. Martens, these shoes have a slightly pointy toes and the leather looks more natural. However, they'd be released on the 30th of September at Oki-Ni and I won't have the opportunity to try them on first before buying them. I'm not even sure if the DMs stockist here in Copenhagen would get them.

I was almost certain about getting these boots that when the weekend came, apart from looking for other shoes (I found none, obviously), I tried on a pair of original Dr. Martens just to know which size my feet fell at--it's 43.

Comparison picture with the Raf Simons x Dr. Martens:

In the end, after sleepless nights of arguing within myself, I did not get it. Már convinced me that Dr. Martens boots have the funny ability to make one's feet look bigger. I have a small frame and the boots might look odd on me. Furthermore, when I showed them to my other friend, she told me that it's just not me. My personality and my outfits won't go well with those boots, she said. And she was right. I was just so stubborn in accepting that those boots are not for me.

And then, last Sept 3 or 4 (I can't remember), a new pair of high top Lanvin sneakers appeared at Browns Fashion. I told my friend about it and she exclaimed, "Now those are very you!"

I should be saving up for my trip back to the Philippines on December. I should've just bought a pair of Converse (or maybe even two) and called it a day. But I just can't justify buying something I felt lukewarm about. So even if I cried a little inside when I paid for these, there was happiness when they finally arrived:

Yes, there are suede trims but they are not on the toes. And you look at them closely, they are embossed with some kind of a pattern:

And they have gray soles:

Some modeling pictures:

It is amazing how much I learned about myself from just a pair of shoes.

Now I'll be able to sleep soundly.

P.S.
Nevermind the rain.

Teaser/Filler

2009-09-10T21:07:00.006+02:00

In the tradition of Mark and Kevin...

I need some new stilettos
Can't walk, down the streets in those
You are who you wear, it's true
A girl's just as hot as the shoes she choose.

- Lady Gaga, Fashion

To be continued...

Adidas x Vespa

2009-09-05T19:41:00.006+02:00

A nice T-shirt.

Just kidding. It's this:

There are also bags, belts, jackets and other pretty things but the shirt is the one I like the most from the Adidas and Vespa collaboration.

I was looking for shoes earlier and I ended up buying that shirt instead.

P.S.

This post was inspired by Fashematics.

Hung

2009-09-01T21:40:00.003+02:00

I want to see this!

I hate that all Danish cable providers don't have HBO.

Sucks.

Major.

Portrait print T-shirt

2009-08-29T20:01:00.008+02:00

Let's face it: I'm an envious, materialistic bitch. Well, sometimes.

When Burberry Prorsum presented it's Fall-Winter 2009 collection that featured, among other things, the portrait print T-shirt:

And then later on, seen on Hollywood stars such as Aaron Paul:

and Penn Badgely of Gossip Girl (who is looking very scruffy here; I like):

I knew I had to have it. Yes, I am that shallow.

Since Burberry Prorsum for men is not sold here in Copenhagen, I was left at the mercy of the Burberry online store (thanks to Kevin for the link). The store only had the gray, long-sleeved one in stock. I haven't bought anything from Burberry, let alone the Prorsum line, so when I selected size S and typed in my credit card number, I hoped for the best and expected the worst.

The package arrived last Friday at my office, and it came in a box so huge my boss couldn't believe that it just contained a shirt. There's my size 9 feet for comparison:

It turned out that they boxed everything, including the paper bag. Inside the paper bag was an envelope containing my shirt. How lovely is this?

I won't drag it on any further. Presenting, my cotton and cashmere (15%) portrait print shirt from Burberry Prorsum (in my J00o00e-ish modeling poses):

It's a very delicate shirt. Look at the care tag:

And oh, this is the runway picture that captured my heart:

Except for the cummerbund (that knitted thing on the waist), I have a kickass tweed jacket and a pair of pinstripe pants.

I love how it goes along very well with most of my outfits. My long coat:

My wool cardigan:

And my hoodie:

Earlier today I went shopping and spotted the "inspired" shirt at Zara:

Which I ended up getting just to satisfy the longing that I had for the original white one.

Sometimes I just love fashion too much.

Paper accessory

2009-08-23T21:53:00.005+02:00

I must admit: I've been obsessed with Collier de Chien (dog collar) bracelets for as long as I've known Hermès.

But since I have tiny wrists, I avoid them whenever I go to Hermès stores. I figured it would be too embarrassing to try one on because it would just dangle on my arm instead of hugging my wrist.

Recently, Hermès came up with a do-it-yourself Collier de Chien in paper version on their website.

There are also colored versions (entailing the use of color printers) but the all-white is the one I like.

So basically, you print a PDF pattern to an A4-sized paper and follow the instructions. After about an hour of folding, cutting and pasting, voila! Your very own paper CDC. Here's mine:

Yes, like the real CDC, that circle thing in the middle moves.

And then I tried it on, using the farthest hole:

Because my wrists have a 13.5 cm circumference:

I love it!

I made two of these and found out that the best glue to use is the one that comes in a liquid form rather than stick form, because they make the bracelet sturdier. So fond of the bracelet I was, that I even wore it to work, to the surprise of my colleagues when they found out it's just made of paper. They think it looks fabulous and suits me well. I even wore it to the Madonna concert.

If the paper version corresponds to the real CDC's size, then maybe a real one would look good on me. I'm thinking of getting the white one with silver, since a white bracelet goes well with my skin tone:

But I think it's too gay, not that it had stopped me from buying things before. I just worry that it won't match most of my outfits since it looks so feminine. I also like the idea of barenia (saddle leather) with silver:

Because it looks good on this model, although his has gold hardware (right arm):

But I feel that would be boring on me.

They also come in other colors, sometimes taking from the season's current color offerings (e.g. soleil [egg yolk yellow], griolet [gray + violet], etoupe [taupe]) but the two above are the ones in my mind.

I'm not even considering the black with silver hardware. That just screams S&M to me and I'm so not into that.

Oh well, there's still a lot of time to think. I have to save up first since these bracelets are damn expensive. USD 1000 for the regular leathers, USD 1500 for lizard skin, USD 2000+ for crocodile and alligator skins.

Now, where's my sugar daddy?

We love Fred Perry

2009-08-22T16:30:00.007+02:00

Anderson Cooper and his buddy (image from Just Jared):

The guys from Guys With iPhones (site NSFW):

John Lloyd Cruz (images from Chuvaness):

And me:

Slim fit, extra small

Japanese fit (i.e. slimmer than slim fit), small

And yes, I like wearing sleeveless undershirts.

Losange

2009-08-16T21:59:00.004+02:00

Sorry for not blogging for the past couple of weeks. I have no excuse: I was lazy. I was also busy at work and at home. So, to get things going a bit, I'll just share something I got from London.

And I'm doing this because the lovely Mark got something I want and I need to remind myself that I just bought something that functions, more or less, the same way.

OK, here we go:

May I present, the Hermès cotton losange from the S/S 2009 collection.

It's not really white, as you can see below. It has light blue and black pinstripes. The center has the Hermès logo, but I try to hide it as much as I can because I don't want to look logoholic.

Modeling shots, with my brown shirt with orange piping--just because I like to match items in my outfit.

I look sleepy here:

And I feel a little blasphemous here:

OK, more Hermès later. For now, I need to wash them dishes.

Dance

2009-07-28T21:55:00.004+02:00

1. I've been in Denmark for more than a year now, but last Saturday was my first time to go clubbing here in Copenhagen. Kasper invited me to come with them to Be Proud, a newish gay club near the city centre. I've always felt lonelier in clubs and similar places but last Saturday was different. Aside from Kasper, there was Mette and A.K., who were Kasper's friends. Unlike clubbing with other gay guys, straight girls have very little chance of hooking up with anyone at a gay club, so they're always there to talk to whenever I'm back at the table, taking a break from dancing.

2. It is a little known fact about me that I love to dance. I have a playlist containing Madonna, Britney, Mariah, Kylie and Lady Gaga dance songs that I sometimes play out loud in my home and I dance by myself. So when I went to Be Proud's dance floor, Madonna's "Give It 2 Me" suddenly played, and the club was transformed to a happy place. It was better than dancing alone in my apartment, perhaps because I'm a bit tipsy and there were other people dancing to the same music. Maybe it's just me but I felt like I dance better than most of the guys at the dance floor.

