Random Diary Entry

June 25, 2010

Today I had dinner with a priest. Which gives me credit for about 20 weeks of not going to church. He was the same one that my parents brought to our house when I first came out to them. I know what you’re thinking, having dinner with that priest?! That’s WW3 as we know it!It wasn’t. I would’ve probably been fuming with rage. I didn’t. I would’ve also probably told him that I now have a better understanding of how the world works and have gotten over past events. I couldn’t.

We never actually talked about the whole gay thing. I adopted a very civilized and well spoken persona over the years. Every minute of seeing my family along with my cousins and myself coexisting peacefully gave me more closure. I felt that everything was going to be okay and I think I could finally let go on a lot of the baggage I’ve carried in the past.

We ate at a family favorite spot, Gerry’s grill in Artesia. It was his last weekend in that church, because priests have terms of office, five years per term and another church they go. The diocese does this in order to rotate the good ones to reach other sheep and of course the bad ones so they don’t fester up the same sheep and eventually drag them to hell themselves.

We debated about the removal of religion from schools. His position was obviously that they should keep it, mine was to throw it overboard. He started off by asking if I thought morals and values should be taught by the school system. And obviously, from his good technique in debate, I said yes. My position was that religion is a good context for morals, however it isn’t for everyone and that there are other sources for them for example grandparents that we are scared of, the justice system’s punishments, and the internal good of human beings. He counter-argued that God provides transcendence and is the best context for morals and values. In defense I asked “so which religion is the right one?” to which he replies that Christianity has had the longest run so far and has had the best track record. This is the point where we agree to disagree.

Anyway, too much verbiage. The whole night was just nice to feel the aura lighten up. Last time he was in the presence of our family, there were a lot of screaming, crying, and pointing fingers. Today was light, pleasant, and filled with jokes. Thanks for the closure father, and I pray that you’re well received in your new home in Panorama city as you have been in our lives. People connect in weird ways, he is the symbol of an institution that drove my family apart, but he is also one who helped glue it back together.

Please Come In! Don’t Mind the Vulture

A True Story

By: John Alejandro

Living in the Vista Del Campo community has been a luxurious and freeing experience. Constant dinners and kickbacks happen for the people that I hold close without the constant nagging of the parental units when I have people over. I had the privilege of living with a random who was probably one of the nicest and most caring people I’ve ever met and I hope he continues to rendezvous in my life. I’ll dub him Daye.

However as good things come, there is a sick balance of nature to equalize life. I also had the opportunity to feel personal hell of living with the worst roommate. I’ll dub him Zilla, an ode to a horrible monster from the deep. I’m not a difficult person to live with. In fact, I’m quite the opposite. I go out of my way to make sure your stay at Chateau John is more than pleasant. The place is always immaculately organized and clean. Housework is divided unfairly towards me favor and my friends are your friends. The first few weeks with Zilla and Daye were to test the waters. I read people easily and I knew right away that Zilla would be a problem.

September

I threw a back to school party equipped with the works, and I had made chicken wings. Hot, spicy, delicious and abundant about two trays enough to feed the army I was expecting. At its start, Daye, his girlfriend, my bff in exile Srixati, Zilla and I sat around waiting for people to come. It was quaint. As people arrived I took the wings out of the oven and mingled for a while. Different social circles converged while people were dancing on the living room.

About a quarter into the event, people started asking who the creeper was on the table staring at everyone? As far as I knew, I didn’t and generally don’t invite creepers to my parties. When I went outside to check on our mystery guest, I found Zilla in the center of the table with one tray of chicken wings on one side as he was brooding over a pile of chicken bones up front. It was as if there was an eating contest that I forgot to emcee. Even worse, it appeared as if he dissected and devoured a whole person (in buffalo sauce).

It appeared horrible, but I got a kick out of it because on one side of the room there was sensual dancing the mood Christmas lights were doing their magic, and on the other side a zombie was feasting on a carcass. Jokingly, I told Zilla to “save some for other people”. I don’t remember his reaction, but an acknowledging grunt, like from a cannibal, seems to fill the lapse in memory.

November

Pippin’s annual Halloween dinner was close and I needed a costume that says “I’m a cute nerd!” As if my regular style of dress doesn’t already suffice. I put on a maroon vest on top of a striped shirt and very skinny cream pencil chinos. It was a gay Clark Kent more than anything else, but whatever.

I went out of my room to solicit advice from Daye and his girlfriend, when Zilla comes out of his room a quarter of a second later (a common practice to ensure that he is included in any and every conversation). He had on a very stylish tattered white, or actually more yellow than white, wife-beater, a 500 o clock shadow, a splash of curly pube-like chest hair, and red shorts. Very avant-garde. And as I was about to leave Daye’s room he comes in so I stay for a while, because it’s always interesting what he will say next. Whenever he’s around, the atmosphere turns horrid sour, like if you just smelled a wet fart or you’ve just been told that your cousin is actually Hitler’s reincarnation. So I ask his opinion, what he thinks about the outfit never again will I do such a thing. He said without emotion and sort of a hungry look, “You look fucking adorable.” Silence. With a sentence, he took my will to live. I left for work.

Of course Daye and the girlfriend had the biggest laugh and now had ammunition to use and torture me for the next couple of weeks. I spent all night not resting from a long day’s work, but trying to convince them that the ogre did not like me whatsoever.

December

When you work in retail, food, or other repetitive jobs you develop unique skills and become very efficient. Like for example you find a faster way of folding clothes, setting up, dealing with monotony etc. Living with Zilla had not blessed me with a routine acceptance of his odd behaviors, instead to my detriment I developed ways to test and to observe them.

What can I use to get rid of this grease?

On one occasion I was washing dishes and like clockwork Zilla comes out of his room. He opened his cabinet to see if he still had any dried bats left to eat and stood two feet behind me, hovering… breathing down my neck…waiting… A normal person’s default thinking would be “Oh, he will do his dishes after I do mine.” I hurry up just a bit because I might have been inconveniencing him (Yes that’s a word I looked it up!) Minutes pass by and I finally finish rinsing. Before I could even turn around, he goes back to his room without doing them.

Please Come In! Don’t Mind the Vulture

I have friends over all the time. I tell them in advance to please come in, and don’t mind Zilla. He’s special. On another occasion, I had someone for lunch who thought I was merely exaggerating, which I often do, but alright don’t heed my warning you’re in for it. We had a nice lunch (which obviously whenever I have people over it’s hard to be polite and invite Zilla as well because A I don’t want to cook for him B The whole atmosphere Hitler thing). To my detriment that doesn’t actually matter. Zilla like clockwork comes out of his room, I introduce him to her, which is the least I could do, and he grabs a chair next to her. We start talking, and I throw in a couple of leads for him the way you do when the people you’re talking to don’t know each other. But pretty soon I get tired of including him in the conversation. Sink or swim buddy. So he sits and doesn’t talk for the rest of the lunch, simply just listens and stares at us for the next 5 hours.

Winter Quarter

Sexy Incident

Zilla’s been absent for quite some time. Daye was told that Zilla was rushing for a fraternity. “What frat would accept him?” I thought or if accepted “In the near future many will be creeped upon, poor women (or men…only god knows).” I’m just sort of glad he’s out of my hair for a while. Then, before you know it old Zilla strikes again. I was only told of this by Daye’s girlfriend.

Apparently he came home drunk that night, which I can confirm because I saw him still sleeping when I got back, one arm hugging the top of the couch. He slept while tufts of chest hair protruding out of the wife-beater danced on my comforter. I washed it right away. Anyway, the girlfriend was doing something in the kitchen and out of nowhere Zilla says “Hey why don’t you wear something provocative”. I burst out laughing. FINALLY I had revenge after the Halloween costume incident. Then rape crossed my mind and stopped the laughter.

“Put that fucking bitch in his place.” I told Daye “That’s your girlfriend!”

He shrugged it off and called it a day.

Daye’s Room

We were in the living room drinking tea and studying, a habit during finals. Every minute we’d find a distraction. Either “hey you want some soup” or “hey check this out, it’s a new” or “did you know that google chrome is better than the world” or “what’s the strongest strain of weed?” Any question would result in his trademark answer “we should look it up!” His tone is similar to anchorman’s “And that’s the way the cookie crumbles!”

Studying for finals is not as entertaining without Zilla. This story is more abstract than actually interesting or weird. Put your own interpretation into it. I will. Zilla would periodically come out of his cave to open his side of the kitchen cabinet, look inside to see if the wild buffalo is done curing, decides that it needs a couple more hours of smoke, and leaves back to his room. Five minutes later he’ll be back to open the fridge, look inside, and leaves without anything. Ten minutes later his buffalo is perfectly cooked (which is disguised as a box of cereal), he takes a couple of bites puts the box back and walks off.

