ditto

Here's a a couple of art pieces that I used to either listen to (in the case of Mad World) or meditate on (in the case of The Scream) whenever I was crashing from several days of meth use.

Sexy top buddy

 I really enjoy playing with my top friend. He has such a really nice dick that shoots big loads.

Threads of Timpuyog

That's the working title for the 2SLGBTQIA+ Fil-Can book club x writing workshop that I'm building through the arts org that I volunteer for. I was having brunch with my parents this past Sunday when I asked them to help me come up with a name for the book club. I told them that I'd like to use an Ilocano word, if possible. After giving them a run-down of the purpose and nature of the book club, my papa came up with the word timpuyog, which, what we Ilocanos refer to the way people come together to work on a common goal. Like solidarity, or, in Tagalog, bayanihan.

Writing Workshop with CAMH (Session 2)

This is the prompt and my response for last week's session. I blogged about the first one here. The workshop usually involves a quick check-in, then we dive into the prompt before we're given a few minutes to write our responses. After that, we all come back to the zoom meeting to share our response to the rest of the group who'll then give us supportive feedback.

Andrea Gibson talked about how they wanted to leave this world, shattered into a million pieces, having left bits of them in each person they touched. I want to live my life the way Andrea did. I want to be able to say, “I effing love my life.” Yes, I get annoyed, and yell, and get frustrated. My husband spills his cup of coffee on our bed and I fume. “Who’s going to wash the sheets?” Then, I remember how sweet it is that I get to have coffee with him every morning. A moment for us to chat, to plan our day, our week. To coordinate who’s going to pick up our nephew from his summer school? Who’s going to drive my dad to his doctor’s appointment? In the end, I want to live my life in gratitude, dazzled by its messiness.

my self talk on asking questions

 

labour

In Support of Free Education

 I support

Free tuition policies

Not just for the ones

Who get the highest grades

Not just for the ones

Who live closest to the imperial core

Not just for the ones

Who have generational access to power

Also, too, for the person

Who takes

Beautiful photographs

For the one who craft

Moving stories

For the one who wants

To take a brush to canvas

Children of the agtatalon

Farmers

For the one

Who wants to wrestle and argue

And think

Not to go overseas

To care for a stranger's child

But to stay home

And build a fair

And equitable

And thriving community

Why do we take a valuable

Resource such as money

From families

In exchange for education

That is meant for all?

A human right, after all

The system gatekeeps

Keeping me entangled

In its snares

With no access to higher education

That could teach me

Critical thinking skills

That's needed

To disentangle myself free

From this system

Wily, this function

Of a jealous, insecure framework

Denying my student loan application

Forcing me

To pay out-of-pocket

Because the system doesn't recognize

Monthly family remittances

As eligible expenses

And what if our pockets are empty?

But we know we're smart

And can contribute

And have something to say

And we're willing to work for bayanihan*

With nimble arms, legs, body

And mind

Capable of lifting

My neighbours bahay kubo

"Frustrated congressman"

As my uncles would

Joke amongst ourselves

A note of sadness, wondering:

What could've been?

With hard-fought, cultivated curiosity, asking:

What is possible, not for tomorrow

But, urgently,

Now?

you turned your back on love for the last time - a poem by Martin Zabaleta

Posting my ex-bf's poem. I dug it out from his fb account. Written Jan 9, 2009. By that time, he and I have already been apart. I was already living in Hamilton, studying accounting at Mohawk College.

 you turned your back on love for the last time

I know

that's just it goes

and you ain't right

for sure

you turned your back on love

for the last time

it won't take much longer now

time makes me stronger, way

there's nothing more to say

One day in your life

said love would remind you

how could you leave it all behind

one day in your live

it's gonna find you

with the tears that left me cry

and baby I'm stronger then before

you gotta play it on the line

maybe one day in your life

My love

did you think I'd break down

and cry

this thing we had

it mean the world to me

guess I ...

it won't take much longer now

see time makes me stronger way

and I know you'll be coming round some day

One day in your life

said love would remind you

how could you leave it all behind

yeah

one day in your live

it's gonna find you

with the tears that left me cry

and baby I'm stronger then before

you gotta play it on the line

maybe one day in your life

You called me in the midnight hour

with your ... lights

so many sleepless nights, I wonder

is it time to say goodbye?

oooh yeah

One day in your life

said love would remind you

baby

how could you leave it all behind

could you leave it all behind

yeah

one day in your live

it's gonna find you

with the tears that left me cry

and baby I'm stronger then before

you gotta play it on the line

maybe one day in your life

ooooooooone day

One day in your life

said love would remind you

yeah yeah yeah

how could you leave it all behind

oh oh oh yeah

one day in your live

it's gonna find you

with the tears that left me cry

and baby I'm stronger then before

you gotta play it on the line

maybe one day in your life

as seen on @instajock

Yes, I know I had a messy room! This pic was taken, I'd say, in my mid 30s, ten years ago?