3. There are a lot of cute gay guys at Be Proud, and most of them I haven't seen on boyfriend.dk.

4. A friend of mine who goes to Be Proud quite often confirmed this--that indeed, there is a substantial amount of gay guys in Copenhagen who don't have profiles on "Denmark's largest online community for homosexuals". I wonder if I am missing out a lot by not meeting these guys. "Yes you are," he said. "But I don't want to date a party animal," I said. "Just because they go out occassionally, it doesn't mean they're party animals," my friend said. He had a point.

5. But clubbing is costly. Not only with the money spent on entrance fees and trying to get drunk, but also with time. I went home around 4 am and although I slept until about 1 pm, I did not feel fully rested and felt a little hangover when I got up. I was supposed to start my London travelogue that Sunday but because I felt like crap, the only useful thing I was able to do was fold my clothes.

6. Moreover , I don't have girl friends like A.K. and Mette who would go out with me. And I can't be bothered to go clubbing by myself. Sure, there is Chris but he knows a lot of people from the Copenhagen gay scene. I'm sure he'd be chatted up by someone upon entering the club's door and I'd be left by myself.

7. It's not that I want to hook up with people in a club. Sure, that's always at the back of my mind whenever I go clubbing--that exciting possibility of meeting someone cute who's interested in me. But more than that, I just want to dance.

The weekend in pictures (World Outgames edition)

2009-07-26T21:41:00.008+02:00

UPDATE: Now with video.

It was the start of the World Outgames (i.e. queer olympics) yesterday and Copenhagen got a little gayer.

The opening ceremony for the Outgames was held at Rådhuspladsen, the city square.

I was with my Icelandic friend, Már, and my English friend, Tom. But eventually, Már went to hang out with his Icelandic friends. Good thing I had Tom with me.

We were there about two hours before the ceremony but still, we didn't get so close to the stage.

The stage was like a big runway with scaffoldings that--as we learned later on--were to be used by acrobats in the opening ceremony.

The big screen entertained the audience while waiting for the opening.

After a few more minutes of waiting, the stage lit up...

and the torch was lighted:

It was the start of World Outgames 2009;

The ceremony was hosted by a guy with a British-sounding accent:

After his speech, the participating countries were introduced.

Some were creative enough to make a gay version of their flag. Canada was the best and I tried to take a picture of their gay flag but my camera wasn't cooperating.

And oh, here is one of the many acrobats that performed in the show.

My friend Kasper was visiting Copenhagen and we agreed to meet. At around 10 pm, I finally got to see in person the guy I've known online since the last quarter of 2006. I remember the first time I saw him online, the first thing I said was, "You know, you look like a young Tom Cruise!"

And he said, "You look like Jackie Chan!" Then we went on talking and found out that, for a Dane, he's pretty good in English. He was 17 when I first met him. Now he's turning 20.

So last night, when I saw him I wasn't able to help myself.

"Oh my god, Kasper! You're SO cute in person!" He really is! And then later on, I wasn't able to help myself. "Can I take you picture?" I asked.

"Sure," he said.

The picture doesn't do justice. He's WAY cuter in person, I swear.

Of course I didn't stop there. I asked Tom to take a picture of the two of us together:

He told me he was making fun of me in that picture, so I asked for another one:

When the opening ceremonies were finished, Kasper asked me to come with him and his friends to go clubbing.

Who am I to decline, right?

I look like shit beside Kasper but what the heck, I like being photographed with him.

And the two girls, A.K. and Mette, were so much fun! I love hanging out with Danish kids!

I'm a model

2009-07-18T22:47:00.003+02:00

You know what I mean. And I do my little turn on the streets of London.

I love London.

*sigh*

London

2009-07-16T23:39:00.003+02:00

I'm in London so posting will be limited.

And call me a spoiled brat but I really like nice hotels.

Later,

A.

Orange

2009-07-07T21:48:00.003+02:00

When I went to Hermès Amsterdam last month and bought my ring

the sales associate gave me a sample of Eau d’Orange Verte, a cologne. Now, I’ve heard about this before from a friend of mine (who reads this blog and is also my boyfriend in a parallel universe), who told me that there’s a fragrance from Hermès that reminded him of orange trees.

I haven’t had a chance to experience orange trees so I have no such memories to evoke and I’m not usually into fragrances. But when I tried wearing the cologne a couple of times, I liked it for it’s orange scent without being too orangey. Naturally, the sample ran out and I missed it.

So I bought an entire bottle.

Pregnant women are so sensitive to smells but even my pregnant friend liked it, so it must be good.

The weekend in pictures

2009-07-05T22:09:00.007+02:00

See that Western Union sign at the left hand side of the picture? To its right is where I have my hair cut by my Icelandic hairdresser. Had a haircut yesterday.

Then had lunch at this place:

Lunch itself was a bit bland, not to mention pricey:

But I had a great view of sunny Copenhageness so what the heck:

Met up with my friend Chris afterwards; he wanted to go to the beach before going to the dinner party we were both invited at. My house is near the beach in question so we decided to walk and got lost a bit. Here's Chris telling us which way to go:

It took a long walk to the beach. Along the way we saw hot guys, including fathers who manage to look hot despite the age of their kids:

Are we there yet? All I could see were houses:

Ah, there it is, I think. I see water:

Or not. It's just some stream with a bit of nasty odor:

There it is! Beach:

Artificial one, though:

Chris, trying to spread the blanket:

He asked me if I had swimming trunks. Because he did:

"No, I think I'll just stay here. Have fun!"

There were hot guys everywhere but I only managed to take a picture of this guy that reminded me of Colossus from X-Men:

"The water was warm! I was pleasantly surprised!" Chris said.

He decided to work on getting his tan even:

But failed because it was too cloudy. And besides, we were late for the dinner party:

And like most dinner parties I've been to here in Denmark, it starts with drinks in the living room. Chris again, and Mikkel, who reads this blog:

My funny, American friend Matt who, in all honesty, is lovely to listen to:

Dinner was served:

The hosts Daniel:

And his boyfriend, Pelle:

One of the best-looking couples I've ever seen.

Anyway, the food was divine! Roast beef with potato balls and veggies:

The dessert was ice cream but such I'm an ice cream fanatic, that forgot to take a picture of it. Here's my bowl anyhow:

After a while, more guests came. Like this guy:

And these guys:

Photo op with good-looking friends:

Earlier today I met with my friend, Tom of England. But that's another entry.

Blue shorts

2009-07-03T21:46:00.005+02:00

I am unusually drawn to blue things that sometimes, I feel like a Satin Bowerbird—you know, that Australian bird that collects blue things to decorate his nest.

Yesterday, when I picked up my passport from the British embassy—I’m going to London—I passed by Magasin and bought a pair of shorts in a delicious shade of blue.

It’s still hot today, so I decided to wear them to the office.

They are from Mads Nørgaard, a well-known Danish designer. My other pair of shorts I posted here are also from Mads Nørgaard. I like them because they are slim-fitting and tapered…

…and they make my ass look good…

So last night, I was talking to one of my friends and I realized, I haven’t had sex in almost three weeks and I haven’t noticed it. Usually, whenever I reach the 2-weeks-without-sex mark, I get cranky and all I can think about is getting jackhammered in the butt.

But probably, since I became busy with the summer sales and preparing for my London trip, having sex is the farthest thing from my mind.

Which is probably a good thing, I suppose.

And oh, speaking of sex, what do you think about having sex with your friends? I don’t mean fuck buddies. I mean the ones you hang out with, go to movies with, tell your dirtiest secrets to, share your embarrassments with, etc. In Scandinavia—or maybe in Europe—it’s normal to have sex with friends. I think it’s appalling but I am sleepy and I can’t concoct a persuasive argument about it right now.

What I wore to work yesterday

2009-06-30T22:16:00.003+02:00

Because it's really warm here in Denmark right now.

Gone were the days of dressing up in long-sleeved shirts and slacks and leather shoes in a hot and humid city, and horrible work and long hours and low pay.

P.S.
I'm not a fan of rolled-up shorts; my knees are not pretty.