Later that night I saw the silhouette of a shadow from Daye’s light. Zilla was inside his room. He knew the whole time that we were in the living room, and he stayed a good two minutes.

“Hey he’s inside your room!” I said

“What’s he doing in there?” Daye asked

“I dunno god, maybe looking for a wife?”

And after this, both our doors are locked if we’re gone for an extended amount of time.

Hasta La Vista Baby

Daye’s really nice. He is the yin to my yang when it comes to interacting with Zilla. That is, I don’t and he does. One day standing in front of his den they were chatting it up like no other. I was on the sofa reading when I heard an insane out of nowhere machine gun of Swarchenegger gibberish from Zilla. He sounded something like “Atotatatotao I lika ita lika data.”

And again there is always a bar to be raised.

Food

I’m usually generous to my friends. There is just that connection like family and I make food for them. They can usually grab whatever they want in my kitchen. Zilla, however is not a friend. Zilla pillages our food, and worst of all he doesn’t even ask. I’m not a stingy person, but damn that’s my food that he didn’t ask permission for. He only steals things that he can get away with like milk, cereal, protein powder, etc. To my surprise, I’ve stooped to a new low and created scenarios and tests just to confirm it has been him:

Milk

Do you ever wonder what happens to milk when you don’t drink it for a while? It drinks itself! Yes its true! Just like air fresheners, if you don’t use milk it lessens in volume. I measured milk down to the meniscus (which I didn’t really have to because a significant amount was taken over a period of a couple of days). Once I found out it was being used, I started writing my name on my milk.

However it isn’t enough, what if Daye was using it? I had to know! It was still being consumed even with my name.

So one day I ask Daye, “Hey, how does he eat cereal in his bowl (that has milky residue on the sink) if he doesn’t actually buy milk?”

So the next day I wrote “DO NOT USE!!!” under my name. I wish scientists could have this kind of instant gratification when performing complementation tests, but right when I wrote this, Zilla bought two 2 gallon jugs of vitamin D milk the next day. And started buying his own milk halfway through the year.

Sugar Cookie

I dislike sugar cookies. The vanilla with sugar has such a cheap taste in my mouth, my tastebuds would rather commit suicide than be involved with the,. So I decided to use them as bait and left it in the main fridge, not my personal one. Throughout the week the count went down by four.

“Question, its totally fine if you did, but did you eat four sugar cookies from the container?” I asked Daye.

He shook his head and I explained to him the situation.

Cookie

One night after a round of mayhem and eating, Daye drops a chocolate covered biscotti cookie all over the dirty kitchen floor.

“Wait” and this is where I turned evil “I’m gonna do something with it”

I set it on a napkin and left it on the table conspicuously before we called it a day. The next morning, the cookie disappeared.

“You didn’t throw the cookie away did you?” I asked Daye

“Nope”

And I realized the napkin was still there with screaming evidence, the crumbs were still there…

Protein powder

Any bodybuilder or anyone who subscribes to substituting some plant protein instead of too much red meat knows how expensive protein powder is. There was still about a quarter of it when I left for summer vacation. Upon my return, I could see the bottom of the container.

Just like the cure for cancer, I can only find leads and affirmations as to how I can test what kind of food Zilla has been pillaging. I’m sure there are many other things I’ve missed. God knows what else he’s been stealing from Daye, who always has a variety of food to survive three nuclear holocausts. Judging from the type of food he stole, I’ve deduced that he’s a deranged Santa Claus.

Spring Quarter

Hookah Hooligan

Srixati, Janeyp, Daye and I were smoking hookah. But of course to be polite Zilla was invited along. Throughout the night Zilla would pull out his Blackberry to take pictures of this wondrous night. I tried my best to avoid him having a picture of me on his phone.

I finally asked him to “please not take a picture of me. I don’t want this to go up on facebook”

“It’s only hookah what’s the problem” Zilla said

“I don’t want people to see this and misconstrue it” I said.

After agreeing not to I started to pretend text in the awkward situation. When I looked up I saw a flash. He took one last picture of me behind the hookah. I glared at him and imagined his hair on fire. I took Srixati inside my room and vented…

Would You Like Some Ass Crack?

Daye was working up some circuits or whatever he does experimentally on paper for his electrical engineering class. He was sitting on a stool with his finals stuff on the dinner table. Zilla decides to study with him. However, the bar will be raised again. Instead of sitting next to or in front of Daye like a normal person, he decides to take the scenic route. He laid his towel on the dirty floor next to the trash can and, like a dolphin begging for some stinky, faced Daye’s ass. Faced, not as in across the room. Faced, as in two feet away and he can get a whiff of the nasty.

“Did you see how he was laying down earlier?” Daye asked.

“Yeah haha I guess he really wanted to ask.”

Final thoughts

I obviously am humanizing someone so socially defunct. This essay was written to ask this question. How far do you go to be polite to a roommate? What is my boiling point?

According to my reflections. I went really far to be polite to someone I dislike, however I made it known to Zilla that I hate his guts. That may sound like I am either a sucker for punishment or a fake, but for some ingrained reason there is something that tells me I should be a good person. As for the second question, I do not have a boiling point. I have the patience of a brick wall. Damn it…

Collection

So I've decided to make a blog as a storehouse for my nonfiction and fiction and life stories.

This will replace me posting stuff in the "notes" tab on facebook. There are also some stories that I did which I released here and not on my profile.

I will hopefully write more this summer.

Thanks,

Johnny

Out of my league

By: John Alejandro


I singled him out in a crowded room. He was beautiful; slender but sinewy. Sporting cream pencil chinos and an oversized grey cardigan made him surreal, ethereal and woodsy. I met his glance. He knew what I wanted and even better, he knew what I needed. I walked toward him, with no purpose or main goal. I just wanted get close. He looked at me and then my pants. I flashed him my trademark smile and he grinned back. He grabbed my jeans and led me through the aisle. He opened a door to let me in.

He had eyes of silver water. Immediately I stalled to gaze at the most beautiful pair of eyes I have ever seen in my twenty years. They were so magnificent, so beautiful that I have to say it again. Sus ojos bonitos fueran un rio de plata narcotica. Within a split second they told me an epic tale of sincerity, love, and warmth. Gold hair tousled out into a peak from brown roots. There was no sheen about him, nothing too shiny or flashy. His lack of luster, however, was overshadowed by his simple elegance. There was radiance about his whimsical stature and his charming smile. And for one of the first times, I fell for a twinkish blonde.

For some reason I thought of what I looked like and what I was wearing. I wore the wrong shoes today, white Jacks. I also wore the wrong everything. White short sleeves above a striped shirt with marble glasses. Contrary to him, I was trendy and shiny. I looked like an off duty doctor... or a regular Asian kid.

“Please let me know if you need anything” he said.

“Thank you.” I said politely and smiled at him again. “What’s your name?”

“Oh…uh…Michael. Michael M________” his eyes lit up like gasoline fire suspended on water.

“Nice to meet you Michael. Thank you for the room.”

“Same…Let me know if you need another size” he said softly.

“I think I’ll be fine thank you.” I finally said as he walked away.

…I smiled and thanked him again when I finished and walked out of the store. It took more muscles to keep my neck from turning back to catch one last glimpse than to build a Michelangelo replica.


To Michael M.
If for a statistically impossible chance you end up on my page and read this,
I wrote about you…

My Best Friend The Kingfisher

Dedicated to Izzy and Annabella
By: John Alejandro

My name’s Anabella, but her name’s Izzy… She was stubborn and feisty. Her skin is a valley of white clouds and her breasts mountains of soft pillows, while her eyes were windows to her soul. I love running my hands through her straight silky hair and waking up the following morning only to find a curly dead porcupine. And that’s what I really loved is our beginnings, our au naturale.

We met when shards of summer heat danced along the blacktop and when there was a lack of a major presence in her day. She was going through a rough phase where she was trying to find herself and I was there to help her out with that. At first, I never took a second look. At first I just thought of her as a friend, but when as time progressed my feelings grew. At the time my career was a Bugatti doing two hundred on a freeway, but she was a fast coming exit. I was dumbstruck, and all I had was unrequited love.

There is a blue bench between the arts wing and history wing. Sit there, and watch the sunset after basketball and school. Actually, before and during also. Do this and be free from the strangle of day to day life and escape higher up’s time constraints for a growing teenager. Become luminous with good memories, the beginnings. Sit at “the spot”. Nothing mattered. Do this and anything that bothers you will no longer. When I was there with her, nothing besides us mattered…

Friendship blossoms in many ways. Ours did in a way that I could never fully comprehend up until now. She gradually spent less time with her friends and spent it with me. I was happy. She said that I taught her how to be more appreciative and no one made her realize her feelings the way I did. I never thought about us and I didn’t like her in that way. But curiosity struck me and made me reassess my feelings for her.