On marriage

 

When I first met Manny, I knew he's someone special. I adore his laid-back worldview. On one of our first dates, having dinner at Lahore Tikka House on Gerrard sometime in 2017, we ended up starting a conversation about what Black Lives Matter did the previous year at Pride. I told him that I fully supported their action, and that I was there on that day, volunteering as a marshall for the parade. Then, after saying my piece about the subject, I paused, took a deep breath, and asked him what he thought of what BLM did. I braced for impact. I knew that some in the community were not as supportive. I've seen the backlash happen.

"I think they [BLM] were genius to do what they did, and how they did it!" he said.

From that point on, I knew that my spirit would forever find comfort in his presence. The thing is, back then, for me, how a person received BLM's 2016 Pride intervention was an indication of whether I'd vibe with them or not.

The sex was, to be honest, nothing spectacular at first. At least, for me. Our sex life has evolved over the years to something deeper and intimate. More on that later in this piece.

Manny and I just celebrated our 8th wedding anniversary on Jun 16 this year. In those years, we've gone through many things. From navigating multiple moves within the city, to sharing a home with my family, to having long discussions around open marriage, to talking through my relapses, and many more.

What I noticed we have always done is to hold each other. We both know that the both of us are made up of our respective experiences, friends, past bf's, careers, education, and others. We seem to have built a life where he and I can both cheer each other on as we pursue what we're individually and both passionate about. Throughout the years that I've known him, he has developed a calling for studying Buddhist philosophy and learning the Tibetan language. I, on the other hand, continued to grow into my passion for community development and volunteerism.

There have been challenges, for sure. It has been a running source of my annoyance that doing manual labour and house work doesn't come naturally to him. Because of that, I sometimes feel overwhelmed and experience some resentment when I feel like I'm doing most of the house work. But, I have to check myself sometimes because I do see Manny doing chores around the house. He washes dishes, he makes the bed, he sometimes sweeps. I ask him to leave the laundry for me because, I think, I do a better job folding and sorting them out. So, sometimes, I do question my own perception.

Another source of challenge to our marriage was my relapse in 2019. It was my first relapse since 2014, and the first after getting married. I remember convincing him that I wanted to "micro dose". The implication was that I was planning to incorporate injecting small amounts of t on a regular basis in my life. Manny, needless to say, was totally against it. One memorable night, we were at his apartment and we just went back and forth of him pleading that I stop, and me trying to tell him that it'll be ok. I still feel a lot of sadness when I think back to that night, the way he bawled and cried and begged me to stop. After what felt like hours of him crying and begging, something came over me that caused me to surrender and let go. I promised him that I'll stop. The day after, I threw away all my paraphernalia, ending a 3-week relapse.

What I remember during that relapse was that, because of the t, I found myself feeling extra horny. Thankfully, Manny was game. I remember us having sex one night where I just orally serviced him for what felt like hours. I licked him up and down with my tongue, sucking his cock, rimming his hole, kissing him. I knew that the T played a part in enhancing the sensation. What I learned from the relapse was that I could orally service Manny and totally relish and enjoy the experience. I loved how the experience made him squirm and moan under the sheets.

That sort of gave me a glimpse of what our sex life could be. After my 2019 relapse, we continued on our marriage. Another relapse happened in the fall of 2024. Looking back, I realized that my life was quite chaotic that time, brought on, for the most part, by my sister's and her partner's sudden separation. It was then that I realized just how much my family now looked to me and Manny to lead the family. Instead of stepping up to the challenge, I crumbled, and went on another 3-week relapse. I was able to keep it secret from Manny for a while, but he found out, eventually.

"I need you," he said to me one night.

So I stopped again, and I seek help from CAMH. I'll talk more in detail what has kept me in sobriety these past few months. But, I think, my relapse has only made my relationship with Manny stronger. When he said he needed me, I felt that in my core.

Much of relationships, I realized, isn't really about the big, life-changing, earth-shattering events and choices. Rather, they're made up of the mundane. The simple things. Conversations over morning coffee, the quick text messages as we check in on each other, the many ways we make space for each other's passions, choices, anxieties, questions, and other stuff.

We're still in an open marriage, and making love with each other has been exactly that: making love. We relish in making each other feel good. I looove the way he moans when I go down on him. I looove the way his nipples stay erect as I flick the tip of my tongue around them. While penetration doesn't happen often, he still manages to make me cum without touching myself most of the time that we do find the time to make love.

Part of the mundane is also how Manny and I relate to each other's families. Because we feel like our relationship is strong, we can afford to call each other in whenever we feel that the other one is falling short. In times when I have disagreements with my own family-and this happens a lot-Manny is always taking on the role of the conciliator. Publicly, he'll take my family's side over me. Ever the one who sees the good in people, he's always very forgiving when it comes to my own family. I, on the other hand, can be very short and impatient with my own. I am the one calling out my family's sh*t, pushing them to do better. And, it's not easy. I come from a family whose elders are used to avoiding hard conversations. They're either taking on the role of a victim or blowing up after periods of unspoken and built-up resentments. There's been a lot of tension because, I, for one, am no longer interested in living with pointless chaos and uncertainty.

