Blue Sky Collapse

As I walk to the end of the line, I wonder if I should look back to all of the things that were said and done. I think we should talk it over. Then I notice the sign on your back; it boldly says "Try to Walk Away". I go on pretending I'll be okay. This morning, it hits me hard that still everyday I think about you. 

Nothing beats a fast-driven car. It goes so fast, so speedy, that up to one point, you don't feel yourself anymore. Just the blinding wind, and the time is like being fast-forwarded. It's like just running away from the past, escaping from the pain, and eventually, forgetting about the life itself. 

But reality hits. From time to time. So you'd have to push your brake. You'd have to stop, trying to digest the pain, the smile, the tears, the happiness, or everything else, again. For you can't be the winner when you're racing with time. You can't really pretend that you'd be okay forever. You'd have to look back, to make peace with yourself before you move on.... 


So I stopped. 

Appeased the adrenaline rush. 

Took a deep breathe. 

And reality hit me so hard that I finally surrendered myself to the fact that I have loved, I have fought, but I have lost. 

The pain started to fill in my chest, as I remembered again his smile. His eyes. His hugs. His odor. His kiss.. Our kiss. Our love. Our moment. Our intimacy. Our past..My past. 

I walked out of my car, hugging my arms. Isn't love a sweet misery? Despite the pain, and everything ugly, we're willing to take the risk to let ourselves fall. Fall so deep that even sometimes we lose ourselves. Or is it true that it IS the pain that makes the happiness taste sweeter? 


Did it matter anymore? 
Frankly, I didn't know. And I didn't want to know. When it's time to let go, are there any other option than to let go? Is there any use to keep an already broken mirror? Already broken dream? 


So I said goodbye. 

As I stare at the wall in this room, the cracks; they resemble your shadow. When everyday I see time goes by; in my head, everything stood still.. I'm waiting for things to unfreeze, till you release me from the ice block. It's been floating for ages washed up by the sea and it's drowning - thought you should know that..still everyday I think about you. I know for a fact that's not your problem, but if you change your mind you'll find me hanging on to the place, where the big blue sky collapse. 

As I drove home, I noticed that perhaps love is like the darken sky. It got the sky black like the night. It collapsed the blue blue sky. Still, it waited for you to redeem the bright morning with your ribs. And perhaps at that time, the two souls would again find each other and just be home. 

You see, people are trying to find their way back home, So I'll find my way to you. 

*Song from  Blue Sky Collapse, Adhitiya Sofyan, from the Album Quiet Down. 

Sex and The Boy #2

Now I know what's the missing piece. It's LOV.. E. #selfquote

Have you ever felt a difficulty to make peace with yourself?


No, this is not about the self-denial that we see so often in PLU's lives. This is about the things you have done, and you're not so proud about it, so you try to give yourself an excuse. You feel really really bad about it that you try to explain what's really happening, for it was good. Somehow you're kind of regretting it, but it's not regret, because you actually enjoyed it. And by the end of the day, you intent to let it happen again. 

Yes, I'm talking about guilty pleasure. You know it's wrong, you know it's low, but we all know that all thing which is supposedly to be forbidden is very very sweet we get addicted. Everybody has it, so what's the big deal here? I am pretty much amazed that I find myself trying to come out with any logical explanation to make it tolerable and acceptable. To make everything okay, in the mere reason so that I could finally stop despise myself. And you already read it in the part one.


Like, what's forbidden about the sex? What's wrong with wanting sex? If it is wrong and forbidden then I am all wrong and forbidden since the beginning of time, right? Er...see? Here I go again. All that stuff. All that self-defense reasoning. And why am I beating myself this hard to explain something normal? Gee. Playing saint is really getting old, Ed. 

Sex is supposed to be liberating, right? It frees you from the urge, it gives you this particular sensation, and it is not wrong to want it again and again, right? To the top of that, isn't it supposed to be fun? I mean, the reason why sex is so addicting is because it's so fun, isn't it?
The moment where you can forget about the rest of the world?
The moment when you could just lie down, thinking about nothing, except the dopamine, the adrenaline, and any other sensation?
The moment where it's just you and him, and nothing else matters?


And right there, at the moment where I finally accepted the fact, surrendered myself to the guilty pleasure, at that exact time too I lost my appetite.


Yes.


A cute guy was holding you so tight, kissing you, and asking you how to serve you in the best way. Nice body, although not-all muscular, but still okay. Gentle attitude. Everything a guy like me could really imagine. And he was standing naked, standing so true that you didn't want to blink your eyes for this fear that he's going to disappear.
But something's off. There's this missing piece somewhere, and when you think that you have found it, you noticed that the pieces just did not fit anymore. So instead of the expected great sex, it went so-so. The fireworks just cooled off so easily that it didn't even leave any mark in the sky.


Was it because of the great expectation - meaning, the more you expect it to be great, the more it sucks?
Then where do you really draw the line; between a really good sex and a really big SLUT? How much sex could one have before people start labelling him a BIATCH? Or are we supposed to just not care, and go on with our lives, as sex is supposed to be private and limited to our bed-room only - or in some case, the car, the sofa, the garden, the bath-room, and so on? Even so, is it wrong to be a really GOOD slut when we're having sex?


So we picked up our clothes, and I looked at him, again. Trying to get a better look on his image. Still my type. Still the guy from my dream. As this empty feeling created a bigger and bigger hole in my chest, I smiled at him, with no intention to ever seeing him again. We said casual goodbye, and I tried to remember again what it was like at the first time I started doing no-string-attached-sex.


