I'll just walk away ...

I wanted to write this entry last Thursday, but thought it would be a better read for you guys if I waited until the dust settled and my brain fog cleared.

I've been worried sick about Kyle since he got attacked. He didn't want me to see his injuries, so I waited until Wednesday night to see him. He didn't seem himself. While we were in Safeway buying groceries, he ignored me the whole time and essentially went about his business as if I wasn't there. I was hurt, but I understood. If I were in his shoes, I'd probably be the same way.

When we got to his place and started cooking, I tried to kiss him, but he pulled away. I asked what was wrong and he told me that we shouldn't act intimate anymore because at some point, we're going to have to stop anyway. Better sooner than later. When I probed further, he told me that he started seeing another guy barely a week ago.

I don't want to bore you with all the melodramatic details, but I wanted to please Kyle so I was willing to go along with whatever he wanted if it meant I'll still get to cuddle with him on our sleepover dates. I spent the night for old time's sake. The next morning, as I was about to leave, I found my car missing. After I called the impound and learned that they didn't have my car, I went to the police station to report it stolen.

To be honest, I was a little apprehensive going to the police station because I have this image that the place was cold, unfeeling, and uninviting. I wasn't wrong. What made it bearable was the police officer who took my report. Although he had a professional demeanor, he seemed compassionate and that calmed me a bit.

They found my car abandoned in downtown San Francisco later that night. Apparently, whoever stole my car just wanted to take it for a joyride and a little bit of a stealing spree and wasn't interesting in selling its parts in the black market. Relieved, I went with my parents to the police station and picked up my car from the auto return.

I emailed Kyle earlier that night. I told him everything I felt and hoped for a response. I didn't get any. The next day, I asked Kyle about the email and commented about his lack of passion. He got upset, threw some self-deprecating lines and proceeded to block and delete me from the social networking sites we log on to and the messaging clients we use.

This nine-month ordeal with Kyle left me drained and gaze into the future with a sense of dread. The tiny sliver of light in this abysmal situation is that it made me realize that nothing I could have done would have changed the outcome. I didn't make Michael go away two years ago. I didn't make Kyle go away now. They chose to do so themselves.

I'm not bitter. I was originally going to make another effort to get Kyle to change his mind, but realized that it wasn't going to solve the underlying problem that caused this situation anyway. I'll be the better person and just walk away without causing more distress to both of us.

Here are the last letters I wrote to Kyle. I wrote them to help me let go. Click on the images to enlarge. Enjoy reading them.

Busy!

I haven't written anything in a month because I've been swamped with work. What have I been doing you say? I don't even know where to begin.

Last summer, I started working on an in-home tutoring business concept. Like many business concepts out there, I didn't think it would actually come to anything. However, after some divine coalescence of independent and improbable events, my concept started to materialize and my in-home tutoring company started doing business last month. Running a business takes an enormous amount of effort, but the income I earn is enough that I could quit my other job as an after-school instructor.

My graduate program started last month as well. I registered for three classes: Real Analysis of Several Variables, Probability and Statistics, and Introduction to Computer Programming Using C++. I've been doing well and so far, I'm able to manage my time wisely between my work commitments and my academic program. The other side of getting back to university is my constant exposure to budding hot, hormonal homosexuals. One morning, as I was walking towards my car, I passed a really hot guy who obviously was checking me out. We eye-fucked each other for a couple of seconds. I bet it was as good for him as it was for me.

On other news, I bought a cool new laptop and cellphone. I bought a Toshiba U405D with decent specs. It has a 13.3" screen, 2.1 GHz Dual Core AMD Turion processor, 250 Gigabyte hard drive, and 2 Megabyte RAM. My cellphone is cheap, slick, and stylish. It's a Motorola Motofone not available in the US. It's the first cellphone to sport an electronic paper display suited for developing countries because the screen can be read even under the most intense sunlight and it consumes far less power than it's American and European counterparts. The downside is that an electronic paper display, by current technological limitations, is only available in black and white. Also, the phone isn't conducive to sending or receiving text messages. It certainly isn't for everyone but it satisfies my needs and I'm very happy with it.

Pictured below are my recent purchases. Sorry guys. No geek porn unboxing photos this time.

Prayers for Bobby

Tonight, I watched Prayers for Bobby on Lifetime. It's about the suicide of Bobby, a gay teenager, and the struggles of his family to cope with his death. The movie echoed the issue that most young gay teenagers from religious households face. It made me reflect on my own family and why I stopped believing in God.

