Gimme More

For my third month in the City of Angels, I did a Britney Spears last night. No, I did not overdose. No, I not wear a bra and bikini and performed on-stage as an obese bitch. I simply did this...

Choz! Not really.

I just did a do-it-yourself makeover, the sort that America's Next Top Model would do at the start of every season.

After having avoided the hair-cutter for more than a year, I finally decided that it's time for a trim. My hair has been annoyingly long and unruly recently, I've found my self obsessing about it over many other trivial things in my oh so frivolous life. The past days, I've resorted to tying it in a bun or ponytail rather than bothering to SHAPE it.

So last night, I decided to tame my hair a bit by pulling clumps from my head and snipping the really unruly sections. I do not have any background with cutting hair, however, it was not the first time I did it either. I know how my tresses behave (those wayward curls and all), so by approximation I snipped an inch or two here and there, attempting to sculpt sections so my mane would have more body and texture while getting rid of the extra length.

It's not a radical change. I was about to post a before-and-after shot but I was surprised at what little difference came from my experiment with being a Ricky Reyes. But ok, here's how I look now, more or less (shet, Sarah this is for you mi amor).

Flip Flops

Some notes on the weekend.

Friday night. These bastards! They can't keep a commitment no? Maybe I expected too much from people. Hey, as I said I'm still learning the rules of this bloody and ruthless game of dating and yeah, I learned one big lesson last Friday. And that is, I CAN HAVE FUN ALONE! (Does anybody notice the bitterness?) So I went to this Silom bar on my own, watched the drag show, and tried parading around the bar like I fucking owned it. I was utterly frustrated. Too many gorgeous but intimidating men! On my second glass of vodka I saw my not-so-favorite officemate in the crowd. This prompted me to make a quick dash out of the bar. It was only 12:30 am for crying out loud! So I asked the cab driver to bring me to S, which is a gay bar popular with the locals. There I found the place full of enchanting Thai gay men gobbling bottles of whiskey. Not surprisingly, the bar only serves whiskey and beer. The music is horrendous, but who cares if drool-worthy, skinny go-go boys are gyrating on several ledges. In no time I brazenly joined the table of a group of friends. Ok, let's end the story there.

Saturday night. A gay Filipino friend - who I shall refer to as J - wanted to see Khao San Road on a Saturday evening. As the self-proclaimed Queen of Khao San, I volunteered to show him around. We ended up having some beer and watching the crowd in that chaotic part of BKK. I decided of course to wear just flip flops to blend in with the back-packers that dominate the area. Anyway, I told J about my exciting visit to S the previous night. S is just a couple of blocks from Khao San. The fag wanted us to go there. Can you imagine me going inside a gay bar in my flip flops? As in tsinelas that I bought for 59 baht! But guess what, that's what I actually did. I swear, I could've died right there. But who cares, we were already inside, the boys were tempting, and everybody was drunk. I called on all the saints that nobody would ridicule me and my tsinelas. I ended up gorging four large bottles of Singha, the local beer, to help me forget of my crude appearance. Again, J and I joined the table of some Thai men and started having fun with some catchy Thai pop songs blasting from the speakers.

Sunday. All my plans of going back to Chinatown and doing my grocery shopping were ditched coz I had one of the most atrocious hang over in recent memory. Ugh.

Punyeta!

I would have preferred it had this said that I'm acting like I'm 19, which is my real age by the way. But then, guess what...

You Are 29 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

I Heart Uncle Karl

“I don’t want to be real in other people’s minds,” he declares. “I want to be an apparition.”

I wish I had the brilliance and bravado to say that. Of course, only legendary fashion designer Karl Lagerfeld can get away with such a scintillating line, as quoted in a New York Times article (read full story here) that reviewed the newly-released 89-minute documentary centered on him.

Photo credit: NY Times

The Curse of the Fuck Buddy

The quintessential fuck buddy or FWB (as in friends with benefits). Everybody has one these days, don't you think? I had two in the VERY distant past and I seem to have no problem with the arrangement. In fact I immensely enjoyed them.

But guess what the New York Times says about it?

Yet relationships in which close friends begin having sex come with their own brand of awkwardness, according to the first study to explore the dynamics of such pairs, often called friends with benefits, or F.W.B..