A year later, our friendship evolved from something that was mutual to nothing at all…temporarily… We drifted apart. There was never a big fight. We avoided each other and everything was done out of sanity, a roller coaster.

We all went our separate ways for a while. Basketball season started again and Izzy still avoided me. We’d be around each other but it was awkward. At the time I was still in a relationship with a bitch. She was clingy and dependent who asked me to put her above school. It was just one of those relationships where one cared more about the other. In this case, I didn’t care for her much nor did I have strong feelings for her.

As for me and Izzy, alcohol intervened.

Meet her and get to know her. Develop a friendship and get really close. Understand each other more. See if you have a connection. Call her by a pet name. Suffer through brief hell. Drink away. Do this and see the fortuitous rise of a friendship’s transformation.

When my current relationship was unraveling, I talked to Izzy. When I had a stalker and was scared. She comforted me. At the time, the parents weren’t so hot either. She was there. Everytime something went wrong she was always there to comfort me. Just like I was for her.

After weeks of debunking the roller coaster, I found out that it was ambivalence and not I who caused the awkwardness. “I’m not supposed to like girls. It’s against my religion you see?” If you can reason with religious people, there would be no religious people.

Winter break, we’d drink before games, which was excellent because we’d be really prepared for kicking the other team’s asses. And then sometimes after games we’d stay and sell snacks and take tickets. When we were off, we’d sit around and waste time. Two other teammates helped bandage a cracked friendship and things started to repair. Soon the other two faded away and it was us again.
One time Izzy got really drunk and like a ragdoll I sat her on the floor where I comforted her and let her rest. She then started mumbling.

“mmro…I havah somun’ to tell you, but I dun a wanna tell you. I can’t tell you?”

She was wasted.

“I like you mmro”

At first I thought she was just drunk, but deep down I had a notion that she liked me too. I was so absorbed in the moment where nothing in the world mattered, happy…I was happy that she did the job for me. I was ambivalent before but this set the wheels in motion.

“I like you too, mmro” =)

Crap I was still with the bitch. I didn’t know what to do without being such a jerk to her. Speaking of being a jerk, I did it anyway. I ended up taking care of Izzy rather than go on our planned date to Disneyland. At the time, I would’ve left her over and over again to hear her mumble these soft words.
We stayed in my car, and she threw up inside it. I rushed beside her to open the door to let her throw up some more…outside. I held her. It felt good. I liked taking care of her and assuring her that everything will be okay. I kissed her forehead and held her until her carriage whisked her away.
Tell her you like her. If she told you first, then tell her you like her back. Even if she’s drunk. And when she is drunk, let her throw up in your car. It’s okay because she’s worth more. Do this and you will discover truths that will make you happy.

The moment replayed in loops in my head. When we hung out after, it was left unsaid. Our cracked friendship rekindled, but it burned ablaze now. Weeks later I broke up with the controlling bitch. Not for Izzy, but because she was driving me crazy. It was hard to be with her, but Izzy definitely drove her off the cliff. One day, Bitch wanted to talk to me and pulled me outside of gym to try to get back together. Then, Izzy lunged forward both of them went off at each other. I left with Izzy. I was her territory now.

Izzy was the only one where I could see a future with. Planning things like someday we’ll travel. Someday we’ll have a dog, and kids, and a little white boy named Johnny. She would spoil all of them so much. Now someday will never come. No…it’s not like that. But it’s more than you should know. She likes a girl and we could never be together. But as long as she’s happy I’ll be okay. And the girl before was what I really loved. Her natural self, au natural unchanged.

Upkeep

Written February 2010
By: John Alejandro

Pick your beau
Like a summer fruit
One filled with delight
Ripe with a refreshing take on life
Leave ones with cynicism, hate, and spite to rot and die
Don’t settle for less

Feed him like a sunflower
Prepare spirit and intellect mix with love and bake in affection
Let him taste the purity of your kisses
And whisper sweet happiness five times a day

Love him as if he was a canary
Be the foundation to plant his feet on
Sunshine to bask in
And room to breathe
Then he will always fly back

Paint your man
Not like a Dali, disillusioned and twisted
But like an Alejandro, elegant, powerful, and elite
His status will be forever linked with yours

Write to him like a wounded soldier
Use verbs of passion and words privy to you and him
Take time for cursive, a font suited for someone special
Then he will appreciate the subtle elegances you’ve chosen

He will read your compassion, absorb your influence,
rest on your base, and savor your happiness

I Adored You

Written December 2009

By: John Alejandro

If you’ve read the fictions part 1 and 2, the following is the tragedy and the yin of this fiction. Yet again Royce does not exist or is based on anyone.

“Haha…um…about Friday…I don’t think it’s going to work out” Royce said nonchalantly with music in his voice.

Silence…Complete frigid quiet and an aura of confusion enveloped me. In my last attempt to save face and at least remedy my embarrassment for having divulged what I truly felt for him the week before, I scattered words to keep my promise. They spilled like a baby vomiting hastily chewed peas on the kitchen floor. As I uttered words, my constitution unraveled and I could feel every part of who I was and who I imagine myself to be boil down into a vulnerable shaky foundation. I felt one of my biggest fears. I became less than who I was.

“Well it turns out that the charge nurse threw out your application away so that the director can’t hire you. I’ll need you to fill out another one.”

“What?” he scoffs. “Another application?”

“He’ll be there waiting up until night.”

“I can’t I’m busy tonight”

“The opportunity is there, don’t waste it. I promised you the job.” I said sheepishly.

The stillness of the afternoon in front of the empty sidewalk magnified the quiet. I debated whether regret or relief encapsulated me at that moment in time, but the weather suggested which I should feel. The angry clouds hid an illuminating, but tranquil sunlight. An icy breeze slapped me in the face while I was immobile, stunned in a script that I could never have predicted.

This is it, let go, leave. This is what you wanted in the first place. Rejection in exchange for sanity right? Next time, guard more carefully and don’t let someone in too fast.

I want to keep going. Maybe I didn’t spend enough time with him and maybe I needed to get closer.

It’s a burning sinking ship. Jump. After everything you put yourself through for him, you deserved a little more than a pusillanimous one-lined rejection.

I can’t. What if it can work out later? There are too many things to say, so little time and opportunity to do so.

Do it. Just learn from your mistakes. You’ll be alright.

And in seconds of silence that paralleled the seasons of him that I’ve endured, I said “Whether or not you go, it was nice knowing you. Goodbye.” and walked away.

---------------------------------------------

I parked my Honda Civic in front of the gym and jogged inside to get a head start on my workout. I greeted the front desk clerk and ran up the steps pumped to start a workout. Upon deciding that I’d use the ab machine first, I realized that someone was already using it. There was one right next to him though, but how awkward, it’s really close to him. Whatever, I’ll just ask for his permission.

“Hi, do you mind if I used this machine?”

“Yes, go ahead”

I find it interesting how many people don’t know how that question works; they usually offer a contradictory statement in response. Upon acknowledging him for his kindness, I recognized him.
I turned to him and asked excitedly “Heyyyy aren’t you Cheryl’s friend?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s mine too! My name’s Johnny what’s yours?”

“Royce”

“It’s nice to meet you Royce.”

Time for my workout.

-------------------------------


I can’t sleep. It’s 3 am. I can’t keep the thoughts of you from racing through my mind. No matter how hard I try, I deliberate through every action I’ve taken and your reaction to them. Every word from every sentence I’ve sequenced, analyzed, and proofread like 3 million base pairs of DNA from the moment we started talking. Not that there was anything wrong with what I said. Or is there? This springs forth an insecurity, a quest to find error in logic that I may have made, a mishap, or an unavoidable truth that I may have prematurely divulged. All this to try to get closer to you, to be able to appear coolly in a state of heightened alarm, panic, and utmost guard from failure. I’ve never felt so vulnerable, so inconsistent from my calm constitution. Being around you brings me to a consciousness I’ve never experienced before. Tachycardia and shallow breaths, but not overly done that you may hear it from when you are beside me. I encountered a newfound softness and care for everything that exists, and in this sense you bring out what some may deem as the best in me. Hearing your laughter and seeing you smile brews a yearning to hold you in my arms and never let go. Let me be those arms and ears that buffer your dream world and reality. But I can’t just yet.

--------------------------

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” I asked randomly as if it just left my mouth without previous thought.

“What?” Royce said shocked as I almost regretted asking in the first place.

“Well we always work out at the same time, I realized that you may be hungry after” I retorted wishing to get to know him more meanwhile hiding behind a veil of practicality.

“What? But later we’ll be all sweaty and gross.”

“Well I have a couple of extra shirts in the car and there’s a cafe not too far from here.” I sounded more eager than before

“Okay…I’ll wait for you outside at five?”

“Alright!” I burst out in happiness pointing out a spot to meet later.