To begin with, I grew up going to church at least twice a week. I went to a Catholic gender segregated middle-school. But a former teacher informed me a few years ago of the school's move to integrate the classes. Anyway, I remember going to chapel every morning to pray. Come to think of it, those prayers were more like my daily conversations with God.

At the time, I hated my parents really badly. I haven't actually stopped hating them, but I've found healthier ways of utilizing all that negative energy. The point is, growing up, I never felt loved by anyone and my conversations with God made me feel like I was important to someone.

I don't really remember what my prayers were about. But I'm sure as hell that they weren't about childish desires like my mom buying me the newest game or getting really good grades. I do remember asking God for a healthy and happy life every single time. I'm not sure if those prayers were answered, but after my morning prayers, I always felt happier and more relaxed.

Shortly before I turned 16 years old, I told my cousin that I wanted to have a boyfriend. My mother was eventually told and she gave me this long spiel about how it's a sin and that I shouldn't let Satan have any influence towards me. After awhile, I got tired of all the Christian crap about the sin of homosexuality. I stopped going to church and gradually, I stopped believing in God. Eventually, my mother stopped bringing it up and discussion of religion became taboo in our house.

Prayers for Bobby made me look back on my teenage years and how a few closed minded people destroyed my relationship with God. I guess what's worse was the effect it had on my self-esteem. For years, I felt unattractive, unloved, and undeserving of anything good. Even now, I still sense remnants of those feelings whenever I settle for anything less than what I deserve.

I spent 15 minutes thinking of a way to conclude this entry, but I can't. For now, I'll just sign off and go to bed. Goodnight America.

Frida

Last Wednesday, I spent the night at Kyle's place. It was rather spontaneous. His father was supposed to have heart surgery on Thursday, so I decided to venture into the city to make sure he doesn't go crazy with worry. Although we were having problems, I pledged to make this night all about him, so I didn't utter a word that would make either of us upset. Much to my surprise, the night went really well. We haven't had a date go really well since we went to the Frida Kahlo exhibit at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art last summer.

I was very excited when Kyle told me we were going. Prior to this, the only non-reprinted work of a famous artist I've seen was the mural at the San Francisco Art Institute painted by Diego Rivera. Needless to say, my heart jumped at the thought of getting to spend a fabulous afternoon with Kyle.

Kyle picked me up at Club Monaco that faithful afternoon last summer. I was ruffling through the new articles for the Fall collection when out of nowhere, Kyle grabbed my waist and said, "Hi Kitty!" Being glamorous city fags, we went make-up shopping and then had sandwiches for lunch at the Norstrom Bistro. We were seated by the windows with the perfect view of the city. Happy and stuffed, we hightailed it out of there and walked towards 3rd St.

We arrived at the SFMOMA, bought our tickets and wandered around the lobby. When it was almost time to go in, we took the pretty staircase instead of the elevators. While I'd like to think I possess a good eye for art, I'll leave the art critiquing to Kyle and others who go to art school. I can only say that I was both pleased and intrigued by what I saw. Judging from her work, Frida Kahlo was a complex and talented woman who certainly lived up to all the hype surrounding her.

With our brains flooded with new information and our bodies exhausted from all the walking, we took the bus to Kyle's place. We flirted and Kyle told me that he had to jack off early that morning so he wouldn't rape me the second we saw each other. That made me so hard that we fucked each other the moment we got into his room.

And what inspired me to write this entry you say? I just finished watching the biographical film, Frida. It sucked.

Strands of hair

Kyle has been acting really flaky these past few months. I don't understand how he could cancel on me almost every time despite only seeing each other once every three or four weeks. The other day, I came close to saying goodbye to him yet again. But whenever I look at the things that he gave me and remember all the fun memories attached to them, I second guess myself.

Earlier tonight while puttering in my room, I found another strand of his hair. I knew it was his because of the red base color and blond highlighting of the hair strand. I've been finding strands of his hair all over my room whenever I clean. It's symptomatic of how attached to Kyle I've become.

Last night, Kyle and I were talking about his aunt and her confusion about our relationship. He said his aunt thinks that people are either dating or not dating. Wary of labels, I haven't really thought about a name for our relationship. Actually, I didn't even see it as one until recently and for the longest time, I thought Kyle didn't as well. He apparently does.

In the end of that long conversation, he said that he was doing a bad job at showing me how important I am to him. He's taking me to the Academy of Science when he gets back from his trip to New York. I can't say that I'm too excited about it because of the things that happened in the past, but the gesture made me feel loved and cared for.

My friends tell me that nothing good will come out of my relationship with Kyle. Perhaps they're right. But I'm going into this with my eyes wide open. I have no delusions about what Kyle and I are. We're just two friends who enjoy the time we spend together.