The relationships tend to have little romantic passion, but stir the same fears that stalk lovers: namely, that one person will fall harder than the other.

Paradoxically, and perhaps predictably, the study suggests, these physical friendships often occlude one of the emotional arteries of real friendship, openness. Friends who could once talk about anything now have an unstated taboo topic — the relationship itself. In every conversation, there is innuendo; in every room, an elephant.

You can read the full article here.

I think I have a blossoming FWB. And it appears that the above article is getting very true to me, especially the walking-on-eggshells feeling. Whew, stressful.

Yaowarat and King Chulalongkorn Day

Perhaps one of the strongest forces that shaped Southeast Asia’s history is the Chinese who formed (and is still forming) a big mercantile class in any country they settled in. If one checks the list of the richest people in the region, those who descended from migrants of Chinese families would definitely occupy the top positions. Among the good indications of their solid economic standing in most Southeast Asian countries is the establishment of enclaves that have a distinct Chinese character. Visit any country in the region and it is quite certain that one would find a Chinatown, which often serves as trading and economic hubs of sorts for the Chinese, giving these sections of the city a frenzied, but colourful, atmosphere. One of my favourite places to visit in Manila is the city’s Chinatown (commonly referred to as Binondo) for its chaotic narrow streets that reverberate with life.

Likewise, the Chinese has a very sturdy influence on Bangkok culture that one would see Chinese-looking altars sitting under Buddhist effigies in most shop-houses. I read somewhere as well that roughly 80 percent of Bangkokians have some Chinese heritage in them.

It would not be a surprise therefore that Bangkok has its own pulsating Chinatown, commonly called as Yaowarat, which is the main street running through the district. Last Saturday, I took a long boat ride along the surprisingly swollen Chao Phraya river to reach the pier closest to Yaowarat. I decided to make it a cursory visit as I understand that the Chinatown here is quite sprawling. I prioritized the Buddhist temples that dot the area. Along the way I saw old wooden buildings and charming shop-houses (oh my, I’m soooo obsessed with shop-houses since coming here).

As expected, the Buddhist temples I stopped at followed a predominantly Chinese architectural style. Compared with the Buddhist temples I saw in Kuala Lumpur, the ones in Yaowarat look more aged and even on their way to dilapidation, which is obviously unfortunate. I wonder why they did not step up efforts to preserve these precious structures, given the apparent importance of the temple to the wealthy Chinese in the area.

From one temple to another I squeezed my self in the crowds along the narrow sois (alleys) where spices, herbs, sea foods, dried fruits, castanas, and whatnot were sold. Too bad I did not take pictures of the dizzying array of products that line the soi (but I can always go back).

Here are some pictures of my first trip to Chinatown.

By the way, there is supposedly a Thieves Market in Yaowarat, however, I did not have enough information on how to find it in the labyrinthine landscape of the area. This gives me enough reason to go back there.

I decided to walk the seven kilometres (more or less) from Yaowarat to my building. On the way home, I stumbled upon the older sections of Bangkok. I totally admire how they were able to preserve the old shop-houses that flank the tree-lined streets of these districts. At once I felt the serenity of the neighbourhoods despite the fact that I was still in the middle of the city.

Meanwhile, last Tuesday was a holiday to celebrate King Chulalongkorn Day. Since I live very near the main statue of King Rama V (or King Chulalongkorn), I took a walk towards where the commemorations were held, which is in front of the Anandasamakhom Throne Hall. King Rama V is highly revered among the Thais. I noticed a lot of passengers in the bus, and even taxi drivers, doing the wai when passing by the statue (and they do this even on regular days). Their love for the King obviously explains the large crowd paying their respect at the grounds of the statue last Tuesday. The conventional offering is pink roses, which are supposedly the King’s favourite. Also, dozens of wreathes were propped around the area while the scent of lighted joss sticks drift in the air.

I was more dazzled however by these towering arrangements made of ribbons, leaves, and flowers. (Please don’t ask me what type of leaves and flowers they were.) Go check the pictures of these truly intricate works of art, a testament to the creativity of the Thai people and their love for their King.