I quickly finished my workout not realizing the sudden zeal that I carried throughout the afternoon. After changing, I almost ran out with anxiety to meet him. I went outside of the gym to my surprise he wasn’t there.

“Johnny…” a voice uttered from behind “I was sitting right there, you didn’t see me?”

“Oh, no sorry” I blushed. However, previous knowledge that my perfect tan masks any outward show of rushing blood comforted me.

“Okay let’s go?”

“Mhmm!” I mumbled rubbing my perfectly contoured abs.

The way to dinner consisted small talk mixed with spotty dialogue of what I considered his deeply kept
information. I handed him my IPod and to my surprise he played songs filled the car from artists such as Michael Buble and Jason Mraz.

“I used to sing this song with my grandpa.” He said mentally pointing to the tune.

“Used to?” I hinted at the possibility that this wasn’t continued to this day.

“Well he’s ill now…It’s kinda sad” nostalgia painted his face. He slouched in his seat and grimaced. He played another love song.

“God Royce you’re going to make me melt from the songs you play and we’re not going to make it out alive for dinner.” I joked casually that included utmost truth.

“Sorry.” He uttered and followed the statement by changing to rock music.

“No. It’s not a problem”

Dinner consisted of a salad and his mentioning of the fact that he’s applying for a job at the hospital I work at. I deeply wanted for him to become my coworker to be able to get to know him more. Scenarios already flooded my mind as to how I can get him a job there.

We went to the bakery next to the café and I bought us bread which he furiously got mad at me for.

“NO! What are you doing?” as he yanked the bread out of my hand “I mean…me and my friends we let each other pay for stuff, but not strangers.” Royce said. The word stung.

“Don’t worry about it, let’s just say I feel generous today. It’s not a big deal”

We walked to the car and I asked him if he wanted to go to the mall. He didn’t, so I resorted to more drastic measures. Puppy dog eyes, full pouting lips, and creased eyebrows.

“Come on…live a little” I plead.

“Okay…” he sounded annoyed.

The carousel faintly lit the sidewalk as we walked around it to reach my favorite store. Irrelevant chatter reached my ears and exited the other as I walked. I was absorbed in our conversation and under his influence.

“He fits.” I thought to myself.

You know when someone clicks for you. I don’t get it too often, but when I do I am going to do everything to favor that situation. I felt that for him and it’s indescribable except in a sense that I have a rock star crush. However, he was far from that fame. In fact, I was probably more blinded by the fact that he’s this amazing person so well that I didn’t see that I was about to bulldoze a small child in a red hoodie. Suddenly his hand pushed me back as he saved the poor child from my ignorance. He smiled gently at the child and glared at me. I saw concern in his eyes and guilt enveloped me as I thanked him and apologetically smiled at my unknown victim.

“He’d be such a great dad” I thought to myself intoxicated. “He’d be very caring and sweet. What a great guy.”

We continued our way to the store where he sat down and looked at some books while I picked out an outfit for a party.

Evil took over and I asked him to give me his resume and application the next time I saw him. I have a lot of eye candy, but they’re all never worth pursuing. Thinking of the possibility of having him there at work sent mini nuclear explosions in my stomach. I don’t understand what’s happening as of now, but I would definitely threaten quit my job only for them to hire him. This fatal attraction is insane. I wanted to do everything in my power for him no matter what.


------------------

In a disgusting turn of events I noticed that, it’s as if Friday never happened. Our talks at seldom lunches, at the mall, and far from monotony in the gym dissipated. On the following hot fall day, the droplets of whatever slight bond we formed, evaporated quickly into a cloud of confusion that turned into a lysergic haze blocking the vision of what I’d planned out. As if reality wasn’t skewed enough from his favorable existence, it was then shattered by his cold shoulder. I am lost. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this unfortunate animosity. He transformed into someone so closed. Why was Friday so surreal? He was so carefree and light. It felt like we knew each other longer than two weeks. In the recent days after he turned into an ugly oyster, cloistered and ready to snap once someone approached its vicinity. What pearl was he trying to protect? As more days went by, things became schizophrenic.

“Hey Royce.”

A nod of his head to acknowledge my meager existence. Hmm…Today’s a bad day.

“How was job hunting?”

“It was okay.”

“What did you do yesterday?”

“Disneyland”

----------------------------

“Hey Royce.”

“Hi. How was your weekend?” he waved his hands hello.

Hmm. Today’s a good day.

“It was good, one of my patients drank floor cleaner”

“Couldn’t handle the world huh?”

“It was an accident. He thought it was Gatorade.”

“Haha oh my gosh.”

Chorus X6, endure, and repeat.

--------------------------------------


I called him excitedly trying to hide the fact that his interview was successful and that he was already in the formality process of being hired!

“I have a surprise for you”

“What is it?”

“Can you wait till tomorrow? I want to tell you in person.”

“Noo…I hate waiting. Why can’t you tell me now?”

Unnecessarily, we spent an hour talking on the phone. I loved the sound of his voice and favored the long pauses because I could recollect my thoughts and say what I need to. But to my detriment the last three quarters of the call became whining galore whereas he was leaning towards not taking the job. I finally gave up and told him on the phone.

“GOOD NEWS! My boss just told me that you’re heading to orientation in a couple of weeks! It was going to be a surprise…so THERE!” I almost said screaming.

I’m so happy. I didn’t know I could pull it off! Not only that, but he gets a get out of jail free card from med surge!

“Tuesdays also? I volunteer at a soup kitchen on Tuesdays.”

“Well okay, think this through. What would you rather do?” I asked sounding as non-biased as possible, while in the meantime trying to understand what’s in his head.

“I want to stay…”

“I don’t know if you understand what’s at stake here. This is a job. Handed to you on a silver platter.” I said politely. In this economy, I think he would rather be the one needing the help of the organization.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

I busted my ass for him one last time and got him off the Tuesday that he so desperately needed to stay involved with the soup kitchen. He whined too much last night and I was sick of it. But in some sadistic way, I kind of liked the fact that we talked on the phone for so long. However, that was very disappointing and made me feel underappreciated for everything I’ve done. It was one of the straws that led to the last.


--------------------------------------------------

Meeting him threw me off. But no…I figured I’d stick around a little bit and fully see who he is. Now that I have, I found an immature too innocent person with an extreme case of peter-pan syndrome.
In the same spontaneous spark that made me chase after him, I reversed it. He saw me at the gym today. I didn’t realize it until he towered above my mat and awkwardly waved as I was stretching. His scrunching face reminded me of a pig fed, happy, and content. I then stretched as hard as I can. I did a dolphin pose and looked as relaxingly calm as possible. I knew he was looking at me as I pretended he didn’t exist.

I began my descent. Instead of going cold turkey, I’ll just tell him what I really feel and he can do whatever he wants with the information. Whether he let me in or not, I’ve invested too much time and emotion to just let six weeks fly away.

We played badminton with a friend. He ended up in my team through a game of rock paper scissors, I liked that. He tried to play really well and I thought he was trying too hard. My friend hit his face with the birdie twice and then his shoulder the third time. I wanted to lunge at him and start clawing his face for hurting Royce. I still felt overprotective even though I’m in the process of forgetting he existed, but it killed me to see him cringe and get hurt. But if it’s any consolation, I sincerely did like him. He made me feel like I was a kid again yearning for puppy love that I never really had, because fat kids don’t have girlfriends in elementary school and I didn’t even think of the possibility that boys could be with other boys. He was one of the first few guys that came close to my standards, sweet and down to earth. He was sensitive and the way he smilingly saved that kid, I’ll never forget it. And if anything I’m grateful to have met him in giving me the insight of what I want later on.

“Hey Royce?” I called out his name as we walked out of the gym

“Yeah?” he asked

“Can I tell you something?” I stuttered.

“Okay…”

“Promise not to flip out?”

“What is it?”

“Well I’ve known you for only six weeks now and I can honestly say that I’ve never felt like this for anyone ever before. I get really excited on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays just to be able to see you and work out with you. I like the fact that you’re down to earth about everything. And so I just want to say that I think you’re cute and that I really like you. You’ve been so closed lately, and well if you’d let me I’d like to spend more time with you.”

I spoke with yearning in my voice, painfully eager to be let down just so I can get over this chapter of my life. But some part of me was hoping for a faint glimmer of hope, some kind of chance that could possibly lead to us spending a little more time with each other.

“I’m sorry…I don’t even know if you are or not. I’m sorry, this was all really stupid.” I looked down and counted the dislodged stones from the gravel cement and kicked them with my shoe.

“No it’s okay.” He said reassuringly as he smiled. “Can we talk about this later?”