I don't mean uncertainty about the future, or the unknown. But, rather, uncertainty around, for example, child care. My sister and brother need the family's help in caring for their own respective children. The tension comes up, sometimes, when I ask that they be more communicative and proactive when scheduling child care. It'd be great if they can let us know ahead of time when they need us to look after our kaanakans. My parents, are not the most assertive people. They'll usually say yes even when they mean no. Instead, they turn around and talk about their resentments with other people. It's been taxing for Manny and I in trying to coordinate and communicate with everyone.

Sometimes, I make myself feel good by telling myself that maybe my brother and sister lack communication skills right now is because they're overwhelmed parents. Yes, my brother has his wonderful wife. But both are working full time jobs, with a mortgage, and church volunteer work. Can I then give them a pass? Can I give my single-mother sister a pass as "overwhelmed parents"?

And, I also wonder, why aren't they not able to care for their kids on their own? Are they not earning enough to pay for child care? If not, then who is responsible for underpaying them? What kind of a social and economic system that we have that does not give parents the critical resources they need to thrive? Can we fight for free child care policies? Can we fight for fair and equitable wages? Or, are we voting for politicians who make our lives worse? Are we voting for politicians who keep us under the poverty line? Lastly, guess which political parties both my sister and brother support. Let me give you a hint: they have a conservative worldview.

Still, I do wish for a better and constructive working relationship with them. Because, what about my time? Who is there to care for Manny's time? He and I also have commitments. We have our own lives to live, too. What about us? How do we move forward?

Yet, Manny and I persevere. We stay strong and supportive of each other, no matter what. Are there times when we fail each other? Yes, all the time. But, when we do, we try to care for the rupture with tenderness and love.

On "cringe culture"

 

For Andrea

You spoke of Love

And to you,

It's expansive

The way the Pacific

Ebbs and flows

With the moon

You spoke of Life

And to you,

It calls for Presence

The way your poems

Inhales and exhales

Through my sleepy heart

You spoke of Truths

And to you,

They weave, through

Love and Life

Like a meandering river

Towards the Pacific

Towards Light

Back to Light

Today I felt...

Off

Disregulated

As I lay in my bed now

At the end of a day

Where I toiled and huffed

Where I debited and credited my journals

Where I typed Q1 reports for funders

Feeling...off

Laying in bed bed now, it came to me:

Grief is a silent blanket

Journey well, dear Andrea

Salamat

Thank you

Merci

Xièxiè

Pagyamanak, apo

By: Jose Cacho, written a day after you won

Andrea Gibson (Aug 13, 1975 - Jul 14, 2025)

Poem for a dear friend's bday

A few months ago, I confided on a colleague that I've been thinking of applying for the volunteer Executive Director of a Filipinx arts charity that she and I are both volunteering at as two board of directors. It was actually the first time that I've confided with her on something so personal. I told her that I was hesitating because I was afraid that my lived experience with dr*g misuse and someone who has a porn scene that can easily be googled using face search, would be detrimental to the organization's. She immediately asked me to go on FaceTime with her. Once she had me on screen, she asked me, "Walk me through your thought process."

"Well, I know how conservative our community can be. I'm just concerned that people might choose not to work with us if they find out about my past."

"How do you think that'll negatively affect your ability to lead?" she pressed.

I paused for a bit, then said, "I don't think it does. My lived experience has taught me, and informed my politics. It's the reason why I support safe consumption sights and fair wages for  performers."

"Exactly. Also, if there's anyone who chooses not to work with us because they want to discriminate against you, then I'm not really that interested in working with them in the first place," she reassured me.

Then she uttered the following, which I have carried with me ever since. She said, "And you know what, Jose, you are a community leader, and you have a lot to contribute. I would be happy to work with you."

Her affirmation has stayed with me because it was really the first time that anyone has ever described me as a community leader. For the most part, I've only just considered myself as someone who volunteers. Someone who works in the backgrounds.

This July was her birthday, and I wrote this poem as a gift for her.

Thank you, friend.

 

Many of us

Look to the future

Hanging on for peace

Longing for light

Waiting for good

Then comes along

You

Through your

Fierce leadership

Tender friendship

Muddling through

Reminding us

That we

Already are

Toronto Pride weekend with Dorrington

My pal Dorrington from Ottawa was in town for Pride. I met up with him on the Monday at Steamworks. We had such an amazing time.

David Guetta's Just A Little More Love

 

Another song I used to listen to to make me feel good and give me hope after getting high for yet another time.