Future boyfriend

2009-06-30T20:58:00.003+02:00

My future boyfriend will look a lot like this:

I'll use The Secret.

Source.

Goodness gracious!

2009-06-28T14:24:00.006+02:00

It will be my first time to go back home to the Philippines after moving here in Denmark.

I decided that this year, I will spend both Christmas and New Year with my family.

But it seems like I won't be home for Christmas. Just look at these prices offered by KLM:

Click here to convert from DKK to whatever currency you like.

I need a sugar daddy.

Rob

2009-06-28T13:31:00.004+02:00

I am sleep-deprived today and I feel depressed for some reason, but this video cheered me up:

So cute! I hope I meet someone like him in London.

P.S.
There is a bug with my blog's template. It always adds a jump even if the entry shouldn't have a jump (like this one, for instance). I hope I find a nicer template in the future.

An update on the crush

2009-06-24T21:16:00.004+02:00

Previously, I wrote about my crush here.

And now I'm going to tell you what happened the next day. But first, some more visual aids for the previous entry.

Here was the eating place I mentioned in my previous entry:

See that black-haired woman with a light blue green shirt?

To her left is where I sat, and to my left sat my colleague and crush.

So the next day I wore a nice outfit.

When I removed the jacket, I rolled the sleeves like this:

I was wearing my new shoes, of course.

I'm glad I looked presentable because I bumped into him at the canteen. But before that, I sent him an email, since he was not online on the office IM. I told him that it was so hard to find him in the office directory because there were tens of guys who had a name like him. "But anyway", I added in the email, "you could chat with me in case you get bored".

So back to meeting him at the canteen. I made an eye contact and let him be the first to greet me.

"Hey Allan!"

"Hey! I sent you an email. But when I looked at my Sent Folder, the name of the recipient changed. You don't have an inbox?"

"Oh, we [his project] are not connected to the office network. All my office emails are received by my boss. What did you write to me about?"

Oh god, I thought. I was relieved I didn't write anything flirtatious or gay.

"Oh nothing! I just said Hi."

"OK. Did you know if it was forwarded to my personal email?"

"I don't know." I didn't receive an email from his boss, telling me that he/she forwarded the email.

While talking to him--we were both holding trays with food on plates--I noticed that he had wounds on the upper left side of his face.

"You're injured."

"Yeah. Didn't you see that when we met?"

No, because I was mesmerized by your smile and your eyes and your sexy facial hair.

"No, I did not!"

"Oh because you were in my right side," he said.

"Yeah, probably."

"OK, I'll see you, Allan."

"See you."

Then we continued to get food from the buffet. Separately, because I was with my friends and he was with his.

Until this writing, I haven't heard from him. I don't know if my email was forwarded to him or not. Maybe it was only wishful thinking on my part that he was gay. Or maybe he's gay, but he realized he's not that into me.

Whatever. I don't want to think anymore.

Books, shoes, a green shirt and a crush

2009-06-21T18:12:00.008+02:00

As you may have noticed from reading my entries, I rarely talk about my work. I mean, what is there to talk about? My job is just too precious to be taken lightly on a site like this. And besides, my personal life is interesting enough. But today, I won’t be able to resist dropping words like, “office”, “my boss” and “colleague” because they are a part of the entire weekend experience along with my additional summer sale acquisitions and the cute boy who talked to me at the mall. I don’t want to assume too much but I have a hunch he is gay.

Last Thursday was the day the full force of the sale season began, and I feared that the shoes I’ve been wanting even before I went to Amsterdam would be gone without a fight. I left the office early but as it turned out, I didn’t leave early enough—the mall was just closing when I got there.

What in the world did these people eat that they choose to close the mall at 7 pm on a Thursday? Granted, shopping is not so much a part of the Danish culture like getting drunk or lighting candles. But still, don’t they want some retail therapy every now and then?

Good thing the newly opened Taschen bookstore was still open that time and had some sale wherein they sold “slightly damaged” art books at ridiculously low prices. So to console myself, I grabbed a Caravaggio and a Hopper that added to my Kahlo:

Now back to the shoes.

I am not really a shoes person. I only have about five pairs of shoes and one of those, I only use in the winter. The last time I bought shoes was last January, when I bought those Lanvins.

Recently, I inspected my Chuck Taylors that I have been wearing since 2006 and I was able to see the outer soles inside the shoes! That’s how worn out it was.

My anxiety about getting new shoes grew (“What if they’re gone? I need a new pair and I really, really like those shoes!”), especially with the sale. I just felt that the shoes that I want will be a part of the reduced prices, and I worried it would be snapped up in an instant.

So the next morning, Friday, I told my boss via email that I’d be coming to work late—I have about three hours of flextime after all. After sending the mail, I looked at my office calendar and I saw that I had a meeting at 11 am (stores open at 10 am and it takes at least an hour from the city center to the office) so I ditched my plan and emailed my boss again. When I finally arrived at the office, panting and sweaty because of walking fast just to be there in time, I learned that the meeting I rushed for was canceled. How lovely.

This time, I left the office really early. Like almost two hours earlier than the usual.

It was painless. I went to the mall, saw the pair that I want, tried it on and paid at the cashier. The entire process took just about fifteen minutes. And the shoes that made me anxious before were now mine:

I love the tiny details like the lining, the random black eyelets:

And the coat of arms, which is very witty:

Oh, but when I compared the discounted price against the price at the Paul Smith website, the shoes on the website are still cheaper! I love Danish prices.

Saturday came and I felt like I needed to shop some more. It’s sale season and I don’t really do shopping that often. After a few hours of wandering through the streets at the city center, I ended up with this:

It’s my first Lacoste shirt. I’ve never bought any Lacoste shirt before because it’s:

a) too expensive for a shirt
b) even at the smallest size, I look like I’m wearing someone else’s clothes

This one is slim-fit and size 2 (I feel like Ashley Judd in Double Jeopardy). And it’s 30% off.

And then after shopping I was hungry.

At the basement of a department store called Magasin, there’s this tiny restaurant with a bar-like area where one can also eat. As I was ordering food at the counter, I saw a familiar face sitting on one of the bar stools: it was one of my crushes at the office! The blond and stubbled guy that reminded me of Brad Pitt—OK, he’s not as hot as Brad Pitt but still, his features remind me of Brad Pitt, with glasses.

After paying for my food and getting my number, I saw that the seat beside my crush was vacant.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” I asked my crush.

“No no. It’s free,” he said, and proceeded to eat his burger with knife and fork.

I settled and took a few sips of my apple juice. When I realized my food might take longer than I expected, I brought out a book from my bag—Tales Of Travelrotica For Gay Men—and started reading. About five minutes into the book, my number vibrated, which means my food is ready. Perhaps my crush saw my clueless face that he told me, “Just go over there,” pointing to the kitchen, “and get your food.”

I put my book down at the table like this to mark the page that I’m reading..

… and when I looked back while on my way to the kitchen, I saw that he was checking out my book.

When I got back, no sooner have I placed the food—a cheesy risotto made with quinoa instead of rice—on my table when he asked me, “So, where are you from?”

“I’m from the Philippines,” I said.

“And what are you doing here in Denmark?” he asked.

“Actually—wait, you look familiar,” I said. “Do you work at (my company’s name)?”

“Well, yes! How did you know?”

“Because I’m an employee of (my company’s name).”

“What a coincidence!” he said. I thought, “It’s not exactly a coincidence, my love.”

And then he added, “But I haven’t seen you before.” Ouch. I often see you at the canteen during lunch, you dimwit!

“Oh, because I work on the other side of the building,” I said.

We talked some more and since he was a Dane, I let him do the interrogation. I did not want to go inside his personal space of one-kilometer radius.

While we were talking, his phone rang. It was his friend, I assume, since even with my limited Danish skills, I caught that he was telling his friend about me, something that went like, “I’m at Magasin… am sitting here beside a Filipino who apparently is my colleague.”

When he hung up, I asked him, “So, do you like your phone?”

“Yes, I like it a lot.”

“I hear that it’s difficult to use it for text messaging.”

“No, not at all. Here, try it.”

I pretend to wipe my hand on my pants. He told me, “You didn’t have to do that.”