I was in a very dark place, trying to forget someone from the past by escaping into strangers' arms. Trying to get rid of his image, and trying to bargain my lonely nights just so it could be a little more bear-able. But he is just a past, now. I don't need to get under some guys to get over him anymore..


And as the sky was getting darker, I knew I had to move on.
I knew that I needed to have a better self-esteem.
I knew it's time to make peace with myself, and to embrace more of myself.
I knew, I needed to get a good night sleep.
There'd be a fight going on, very soon.

Sex and The Boy #1

The thing you need to know is, it's all about sex. It's true. In fact, they say men think about sex every twenty eight seconds. Of course, that's straight men. With gay men, it's every nine. You can be at the supermarket or the laundromat or buying a fabulous shirt, when suddenly you find yourself checking out some hot guy, hotter than the one you saw last weekend, or went home with the night before. Which explains why we're all at Babylon at one in the morning, instead of at home in bed. But who wants to be at home in bed, especially alone, when you can be here, knowing that at any moment, you might see him - the most beautiful man whoever lived... That is, until tomorrow night! By the way, that's me. Six-one, Forty six inch chest, sixteen inch biceps, twenty eight inch waist, a veritable God. I wish. Okay, that's me. Michael Novotny, the semi-cute boy-next-door type. Twenty nine, five-ten, one forty, nine and a half cut. Alright, so I exaggerate. But, like, who's told the truth since they invented cybersex? [Michael Novotny, Opening Narrative, QAF, s01e01]

"I want a conventional relationship," A friend of mine once told me. He explained further that he wanted a relationship where he had to chase after the right guy with a proper approach. He was a bit old-fashioned; he told me that a typical date was when you could talk in a decent conversation, get to know each other, have a dinner and a movie perhaps, before step into the sex part. If you watch Grey's Anatomy, it's like the new Mark "McSteamy" trying to be whole gentle and sweet instead of sleeping around. In short: it's not about sex, he said. 


And that thought have exactly been my way of life, until well.. a very long time ago. I used to be a guy who believed that true relationship could really stand the void of sex. I drew a big-fat line between LOVE and LUST, naively believed that when it's love, LUST could come as the last priority, because love is supposed to be able to conquer all, or so I thought. But as I step further and grow older, and thus meet more and more people-like-us, I have been wondering: where do the sex part stand in AJ relationship?


I mean, we're guys, right? And we're AJ. Sex is not really a big deal for us. We thought about sex more than we realize, more than we know, and more than we admit. We're supposed to be able to do it without attaching any feeling along, aren't we? You take off your clothes, your tongues meet, and BOOM! It happens. Simple, and fast. The urge, the lust, and the adrenaline are then transformed into a sticky white mud we say as orgasm. Five fu*king seconds of orgasm. Then the second round? The repeat order? You say. Sex is not scary, at all - that is, if you do it safely, and with responsibility. Sex is easy, as the Sunday morning, when you get to stay in bed really really late, thinking almost about nothing - well, except for the morning erection and the guy from the Saturday night. Sex is fun, sure fun, if you meet the right guy. And ultimately, sex is just the basic instinct we have, a very naturally mundane thing that we do.  

So I wonder: given its perks, has sex become some kind of compensation to affection? First, you meet this hot guy, and you're interested in him. You start worrying what to wear, what to say, what to do, because you want to impress him, and there's also the fact that AJ is like the most sensitive being in the world. Say something wrong, do something wrong, then it's a dead-end. So you need to be extra cautious. Then, with no intention to make it sound bad, I'd like to add the anxiety, jealousy, insecurity, and so on and so on you have when you're dating. 


Dating is not fun. Romantic, yes. But it's never the fun. See, we go out, wondering thousand of questions in our head: if he's really the one, if we're not under-dressed, if we're okay for him, if it's gonna be always and forever, and so on. We take the risks to have our heart broken and to have our ass busted, for what prize? Admit it or not: it has always been the sex part. Because we do know that by the end of the day, we get him in our bed. We get to say good night to him. We get to make love to him. We get to wake up beside him. And eventually, we get to not be alone at night.


Plus, for sure, even when you think dating is fun, there's no PDA we could show: no holding hands in public, no hugging in crowded space, no saying intimate things out loud.........and it just adds the paranoia perks on the dating part. Remember being discreet? Remember to act well? Remember that it's all about image? Unless you come out. But it's the scary part. So we stay in the closet. It gets claustrophobic every now and then. Still, try to put two guays in one small room. See what happen. 


Yes, S-E-X. And this is also when SEX comes in handy. It compensates everything bad. This is also why SEX has to come GOOD. I mean, really really good. Don't want to admit it, yet? Okay, picture this: go out with your boyfriend. Have a nice and decent dinner, when you have a decent conversation, get to know him better. Then perhaps a movie, a disco time, before you go home. But this time, omit the sex part. What's left there? A friend of mine even told me, a date without sex is no different than being just-a-friend with someone, and since he has many friends, there's no need to add a complete stranger to the list; it could get ugly.

So, good sex has always been a very important variable for us to consider a relationship with him, hasn't it? Or is it just me? Is it too cheap to even consider it? Is it too bitchy and slutty? Is it normal? 


I know that there's no rule, and playing saint is getting old. But deep down inside me, there's a small part that feels something is missing. It's like waking up knowing that you have a very sweet dream, but you can't remember what it is. For there's always a reason for one-night stand I've been conducting.. but does it make it okay to do so?