Confusion brooded over me. I figured that if time was the last thing I could give him, I would wholeheartedly do so. And if there is something he needed to think about, that would be favorable also. I walked across the barren gym parking lot faintly lit by harsh halogen lighting. I decided that at the end of the day when we meet and talk again, whatever will be said will be on a positive note. With a huge grin on my normally desolate face, I opened the car door and drove home humming.

Shiny Aluminum Cans

Written February 2009

By: John Alejandro

To Calypso of Langson Library --

Shiny Aluminum Cans

Ones that are red, white, and pepsi

They are so sweet to my eye

Like unopened candies on the street

Or glints of coins that sparkle from the sun

Shiny Aluminum Cans

I search for them every morning through afternoon

The source to my existence

Every can brings forth one more hour of living

To the untrained eye they are trash

But to me they give unconditional love

Shiny Aluminum Cans

Before, I crushed them with my feet so that many will fit

Once, one sliced my big toe into a half moon of blood

But I’m grateful for my shiny little cans

Three cans equal a day’s subsistence

Ramen noodles or clearance bread

Shiny Aluminum Cans

Sometimes I don’t find many cans

Sometimes none at all

Some days I skip meals

Who needs food to live anyway?

Some days the shelter is closed

With each passerby’s unforgiving eyes

Why bathe at all?

Shiny Aluminum Cans

MY shiny cans

Although they give me life

They can’t fix my feet

They don’t make me strong

They can’t buy my grave

But they provide enough for meager space in this world.

The Grill

Summer weekends go by routinely. There’s an hour of brainwash at church, shopping at either Brea Mall or a far away outlet, and then lunch. My immediate family has done this since I was a freshman in high school. (In middle school, I thought I was too cool to spend time with my family) However, today was a little different.

Brainwash. Bought a nice pair of dark jeans for a steal. Fast forward to lunch. We ate at Gerry’s Grill in Artesia, which was a “trendy” Filipino eatery. I emphasize trendy because I have disdain for my ethnicity’s culinary height of oil and salt. The dishes were like putting lipstick on a pig; they’re pretty, but still a pig. I had major preconceptions about the place because my dad said he’d been eating here since bacteria fused into multi-cellular organisms or in his case before God snapped his fingers. So I thought there’d be servers dancing with bamboo sticks dressed in Filipino attire. I apologize for using the word Filipino so much. Filipino Filipino Filipino Philippines! Yeah!

But right when I walk in, I fell in love with the place. There’s the dark mahogany floor, people having a good time, and dark cherry chairs. The “maitre d” seated us to our table and the server who was surprisingly…well…white took our drink orders. He was kinda cute, but I was diagnosed with a serious case of yellow fever. I politely said hi (with a smile because he deserved it) as he introduced himself. But I was shit outta luck because I forgot his name as he said it so fast.

Then in an unfortunate turn of events and the destruction of the rest of the lunch, my dad recognized an acquaintance who was a server. So this server lady, overweight, who preached too much about workplace etiquette and whose mother obviously failed to teach her how to apply makeup and him started talking. Our real server brought my iced tea that he made himself from the bar and the bitch volunteered herself to our table. At this point my instincts told me to decline ASAP, but seeing how the purpose of this lunch was for family, I went through the five stages of grief instead.

Denial: “Oh my god, are we not being served by the cutie any longer? Why did she steal our table?!”

Anger: “Ughhh! Stupid Amazonian wench! Why did you have to be born?!”

Bargaining: “Please….You can have my father if you just switch back him.”

Depression: “Sigh*….f my life. Downgrading of servers…”

Acceptance: “Whatever.”

And a bonus step…

Insanity: “Maybe I should accidentally trip her to get him back… I had the idea, but lacked the capacity to execute.”

Instead I decided to ask of her every little thing that popped up in my head: extra lemon, more napkins, and water. This backfired as the she-wolf just had more time to annoy me further by talking. We ordered our food and minutes later the hussy brought us our food. I wasted no time in declaring as to what ingredients were deprived from the dishes. Drinking the soup was of course like chugging a gallon of cooking oil, the pork tasted too much like pork lacking lemon, and finally the “sizzling” shrimp was swimming in spaghetti sauce, disappointing. Overall the food wasn’t TOO bad.

I looked around to see what delicious food other people were eating and I saw him standing close by behind the bar. Even worse, I met his gaze. Either he was looking at the table he was supposed to be serving, or me. He turned his head down sharply to pour liquid in a glass. Yup, it’s me. How cute. I decided to investigate a little further. I knew where the restroom was, but what’s the harm in asking? I summoned up courage, got up and headed to the kitchen door. I felt his lonely gray eyes rest on my shoulders, but I dodged them until I can fully set up the façade situation. Upon looking inside, I faced him.

“Hi again.” I said.

“Hi”

“This isn’t the restroom is it?”

“No. Are you looking for it?” No I’d like to know where you live.

“Yeah.” This would’ve been a good time to look at his damn name tag but I forgot again.

“Here come with me I’ll show you where it is.” It’s so easy you could’ve pointed to it. You sweet sweet man, I know where it is. I definitely got more than what I was asking for.

“Thanks” I smiled

“No problem.”

He smiled and I noticed something weird about his smile. I have hawk eyes coupled with a brain wired for criticism. I don’t remember which side, but one was slightly happier than the other just like mine. I had a mini-stroke on the right side of my body and my grinning muscles reach farther on the left side, just like his…I got another good look when another customer asked him about something. Lean sinewy shoulders, a soft jaw-line, and a faux-hawk with little tufts of dirty blonde protruding everywhere but the peak. Even though he had soft features, he had that hard-working jealous protective look. I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s pretty close to that look you give to someone who’s touching your brand new car.

I made it inside the room with nothing to do, so I washed my hands.

….Is this is the stint that Hooters does for dirty old men so they’ll come back? It’s working…

…Is this what that crazy reporter felt when he proposed to George Clooney screaming at the top of his lungs barechested and carnal “Me George! Choose me! Will you marry me George?”…

I hyperventilated a little bit, then freshened up and exited the restroom. To my surprise guess who was at the freaking table next to the doorway.

“Everything alright?” If you’re suggesting that I number two-ed in less than sixty seconds, no.

“Mmhmm =D Thank you” One last thing, can I give you a hug?

I went back to my table to find Xena the warrior princess with the check.

“(In Tagalog) Thank you. I hope to see you again. (In English) Drive safe.” She said

Shut up! After I’m through with you, you’re the one that’s going to need to drive safe.

“Thank you, the food was good” the dauphin in me spoke. We all started to leave. But a la Sodom and Gomorrah I looked back near the bar and saw him fixated on my ever fading self.

I didn’t turn into salt, although from the food my kidney will soon.

My Starbucks Creeper

The following account is not made up. This stuff is way too good to be fiction and I’m not that creative in making up dialogue. I tried really hard to regurgitate the dialogue verbatim, but it might be jumbled up. It’s drags in the beginning, but it picks up fairly quick and is highly worth finishing. You will be mentally insane not to.

Black Friday night after waiting 6 hours in line in Walmart to get my uncle a playstation 3 bundle, I decide to go to Starbucks to study genetics and finish the last Royce fiction. I sat on a table, hooked my laptop power cord and began typing the final masterpiece. Half an hour later of Christmas music, coffee, and typing, a bald Korean man with glasses, a fur jacket and shorts sat right in front of me his gaze perpendicular to mine. His drink read “James”.

I analyzed him quickly. Tall green tea, cheapest thing on the menu and he’s Asian so he must have tea at home. He’s definitely just here for the atmosphere. He isn’t adequately dressed for fifty degree weather. His jacket seems puffy and warm, but shorts and flip flops? Ridiculous, he lives near to be able to withstand such cold. He must not know how to dress properly or can’t afford pants. Bald=middle aged. But taking into account his whole persona he must not have done very well for himself during his educational ascend to afford at least the mentality that he is older and society expects him to at least sort of fit into the norm.

I felt him turn to me so I looked up from typing and acknowledged his gaze.

“How do you like your laptop? Is it better?” he asked out of nowhere.

“Better than what?” tilting my head in curiosity

“Than the….um…what is it Inspiron?” he asked again

“Yeah this is a newer model, but I got it as a gift and it’s just a computer I really don’t care.”

“Its an XPS right?” He gets up hovers around me. “Why do you have a Mac sticker there?”

“Well I dropped my cellphone on it and I secretly wished I had a Mac instead”

He nodded and sat back down. Phew…thank freaking god. This is where most people my age would decide to leave or call security, but I’m something else. I decided to entertain his barrage of questions flexing the social butterfly inside me.

“What are you doing here in Rowland Heights?” I asked acknowledging that it’s my turn.

“I don’t know” he said.

Okay this isn’t going anywhere…
“Where do you live” I asked thinking that he might be a mental case.

“San Marino. I teach a math program there.” He replied amused. “Studying hard?”
I feel sorry for your students…

“Yes. Finals are coming up so I’m trying to get a head start after wasting my time shopping today.”