Of course I didn’t. I was just trying to look humble. And then I played with his iPhone. He even demonstrated some features to me. And was it just me or can I feel some excitement coming from him?

After a few minutes of more talking, he stood up and told me he has to go.

“So, I’ll see you in the office. Say hi,” he added.

“I will. Have a nice day,” I said.

“You too!”

We have instant messaging at the office. I can’t wait to go back to work again.

My sugar is raw

2009-06-17T20:35:00.004+02:00

It wasn't really my intention to watch Madonna's concert here in Copenhagen. I mean, I don't want to compete with diehard Madonna fans all over Europe for concert tickets. I hear it only takes about an hour for these kind of things to be sold out.

Well, Ben recently decided to live for two and a half months in Brazil (long story), thereby missing this concert that he would have watched with his Brazilian boyfriend, who would come back to Copenhagen in time to see the concert. And because I'm the only gay friend of Ben here in Copenhagen (I think), he asked if I wanted to have his ticket. I realized it would be too much if I accepted it (and really, as much as possible I do not want to owe one anything and the ticket is 900 DKK), so I told him if I could buy his ticket instead. He offered that I could just pay half the price of the ticket--probably because, once in the not-so-distant past, he loved me.

I kid. He's a really nice guy and he's just being a friend.

Thus the ticket came into my possession last night.

"Oh I forgot to tell you," said Ben. "You'll be sitting beside my boyfriend."

"That's OK," I said. "As long as he doesn't punch me."

"No no. He knows about you. There are no secrets between the two of us."

"Great. Then I'll tell him how great you are in bed."

He laughed, and then he hugged me, and kissed me, and off we went to bed.

Like J00o00e

2009-06-13T19:52:00.005+02:00

So earlier, I stimulated the economy. I just wanted to buy two or three shirts because summer is coming (I hope), but I ended up buying five. I entered Birger Christensen and saw that there was a sale--up to 50% off!

Here are my pics that look like they're slightly inspired by Joe of 00o00, but actually, I just set my camera on my clothes dryer and in every shot, my face is chopped off. And I'm covering the mess of clean clothes at my back with the curtain.

First are the things I bought at BC.

Purple shirt by Prada, that I got at 40% off. It's difficult to capture the color. My Sony camera captures it as bluish, while my Mac iSight captures it as light purple. I guess the true color is between the two. And I like that it fits me like a slim-fit Fred Perry.

And a white Margiela shirt that I also got at 40% off:

A Prada bag was also on sale, 40% off. It was this style and color:

If I wasn't going to London next month, I would've bought this in an instant. Oh well, maybe it's not meant to be.

Before finding out about the sale at BC, I dropped by Zara to get a few of their "super slim fit" tees. I discovered them before my trip to Amsterdam and I like it because they fit me very well, and they are very cheap (one shirt costs about two Big Mac meals at McDonald's). Now I have a total of five. These three I bought today.

White:

Greyish blue:

Navy:

I love Zara! I love my shirts!

Happy happy joy joy!

What Happened In Amsterdam

2009-06-07T22:55:00.002+02:00

I haven't been posting lately because I was writing a travelogue about Amsterdam. Click here. Yes, it's on The Purse Forum because it's Hermès-related. If you're not an Hermès fan, just ignore the Hermès jargon.

Go.

I need an iPhone

2009-05-19T23:40:00.003+02:00

But first, I need to go to the gym and work out for at least a year.

Click here (NSFW).

Amsterdam

2009-05-03T10:44:00.004+02:00

May 22 - 25, 2009!

I'm so excited. And my friend, an American woman, is going to pick me up at the airport and drive me to my hotel. How sweet is that?

I'm going to stay here:

Shushality!

Priceless

2009-05-01T16:12:00.002+02:00

I was reading The Copenhagen Post earlier and I chanced upon this article. Read the comments; they are priceless.

And yes, I can't agree more with them.

Sold!

2009-04-26T22:20:00.003+02:00

1. I sold my LV Porte Document Vertical to an Italian guy I've never met. It's his first LV bag.

I think he's lucky he had a great deal. The bag is in almost new condition, the hardware is still shiny, it's out of production (it's from the FW 07-08 collection) and he got it for a little more than what you'd pay for that ugly Beaubourg.

2. Two Saturdays ago, my friends and I went to the Copenhagen Sakura Festival. It was my first time to see cherry blossoms up close, and I think this is the best picture I've ever taken.

3. That would be all for now. I need to focus on what I'll be writing. I want to be published somewhere. I'll post it here, if ever it gets accepted.

My Name Means

2009-04-16T14:35:00.004+02:00

By the advise of a friend, I went to this site to check out what my name means.

Here's the result:

There are 22 letters in your name.
Those 22 letters total to 72
There are 10 vowels and 12 consonants in your name.

What your first name means:

English	Male	Variant of Alan: Fair; handsome. Also both a diminutive of Albert (noble, bright) and an abbreviation of names beginning with Al-.
Celtic	Male	Harmony, stone, or noble. Also fair, handsome. Originally a saint's name, it was reintroduced to Britain during the Norman Conquest, remained popular throughout the Middle Ages, and was revived in the 19th century. See also Allen.

Your number is: 9

The characteristics of #9 are: Humanitarian, giving nature, selflessness, obligations, creative expression.

The expression or destiny for #9:
The expression that you exhibit is represented bythe number 9. Your talents center in humanistic interests and approaches. You like to help others as you were intended to be the 'big brother or big sister' type. You operate best when you follow your feelings and sense of compassion, and allow yourself to be sensitive to the needs of others. You work well with people, and have the potential to inspire. This suggests that you could successfully teach or counsel. Creative ability, imagination and artistic talent (often latent) of the highest order are present in this expression. It's possible that you're not using or developing all of these capabilities at this time. Some of your talents may have been used at an earlier time in your life, and some may still be latent. Be aware of your capabilities, so that you can make use of them at appropriate times.

If you are able to achieve the potential of your natural expression in this life, you are capable of much human understanding and have a lot to give to others. Your personal ambitions are likely to be maintained in a very positive perspective, never losing sight of an interest in people, and a sympathetic, tolerant, broad-minded and compassionate point of view. You are quite idealistic, and disappointed at the lack of perfection in the world. You have a strong awareness of your own feeling as well as those of others. Friendships, affection, and love are extremely important.

Undeveloped or ignored, the negative side of the 9 expression can be very selfish and self-centered. If you do not actively involve yourself with work that benefits others, you may tend to express just the opposite characteristics. It is your role to be very involved with other people and their needs, but it may be difficult for you achieve this role. Aloofness, lack of involvement, and a lack of sensitivity mark the low road of this expression.

Your Soul Urge number is: 6

A Soul Urge number of 6 means:
With a number 6 Soul Urge, you would like to be appreciated for your ability to handle responsibility. Your home and family are likely to be a strong focus for you, perhaps the strongest focus of your life. Friendship, love, and affection are high on your list of priorities for a happy life. You have a lot of diplomatic tendencies in your makeup, as you a able to rectify and balance situations with an innate skill. You like working with people rather than by yourself. It is extremely important for you to have harmony in your environment at all times.

The positive side of the 6 Soul Urge produces a huge capacity for responsibility; you are always there and ready to assume more than your share of the load. If you possess positive 6 Soul Urges and express them, you are known for your generosity, understanding and deep sympathetic attitude. Strong 6 energy is very giving of love, affection, and emotional support. You may have the inclination to teach or serve your community in other idealistic ways. You have natural abilities to help people. You are also likely to have artistic and creative leanings.

If you have an over-supply of 6 energy in your makeup, you may express some of the negative traits common to this number. With such a strong sympathetic attitude, it is easy to become too emotional. Sometimes the desires to render help can be over done, and it can become interfering and an attitude that is too protective, rather than helpful. The person with too much 6 energy often finds that people tend to take advantage of this very giving spirit. You may tend to repress your own needs so that you can cater to the demands from others. At times, there may be a tendency in this, for becoming over-loaded with such demands, and as a result become resentful.

Your Inner Dream number is: 3

An Inner Dream number of 3 means:
You dream of artistic expression; writing, painting, music. You would seek to more freely express your inner feeling and obtain more enjoyment from life. You also dream of being more popular, likable, and appreciated.

Maybe I should change my job. Hmmmm....

