one person i can swap bodies with and remain distinguished as little gapanese (not the type that goes like, "our distinguished guest of honor is..." but something like, "this is him, accent, exuberance and all...") is my best friend shadow. she is so me in many-splendored ways, from being a teacher, english major, literary person, flirt of the first-class kind and all that jazz. getting married has her adapting to many modifications ever since. she already bore a son and, like our dear friend boldteeth, seemed to have taken a 180-degree turn to refinement. as for the promising little gapanese, i according to observers have taken the road to perdition, so to speak. all the same, my best friend shadow is the ever unchanging friend who used to hold shouting matches with me at the arts and sciences lobby, collecting boylets with me even before the word became in vogue, joining forces to reap a place in a prestigious quiz bowl, transforming ourselves into just two of our university's answer to the fab four of sex and the city. when she asked to be chaperoned to professional regulation commission in order to file her application for the licensure examination for teachers, i had to cancel all appointments to be with her. i even assured her that barring all acts of nature, i will keep her company. promise, i'd even ignore gorgeous' sudden request for a romantic date, since i know too well that fantasy won't happen in a million years. which doesn't mean he'll ask me out by the year 1002007 AD, because by then, some extra-terrestial civilization would have excavated his cryogenized body and mine for a cursory study of earth's paminta life-forms. my best friend shadow's husband, in his drunked stupor the night before his wife's departure for the metropolis, feared that i might succumb to fickle-mindedness, being a gay man. because she knew better than stoop to this gender-bashing, she kept mum. i nearly produced for her a dazzling gender-sensitivity trophy. after a thousand boylets along the way, my best friend shadow finished her business and i begged her to accompany me to hansam's workplace, a mall beside the hall of the city whose mayor wore signature floral polos. en route there, we sojourned at a cd-burning shop and asked the availability of house and club music. praise heavens, we found moony's flying away and dove, milky's just the way you are (but not be my world), bonnie bailey's ever after and a healthy mix of disco staples like songs by madonna, cher and abba. since i felt it was too much to sing lyrics before the cd burning girl, my best friend shadow shamelessly did it in my behalf just so we may include current hits whose titles escaped our consciousness. sugababes' push the button cannot be excluded, for that reminded me of the time when a pandemonium broke out in pasig and simultaneously, an exciting "take care" text message from gorgeous sent me crashing several flights off our office' stairs in what seemed my sprained foot's sharing of plight with the stampede victims. my best friend shadow sang, "l-o-l-o-l-o-l-o-v-e?" and the girl exclaimed, "ma'am, that's ashley simpson's l.o.v.e." i wrote down the title while my best friend shadow busied herself vocalizing a rap song replete with censored parts before the girl, who pointed to me a song title that read, beef. thinking of beefcakes like hotqt, dreamboy, boy-next-door ad inifinitum, i submitted my list to the girl but later discovered that the song by pussycat dolls was in fact entitled beep. a conspiratorial leer transpired between me and my best friend shadow. i had a foresight that a mere mention of cattle meat in our exchange of texts soon will be enough to bring the house down. on the way to hansam, my shirt which proclaimed "mean people suck, nice people swallow" kept attracting scandalized glances. that provided me the idea of gifting my best friend shadow with a shirt, since it's almost her birthday. she appealed that i should instead buy one for her son, but raving about a bodyhugging periwinkle-colored tee with cute eeyore on the surface, hushed, "purchase this for your godson, but since it's still several sizes too large for him, mommy can wear it meanwhile." the saleslady cannot help but chuckle. hauling our loot, we proceeded to hansam's workstation. i swore to have seen stars twinkling in hansam's eyes the moment he saw me. i introduced my best friend shadow to him and while we erstwhile boyfriends snatched optimum time to update each other with what's going on in our lives, i swore again to have heard my best friend shadow's brain gears rapidly turning round and round. alone in the confectionary section, she confronted me: "are you sure hansam's your boyfriend?" taking a glimpse of the hunky salesclerk at the chinaware section, i replied, "ex-." she insisted, "even so, you had a boyfriend that can launch a thousand bitchfights." i grabbed the bait and philosophized, "bakit, mukha bang lugi si hansam sa akin?" which made her laugh. nonetheless, that brought me to thinking: if a straight woman gets smothered by a handsome gay like hansam (or gorgeous, for that matter), what keeps me from returning to his arms? that answer, i believe, is my intransigent conviction that i can be happy even as a single gay. it's just a matter of surrendering to my growing adoration for gorgeous before i fall in love afresh. then again, i don't have the heart to betray gorgeous' friendhip. so, does it follow i have to settle for the second greatest offing that's to reunite with hansam? whereas i was seated in the avenida-bound jeep in my pensive mood, my best friend shadow pointed to me a roadsign that, according to her, best embodied my current situation that's a teriyaki episode replay, non-straight version. i looked at her reference, expecting it to be "u-turn," but grew crimson in the face upon seeing a sign with phallic overture: "no blowing of horn."
comparative literature major from the state university, boyish-looking, 5'5", slim, brown, clean-cut, clear-faced, originally from nueva ecija and tarlac, hilarious, smart, flirtatious, literary-inclined, temperamental,in the brink of OC-ness. "'di ba, ako'y tao lang na nadadarang at natutukso rin...?" drop me a line at yahoo messenger: email@example.com; email: firstname.lastname@example.org;
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