Salvaged

To feel safe

Riding in the subway

yet hold the truth

That anyone can

Push you down onto

The tracks

In an unguarded

Waiting moment

To call after God,

Or whatever name

I know it by

And also urge

For accountability

For the harm

Its Body has inflicted

On to Chanie Wenjack

The system taught me

That I can only be

Either an addict

Or a good son

It's strange, then

When an addict

Can't get away from the pipe

That he is ripe

Or condemned

To be salvaged by 16th

During his regime

Of terror

Of war

Of chaos

Of my aunties

Condemning, on a Thu, the choices

Made by the poor,

Limited as they are

Then tearfully singing

Amazing Grace

How great thou art

The following Sun

I wonder, then

How would I have faired

Had I lived in the Philippines

During 16th's regime?

Would I still be alive today

On my re(dis)covery journey

Gainfully employed

As a Treaty person

With the ability to

Send remittances back home

And offer peace of mind

For my own family

Siya taga salo

"They catch"

But, who catches the catcher?

With compassion

Sweet kisses

Soft hugs

Tender words

He catches himself

For, it has always been him

Even when he forgot

That he has always been capable

Na salo-en sarili nya

"He can catch himself"

Himself is a tapestry

Of all the people

He's met

And works, chats

Hangs out and laughs

With

Shares a space

With folks who say, "here,

Jose, come sit with me"

Or, would 16th

Have already salvaged me?

By: Jose Cacho

Writing Workshop with CAMH (Session 1)

I signed up for a writing workshop through CAMH and we had our first session yesterday. It was great to be able to write and reflect, as well as hear other people's reflections. There were about ten participants, plus two facilitators. The following are the prompts, plus my responses.

I wonder who would I be now had my parents found job opportunities in the Philippines, instead of uprooting our lives to move thousands of kilometres from home to come to Canada? How did my mom cope with the loneliness, having left me as her 5 year old son, to take care of three Canadian children?

I wonder if I’d still be alive, gainfully employed if I lived in the Philippines during President Duterte’s regime of war, terror, extrajudicial violence, and chaos? Or will I have been just one of the thousands of his victims. Had my parents not made the decision to immigrate to Canada 25 years ago, I wonder if I’d still be in a position today to send money back home to help pay for my niece’s and nephew’s university tuition fees or pay for my grandma’s hospital bills? I wonder, what is my responsibility to the country of my birth, now that I am comfortable here in Canada? Do I have the energy and resources to help build livable and equitable communities in both countries?

Poetry is a fertile soil where Jose thrives. The above quote reminded me of C.E. Gatchalian when he wrote in his memoir Double Melancholy: Art, Beauty and the Making of a Brown Queer Man, "He had joy for what was offered, but what was offered didn't define him. It remained firmly objects that didn't threaten his subjective integrity. It was the same look he has when he's in bed with me, like he's objectifying and collecting. The exchange is on his terms; I'm willing to be collected."

Jul 13, 2025 (Sun) vlog

 

Edward Park is GOD

 Like...

insta @theedwardpark

Sanctuary by Origene (Harry Lemon Mix)

This song used to keep me in good spirits as I would be dealing with the low, depressive feelings of coming down from crystal. I used to hang on to every word of the lyrics, trying to convince myself that I'm a good person, despite the shame I felt of having just used. I told myself that I'm safe, that there's a space that'll hold me tight and keep the sinister voices away. This song told me that, if I can just find my way to a place of safety, I'll be in good hands. Most of the time, this place was a room at Steamworks or St. Marc's. A lot of the times, this place was on the floor, at the foot of my parents' bed - a place where I could finally get some sleep without the night terrors that came with coming off of crystal.

Looking back, music, and art in general, has always been my sanctuary.

I met a cumdump taking loads off sniffies

 I met this hottie back in Apr of this year.

Back in Toronto

     Manny and I got back from Singapore this past Saturday (Jun 28th) after a long and difficult 13-hour flight from Tokyo. It was difficult because I was sick with a cold, which had started bothering me on the Wednesday before. I felt so much relief once we got back to the house from the airport, when I was finally able to lay down on our soft bed.

    Once we landed, I quickly took out my phone and turned off airplane mode. On the uber ride home from the airport, I was responded to emails and messages, including ones about scheduling for someone to come cut down a tree from our backyard. It felt like there was a lot for me to come back and tend to. When our uber arrived at the house, and Manny and I were getting out and collecting our bags, our neighbour, who was sitting on his front porch, was telling us "We need to redo our driveway." Our houses share the driveway. I could only respond with a nod.

    It's been a lot to come back to, and getting over a cold hasn't made it easy. But I'm happy that I'm back home. I will miss mummy and papa (my in-laws) in Singapore. I will also miss Manny's brother and sister-in-law.