Pinoy Sightings in Thailand

Two weeks ago. I heard Tagalog spoken by a pack of rich-looking kids in the Skytrain station at Chatuchak, the largest weekend market in the world. The rich kids were making hakot some bargain clothes. As in three sacks of them.

Last week. I was sitting in the TV room of the office, reading some newspapers. The TV was tuned to a sports channel, some boxing match. Focused on the papers I was reading, I heard some Tagalog spoken on TV. I realized that it was no other than the latest Pacquiao fight. I began squealing to my colleague, "Hey, he's a Filipino! That's Manny!" I got back a blank stare. Whatevs. I love Manny.

This week. I was watching Chic Channel on cable, which is a marriage of Fashion TV and some local lifestyle channel. I don't care much for the Thai programs unless it's a runway show (more on this later). I mostly devour the Paris, NY, Milan, etc Fashion Weeks, which disappointingly are a couple of seasons late (argh!). Then bam, the fashion show of Rico Blanco's designs for Human was on. I figured the location was Glorietta. But nah, the video was not even good.

Today. I read on the paper that the first Phuket International Film Festival has a section called Focus on Filipino Films, which includes Tuli, Ang Pagdadalaga Ni Maximo Oliveros, Batad, and Sarong Banggi. Note that all films are indies.

I am OFFICIALLY Nineteen

No doubt about it. I've always believed I was born 1988, and I have been proven correct by the Philippine Department of Foreign Affairs no less (and who said government agencies don't do their job?!).

Bars in Bangkok are pretty strict about not allowing minors to come inside these venues. I think one has to be like 21 years old. Therefore, EVERYBODY needs to present an ID (for locals) or a passport (for foreigners). Honestly, bringing a passport to a bar is very inconvenient. Who can wear skinny jeans with such an enormous thing in your pocket? And there's a danger that you'd leave it at some place where you end up from a night of drinking, you know.

Anyhoot, so I presented my passport on two occasions that I went to this gay place in Silom. After quickly scanning my passport for my birth year, the bouncer would say, "Cannot. You young. You nineteen." I can't be more than flattered no? But then it's the wrong occasion dear.

"No, that's 1980," I insisted.

"No, 1988. You nineteen. Cannot," the bouncer shot back. He took a look at my face the way one would examine a piece of apple in the supermarket if it has any bruises or not. Thank god I lather my face with loads of sunblock and moisturizer all the time, I can still pass off for a twelve year old!

"No, no. You too young. Cannot," the bouncer declared with such finality.

Goodness, I never thought going to a bar is such an test of persistence. (But at least the bouncer is doing his job ha.)

So I pull out my ID from the Bureau of Internal Revenue, which shows my birthdate. "There, that's 1980," I told the bouncer.

He took a lot at the ID and then compared it with the passport. "Okay, okay," he replied.

The area is a complex of gay bars and they check your passport/ID first when you enter the courtyard and second when you go inside any bar. After passing through the first "screening", I had to present again my passport where another negotiation took place, similar to what happened earlier. Can't that be more cumbersome? This happened on two occasions already when I tried going inside a bar.

I also remember that when I provided a copy of my passport to my present office, the administrative officer had to ask me if I was born 1980 or 1988. I told her I wish I was born 1988 but no, that's 1980.

I wonder why the DFA cannot just use higher technology in printing our passports? Have they heard of printing machines? Why do they insist on scrawling by hand our passport details? But really, I like the idea that the Philippine government has officially adjusted my age. That's a full eight years clipped from my birthdate!

Take a look at my passport. Does that read 1980 or 1988 to you?

I Heart Amy Winehouse

Okay, okay, I know I'm way too late to obsess over Amy Winehouse. Yes, I've heard of her for quite some time now, but the press she's been receiving is more about her decadent lifestyle (drug overdose, alcoholism). I never realized that behind the image is a stupendous artist who can spew amazingly soulful songs.

Her landmark album is of course Back to Black (2006), a big hit in the UK and the US. Many weeks back I downloaded the songs from the record and it has since been playing on my PC incessantly. I'm crazy over the moving Love is a Losing Game, which appears in the video below.

