I think it's time to pursue my own aesthetic.

‎Manatili bilang imahe

Ayaw kitang makilala.
Gusto kong manatili
ang imaheng isinilang
ng aking isipan
simula nang makita ko
ang iyong larawan.

Gawa ito sa kuryente
at pangako
ng maaaring mangyari.
Walang umpisa o wakas;
oo o hindi.

Nais kong maging tagapamahala
ng kahulugan ng titig mo.
Ito ba ay pagtatanong
ukol sa aking buhay,
o isang pag-aanyayang
hindi nagbabago?
Ako lamang
ang makakaalam.

Mahalagang hindi ka magkamalay
tungkol sa mga beses
na iniligtas mo ako
mula sa bangin ng aking sarili
gamit ang ngiting
hindi mo siguro pinagisipan.

Ang ngiting iyon
ay isang premyo
sa huli ng karera
na hindi ko dapat makamit
upang ipagpatuloy ko
ang paggalaw.

Hindi ko dapat malaman
na gawa-gawa lang ang ilaw
na pinipilit kong habulin.

Mas madaling masagip
ng kunwaring liwanag
kaysa ng totoong aninong
kumakapit rin pala
sa kapwa anino.

-Raydon L. Reyes

I once used the sun
as a mask
and it burned
my skin.

Juan looks for Pena in the woods. He wishes to tell her about the crabs he had advised to go to his home but failed to arrive, and how his mother's bamboo stick made his legs as pink as the flesh of the guava he had waited all day to fall into his mouth (but didn't).

Pena was not at her home. There, her sick mother curses through the net covering her bed as she waits for her daughter to bring her tamarind soup for her cold.

"Did you find the pot, the ladle, the bowl, and the spoon?" her mother shouted. But no one was there to answer.

Juan is certain that Pena would be at their meeting place at a clearing in the woods: a field where they would always lie down, watch the clouds, and mimic two clouds blending into each other-- droplets fusing with other droplets as the wind pushes them together before finally falling down.

Afterwards, they would talk about how Juan's father wants him to take over tilling the farm soon and how Pena's mother tells her to start going to the market and sell the baskets made of dried palm leaves which her mother often makes.

They wished to be like the clouds forever, with no need to apologize for drifting nowhere, or like the grass that needs only the sun and the rain and a good place on the earth to grow.

"Why can't it be? Why can't it be?" they would ask the sky.

When Juan arrives at the clearing, nobody and nothing is there, except for a piece of fruit he had never seen before. A crown rests on its head and its skin is a thousand eyes looking everywhere and straight at him.

Its gaze made him think of rain.

He knows right then that his story will have to remain in his throat.

With tears pouring down his cheeks, he walks towards the fruit, lies down one final time, and waits to take root.

-Raydon L. Reyes

My defiance will be living as if the world is already the world inside my head, all wind, and grass, and sunflowers and dancing around bonfires while wearing crowns made of leaves and vines. There, we are all children making senseless syllables towards the night sky. Hate will be but a dark cloud, constipated, pouring only when the gale has pushed it towards the ocean where it belongs.

There once was a man who had a great car but who refused to drive because the roads weren't as smooth as he wanted them to be.

He would look outside his window and see lesser cars with lesser drivers passing by his house, zooming towards God knows where while his car remained parked in his garage.

He didn't know where they were going but every car zipping by was a needle pricking his heart, for he felt he was getting left behind.

Sometimes, he would jingle his keys around and think about going out and driving to all the places he'd been dreaming of.

But every scratch and dent he saw on the other cars always scared him out of it.

One day, however, the man decided he had had enough of the view from his window.

He grabbed his keys, opened his garage door, and got inside his ride.

Turning his ignition on, he heard the slight cough and gentle purring of the engine as it finally left his home.

As his tires touched the asphalt of the road, he floored the gas pedal for the first time since he could remember.

A roar followed, and he was gone.