This Side of the Street (a short story I wrote when I was 17yo)

by: Jose Cacho

for Mr. Hall, ENG OAC

Submitted on Apr 10, 2001

    Lance Jacinto walks along Yonge Street towards Isabella Street where he lives with his family.  They moved to Toronto's downtown neighborhood three years ago from Toronto's East York.  His father was hired as a superintendent for a hotel and it was a requirement that he live in the building where he would be working in.  At first Lance didn't like the thought of moving.  His family have moved into three different apartments already in the same building since they came to Canada from the Philippines.  Looking back, Lance found it funny that each time, the apartment that they moved into had one more bedroom for the family.  Fresh-off the plane, they started in a small one-bedroom apartment on the seventh floor.  Then after Lance, his brother and his sister complained about the lack of privacy, Mr. and Mrs. Jacinto found a two-bedroom apartment on the second floor.  Three months later, Mr. Lito Jacinto applied as the superintendent in the building and was hired.  The owners said that it was necessary that the superintendent should have an apartment on the first floor, next to the office.  Lito's three children, especially his daughter, were delighted to know that they were moving to a three-bedroom apartment on the first floor.

    Of his two siblings, Lance gets along with his young brother the most despite the fact that they enjoy different things.  Tonton like to play hockey and soccer, Lance likes to swim and run.  Upon meeting the two for the first time, people would say that Lance is more talkative and opinionated.  But somehow, Tonton always wins the most friends, even though he is shy and wouldn't say much unless spoken to.

    The sidewalk is filling up with the rush-hour crowd, Lance observes.  The wind is chilly but the April sun is shining brightly over everybody's heads.  Every now and then, patches of clouds would cover the sun and Lance would notice that the street block that he is walking on has no sunshine and that three blocks south, the sun is shining brightly.  He always wonders how long Yonge Street really is whenever that happens.  As soon as his family moved into the apartment on Isabella, Lance had wondered if Yonge was the longes street in Toronto.  Now, he knows that Eglinton is just as long.  Last summer he used to take his brother's bike and ride around Toronto every morning.  He rode through the Italian neighborhood called Little Italy, along Spadina, the Annex and the Lakeshore, his favourite route.  Lance was seeing Toronto's different facets for the first time since he came to Canada.  Before that summer, he couldn't tell which direction was North or South or West or East.  When he was living in East York, he didn't know that there were two Chinatowns.  He'd only gone to the smaller one which was anchored along Gerrard Street and Broadview Avenue, with his mother.

    He turns left on Isabella Street.  He is going East now to his family.  For a moment he rehearses his dialogue in his mind but stops abruptly when he notices that his lips are moving as well.  Isabella Street is not as busy as Yonge but he wonders if anyone saw him with his lips moving.  He looks down as a group of men walk past him.  He feels conspicuous.  Cars seem to slow down as they pass him by.  He wonders if he has anything on his face, or if his hair is disheveled.

    Lance crosses to the side of the street where the building he lives is on.  The sun shines on his side of the street.  He stops to take off his eye glasses and looks to the sky.  Blue and vast, the sky seems endless.  Lance feels the sun against his skin and he could not stop from smiling.  He notices that a large patch of dark clouds is being pushed by the wind into Lance's view of the sky.  Sighing, he resumes his walk home.  When his family used to live in the apartment on the seventh floor, he used to stay up at night and watch the dark sky from the bedroom window.  The view did not include downtown Toronto, but it showed the all the condominiums and suburbs of North York.  It bothered him that there wasn't always stars that can be seen.  He can't remember one night when he saw one.  There was one time when he thought he saw a star, but it was only an airplane.  From then on, he only watched the airplaine as they fly to their destinations.  He wondered what kind of people were in those planes.  When he grew tired looking up in the sky, he would look down and he enjoyed the view even better.  He was in awe to see as far away as possible.  Tall condominium buildings stood with some of the suite's lights on.  Houses, streets and cars seemed so small but tenable.  He felt like he can just bend over from where he is and touch all of them.

    He unlocks the apartment door with his keys.  He is greeted by his mother as soon as he steps inside.

    "Where have you been? School? Pastor called.  They're waiting for you," she says.

    "Oh.  I forgot," Lance replies as he makes his way to his bedroom.  He'd forgotten that Pastor Cruz wanted every one who will be leading the service this Sunday to practice in church today.  Lance is a permanent member who is in charge of playing the music for the Prelude and Offertory, as well as the Welcome part.  Pastor Johnny Cruz is a close friend of Lance's family.  Their church is fairly new.  It is the product of a small Bible study group who used to meet together on Sundays, after services were finished.  One of the leaders of the group, Brother Atao, thought that it was time that they form their own church congregation.  Pastor Johnny Cruz is shott and young for a pastor.  Nevertheless, he is smart and everyone respects him.  He was appointed as the new church's pastor.