Bolduc

2009-04-12T14:28:00.004+02:00

After the things I've been through recently, I am fortunate to have something that would cheer me up. I've been wanting this since October last year. I don't want to repeat myself so I'll just point you to the thread I made in the Hermès subforum of tPF, for the story.

Anyway, here are the pictures. Presenting, the Hermès Bolduc Au Carré cashmere GM shawl in the orange colorway. I think this was issued last 2007:

And here are some modeling pics:

October - November - December - January - February - March - April

The wait made it all sweeter. It's so soft and fluffy and warm. If only I could marry my shawl, I would.

Happy Easter to everyone!

An Affair To Remember

2009-04-05T18:08:00.003+02:00

Note: You might want to read this post first, since it’s the prequel.

1. Exactly how the topic came into the conversation, I can’t recall right now. All I can remember was he telling me, in a voice rising to a crescendo, to not to come to his city just to visit him.

“I’ll come here in Denmark again, don’t worry,” he added. Our backs were at the opposite corners of my black couch.

“But you told me before, that I could go there and you can drop by my hotel during lunch break,” I said.

“I don’t even know if I’d be available to sneak out during lunchtime by the time you’ll be there.”

I let out a sigh.

“If you go there, nothing will change. The situation would still be the same,” he said.

Surprisingly enough, my brain accepted that statement with open arms. Based from my emotional and mental state these past few days, I should have started crying. But instead my mouth just went dry and I had to take a sip of water.

“Listen,” he said, holding my hands. “Why don’t we just enjoy the moment we are together?”

“You know, that’s exactly what I was thinking. Let’s drop the subject,” I said.

There was a brief silence and we stared at each other.

“So how’s Norway?” I asked with awkward cheeriness. He was just there on a weeklong ski trip.

2. “Love reinvents our needs with unique speed,” wrote Alain de Botton in his essayistic novel, On Love. Within a few days after we’ve met, I have completely abandoned my plans to go to Amsterdam in summer and the US in the fall, and to visit him instead in his country. I had planned to do it once every month, over the course of this year (and maybe even the next), in the hopes that one day, he will realize that he’s happier with me than with his husband.

I was even thinking about logistics that would follow after he breaks up with him: I would definitely be the one to move since he doesn’t want to leave his country. But before that I should find a job. And I’d have to go back to the Philippines again to get a different visa stamped to my passport.

I was already thinking of the hassle I will endure.

3. His statement acted as an antidote to the insane ideas in my head. It was as if my entire being accepted that I had nothing to expect from him, and indeed, I should just enjoy the moment that we were together.

4. Hours later, when he had left my apartment and gotten back to his aunt's place, I would tell him that the best thing that I like about him, physically, is his face before and after a kiss. I love the way his face acquires a blend of masculinity and passion; his face neatly framed with beard stubbles; his red lips, his nose and his eyes looking at my lips. “It’s a very beautiful sight,” I told him.

“Your skin smells good,” he told me while kissing my shoulders. He kissed my lips, my neck, my nipples, my tummy, and when he got at my back, he traced my spine upwards with his tongue. I was in a state of utter bliss.

5. We fucked twice. The first time I didn’t come, but he did. We cuddled for a short while. I was again at the “nook”. I told him his armpits smell nice. “It’s probably from the things I eat,” he said.

And then we fucked again. This time we both came and when I looked at his condom, it was as if he came for the first time. “Gosh, you produce so much cum,” I told him. “I know,” he said.

I thanked him for being kind. Most guys wouldn’t give you a second chance of reaching orgasm.

Last night, I wasn’t able to sleep well. His smell still lingered on the sheets and my pillow. Like the Proustian madeleine dunked in a lime blossom tea, my pillow and sheets gave my memory repetitive jolts that made me recall all the talking, kissing, fondling, sucking and fucking that happened just a few hours ago.

6. To quote Avril Lavigne, he was “everything, everything that I wanted.” Only that he belonged to someone else.

Since it’s the first Sunday of the month today, a lot of shops are open. He told me he’s going downtown to meet with his cousin who works in a department store. He might buy some things because of his cousin’s discount. I told him I’m also going out, and he said that we might run into each other.

“Should I not greet you when that happens?” I asked.

“Allan, you already know the answer to that question,” he said. Of course, I did. Yesterday, he told me that this cousin of his knows that he is married and is nosey. In other words, he and I can’t be seen together around that area, unlike before. And if we are to see each other by accident, we shouldn’t acknowledge each other’s presence.

It was as if the mention of his boyfriend every now and then in our conversation isn’t painful enough.

7. He’ll be leaving Denmark on Monday evening. I told him that I’m still on vacation until Monday, and we could still meet, even if we don’t have sex. He was not sure about that. He told me he’d be keeping his boyfriend.dk account just for me, and that we’d still write to each other.

He had established from the start, even before we met in person, that he still loves his boyfriend.

It was me who didn’t keep the end of the bargain. I fell in love. It was just casual sex to begin with.

I don’t expect him to keep the same level of conversation that we had before we even met. I don’t even know what would happen between us when he comes back home to his husband. I am not expecting anything.

But if there’s one thing I know—and this is based from experience and not from wishful thinking—it’s this: boys come back to me. They always do.

Oh, and this is me and my friend, Chuck:

Tearjerker

2009-03-30T16:40:00.003+02:00

The universe is making fun of me and my feelings. Yesterday, I was thinking about how the recent events unfolded and is now torturing me to no end, when this song was shown in the TV. It's Love Story by Taylor Swift:

Below are the lyrics to the song and in italicized bold letters are the parts that made me cry. I hate myself when I am like this.

We were both young when I first saw you.
I close my eyes and the flashback starts:
I'm standing there on a balcony in summer air.

See the lights, see the party, the ball gowns.
See you make your way through the crowd
and say hello;

Little did I know
That you were Romeo; you were throwing pebbles,
And my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet."
And I was crying on the staircase,
begging you, 'Please, don't go.'

And I said,
"Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone.
I'll be waiting; all there's left to do is run.
You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess
It's a love story - baby just say 'Yes.'

So I sneak out to the garden to see you.
We keep quiet 'cause we're dead if they knew.
So close your eyes; escape this town for a little while.
'Cause you were Romeo, I was a scarlet letter,
And my daddy said "Stay away from Juliet,"
But you were everything to me; I was begging you, 'Please, don't go,'

And I said,
"Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone.
I'll be waiting; all there's left to do is run.
You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess
It's a love story - baby just say 'Yes.'

Romeo save me; they're tryin' to tell me how to feel.
This love is difficult, but it's real.
Don't be afraid; we'll make it out of this mess.
It's a love story - baby just say 'Yes.'

Oh.

I got tired of waiting,
Wondering if you were ever comin' around.
My faith in you was fading
When I met you on the outskirts of town.

And I said,
"Romeo save me - I've been feeling so alone.
I keep waiting for you but you never come.
Is this in my head? I don't know what to think-"

He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring and said,
"Marry me, Juliet. you'll never have to be alone.
I love you and that's all I really know.
I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress;
It's a love story - baby just say 'Yes.'

Oh, oh.

We were both young when I first saw you..

Loverboys

2009-03-29T11:16:00.007+02:00

1. "I want to do this," I said and moved closer to him, putting my head in the corner made by his neck and shoulders. My right thigh was on his left, his left arm was embracing me. "You smell so good, what perfume are you wearing?"
"Allure for men. Chanel."
My hands reached for his other available hand and I played with it. "My skin is so dry," he said.
"It doesn't matter," I said and between his fingers I placed mine.
"You're quiet. What's on your mind?" he asked.
Nothing was going on my mind. I just wanted to enjoy the moment and forget about where he came from, his life and my life. Just that moment where I am savoring his smell, the slight roughness of his skin, the warmth of his arms on my shoulders. Thankfully, the television was on. "Oh, that's Lady Gaga," I said, showing him the video of Lady Gaga. He hasn't heard of her. He likes hip-hop music.

2. He had most of the things I found attractive in a guy. He had a shaved head, green eyes, and a generous amount of facial hair. Stubbled guys turn me on. Plus, he was a bit stocky which is always a good thing for me as I like hugging people. This is why I'm never into skinny guys: I don't like to feel bones. He can also be mistaken for a straight guy. There is one thing though: he's about an inch or two shorter than me.

