My Neighborhood: The Manila Flood of Homosexuality
Perhaps the souls of those we’ve lost do indeed take refuge in inanimate objects. Or maybe, they’re in some people who are open to discover the mysteries of life.
Manila is where I live. It is a noisy neighborhood. It is a place where so many have worked, explored, and drank. It is a place of fashion and big schools, the place where best people meet – man, woman, and gay.
I asked my city, “Are they confused solitary rebels? Is being a gay a debunking scare term?”
Until Arnold came into my life.
For so many years, Arnold had been my best friend. We shared common interests and we had fun together. Arnold always acted in a respectable manner and was a gentleman. I thought his sex appeal was oozing. He had strings of girlfriends because women liked him for his being of reason and intellect. Sometimes, what made him confident was his air of arrogance. This ignited my envy of his strong status.
One night Arnold called me up. He said that he wanted to see me at once. It was an important matter. I had to rush to his pad. He was drinking and I found out that he had a fight with a girlfriend.
“Foolish girls!” he murmured as he welcomed me inside.
I nodded a maelstrom of conflicting feelings waving in my head. I wanted to talk, confused of what had happened, but instead I sat quietly comforting Arnold.
After more discussions, I felt Arnold wanted to tell me more but he got weaker. It was the first time he acted differently. Perhaps, I thought he could not contain his tears.
I was not able to go home, and I stayed with him in the flat. “What are friends for?”
We slept side by side. When I woke up at dawn, Arnold was standing in front of me naked. I was shocked! I couldn’t believe what I saw. I went to the toilet and threw up. I hit Arnold, and he wept.
When I finally mustered my courage, I clutched the sheet he had covered me with and silently crept to his side. I touched his shoulder. He looked up with an expression weary and pained.
“I am sorry,” he said tonelessly. I am sorry.”
I felt pity for him. I embraced him, and cuddled my bestfriend. I could not leave him now. The envy and hatred was gone. I can’t let go off the times we’ve shared. I had loved him as my brother and I will exist in an odd kind of waiting to heal Arnold’s wounds.
My friend is a homo. I tried earnestly to speak with a comforting voice, carefully… because I saw Arnold as an extension of myself. I know we both have to accept what is good in each other.
/rose flores martinez
My old fiction story
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