“What school do you go to?”

Should I answer this? If I do would I end up shot in the middle of the road or raped in the alley? Sure why the hell not I’ll do it for the rush and for what you’re reading now.

“UCI, I’m one of the lucky ones that got into the nursing school” I answered “How about you? Where did you go?”

“I went to Dartmouth for my B.S. and UCR for my masters” he looked confused.
Wow…an Ivy league. Here’s where my sarcasm comes in.

“What are you doing teaching an after school program? What major did you finish?”

“Biochemistry…I’ve tried 3 years to look for a job, no one wants to hire me for research.”

This doesn’t sound too plausible…I’m sure with these degrees anyone can find a job… “even as a lab tech?” I accidentally said out loud.

“Yeah…I’ve applied everywhere and I’m supposed to finish my PhD but everytime I start my mental illness prevents me from finishing. I’ve had to restart med school three times. I’m trying one last time this January.”
WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-ho-ho-hoah. Do I really want to continue this? What kind of mental illness? I really might end up in the gutter somewhere. I guess at that moment in time the answer was yes.

“Oh okay. Just study hard. I’m sure you’re ahead of the other incoming med students by three years” I laughed half-heartedly trying to diffuse the situation.
He laughed as his eyes disappeared.

“What are you going to do with your nursing degree? Can you get a job with it right away?”

“No you have to pass the board exam, the NCLEX, then you can work. I then want to get an MSN in hospital administration” but seriously enough about me I want to know how crazy you really are!

“You should consider getting an MBA instead, I was a career counselor once and a nurse with an MBA makes more”

“Oh okay...Seriously though what are you doing here in Rowland Heights?”
…I’m here to kill you…

“I’m supposed to be in City of Industry, but I grew up around here.”

“Are your parents there also?”

“Yeah”

“What do they do?”

“My father is a dentist, and my mother is a homemaker.”

“Oh okay. My parents are both accountants. Not that interesting”

I believe what followed is awkward silence as I pretended to type again.

“So you nursing majors party a lot huh?”

“Me? Not really. Sometimes we get really crazy after midterms and finals” And before and during and on the actual exams.

“I’m looking for a pin-up girl” He sounded like my roommate all of a sudden.

“What’s that?” Obviously I know what it is.

“Are you serious? You don’t know what a pin up girl is?”

“Is that like a trophy wife?” I asked curiously with alternate motive be able to compare him to my roommate.

“Yeah I just want her to be there to give me a blowjob whenever I want.” Bingo!
I laughed as I brushed off the topic.

“Do you ever feel inferior to other med students?”

“No, not really. We have pretty much the same classes up until clinicals.” And besides one of these days I’m going to snatch one and make him my husband.

“Do you ever feel inferior that you’re gay?”
WHAT Whoooooooooooooo-ho-ho-hoah!@ WTFREAK

“I’m sorry?” I asked.

“Well, do you ever feel below other people because you’re gay?”

Holy fack. Can this be one of those scenarios where the gay basher beats me up and rapes me and leaves me to die in the corner? What do I do? WTF do I do!?!?! Think, you’re taking a sociology 69 what is they’re mentality. Fear. Don’t let him know you’re freaking out. Stand your ground. Answer. Don’t run away. But seriously I’m wearing a black hoodie with a red lacoste shirt. How could he tell? Even though I was, I took it rather insulting that he thinks gay people feel inferior to regular straight folk. Eff that.

“It’s funny how you knew right away. You have to be careful with those kinds of assumptions because you might run across people that you misread or might take into offense what you said.” In other words, me, asshole. “But no I don’t feel INFERIOR to straight people. In fact, taking only sexuality into account, I feel superior to them because I have to fight for who I love and that I have to go through so much more intolerance than them.”

“I’ll hook you up with this hot Filipino guy named Neil that I work with. He’s really good looking and really smart. Would you like that?”

Where did this come from?!?! But yes I would very much!!! Thank you. I appreciate the service you will provide me! However could you find me something else instead? I’d like to order um…half chow mein, half rice, beef with broccoli, and light soy sauce on the side (translated John speak: Half Chinese, Half white, beefy but lean, healthy and cultured.) Thanks.

“No…sorry I’m sure he’s a great guy, but I’m not looking for anyone right now. I have to concentrate on school and work.” I felt nausea as bullshit left my mouth.

“Hmm. I don’t like southeast Asians. Especially first generations. I only like whites and Chinese. That’s why I talked to you out of everyone here.” WHAT THE?!?!

“I’m not Chinese nor white. I’m Filipino and Spanish first generation. I was born in the Philippines.” I said defensively offering unwanted information just to see what he’d do with it.

“Wow, you have a pretty high social IQ.” Hinting at his stereotype that “lower” Asians have low social IQ.

“Thank you. Why don’t you like Southeast Asians specifically?” I tried to get beneath to see the true roots of his bias.

“I’m a racist bigot. I don’t like it when they don’t know how to talk like you. You seem comfortable and confident. As for them I just leave them alone.” I have never met anyone in my entire life of 19.75 years admit point blank that they’re a racist bigot.

“Again you have to be careful with that kind of talk. If you are talking to someone not as open as me you might get your ass kicked.” This is me talking to a 35 year old Korean man with a master’s degree in biochemistry…

“Okay…” He frowned “So why do you think they’re like that? Give me an explanation.”

“Well were you born here?” I asked trying to get one crucial piece of evidence in order to shove racist cannonballs back in his mouth.

“No I was born in Korea.”

“Okay, so we’re both first generation Asian Americans. You of all people should know how hard it was to assimilate. The ones you meet might still be testing the waters. Do you know what I mean?” I asked using a little bit of psych.

He nodded his head.

“You shouldn’t disregard them as imbeciles that don’t have high social IQ. Do you understand?” I tried to stay calm but authoritative while using some of his language so he would understand me in his terms.
He looked apologetic.

“Of all people you should be the one helping them get more used to living here.” I said sternly.

“I guess I never saw it that way.” He approved nodding his head. “Would you like some tea? I could get you some tea.”
No thanks you might spike it and I might wake up in South Korea pinned against the wall.

“Oh, no thank you. I have my soy latte. I appreciate it though.” I smiled to the notion that even racist bigots could be generous.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

“Jo-….Royce” I stammered upon giving him a fake name just in case.

“It was nice to meet you Royce” he said

“And what was yours?”

“James.” Yes I know. I knew before you sat down next to me. I knew before you even drove over here from San Marino. I knew before you were born. What I lack in age I make up for in cunning.

“Thank you Royce”

“For what?” I asked.

And he exited the door without answering. I called my bff just to tell her of what happened in case I get kidnapped, she would have crucial info to my rescue. Oh yes. This really happened.

La Vie Avec Royce

Written August 2009
By: John Alejandro


“John! Here he comes!” my best woman whispered in excitement.

“Oh my god, he looks stunning...” I replied rosy cheeked and beaming.

“He is really hot. Too bad he’s gay” Karen joked around.

“Too bad he’s mine! I can’t stop shaking my jaw…”

“I don’t want you to be even more nervous, but security says that your mom and dad are seated in the back row.”

“Huh…they came…?”

Between the dozens of white umbrellas flanking the purple carpet, Royce glided effortlessly through the petal scattered floor. Carrying a simple provincial smirk with added layers of sophistication and pomp, he blinked his sweet almond eyes to tacitly say hi. His grace, features, and culture derive immeasurable unholy power and more influence than military force. As a mutt, Royce inherited Japanese almond eyes, a youthful Taiwanese facial structure, Caucasian rouge on his cheeks, and my favorite a sinewy Brazilian body. A hundred feet away, I laid my eyes on his feet unconsciously thinking that I am not worthy enough. Every day I ask fate what I’ve done to deserve such a beautiful and virtuous person. Every day I fail in coming up with an answer. All I know is that we value the same things and are grateful for each other. He scanned the room to acknowledge parties that are present, still a politician even at his wedding; an elitist but a people of the masses.

To our instruction, a traditional walk of the bride will not be played. Instead, an instrumental version of “Save Room” on piano and strings stabbed through the silence as Royce began his walk. Every inch he came closer I felt my heart beating faster. He carried himself elegantly through segments of white chairs adorned with summer flowers at the end of each row. He is a welcome tachycardia and the only addiction that can kill me. The weight of his feet crinkled the carpet above the grass. I could feel every step with a thud in my chest. Every sway of his arm sent sonic booms flying across the aisle, reverberating as little puffs of air on my face. I then only paid attention to the pruned lady who walked Royce, locked in her arm. Srixati, was his kind grandmother whom he loved very much. As they reached the end of the carpet that transformed into marbled steps, Srixati turned to Royce and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

She then turned to me and said “take care of him for me.”