3. I never was into shorter guys and he was never into Asians. But our notions of beauty are not hard-wired into our systems, said Alain de Botton. Last year, I went out on a date with a short Palestinian guy, and I found out that I can be attracted to short guys; while he went on a summer vacation to Southeast Asia and there he developed an attraction for cute Asian guys.

4. I had known him since the last few weeks of December in 2008. He lives in a country northwest of Europe and would be visiting Copenhagen this March. A few months after talking to him online, I found out he is married to a black guy, who was originally born in South America. He regularly had sex with other guys (without his husband knowing) and that was a secret that he shared with me. I'll just be one of the guys he sleeps with, and I am all for random sex, especially with hot guys like him. It would be just sex, right? I was wrong.

5. I should have seen it coming. He is often sweet without knowing it. For instance, he knows that I like expensive bags and told him that I ordered a bag from Hermès. A few days later, he asked what's the status of my order. I told him that I found it amusing that he is interested in my bags. Most people just don't care. The last guy I had a brief affair with made fun of my expensive habit. I told him it was refreshing to meet someone who was interested in my bags.

"Don't get me wrong. I won't be buying one," he said.
"Oh no, just the fact that you're interested in them makes me a bit happy," I said.
"Well, it's a part of your personality and interests. That's why it's interesting."

6. Once, he even made a long-distance call that lasted for about thirty minutes. He tried to speak Filipino to me while I laughed at him.

7. It would just be sex without feelings, I thought before meeting him. I have done that many times. Until recently, I was even doing it with Ben, even if he had hinted that he and I should be boyfriends. I thought I have mastered the art of being Samantha Jones.

8. His sense of humor caught me by surprise. I haven't met anyone that funny, and believe me it's hard for me to find someone who is because, in all humility, I think I am funny myself. I have often thought that people who say that sense of humor makes someone attractive are those people who rationalize the poor aesthetic qualities of their significant others. I didn't know that it can actually make someone really attractive. And being with him is something akin to being in a sitcom: we finish each other's sentences, we make fun of each other, we make fun of ourselves and act like we've known each other for a very long time. We were like Will and Grace. I was Grace.

9. Add that to his amazing skills in bed. And those lips. And he smells really good, even at the nether regions of his body. It's amazing.

10. It was my first time to cuddle. My head was at "the nook", as Carrie Bradshaw called it when she was with Aidan. We were slightly sweaty, naked, one of my arms was on his belly, which he was stroking. We talked like lovers. He kissed my forehead a number of times.

11. When we looked at the watch, it was already 3 pm and we haven't had lunch. We decided to eat at McDonald's. He stated his orders in Danish, but the crew answered back in English.

"Jeg taler dansk! (I speak Danish!)" he retorted.

I slightly moved away because I thought he was going to make a scene. Moments later I heard he was talking to the staff in Swedish. It turned out they were Swedes and don't speak Danish. He is fluent in five different languages, Danish and Swedish included.

After eating, we walked along Strøget. A Danish woman offered us fresh flowers to buy.

"Sorry, we don't speak Danish!" he said. When we got passed the woman, I laughed so hard I think I farted.

12. When we parted at Nørreport station, my thoughts were a string of clichés: Don't leave me. Please stay. I wish you were mine.

I thought I would cry.

But all I can say was, "You look better in person."

Amy Winehouse, is that you?

2009-03-24T23:33:00.004+01:00

This is Lady Gaga performing the acoustic version of Poker Face:

I hated it the first few times I heard it but then a friend pointed out that Tori Amos should be feeling insecure with this performance. Come to think of it, she sounds like Amy Winehouse the during the first few lines.

Now I can't stop listening to it. See? I'm easily swayed.

I have...

2009-03-22T22:33:00.004+01:00

..thirty minutes to write a meaningful blog entry so here it goes.

1. A few months ago I saw some amateur porn clip--I don't know where, maybe dudesnude or xtube--and this bottom guy, when he was being fucked by the top, was like, "Oh thank you! Ah fuck that feels so good! Thank you!" When I saw that the first time, I found it funny, especially when towards the end of the porn the face of the bottom guy was shown and he was way gorgeous compared to the top. Why so grateful, I thought. Last night, I finally understood. After a month and a half of not having sex, my fuck buddy, Ben, dropped by and while he was fucking me, I was feeling grateful and so filled with pleasure at the same time that I wanted to exclaim the exact words I heard from that amateur porn clip. I was so grateful that I invited him to have dinner after dressing up.

2. I found out last night that Ben has been married to a woman for seven years. And then they divorced because he cheated with another girl. And then he met a Brazilian guy and they got married after two years of being together. Now they've been married for three or four years, I think. I asked Ben if his Brazilian husband knows about me. "Of course, he does," he said. "I told him that I have to make the world a better place and I have to fuck this Filipino boy to make him happy." And he did. I feel like a character from Heroes: save the gaysian, save the world. He's now on a mission to find me a boyfriend. I told him that it should have the same body as him, slightly hairy and a big cock. He told me he'll look for one in Germany.

3. Because I was not getting sex until last night, I was so out of kilter that I completely forgot: it has been a year since I moved here. I know I should write a proper blog entry for my first year anniversary but I don't know if there's anything particularly interesting to expound on. I am just grateful that I have a stable job and I live in a really nice apartment. Despite the lack of lovelife and the occasional drought of sexlife, I feel contented. I really do.

4. My friend asked me to watch this short film (about 15 minutes) and I'm glad I did. It's so funny--don't worry, it's not porn:

The Intervention

Atom.com: Funny Videos | Love Sucks | Psycho Chicks & Total Dicks

5. It's less than two weeks before the Holy Week (or "Easter holidays" as most people here in my side of the world are agnostic) and people find it odd that I don't have travel plans. I'd like to tell them that I was raised Catholic and therefore have Catholic traditions, but I figured it would be too long an explanation. I have a book by C. S. Lewis called Mere Christianity. I should be reading that instead of a book called Butt.

6. I am getting addicted to Lady Gaga. I didn't like Just Dance. But when I downloaded Poker Face a few weeks ago, and now it's Beautiful Dirty Rich, I'm hooked. Is Lady Gaga a gay icon? She should be--she's crazy and funny enough to be one.

7. Unless I am feeling writerly, I kind of like this format and I'll stick with it. Speedy blogging. Oops, I looked at the clock and it's been an hour since I started writing. Not so speedy after all.

Copenhagen gaze

2009-03-16T20:25:00.007+01:00

Two Fridays ago, in my thirst for some socialization, I asked a Polish guy out on a date. He knew Chris and Martin, and I tend to cut the crap these days so instead of endless exchanges of messages online, I asked him if he was available that night. We agreed to meet on Oscar.

Ten minutes into talking with him, I realized he wasn't my type. But I had nothing better to do that night and he was a little fun to talk to so I stayed. An hour into our conversation and he receives a text message from another Polish guy we both know, who was also named Chris, telling him that he, Chris, would drop by Oscar together with another Polish guy visiting from London. Who was also gay.

Clearly, there's no shortage of Polish gay guys in Copenhagen.

While waiting for Chris to arrive, I saw a beefcake near the bar. He saw me looking at him and it was then that I knew, "Oh my gosh, that's the Hungarian guy I was stalking on boyfriend.dk!"

I knew that he was the one because I saved his pictures on my laptop, and my memory is pretty good with useless things. Here, I edited his pictures for his own protection.

It was obvious that the Hungarian beefcake came by himself. He had the look of slight uneasiness and he surveyed the room for people he may know.

Finally, Chris arrived together with that gay friend of his. We all moved to a vacant 6-seater table, and I shook hands with the Chris and his friend.

Chris got up to get some drinks for him and his friend, whose name is Mateusz. He wanted to visit Denmark because of the cute boys.

Mateusz asked me, "How old are you?"

"Guess," I said.

"Eighteen?"

I laughed. "Really? I'm already twenty-seven," I said.

"Doesn't look like it. What's your secret?" he asked.

"I'm Asian," I said.