Ang Pasko ay Sumapit

Last Saturday, I finally heard my first Christmas carol in this plain everything-60-baht store in the middle of Bangkok.

I've long expressed my abhorrence of the Christmas season, it's commercialism and gaudiness especially. Last week however, during lunch with an officemate, I blurted that I miss Christmas in the Philippines knowing that right on the first day of September one can already hear some Christmas carol until the last week of January (whew!). I tried explaining to my colleague how the yuletide season is celebrated back home, but I realized I could not give justice to a Filipino Christmas because I'm not really its biggest fan.

I know that to the majority of my countrymen Christmas is definitely the highlight of their year and it's that spirit that I cannot contain in words. Christmas in the Philippines is definitely something one has to experience to understand what the big deal is all about.

Am I missing Christmas? Hmm, maybe I am.

Are You "A" Gay and Other Amusing Questions

Are you A gay? I've been asked that question countless of times, not that I mind at all inquiries about my sexuality. But don't you find cute that lapse in sentence construction there?

I asked my sister once if she was ever mistaken for being Korean. I wonder where I got that idea that my sister REMOTELY resembles somebody who is from Korea.Everybody who knows how my sister looks like would make a thousand somersaults with the utter absurdity of the question.

But my all-time favorite question is: Are you a model? I wish I can say, "Of course I am dear. Didn't you see my cover on Vogue?". But nah, all I can do is go on coquet mode - flip my hair and giggle like a school girl. At least some people out there can see fucking POTENTIAL noh? These are the people that I shall forever remember and love.

So what are some amusing questions you've been asked?

I Heart Kylie

Sigh. Kylie Minogue is back. Here's a peek into her video, 2 Hearts, from her soon to be released album.

Bitch is still fierce!

But I'm SUPER CRAZY about this particular Kylie song, Stars, which had been on constant replay on my PC. Click here to play Streaming Audio.

Tom Yum

I had Tom Yum last night in one of the many restaurants along "my street". I was expecting a lot more from the restaurant because it was relatively more sosyal compared with the others in the area. For 80 baht however I ended up with something very bland, a far cry from the 50 baht version that I used to get from a stall in this dirty market around the corner.

I always remember my sister when I have Tom Yum. She craves for it on a weekly basis.

I'm not really a soup person to begin with. But in Bangkok, soup is pretty much part of the daily diet. Noodle soup is probably the most popular by far. I can only imagine all the MSG and salt in those meat stocks. Ugh. Consequently, whenever I have noodles I always opt for haeng or the dry kind.

***

My Burmese "housemate" went to the US for some lectures and he only came back a week ago. For almost three weeks I was alone in my building. During that time it was kind of eerie in the evening to have the building to my self.

Yesterday a new "housemate" arrived. A is from Singapore and he used to do some part-time work at my office. But now he's part of this big opera house in some hi-so (high society) area in Bangkok. My office is accommodating him though, giving him a room on the third floor. A and I have been hanging out when he used to visit Bangkok, looking for a job. Now that he's here for good, he is definitely a good addition to the building. At least I have someone to smoke and hang-out with during boring evenings. I'm afraid it would be the end to my lonesome nights though.

Wash and Fold

I never realized that one day I would be writing about laundry of all things. But of course that was the time when I did not know that washing clothes can be so complicated. Why wasn't I taught how to properly wash clothes? Starting college I've always sent my dirty clothes to the laundry woman who picks them from the dormitory. When I started working, I drop my clothes at the laundry shop every week.

Now that I'm doing my own laundry, courtesy of the office's washing machine, I've successfully ruined shirts on a regular basis. First rule I learned the hard way is that new clothes bleed (I know, I'm stupid). I washed this recently bought shirt that had a red collar; lo and behold, after I pulled it out of the machine I realized to my horror that some of my shirts had pink stains all over them. After much scrubbing, to the detriment of my oh so fragile hands though (rolls eyes), I was able to remove the stains.

I've also experimented with bleach to take off a minor stain on a white shirt that had black prints on the front. After soaking the shirt in bleach for a night, the black prints were "reproduced" on the back of the shirt. I simply had to throw that shirt away (thank god it was cheap).