Toward Blankness

When I lie under you,
I am the writings on a sheet of paper,
pencil markings vandalizing
what was once white and pure.
And you are an eraser,
exploring every line and curve,
rediscovering my history and memory,
every thought and passing sigh
transformed into letters.
You come to know
the moments that once mattered
when the indentations run deep
on the surface.
You feel,
as you rub yourself against me
with a steady rhythm,
my confusion---the seemingly endless
crossed-out phrases,
overused ellipses,
and loops and spirals
that lead nowhere.
Each time, I am thankful
for your sacrifice
how you choose to be effaced
when we make contact,
losing yourself in me
until we both become spent,
reduced to a few pieces
of lead and rubber
to be carried away by one blow.
Whooosshhh.

I live for that blankness
that remains after our deed.

-Raydon L. Reyes

Life is a race and death is the finish line. But there's a place beyond the race, past the running, the gasping for breath, the jumping over hurdles, and runners enduring the blisters on their feet. It is not marked by trophies and pedestals and confetti on our hair. Just the feeling of triumph over the race, from having raced at all, for finally knowing why we ran to begin with. In this place, everyone wears crowns of sunlight and bliss, for everybody is a winner.

To my father, Raymund R. Reyes: Rest In Peace.

With much love,

Raydon

"You always fall in love with your first car," my mother told me after giving me the keys to mine two weeks ago. She couldn't be more right.

I named my first car "Rigel," after the blue star in the Orion constellation, owing to its "Electric Blue" color. It's a Nissan Sentra GX Automatic, a mid-range sedan with just the basics to boast of, a bit far from those luxury cars. But I love him for the simple reason that he's mine.

Call it our honeymoon stage but I've just been feeling really giddy for the past weeks whenever I'd take him out for a ride. So far, I've driven to Pacita in Laguna, Alabang, Las-Pinas, the South Super Highway, Greenbelt area in Makati, Rockwell, Bonifacio High Street area, Macapagal Avenue, SM Mall of Asia, EDSA, and De La Salle University. :)

But more than the car, I think what people fall in love with is the act of driving itself. There's this feeling of power, control, and self-determination. I'm really glad I delayed fulfilling this adult milestone for as long as I did. It just makes the wait all the more worth it.

See Rigel below!



1 - Front



2 - Back. My car's got a cute butt. lol



3 - Awesome Dashboard. Not all cars have that space on top of the dashboard (just above the hazzard signal button) where you can place things like your phone while you're driving. It's very practical and convenient. :)



4 - I bought a high-end AUX wire for my JVC car radio so I can play my iPod while driving. Singing and sound-tripping by yourself (or with some friends) while you're on the road is a new kind of high I can get used to.



5- My Automatic Transmission with two additional gears dedicated to uphill driving. Makes for a smooth ride.

Here's to the miles we'll be travelling together!

Well, the digital literary anthology Diaspora Ad Astra edited by writers Prof. Emil Flores and Joseph Nacino has finally come out with my story titled, "Robots and a Slice of Pizza." What else can I say but...please read and tell me what you think? Hope you enjoy it (and please read the stories of the other authors as well)!

Just to give you an idea, it's kind of a "pink" story in a futuristic setting. I tried imagining what an aspect of the gay scene would be like decades from now.

Here's a sneak peek:

“Where is the pizza you promised?” J.P. utters, breaking the silence.

“Right here,” I lead him to my dining table.

“So, did you have a hard time getting here?”

“No. Don’t worry about it. I just took the train and walked straight to your building.”

“It’s a good thing the train station is open for 24 hours now.” After all, robots don’t need sleep.


Go to my page in Diaspora Ad Astra to read the rest. 

This 2012, I want to play against type. I've been playing the emotional, overly sensitive boy all my life.

This 2012, I turn 25. So maybe it's time for a different role.

This year, I want to turn my emotions off and just do things. Go for things. Move towards things.

That's my only resolution for the Year of the Dragon. Let's see how long I can keep it up.

Morality does not work on behavioristic terms. If every good thing or deed or act felt good, and if every bad thing didn't, we'd all be saints or saviors all the time. Being born in a stable and being given the task of dying one day for humanity definitely won't make anyone feel good. It doesn't make sense to give up your life for people who either hate you or don't believe in you. But He went through with it anyway. So if some of us don't feel the Christmas spirit or feel joyful this season, we shouldn't let that stop us from celebrating it the best way we can. (Advanced) MERRY CHRISTMAS, everyone. Spread the hope. =)

Slight Apocalypse

Please understand that when I say,
"You are dangerous," I do not mean
that you mean to be,
that there is some intricate conspiracy
behind your gaze or your gait
or the fact that you pass by the same bookstore
I go to everyday.