No sooner after I have began to bask in my youthful glow when Chris came back with the Hungarian beefcake. It turned out they knew each other and in fact, Chris went out with him twice. Just to give you an idea of how pretty Chris is, I stole a picture of him from his Facebook:

So the Hungarian beefcake sat down at our table and introduced himself. His name was David and he has been living between Sweden and Denmark for a year now.

He has cherry-red, moist lips, flawless skin and his biceps are the size of my calves. He is a bit witty and his English was quite good. In fact, his accent was pretty neutral.

Why can't I get a guy like this, I wondered.

Oh, I totally forgot about my date. He was beside me, happily consuming his beer. He was talking with Mateusz in Polish when I'm not a part of their conversation. There was less interaction between me and Chris because I would later learn that he has a huge crush on the Hungarian guy, so he talked to him a lot.

Towards midnight, the three guys left first: David, Chris and Mateusz. My date told me he's quite tired so he's getting home, too.

When I got home, I saw Chris online. I told him, "Hey it was nice to meet you. You look like a Bel Ami porn star in person, and I mean that as a compliment."

"Hahaha! Thank you. You look very good yourself. If Mateusz didn't tell me you're 27, I would have guessed you were 20 or 21."

(To be continued if I feel like it...)

I'm still alive

2009-03-15T22:35:00.004+01:00

I'm going to write something soon. I was just busy with looking for someone to relieve me of my month-long sexual drought. Still not found one but I'm going to write something anyway. I'm moving on.

So, while waiting for the stuff that I'll be writing about, here's Charice singing McArthur Park by Donna Summer (ignore her outfit). I think it was taken back in 2007:

This video just goes to show that Charice is incredibly talented.

I am a fan, obviously.

Real-life Minority Report

2009-03-12T22:34:00.003+01:00

This is so cool.

And scary at the same time.

Filipino

2009-02-28T20:48:00.004+01:00

I think this is funny.

And this, this is SO cute. She looks like a young Kirsten Dunst speaking fluent Tagalog. I love how she says, "Ate." Embedding was disabled.

Charice's new single

2009-02-26T22:32:00.003+01:00

Performed in Oprah's After-Oscars party:

Watch it before it get's pulled out from YouTube.

So, what do you think?

I think that, to quote Simon Cowell, it's a forgettable song for a first single.

She should have sang this instead and wow-ed the audience:

White out

2009-02-19T19:43:00.002+01:00

I guess I got what I wished for. Copenhagen is frosty white.

This is my street:

This is my backyard (the tiny white spots are falling snow):

These are few of the many pretty things I see on my way to the office:

This is near the city center:

A shot of the snowy stairs leading to the canal:

This looks like something from Princess Sarah or Cedie:

This is the lake covered in snow:

And this is me playing with snow at the office backyard:

Please give us more snow:

Because I just love it.

I'm so excited

2009-02-15T23:09:00.004+01:00

Coming the 2nd of April, 2009:

I am so going to pre-order this!

Someday I'm going to write about Alain de Botton. The guy is a genius and in my eyes, he hasn't written anything bad.

I'm glad Alain wrote about working. Whenever I sometimes feel that I should be doing something else other than what I'm doing at my job, I often turn to a line in Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness for consolation.

"I don't like work--no one does--but I like what's in the work, the chance to find yourself. Your own reality--for yourself, not for others--what no other man could ever know."

Now an entire book will be there to console me.

Are you a gay?

2009-02-12T18:45:00.004+01:00

If you are, you should go to MEGA-GAY-WORLD.com because

Twenty-five

2009-02-10T20:39:00.007+01:00

I've seen this first on RJ Danvers's blog (site NSFW; RJ is a porn star), then on Chuvaness. It has been going around in Facebook but since no one has tagged me and I'm itching to do it, I figured I'll just post it here.

These are 25 random things about me:

1. I'm a light sleeper so I sleep with a sleep mask and ear plugs on. The slightest noise or the dimmest light could wake me up. The last guy I dated (sort of) found that weird.

2. I have no problems entering a restaurant alone, even here in Denmark, but the last time I watched a movie by myself, I was still in Manila.

3. I obsess about my memory. I realized that I tend to remember things that I've read more than things that I've heard.

4. My daily breakfast here in Denmark consists of two large toasts with Nutella, rinsed with two cups of coffee with sugar and cream. Every single day, even on weekends.

5. People who don't know me tend to assume that, since I like Caucasians, every blond and blue-eyed boy will do. In reality, I rarely like those types. If a guy is blond, I'd want him to have brown or green eyes. And if a guy is brunette and has blue eyes like the one below, I'm almost in love.

Photo from my photographer friend Ian

6. I don't think I'll ever get tired of watching singing competitions. I'm greatly entertained. By the way, my father and mother first met at an amateur singing contest.

7. I don't want to sound cool but I think I'm antisocial. I don't like being with a bunch of people all the time.

8. I don't know how to drive and I'm not planning to learn. The last time I rode a bike, I was 12.

9. I rarely watch TV nowadays. When I was younger and our house didn't have a DVD player, I was a slave to TV show schedules. I would plan my life around the time slots of Dawson's Creek, Charmed, Roswell, Will and Grace, 7th Heaven, etc. Now I just bit torrent shows that I like and watch in my own pace.

10. I seldom eat fastfood. I think I've grown tired of eating fastfood almost everyday in my entire college life and the 4 years I've worked in Manila.

11. I envy people who love drinking beer. No matter how I try, I can never like the taste of it.

12. I like taking pictures of other people but don't like being photographed. I'm not photogenic and whenever I post a picture of myself online, it came from a lot of at least 10 shots.

13. People may think I'm promiscuous but the truth is, I've been sleeping with the same guy for almost a year now. And he's not my boyfriend, so we play it safe.

14. I am addicted to The Purse Forum. I am strategically planning my vacations to meet the people I talk to online, and they're mostly funny women with Birkins.

15. I don't know if I've mentioned this here but I have a profile on dudesnude. I have nude pictures of me in there (duh) but they are password-protected. I give the passwords to cute guys who ask for it.

16. I'm proud of my skin tone. I don't want to get fairer or darker.

17. There are a lot of things I can't live without but one of the most important things is dental floss. I have sensitive gums and they tend to bleed if I miss a single night of flossing.

18. I'm not a coffee snob but I don't drink instant coffee. I remember the time I was told that I was going to be assigned here in Denmark, the first thing I asked my roommate (who was already here) was if we had a coffee maker. I arrived earlier than my package that contained a bag of ground coffee. I felt incomplete while waiting for the damn package. It arrived a week later.

19. I'm also proud of my teeth. A number of people have asked me if I had braces when I was a kid.

20. My blog gets 30 - 40 hits a day, and more than half of them are from Google searches, which means I have a very small readership. Which is fine by me. Really.

21. The only things I miss back in Manila are my friends, my family, my cats and food.

22. I previously thought that I bore people to death. When I came here in Denmark, I realized that there are people way boring than me.

23. Recently, I learned to smile to myself in front of the mirror when I wake up. This would sound like it came from Oprah but most of my days have become better by doing just that.

24. Probably it has to do with my upbringing and how the events in my life turned out, but I never understand people who don't believe there is a God.

25. I have a love-hate relationship with the Danish language. I think Danish sounds horrible, like someone is about to throw up all the time; but I love that I speak it better than my classmates in the language school.

Of language and sentiments

2009-02-06T17:14:00.007+01:00

On Tuesday I will be starting the next level of my Danish classes, even if a huge part of me objects to attending night classes again.

While on my way to work this morning, I was going through my mental inventory of Danish words and phrases and I got to thinking of the word need in terms of personal use. In Danish, you use har brug, which, when literally translated means have use. In neutral circumstances, the meaning is conveyed in the same way. For example, when you want to say in Danish, "I need you in the project.", you can say, "Jeg har brug for dig i projektet."

But what if your lover is about to leave you and you want to tell him, "I need you." In Tagalog, one can use "Kailangan kita", carrying with it the same emotional intensity and foreseen suffering associated with the absence of a person. I'm not sure "Jeg har brug for dig" would serve the same purpose because it sounds like, "I have use for you."

So when I went to the office today, I talked to my Danish friend about the incapability of their language to express the emotional "I need you". Our conversation on IM went like this:

Me: so if you want to say "I need you" in Danish, how do you say it?

