Tomorrow Never Came

It’s been officially 10 days since I moved to Manila. On the plane I wasn’t feeling too good due to the failed scholarship interview. I guess I could have used a bit of crying.


I went to O bar on my first weekend, the gay one with drag show and strippers, and again, found it hard to mingle with the local gays in real life. The attention usually shifted towards to the minority of white dudes there. And people didn’t really dance there. There were a lot of the “flashy” gays, those who wore flowery shirts and looked all gel-up, which made me want to grab their heads and messed it up. There were also a lot off bulky guys who looked a bit artificially to me. And the music, it was a mix of female top 40s and heavy repetitive dance beat.

I saw a Thai guy texting his friend “He’s moving to Bangkok so I’m going with him” and that crushed my heart a little. I chatted up a Thai girl who was really cute and traditionally Thai-looking, but she showed no interest. If it hadn’t been for Chad & Jazze, the 2 lovely friends I met in Boracay years ago, it would have been much worse. Chad, being supportive as he had always been, literally walked me through the night, helped me find my wallet which I left on the pavement, drove me back to my place at 4 pm, and held me up after I finished throwing up on some corners.

Before that, we had a nice dinner. We revisited our memories with the Haiyan typhoon back then, the men we all slept with, and I accidentally spilled the beans about Chad giving me a blowjob on the beach in Boracay that night, which he didn’t tell his best friend. It was funny how, back then, when Jazz asked me if I was on Grindr, I asked her back if it was a drug. At the end, I offered to pay for the dinner, and they were all surprised learning about my job. They thought I were rich, leading a fancy lifestyle, or at least doing so in the future. Some people did that sometimes, and I took pride in it, which partly mitigate the urge to quit.


Speaking of job:

  • I managed to screw it up a few times this past week. The lady boss seemed to be impressed at me at first but gradually trust me less and less. Sometimes her rants were a bit annoying to me as well, since the reason were just that people here didn’t even trust each other. Oh yes, that’s a diplomatic skill, I must have forgotten.
  • They also seemed to have problems with me going out at night. I tried to keep it under the radar, but they always asked questions, especially since they dropped a guy here for a conference in my room without any notice in advance without another key, hence finding out that I wasn’t home at 11.30 pm.
  • The most irrigating thing was how they look down on the local people: publicly out and proud trans walking around were “disgusting” to them, the homeless children in the neighborhood were “scary”, and the women who enjoyed eating no veggies and had no problem doing what they like were “fat” and weren’t “highly educated” on keeping yourself beautiful on the go. I did dispute some of them along the car ride, along the walk, during dinner, but those thoughts were so dominant in the group, with me being the only one seemingly having problems with that.

I went to another gay bar called Chelu or something on the way home last night and was the first one to be there. Sitting on the bar stool alone, a bartender was talking to me, but the next minute, while a white OLD man walked in, the guy dropped the conversation right away and went to that one, who then chatted him up, bought him drinks and touched him occasionally. And suddenly I remembered what Peter said about the bar people, they even put “Reserved” sign on the table to say no to the local, or those who look like local, but removed the sign immediately when we got in, because, according to what Peter said, “white people spend.”

White guys do get privileges here as well as at home. “The people were nicer to them, even more than to their own people,” that’s what an American told me after sucking my dick and swallowed both my cum and my piss. “And they were such cock-whores, and ugly”. I told him he got the advantage of being different, that’s it, and shouldn’t say those things about the people who gave you such advantage. I felt bad for him, but also for the local boys that felt for people like him who looked down on them. But at least he gave good head.

It was partly true, what he said, about the local gay guys here being active a lot though. I only had sex with probably 2 but there were tons on all kinds of apps hitting on me, despite me being non-white. That’s the contrary to my inability to strike a conversation in the real life gay bar. The American was only the 2nd head within this Sunday afternoon, after the super hot but quick session with the Ukrainian guy. I thought he was my first Ukrainian ever. He told me I was his first of my nationality, just like that Australian nurse did on my first night. And also Ali the Turkish, who gave me free access to his gym, and Peter the Danish who gave me a tiny ache and teary eyes getting me to talk about experience with molestation. Those were nice people.

Lana’s album had been dropped and it was a disappointment for me. I didn’t like how the drum sounded in this one. I wanted it to be either spontaneously hardcore like in Ultraviolent or exquisitely full-throat like in Born to Die. The political ones sounded rather naïve and out of place with the songs about breaking up here and there, consequently weakened the cohesiveness that Ultraviolent had. A few ones, standing alone, were nice thought, especially the one with John Lennon’s son. It was about waiting at the place of the youth, forever, for something that never returned. That’s what I felt like I’d been doing forever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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This entry was published on July 23, 2017 at 10:45 pm. It’s filed under Friends, Hookup, Peter, work and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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