You know how the sun just happens
to melt ice caps in the North Pole,
how earthquakes make even mountains fall,
or how the weakest flame spreads out
and consumes entire rainforests?

There is no will behind it all,
no motive underneath the presence
that has dominated the parallel earth
inside my head;
no awareness, most especially,
of how you have reanimated something
in my chest that I had long ago dismissed
as dead.

So if you see me cower just a bit
from a nod you throw my way
from across the bookshelf,
just know that there is a slight apocalypse
that you have ignited within me,
and that my only salvation would be for you
to make those few steps towards me
and say, "Let there be us,"
and then make me believe
that you want this new world
that would be born,
the second you finally utter those words.

-Raydon L. Reyes

I did a report on media psychology a couple of months ago for my class in Applied Social Psychology. One of the things I discovered was that people use media (tv, books, newspapers, radio, social networking sites, etc.) for different kinds of gratification. It can be intellectual, social, entertainment, or emotional. The problem is, we don't have control over gratification. We can read the news to be informed but end up more confused. We can go online to solve our loneliness and end up feeling more alone. We can watch tv to feel cheerful and end up feeling irritated. We have power over the process but not always over the outcome. I find that disconcerting. To have all this technology at our fingertips and still not know if they can really help us solve our problems or lead better lives.

I'm no stranger to this predicament. Back in college, I was addicted to social networking sites that cater to men who like other men. Every time I would go online, I'd go for hours checking profiles of other guys, sending messages, writing testimonials, participating in forums---all in the name of meeting guys and possibly finding a boyfriend (or at the very least, a "friend" for the night). My goal was to solve my loneliness and my carnal itch and I guess fall in love with the right guy. Unfortunately, I did not often get the emotional rewards I was looking for.

Although I received a lot of messages from guys who want to know me better, I've also gotten a few rejections and scrutiny and even ridicule from my fellow gays. Trust me, you should forget the so-called discrimination that gays experience from the outside world. The worst discrimination that gays get come from each other. There are a lot of people who insist on categorizing you according to your looks and your position in bed and your ability to be "manly" or "discreet." I can go on and on about it but that would take me from my original point for this entry.

I deleted my original accounts for those sites back in 2009 when I started working and I rarely missed them simply because I wasn't getting what I set out to get in the first place: a person I can love and who will love me. If I'm going to be all psychological and technical about it, I was looking for someone who could ease my growing loneliness and who would give me unconditional positive regard (the closest psychological term you can use for 'love'). Why even stay if it was hurting more than it was helping? I doubt that I'm the only one who experienced this from the virtual world---gay or straight.

According to some of the studies I collected for one of my papers, this anxiety stemming from media-use contributes greatly to the Quarterlife Crisis phenomenon.  We have so many pieces of technology meant to make communication more effective and yet the opposite often happens. Some scientists even say that even though people are more free in the post-industrial internet age, they are also lonelier. The youth and the young adults are the ones who take much of the strain from this global change in the communication landscape. Questions arise such as: What do we do with all these media? What should we use it for? What good can it do for us and society?

The truth is, there's no such thing as 'technology for the sake of technology.' This isn't art or poetry. This isn't philosophy. The ideal is for technology to serve a greater human good. And in terms of the communication technology, is it possible for a humanistic media to exist? We already have the hardware and the software. So what exactly in the media equation are we missing? What other 'ware' do we need? Or does the lack come from the ones who are using the media? If so, what can we do about it?

These are questions that I want to have answered soon. 



Image via portalhunt

To hold one’s breath for air

For a moment, I vaguely recall
The taste of toothpaste
In someone else’s mouth,

The cool scent of mint
In contrast to the heat
Of some invisible force
Hitting my chin.

I remember myself inhaling that same heat
Into my throat and lungs before I exhale,
Still connected,
To return the favor.

How I miss that transference and counter-transference
Of air (and fire) between mouths,
The urgency of it, the mistaken belief
That it can sustain us
For the rest of our nights.

Then again, they say that life began
With a breath over cold grey earth, that it started
To move only at that first gust of wind
From lips not unlike yours or mine.

Perhaps they were right.

-Raydon L. Reyes