(No, this is not a continuation of the other one.)
When I was in first grade, I had my first boy best friend. Not sure about the exact events that led to this friendship -- perhaps it was the natural thing for us to do back then, considering our sisters were best friends three grades higher (o di ba parang brother-sister tandem). He was very artistic. He taught me how to draw people without resorting to the usual stick people most first-graders use when illustrating their happy family. Our people had meat. Muscles even.
Of course, deviance from the "standards" came with a price. I learned that very early when the mean kids started teasing us bakla. I don't know when it started either. Maybe I scream like a girl back then. Or maybe it was his artistic tendencies. Whatever the case, the friendship got strained until somehow it reached its breaking point with that very eventful trip to the principal's office. Ironically, the said trip was totally unrelated from the bullying and name-callings: our doodles apparently became side-wall graffiti over time.
My best friend and his sister transferred to the school next door the following year. I don't know why -- chismis has it that he'd failed certain subjects. I transferred to another school the year after. I haven't heard from him since.
Not until several weeks ago, that is. Sister #2 apparently is still Friendster buddies with his sister so we were able to check out his profile.
"Na-bading din ba?" I half-jokingly asked Sister #2. A part of me was/is hoping -- yet also dreading -- he did. I have a history of converting friends to full-fledged rainbow flag bearers, remember (well, at least one)? Plus, the selfish part in me wants someone to be the suspect zero: that he be the one who, for a lack of a better term, "infected" me.
(Here's the part where the nature vs. nurture arguments would typically start flying about. Like I said, that's me being selfish.)
Sister #2 scoffed when she said "ay soreh, mukhang hindi."
It was nice to learn that he made a career out of his artistic abilities. He looks as if he's in the graphics design industry now. And, shit, mukhang part-time model din.
Yep, he's definitely bloomed into this hot piece of man-ass (and yes, I'm now objectifying him). With the height and muscles and all. Part of me still wonders if this is his way of compensating for something *raises eyebrow*, but what the heck. He's droolable.
A couple of days ago I saw him in person. Or at least one who looked like him. In the gym. Pumping iron -- with big weights and all that funny faces bodybuilders make when exerting effort. As I watch from chest press machine pushing fifteen pounds(!) of weight with difficulty, I wondered what would have happened if he and I remained friends. Would I have "turned" another one? It will be a nice addition to the family. Hehe. And then there're the other possibilities. *ehem*
Or would he have been my first (and probably only) best straight guy friend? Would he have accepted me in the first place...told me that it would be okay?
He passed by without a second glance. Maybe he didn't recognize me because of the spectacles (because heaven knows I'm still a sissy boy as I was twenty years ago). *shrugs* Or maybe he really don't remember me anymore. Like some distant memory obfuscated by shinier, happier thoughts. I wonder if I should've approached him and reintroduce myself. But what would've I said?
"Hey remember me? We used to be friends and know I have this huge crush on you?"
Or maybe just this question: did he blame me for that trip to the principal's office?
With one last look, I made one last rep, stood up from the machine, and headed for Body Jam.