“Salaam. Until the day I die nana…How’s your girlfriend?” I answered

“Still a fox. She’s here and very happy for you two.” She whispered to my ear.

“You know…you two give us ideas about marriage too”

“Never too late to come out of the closet right nana?”

Upon nodding, she left to her seat.

Pssst. Huy. Royce jokingly called to the engrained Filipino inside me.

I faced him.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks.

Shit, shit fuck, still there! With eyes closed I tapped my feet incessantly.

Seconds passed, but one after another they felt like an interwoven century. I didn’t know which of my two organs would erupt first; my duodenum bursting out of my mouth because of the butterflies inside my stomach or my sphincter creating diamonds from the overwhelming intensity. This felt surreal. Several key failures and very awkward moments define my love life and suddenly this seemed too good to be true. He renewed me and shed all of the past away. I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath. I inhaled, but not too much that I will suck in the precious jewel in front of me. This must be a dream…this must be made up by some sadist writer. I am a puppet with loosely held strings displaying free-will only to be tugged when my will contradicts his. When I open my eyes he’ll be gone and I will only have imagined this.

“Would you like to have coffee sometime?” I asked in sweet hesitation.

“I’d love to…Would you like to have coffee now?”

“What? Now? But we just worked out!”

“That’s okay I have a couple of extra shirts…there’s a small café beside the museum”

“Sure.” I smiled in declining anxiety. “What’s your name?”

“I’m yours… I mean I’m Royce. What’s yours?”

“Johnny”

“That’s a cute name. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.” Little did he know the pleasure was all mine.

We giggle for a little bit not knowing we’ve stopped traffic on the gym’s stairs. It was nice for the people to let us have our moment. A total stranger. On the other hand, cute! First impressions are always important and he seemed content, stable, and didn’t appear sex-obsessed; you know…the ones with beady eyes and perpetually raised eyebrows.


I laughed pretty loudly at his sad attempt to muster an ethnic call, which led the guests to questioningly murmur. Still a politician even at his own wedding; he only did it to relieve my anxiety. At that moment, I didn’t care for protocol and how I was supposed to behave. I gave Karen the bouquet I was holding, hugged him tight, and closed my eyes. Still embraced, the judge begins to talk.

“You know we’re not supposed to see each other before the wedding! It’s bad luck!” Royce screamed.

He ran away from the doorstep, and hid behind the kitchen counter.

“Royce! We have to go! Our flight leaves in half an hour!”

“It’s a fucking fighter jet Johnny! I would hardly call it a flight! Why didn’t you ask me first if I wanted to go?!”

“Because it’s a surprise honey…I know how much you looooooove Alan Ducasse. We’re just going for dinner and in the morning we’re flying first thing in the morning.”

“…”

“It’s the Rorchester!! We’ve never had and probably will never have haute there.”

“You’re killing me…its two days before the wedding!”

Immediate reservations for the Rorchester are not common. A free ride from an ex is even rarer! I wasn’t going to take no for an answer. I slowly sneaked behind the table and grabbed his feet. He covered his face in a desperate attempt to follow tradition. I kissed the opening between his pinkies and ring fingers and the barrier miraculously opened up.

“How did you get reservations?” he said in a tone of impression.

“I blew Alan Ducasse” I said chuckling.

“You cheated on me to get dinner reservations?”

“Yes.”



“Groom and groom, although I'm officiating here today, it is not truly in my power to sanctify and legitimize your relationship in any way… Because the two of you have already done that in your hearts. By joining hands right now and looking into each other's eyes, let it be known that you are joined and that this bond cannot be broken.”

We held hands and I gazed in Royce’s magnificent obsidian eyes. I was lost. Even after two years they haven’t lost their hallucinogenic effects. So much so, that I was in a trance throughout the whole ceremony.

“And now that you have stood before me and exchanged these rings and these vows, and have agreed to be married according to the laws of the state of California, it gives me gives me great pleasure to pronounce you Husbands.”

A premeditated attempt to show no care for what the world tells me to do or not to do, I spun, dipped, and kissed my husband.

The guests roared and cheered, overwhelming the judge who in futility said “You may…uh…kiss the groom…”

We run to the end of the garden. Royce stole my bouquet, turned around, almost slipped into the pond, and threw it to an eager mob. It hit his grandmother in the face, for which he would forget to apologize. In a secluded cave created by tall trees, a helicopter awaits, sent from an ambassador Royce screwed once. I carried him up the steps, which was a fairly easy thing to do since I have been at the gym at least a fifth of my wake life and density was no issue.

“Muchisimas gracias senior Alejandro-Leopold”

“Vous etes lesbian Venus monsieur Leopold-Alejandro”

The helicopter skyrocketed up into the air and headed west chasing the golden sun that began its fresh descent.

“Wow I didn’t know helicopters had a mini-bar, a cheese platter, and a dessert!” Royce said ignorantly.

“They’re poisoned. You’re old boss is trying to kill me.”

“Like in your favorite movie? If he wanted you dead, or more importantly if I you would’ve been shot at the connecting flight in Haiti. That’s where he would’ve had you shot if I didn’t reallywant to marry you.”

“You praying mantis.”

“Now come on. Try some Belgian chocolate coated marzipan.”

He places the chocolate between his lips and entices me with his eyes. I couldn’t resist. I lounged on top of him, softly kissed the corners of his mouth missing the sweet treat on purpose. I licked the nape of his shoulders, then his neck, and bit his ear. He gasped and accidentally swallowed the treat. My eyes widened to see if he was choking. He wasn’t. Still on top of him, I reclined the seat and placed his bottom lip in between mine. Remnants of chocolate tickled my taste buds as my tongue touched his. Nirvana. Then something unexpected happened. Royce pulls away and looks out into the orange horizon. I’ve learned throughout his inevitable mood swings that, like a pimple, with Royce I must wait for events to unravel on their own. I docked my jaw on his shoulder and tilted my head to his cheek in the newfound solemn air of the spacious cabin. Sobbing he kisses my forehead.

“I love you.” he said

“I know…”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen…” he sobbed as he wiped his eyes on my 800 euro fleur de lis shirt. “I have a husband instead of a wife. We won’t have kids. Everything republican and Catholic I was raised, I didn’t turn out to be…My mom and dad didn’t show up today. They didn’t even call, but you, the only stable thing in my life. I don’t ever want to lose. What kind of life will we live? How’ll we get old without grandkids? Eventually you’ll leave me…”

“Darling, you’re at a point now that you no longer need to hide. Those who still love you for who you are, they’re worth your time. Those friends will be there for us later on. Those who aren’t, will be missing out on your company. You control your own life now okay? And I promise, in any noble direction you steer your life, I will always be by your side to support and love you. Just like you have and will do for me.”

I hugged him tight. I stood up to get a napkin, sat on his lap, and ended the lives of slow running tears. I was intoxicated, not by any drug, but a unique high from a life with no trouble or misfortune. Everything was going the right way.

I widened the curtains to see the gulf emit an aquamarine glow. The helicopter was flying low and the flood lights made the fish boogie and turtles mambo.

“Hey Royce, look”

“Hmm?”

“We’re as low as the flying fish”

Thuds in succession drummed the floor.

“Hahaha they’re hitting us…stupid fish!” said the one who lightened up.

“Grab a knife and I’ll skewer us some dinner”

“But we’re having dinner at the reception…We shall have cake…?” he muttered ignorantly.

My face turned sour.

Like a scolded puppy, his face droops down. Nanoseconds later a bright and shiny smile possessed him. He took his grey Dolce blazer off and guillotined me with his white tie. In a schizophrenic turn of events, I grabbed his shirt and lifted him up the side of the helicopter wall. He breathed quicker and deeper through an elongated throat. His pursed lips wriggled as I moved closer and devoured his Imperial Majesty perfume. I snarled upon reaching his neck and he melted like butter.

“Punk. Speak.”

“I want you.” He cried devilishly

“You want me? Answer me!” I shouted

“I so do…Let’s make babies!” We both giggled.

From the moment we entered through the gates of the Goldeneye resort in Jamaica, the picturesque beauty and leisurely charm of the indigenous lifestyle embraced us. Unbeknownst to me and Royce, this quaint little village will be home, at least for the next few days, for reception frivolities, mishaps, and extreme social situations. But that's for next time.

A Day in my Married Life

Written July 2009

By: John Alejandro

The alarm clock smoothly starts to shout louder as we both squirm in bed. Royce is always the one with the most energy and willpower to reach for the snooze button. I feel the warm wrinkles of the bed radiate, then a stop. He gently pecks my neck with chapped lips and I realize that it is time to get up. But wait…maybe not too soon. I squiggle around to face him and reach in for his lips devastated by a dry summer night. His dimpled cheeks contract and with eyes closed he bites his gums playfully. That smile…I’ll never forget it.