    Everyone in that Bible study came from different denominations.  Lance's family and some of their relatives and friends were a member of the Filipino First Baptist Church.  Pastor Cruz was a Wesleyan.  The agreement was that they will form a non-denominational church.  They rented a building that was owned by the Oakwood Wesleyan Church, whose Sunday services were held in a building adjacent to the one being rented.  The new congregation and the O.W.C. both decided that, for tax purposes, O.W.C. would declare that the smaller church was part of them.  Months after the congregation formed, trouble started.  What Lance understands that the non-Wesleyan members wanted to separate because Pastor Cruz wanted to name the church Filipino Wesleyan Church.  For reasons unknown to Lance, there were no negotiations, and the next thing he knew, his family was torn between joining their friends and relatives who wanted to separate and staying in the church.  As plans for separation went underway, the Filipino First Baptist Church group had a meeting in the Jacinto's apartment on Isabella Street.

    "They are so uptight," Sister Novena warned the teenagers.  She's the wife of Deacon Joe.  "They will not let you wear make-up and pants to church."  Lance and the other teenagers sat on the sofa.  His parents were in the kitchen, cooking for everyone.  Ultimately, Mr. and Mrs. Jacinto decided to stay with the church.  They reasoned that they had no arguments with Pastor, that it does not matter if the church was named 'The Branch Davidian Church.'  What mattered was the whole family worshipped God.  Anything else was not worth sweating over.

    Lance closes the door behind him and turns the lock.  He drops his backpack on his bed and begins to undress when he stops and remembers that all of his clothes are now packed in his suitcase.  He thinks about going to his closet where he hid the suitcase and taking out a tee shirt and a pair of short pants.  He decides against it.  His heart starts to beat faster and his knees are shaking a little.  Lance sits down on his bed and allows himself to fall entirely.  As he lay on the bed, he takes deep breathes to calm him down.  He likes the soft feel of the comforter against his neck and arms.  It's quiet and nothing seemed animate inside his room.  In the silence, he can almost hear his heart beat slowing down to a normal pace.

    His friends wonder how he can sleep in a ground floor bedroom in downtown Toronto.

    "Don't you worry about voyeurs looking through your blinds at night?" they've asked.  The truth is, Lance explained, downtown Toronto can be very peaceful.  It only gets rowdy on June, when Pride week kicks in.

    Lance's first Pride was last year's, when he and David painted their faces and abdomens blue and orange and marched alongside their friends from he GLBT Youth Group.  It was Lance's idea that all the GLBT members paint themselves with the colours that reflected the group.  The night after the GLBT meeting, David told Lance that he knew Lance's real reasons.

    "You don't want your family to recognize you on TV," he'd said as he fed Lance with a spoonful of Greek pasta.

    "They thought it was a great idea," Lance replied as he wiped off a piece of feta from David's lips.

    "Well, so did I, but, you know.  I just wish you'd come right out and say it."

    "I was gonna, but you know me better."

    Three days after Lance turned eighteen, he went to his first Gay and Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgender Youth Group meeting at 365 Church Street.  CircuitBOY, a chat room friend, told Lance about the GLBT meetings months before he turned eighteen.  Lance thought that it would be awkward for him as an underage queer to attend a meeting.  CircuitBOY had argued that everyone was welcome to join the group.  "It's ok," Lance had said, and made CircuitBOY to go along with him when he goes as soon as he turn eighteen.

    From inside his locked bedroom he could hear his parents speaking to each other.

    "Can you go to NoFrills and buy some carrots?  How much do I need?  I need at least two bags.  Do you have money?  Or just get three if they turn out to be small ones.  You think five dollars is enough?"  It always irritates Lance when his mother carries out a two-person conversation all by herself.

    "Just give me ten," he hears his father reply.

    Lance's jaw tightens and his hands clench into fists as he thinks about his parents.  Everything about them irritates him.  Their mannerisms, the way they speak.  He hates it when they ask questions to which they already know the answer.  There is another thing that his mother does which really eats through his skin.  When she is at home or at church or just at a place where she is familiar with the people, she has confidence and speaks loudly.  She doesn't stutter or shrink inward when spoken to.  But he hates it when they go to Spadina Avenue to buy groceries because she always seems to lose her voice.  Not really lose it, but the boldness of it disappears.  She points and uses sign language when she talks to the clerk behind the counter.

    He sits up for a few moments, letting the blood flow down from his head slowly, then stands up.  Is it time?  Lance asks himself.  Suddenly he feels a tremendous pull coming from his bed.  Instantly his body feels like a large brick, falling, falling, and falling.

    "Just know that you have an option," David had told him a week before.

    "I don't need this right now.  Don't start throwing ultimatums-"

    "What?  No.  Lance, you're not listening to me."

    "You know I love you, but I have to think of my family too-"

    "And you should.  I'm not asking you to be selfish.  It's good that you think of your family."

    "-I have to fix things at home first."

    "I understand.  When you're ready.  That's what I'm saying.  Move in when you're ready."

    Lance celebrated his nineteenth birthday just a few weeks before they had that conversation.  And they have been a couple for more than a year, but that was the closest thing they've had to an argument.