Which brings me to the cheap ukay-ukay polo shirt I ruined last night. I tried removing a speck of stain just below the pocket using a cotton bud dipped in bleach. That did not help though because right before my eyes I saw a larger, white patch appear on where the stain used to be. Ugh. But wait, I'm not giving up yet. I'm currently soaking the polo shirt in a pail of bleach (okay, make that 50% bleach and 50% water), hoping that the whole thing would fade instead. Let's see if that works.

Does This Make Me Look Fat?

"Ikaw lang yata ang kilala kong pumayat nang dumating sa Bangkok," said a friend I had dinner with last Saturday.

Yes, that's what's happening to me lately: shedding weight effortlessly. You see, since coming here I have been less hungry. I have a rule to eat only when I'm hungry. Obviously if my tummy does not call for food, which is very rare these days, I lock my mouth. On my first week here, I was quite worried about the enormous amount of delicious Thai food I'm gorging. That is followed however by my lackluster interest in food, which has declined severely the past days.

Here's what I eat on normal days. For breakfast, I have a small box of soy milk. Lunch, hmmm, I hardly eat lunch unless my officemates ask me out. If I do eat, I have a small bowl of noodles or a plate of fried rice. Otherwise I go up my room and take a long nap. Around lunch time I have some papaya, mangoes, and pineapple from some hawker in front of our office. If there's anything I'm eating more of in Bangkok, that has to be fruits. It's doing wonders on my skin. Anyway, I used to be very conscientious with having mid-afternoon snacks (hi Babalicious!). But here, I just don't feel the need to have one. Dinner is pretty early, around 6 pm. It's mostly noodles (again!) or tom yum (di-fucking-vine!) in the sidewalk. No "midnight snack" for the old fag, except for yet another carton of soy milk (oh, I fucking love soy milk and they're soooo cheap here).

Just when I'm not trying, I saw my weight plummet. Is it a good thing? I can't be sure really. For one, I get to keep my jaw and clavicle. Hahahaha. And with such pervasive skinny-ness in Thailand, I actually feel the pressure to keep my weight down. If I were five pounds heavier, I'd be an obese bayot by Thai standards.

Eternal Summer

Holy shit! I've just seen one of the most perfect movies in recent memory. Eternal Summer (Taiwan, 2006) is a good old love triangle between two male best friends and a girl. Obviously there's a gay angle to the film (and no wonder why I loved it no?). But really, it's more than the gay part that ensnared me, it's the whole sensitive treatment to the characters' agony and conflicting emotions. Add to that the spectacular performances of the three main actors. And oh, the cinematography is also compelling.

I hope you enjoy this trailer.

Classic

I remember watching the movie Magnolia a million years ago and it was certainly one of the rare moments when I was COMPLETELY stunned by a movie. The first time I watched it was on VCD, so when the time came when it was shown at the UP Film Center (obviously these were student days) I watched it back to back. Its effect on me did not change though. If anything, I was more stunned than ever especially because I had the chance to process it, twice even in one sitting. Until now it is still of my all time favorite and memorable movies.

I'm listening to the soundtrack of the movie, which is predominantly composed of Aimee Mann songs. The song Save Me was actually nominated for an Oscar (I don't think it won though). This scene in particular is just one of the most striking parts of the film (until something fell from the sky). We see here the brilliant cast lipsynching to Aimee Mann's Wise Up.

Brewing

You would know that my life has come at a standstill when I'm not posting much on my blog, which in recent days looks exactly like that. But not really. I'm sort of cooking up something, nothing grand but still something that still makes me giddy these past days. Oh, I'm not going to spill too much. Like somebody's interested anyway, right?

But I can't help having this charged look.

Oh, and can somebody please remind me not to be such a drama queen this time? Perhaps being a callous slut is better, don't you think?

Photo Credit: DP Challenge

Lunar Cycle

It was a full moon when I arrived in Bangkok two months ago. And now it’s yet another full moon, a reminder of one more month passing by in the City of Angels.

As my previous entries show, I’m eternally overwhelmed by this city and my response to it has vacillated from being confused to being awed, from captivation to frustration. It’s quite tempting to write a lengthy entry about my experience here so far, but how do I encapsulate something that I’m still trying to make sense of?

Photo Credit: DP Challenge