I met Royce at the gym. I was doing my usual ab workout to preserve my rite of passage in THE community, when suddenly this short but noticeably refined scarf-wearing oompa loompa plopped down on the yoga mat. I thought, who wears a scarf to go to the gym? Probably some queen desperate to meet some guy. I got up for a water break and went back to the ab machine. On my way back, I got another look at doompadeedoo. He looked different. It was as if discovering a Nasca work of art. You need to look at the object in multiple views to get the whole picture. I devoured the smooth lines on his face and the clean ridges of his lips. He was beautiful. He grinned with squinting eyes. Oh Shit! I overstayed my glance. But oh god that killer smile can implode islands in its intensity. What do I do? What do I do? Do I risk looking like a jerk to ignore it or like a stalker if I smile back? I decided jerk was a card best played with women, because they’re disgusting and I’m allergic to seafood. So, upon tilting my head lightly, I grinned back and vowed never to look back. I continue to work on my lower abs when out of the corner of my eye he begins to use the machine directly in front of me. I could feel him looking at me. I am an ant in the meticulous eye of a magnifying glass. And for some insane reason I felt pressured to look up. So I did, finding him making circles on his IPod. He looked up and caught my glance. Shit fuck! Fuck! Faaaaackk! In a panic, I get up and decide to cut my workout short to leave. On my way down the stairs I felt someone grab my bicep. I looked back and it was him. Crap! What possibly could he talk to me about? “Hey…I saw you looking at me up there.” He says too congenially. “Oh, hey. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression” I said. “Well don’t worry about it. It happens often.” This guy…“Well then if it happens often, shouldn’t you be used to it?” I retorted sarcastically. “Not from someone like you”.

My lips dock unsuccessfully, but a few moments later we were passionately interlocked.

He opens his eyes and says “Mmm…hey…get up. We gotta go to work”

“Ten more minutes please…” I plead for mercy.

After roughly half an hour of snoozing and spooning we’re both late for work. He stands on the bed holding up a pillow, poised and maniacal like Queen Elizabeth and starts pounding at my chest. I squeal and curl up into a ball.

“No…No…stop!” I start laughing “Come here!”

I lunge at him like a hungry shark and grab his feet and pull him down. The hurt elephant falls sideways without traction and I seize the opportune moment to straddle his hips. He looks up, now at his current predicament of an endangered life. Puppy dog eyes have no effect on me. Necessary evils must be done. I use my head to nudge then tickle his sides. He shrieks in horror flipping his head from side to side. He regains composure, numbed from constant tickle, creates again a look of attack, and retaliates by launching his hands to my obliques (I have them now because I’m no longer fat when I’m 32). I freak out and counterattack his barrage.

“Crap…fine I’m awake”

“Kay, hit the shower stud” he says mockingly

“Ughhh…go make some coffee Napoleon”

I come out of a nice steaming shower and get half-dressed. I call him over to use the shower while I make breakfast. He runs in grabs his towel and slaps my behind. Today I will dice mixed fruit, and make his favorite sausage crepes. The table has already been set beautifully with yesterday’s cut wildflowers and our best China that we use every day, because what’s the purpose of having expensive things if you never use them? Walking out like a supermodel in his boxers and undershirt, he sees me swirling the pan to spread the crepe batter and convulses in excitement.

“Ahhh! Crepes!” he squeals like a lesbian who swallowed helium unable to keep masculinity.

Figuring that we were both already late, we decide to prolong breakfast. Aryan, my great dane, brings me today’s paper, while Alexi, Royce’s foxhound proves useless by sleeping in the corner. Royce’s cell rings to the tune of La Vie en Rose and instead of answering the call, he pulls my hand to dance. The leather bean bags were kicked to the side as we glide through the now spacious mahogany floor. Before the last few seconds he finally picks up the call. We both fully dress, hug goodbye, and decide dinner engagements. He drives off in his AMG, a gift from a Senator he probably screwed years ago, to another day in lobbying for less Congressional oversight in the financial sector. I like to brag that he caused the market to collapse a third time. And I drive Royce the 4^th, an Audi great-grandson of Royce the first, to the hospital.

Right as I walk through the double doors of the building, the chief nurse of the pediatric ward and long time BFF, tells me that our child patient who was born with Alzheimer’s and brittle bones is starting to grow younger. What a miracle! I head down to the hospital administrator’s office and sign a couple of papers regarding budget. A couple of disgruntled workers abused a patient. Fired and blacklisted in my networks. 7pm hits, no dead patient paperwork to file, I get to relax until 8pm…Everything’s too important and yet mundane. My assistant beeps me for a 7:15 meeting with a Mr. Hill, but I don’t recall any scheduled meetings. I instruct her to let him in and out pops my husband with a gold chrome box wrapped with a silver ribbon.

“Hi honey” he hands me the box.

“Hi, what’s this for?!”

“For a great morning”

“You are too much…Thank you.”

I give him a kiss on the cheek and start unwrapping. I scavenge through the box, ribbon, and tissue to find a dark-blue silk shirt.

“I love it.”

Hugging the shirt, I reach to close my door to cut the vision off from nosy on-looking staff. I shoo them all away with a raspberry and remind them of my civility jokingly with a smirk. Royce is reading a Forbes magazine and I decide to distract him. Initially, I wanted to flirt, but that’s too easy. Finally, I decide to tease. I gently took off my lab coat, pretending that I didn’t want him to see me undress. Then my tie followed to the floor, and lastly my shirt. I switched off the sharp fluorescent lights to the dim presentation lights and walked closer to him. The tips of our shoes touched.

“Well…dinner and a show”

“You deserve it”

“You sure you won’t get fired for this?”

“Ha! You’re funny. Unless I fire myself, no.”

“Bring it on” he whispers

Royce puts the magazine down and leans back on his chair. Completely bare-chested, I gyrate; ridges gleaming under the yellow light. He gives an entranced look, probably ovulating in his seat. I put on the blue shirt and switch on the harsh lights again.

“Boo! Too short.”

“=D”

We leave in separate cars. I am still a complete incompetent when it comes to directions, so I take longer in plotting them and leaving the parking lot. Royce has them memorized. Any normal human being would too if they’ve been to the same restaurant a hundred times.

“What took you so long?” he says impatiently sitting alone by the window.

“traffic…”

“We took the same freeway to get here!”

“=(“

“You know you make the Middle East richer by wasting gas on detours?”

“Yeah but I make you and them happy because I’m here aren’t I! I’m just killing two birds with one stone.”

“Appeal to emotion”

“No fool, begging the question”

“Touché, I ordered already.”

“Spicy corn soup and the dumpling assortment?

“Yes maam!” he ends mockingly.

The Chinese waiter brings out an array of golden food, corn soup and lightly fried wontons and egg wrapped vegetables and meats. I skewer a shrimp hacao and feed him the first bite. He smiles.

We were walking through an antique swap meet strolling on a fine Saturday morning. Little tents were erected to shield precious wood carvings and metallic artifacts from the intensity of the sun. Vendors were selling lemonade and popcorn to a hungry crowd. “Let’s go to Srisheryl’s tent” Royce pulls my arm. “Why do we always go there? It’s just Indian trash. Besides some poor kid probably cut his arm off welding some of those pieces” I said. “Please!” he begged. We walked towards a bacteria designed orange tent seeing some familiar faces along the way. Royce greeted the owner, while I retorted “Salaam Alaykum”. She gives me a dirty expression. Jewelry, figurines, and vases were scattered all over the floor unorganized to my detriment. Royce picks up a simple box and looks towards me. I questioned his gaze. Something was different, it was an intense seriousness that I couldn’t figure out. The owner then pulled a rope connected to her tent. Suddenly the draped sides of cloth fell down into ripples on the floor. Surrounding patrons gasped. They turned to see what made the velvet noise and if anyone was hurt. I look back to Royce to see if he was injured, only to find him on his knees. “Are you okay? Did you get hit by the tent?” I asked him ignorantly unaware of the situation. “John. Johnny…” “Uh huh?” goblets of water fall down my cheeks. Smiling sadly he says “We’ve been together for two years. I found out what love was because of you. And it asked me no questions, but gave me so much in return. Words become superfluous at this point. All I know is there is not enough time in our lives to spend with each other. John. Will you marry me?........”

“Finished?” I said

“Yeah. I’m stuffed!”

“Okay I’ll see you at home”

“Don’t get lost!” mockingly

“Shut up.”

Guess who got home first this time? I drive up the marble pathway and liven up the living room. Royce, seconds away, gets the mail and gives me an approving look. Alexi and Aryan wag their tails signaling their hunger.

“I think I want to work out dinner”

“Do you want some company?”

“I’ll be quick”

“Let me rephrase that. Can I go with you?”

“Sure”