    Being with a person like David is not like something Lance had ever anticipated, although he has always known that he'd fall in love with someone like David since he can remember.  With his khaki Gap slacks and blue buttoned-down long sleeve shirt, David was a sight Lance could not take his eyes off on that very day of his first GLBT meeting.  The group consisted mostly of teenagers.  A tall man, who Lance would alter know as Tate, looked to him like someone in his late twenties.  Tate sat on a stool near the outside rim of the gathered bunch.  It surprised Lance to see that there were a number of teenagers who were sixteen or seventeen years old.  Everyone was sitting on chairs and on top of tables.  At first, Lance though that they had arrived early because everyone was not really sitting in a circle or facing in the same direction and watching somebody talked in front.  Sam, the chat room friend, introduced Lance to the nearest people to the door.  As he noticed Lance, Tate stepped off his stool and went to introduce himself to the newcomer.

    "Tate Hilton.  Welcome to the 365."

    "Lance Jacinto.  With a J," he smiled as he shook Tate's hand.

    "That's my brother," Tate paused as he called a boy who looked like him from the group.  The boy in the blue shirt stopped conversing with the others and made his way to where the other three were standing.

    "You're Sam's friend?" he greeted Lance.

    "This is Lance," then Tate turned to the newcomer.  "It's your first time here, right?"  Lance nodded.  "I'm David.  Pleased to meet you."

    He decides to keep lying on his bed.  It's quiet in his room.  The sound of the exhaust fan whirling above the oven in the kitchen sounds so far away to him.  He curls his feet against his chest and pulls the comforter over him.  He closes his eyes and goes to sleep.  Not today, he tells himself.

----

    "Lance, wake up! It's 10:30," he hears his mom say. It's Sunday morning. He curses, but drags himself up and takes a shower and dresses up. When he comes out of his bedroom, he finds that he's the only one there. He looks for his keys, but they're not where he put them last night. Tonton doesn't have his G1-class license yet, but he is able to drive the van out of the underground garage and park in the side of the building. They parents never let Tonton drive beyond the building property, even though he's capable. He is just too lazy to take the test.

    After locking the apartment door behind him, he steps outside and into the morning. He immediately spots his parent's silver Montana parked where he thought it would be. He sees that all four of them are inside, obviously waiting for him. His father is sitting in the passenger seat, his mother and sister in the middle seats, and his brother behind them. He opens the door and sits on the driver's seat.

    "We're late," his father points out to him as the ignition starts. Lance says nothing, but he begins to drive off.

    "What time did you come home last night?" his mother asks him, anger apparent in her tone.

    "Two," he replies, shrugging. He is gripping the steering wheel too tightly, he notices, and concentrates on the road, resting his right hand on his lap. He was changing into his pyjamas last night when his mother came into his room. "What exactly do you do outside at two in the morning?" she asked. "I told you," he replied. She stood where she was, saying nothing, while he settled on his bed. "He lay on his side, facing away from her, but he could feel her eyes bearing down on him. Finally, she left and closed the door behind her.

    In the van, his father turns around to the back and says, "You're taking that test tomorrow. You should pass. Read the booklet when we get home after the service." He is talking to Tonton.

    Lance keeps his eyes on the road as he asks his dad, "Why not you? Or mom?" He pauses for a reply. When none is given, he continues, "it makes sense. You could save more on insurance if either of you can drive."

    The truth is, Lance doesn't care who gets a license. He is tired of being the only one in the family who can legally drive. He is tired of constantly being asked if he could drive her to this place, or him Upton, or pick up someone at a certain time.

    Pastor Cruz's message for this Sunday is about the unforgivable sin. Lance has never really paid much attention to the unforgivable sin. To him, it has always been something like a foolish geologist who tries to dig a hole through both sides of the Earth. It's obviously hard to achieve, so why bother with it? Why even play around with the idea? If it is a sin that God cannot forgive, then it's obviously something impossibly tenable? He forgives stealing, and lying, and premarital sex, and all the things that Lance is familiar with.

    He sits facing the pulpit, in front of the rest of the congregation. The amplifier and the stereo are set up on their stand that is in front of him. He doesn't really have to sit there, but it is the position he occupies weekly. It's his job to control the volume of the microphones and play songs for the Prelude, the Welcome and Offertory parts of the Sunday service. They had just finished collecting the offering when the Jacinto's finally arrived.

    His eyes are fixed on the preaching Pastor. He shifts his head to the side, feeling his parent' eyes on him. He studies and calculates every movement he makes. He has the look of an inexperienced actor sitting in front of a casting director. Every move he makes with his hands should suggest anything but pretentiousness on his part. As Pastor Cruz goes on about the unforgivable act of denying the Holy Spirit, Lance crosses his legs, then un-crosses them. At times, Pastor Cruz's gaze would rest on him, and Lance would shift on his chair when the gaze suddenly feels accusing and contemptuous.

    "If you know it is against God's Will, yet you still go on and do it," Pastor Cruz says, walking back and forth in slow paces. "Then you fall so deep that the Holy Spirit cannot help you."