Him: depends on who you are saying it to - to a co-worker it would probably be something like "jeg har brug for..."

Me: no, like a lover who is going to leave me. (just an example)

Him: hmmm - i dont how i would put that - "jeg har brug for" is the closest

Me: amazing. when you translate "har brug", it's "have use" right? and "I have use for you " doesn't necessarily convey the intensity of "I need you." am I correct?

Him: that's very true :) however, "jeg har brug for dig" also sounds a bit wrong

Me: so what do you use instead to convey the feeling of "I need you."

Our conversation was interrupted by the lunch break. When we get back, I asked again:

Me: so, back to my question earlier. if ever I need to say "I need you." to my Danish boyfriend who's about to leave me, what do I say? :-)

Him: you dont't - it's a stupid argument - you have to think of something better :)

Me: why is it stupid? it's a valid sentiment. :-)

Him: sure, from your point of view :)

Me: and from your point of view?

Him: think about the one leaving - why should he stay just because you need him

Me: hmmmm... I'd have to get back to you on that. But what I'm trying to look for here is the correlation between sentiment and language. If there's no way that a [particular] sentiment cannot be expressed in a language, does this mean that it's not felt or experienced [by the language-speaker]?

More importantly, are the sentiments even understood? But I didn't ask him that. He became quiet after my last question, and I told him that he was not required to answer that. I was thinking out loud, I told him.

With this little "discovery", I wondered how many of the sentiments that I know are not covered by the Danish language. In the same way, I wonder if Danes have some sentiments that are not covered by any of the two languages I know. I have often wondered about why I don't "click" with most Danish people and maybe language plays a big part in that.

I have a French-speaking, Belgian gay friend who told me a few months ago that, since my mother tongue derives a lot from Spanish--a Romance language--I should look for someone whose mother tongue is in the same language family, such as French, Italian, Portuguese, etc. That way, we'd have more or less the same thought process and we'd understand each other better than, say, me and a German-speaking guy.

I excitedly told him last night that probably his theory is correct. Then he said, "Honey, that is old knowledge. Our view of the world is greatly affected by language. Danes often argue that they are what they are because of the weather. French Canadians experience harsher winters."

"Old knowledge? How come I didn't know of that? Was it taught in school? How did you know of it?" I asked, shameful of my own ignorance.

"By reading and participant observation."

I googled about it and came up with this. Apparently, the "old knowledge" he was talking about is called the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis.

Interesting.

Today

2009-01-31T22:24:00.006+01:00

1. I was late for my haircut appointment by 15 minutes. I have been late before (I think about twice) but this time, my Icelandic hairdresser didn't let me through. He told me that he won't be able to cut my hair because in 15 minutes, another client will come in. I had to reschedule for Monday and hope that my boss will forgive me for working from home again.

2. It was lunchtime when I reached the city center. I wanted to treat myself because I felt so bad missing my haircut appointment. So I went inside this restaurant:

I can't make out what letter those colored horizontal stripes represent. The Lot? The Let?

I've always passed by this restaurant on my trips to H&M and from the outside it looks so chic. Before entering, of course, I had to check out the menu:

Tartines is our definition of the French version of the open sandwiches, the ingredients served on toasted bread. Choose between filling wholemeal rye bread or our home baked white bread. All tartines is [sic] served with a small mixed salad tossed with a mild vinaigrette.

Interesting, I thought. When I entered the restaurant, what immediately registered in my field of vision was the bartender that resembled the Danish model, Mathias Lauridsen.

But he was sort of aloof so I didn't pay much attention to him. He has a nice butt, though.

The inside of the restaurant was so stylish. I wish I could've taken pictures but I already felt silly taking picture of what I ordered: the entrecôte of Danish beef with Bearnaise mayo, toasted dark bread, caramelized onion and baked tomato. It looked so delicate that I had half a mind to not eat it:

Which, in hindsight, I should've done instead since the food was all-looks but no taste. I think the "baked tomatoes" and "toasted wholemeal rye bread" weren't supposed to be eaten. They were tasteless and so tough to chew; the steak itself was bland.

When I left the restaurant, I was full but regretted the money I spent on such pretentious crap.

3. I saw the Louis Vuitton windows...

...and remembered an email my New Yorker friend sent me last night:

I went to LV today to check out the Stephen Sprouse. What a mess. The store is hideous and I do not believe the bags are selling as they have every single style massed out everywhere. Dozens and dozens of speedys, keepalls, neverfulls, sneakers, leggings, etc. The ugliness just never ends.

I'm not a fan of the Sprouse collection either. Too loud. And too busy. And looks like it would be dated very quickly.

I think the only reason I'm still clinging to LV nowadays is that they have some really nice leathers--Epi, Taiga, Utah, Siwa, etc.--and the S/S '09 leather bags were impressive. Plus, I have a crush on Marc Jacobs; I think he's sexy.

4. Remember my post about the one-day Mulberry sale? Well, that day is today and this is what I saw:

5. It was the same when I passed by Burberry, which has their last day of sale tomorrow (discounts of up to 70%):

I don't like either berries, so I didn't go in.

6. Before going home, I stopped by Reinh van Hauen for some pastries.

I've been buying the snail-like, warm Danish pastries there for the longest time so I thought of trying something I haven't bought before. A cold one with lots of whipped cream:

Looks pretty but wasn't as good as the ones I used to buy.

7. I took a 30-minute nap. I wanted to take an hour's nap but a local newspaper boy decided to deliver the newspaper during the time I was napping, so he rang all doorbells in my building to open the main door.

8. When I woke up I saw my friend, Már, online. We talked for a few minutes about his pictures on Facebook and just as when he was saying goodbye, he remembered that he had a Photobucket account that contained pictures of him when he was about 23 - 24 years old. While I looked incredibly fugly when I was that age, Már was the bomb:

Then I saw this:

"OMG. I remember this picture," I told him. "I saved this on my computer and showed it to friends while telling them, 'This cute guy thinks I'm hot!'"

"And I still do," he said.

"Awww. You're sweet," I said.

We have been friends for almost three years now. It's amazing we haven't slept together.

I don't even know where to begin

2009-01-31T11:01:00.004+01:00

If only I could trade places with a very dear friend on this special day, I would.

I have a lot of travel plans this year. I don't know if I have spare money to buy a ticket.

Source.

Point of view

2009-01-28T14:02:00.003+01:00

Aside from me writing this blog as a gay, Filipino immigrant in Denmark, I also have another point of view.

First, a picture:

On the left side is me when I was 23 years old. It was taken at some party. On the right side is me at 25 years old, taken during the summer of 2007. I've asked a number of people who know me and fortunately, now at 27 going on 28, I still look like that 25-year old guy on the right.

So, whenever I write, for instance, that this guy* thinks I'm hot:

Or that this guy* told me I'm "very beautiful":

Or that when I show friends pictures of the guys I have dated and they tell me I can do better--that I deserve better, and I would say "Really?"...

Bear in mind that it comes from someone who didn't look so good before (not that he's a supermodel now), and usually has trouble processing compliments regarding his present appearance that he has to say it to the world out loud because he's just so damn proud.

*yes, they are real people.

Friday confession (advanced)

2009-01-22T13:00:00.003+01:00

I visit a certain blog just because I'm expecting some shirtless pictures from the author. He's gorgeous but short. Most of the things he writes about in his blog are crap or are regurgitated thoughts from someone else.

He has posted some videos of himself where he's talking about various things like himself and fashion. Everything he said were either clichès or borrowed opinions. I wonder if there's anything original that comes from him. When he said the word, "blog", he said it like a billiard ball slowly rolled down his tongue. I cringed--out of embarrassment for him.

I wrote to him once. We were getting to know each other but on my second or third letter, I casually asked about his age. He didn't reply. I thought he just forgot so I left a message on his blog, reminding him of my letter. He said that he was in the office and that he hadn't time to read it. He never wrote me back and I guess it has to do with me asking about his age. I didn't know gays are also sensitive about it. I didn't get a memo. Oh well.

But I still follow his blog in the hopes that he will take pictures of himself shirtless. And I'm sure most people do the same.

P.S.
If you know who I'm talking about, don't write his name or his blog in the comments section. Thank you.