    There would be time for redemption, Lance tells himself. If he needs to, he would beg and cry for the Holy Spirit. If the time comes...

    The service ends, and everyone shuffles outside of the congregation after the closing prayer. Lance goes ahead of his family to wait in the van. He knows that Pastor Cruz will ask him about being late and how the congregation's Service is not pretty when there is no music. He takes a moment to imagine how it would have been for the congregation to attempt a joyful song in place of Lance's for the Welcome. Not liking what he perceives, he makes a mental note of not being late again.

    He sits in the driver's seat. He turn on the radio. They are playing Macy Gray's "The Letter," his favourite. On and on and on I've searched, she sings, What I'm looking for is not here on earth. He sits back and bites his lips to stop the tears from coming. The floor of the van vibrates as he turns up the volume. The site mirror pulsates as Macy says goodbye to the world.

    All I ever wanted was some love and peace and harmony

    I could dance in the raw in the sun, underneath the stars

    Lance remembers that he keeps one of his two copies of Macy's album in the van. He opens the utility compartment under his seat and take out the CD. He loves her album.

    He presses the track button and chooses the sixth track, "I Can't Wait To Meetchu." He didn't like this song at first because he thought that it was just about a blind date. But he found out that it was sort of like a Christian pop song. He relaxes as soon as the up-beat song starts to play.

    I tried to live without you, What a misery it turned out to be

    Lance sits up as he hears someone opening the van's sliding door. He turns down the volume as his mother, followed by the rest of his family, enter the van.

    "Should we go buy groceries? "Lance's sister asks no on in particular.

    "I need to buy drinks and sandwiches for school," Lance replies. He tells them that he is meeting his friends at the coffee shop as soon as he's free. He waits for his parents to ask him why he is meeting them, but they stay quiet. He adds, "We're doing a project together, so we have to meet at the Reference Library." He is not sure if his parents believe him, but he turns up the volume and continues to drive home.

    Two hours later, he is in the lobby of David's and Tate's apartment building on Alexander Street, just two blocks south of Isabella Street. The two brothers share a two-bedroom apartment together. Lance had called David earlier from a payphone outside Loblaws, and told him that they need to talk.

    David greets Lance with a kiss on the cheek.Tate is working, so it's just the two of them in the apartment.

    "What happened last night? I was looking everywhere for you," David locks the door behind him.

    "We took Sam home. I don't think K is good for him anymore," he replies, sitting on the couch.

    "That shit's gonna kill him," David says as he hands Lance a can of beer. He opens one for himself and sits beside Lance.

    Lance takes a sip of the drink, then places it on the coffee table. He lies his right leg on top of David's left as he feels his boyfriend's fingers tickling the back of his neck. David turns his head sideways to him. Their faces are so close to each other that Lance can see the small scar just above David's left eyebrow. Impulsively, he lightly traces his index finger over it. David's eyes are close now, but his fingers continue to stroke the back of Lance's neck.

    He runs his fingers through David's wavy dark hair. It is rare for Lance to see David with his hair not treated with gel. It is soft against his fingers. He can feel David inhale and exhale in front of him. Lance tries to match his breathing with David's. When David exhales, Lance inhales, and vice versa. Lance hopes that David keeps his eyes closed and not realize what Lance is doing. As a prepubescent child in the Philippines, he'd learned somewhere that the Earth is overly populated, and that resources are fast diminishing. His Grade 3 class was asked to come up with a way for the human species to conserve natural resources. As a suggestion, Lance said everyone should walk in pairs, facing each other. All pairs should coordinate their breathing so that when one person exhales, the other recycles the air by inhaling it.

    David's toes makes a cracking sound when he curls them. Lance grimaces at the sound of the bones snapping. He is about to remind David that he, Lance, does not like the sound of bones cracking, and that they've talked about this before. But he stops and Lance notices, for the first time, that David's chin is shaped like that of his mother's. Lance lays his forehead on David's chin, feeling the roughness of a freshly shaved beard.

    "Give me time," Lance says, as he rubs his forehead against David chin.

    He feels David's hands on both sides of his cheeks, motioning him to come look up. "The truth is, I wasn't sure you'd say yes, anyway," David tells him, now looking deep into Lance's eyes.

    "I will."

    "I know. Take your time," David smiles. "The axiom of my existence is that I can't live without you."

    Lance kisses his boyfriend on the lips and stands up. Outside, light is fast disappearing. Through the window, he can see two old men unsuspectingly eating dinner together inside of their own apartment. He walks to the door and puts his coat. As he steps out in the hall, he looks back to his boyfriend and throws him a kiss, then says, "I'll call you tomorrow." Without waiting for a reply, he closes the door behind and walks to the elevator. He'll have to unpack all of his clothes when he gets home. Thinking of the task ahead tires him, so he makes a mental note to do it first thing in the morning. He is sleepy and feels a bit drowsy.

The End